Blackfridayrule

The Lines Between Us

A reboot of an old idea that I have unsuccessfully tried to do (for various reasons) that is based off of an extremely vivid dream I once had. I have yet to RP this idea substantially enough that it's satisfying so now it's just this irritating itch that needs scratching.

The basics: There is a large event, a big festival of sorts celebrating the end of old wars and the anniversary of a newly formed empire, alliance, etc. It is known, however, that while most nations/kindoms/whatever supported the change, there were some borderlands that were less than thrilled. The distant desert land of Azurei is one of them. My character, who is from Azurei but who has been traveling abroad for several years, finds herself at this event by chance--she's in the right place at the right time. All is well, until something goes horribly wrong, and there is an attack of some variety (think terrorism).

Turns out, her kinsmen are responsible and due to very obvious physical traits (namely facial tattoos that are culturally relevant to them) people begin to suspect that she is also responsible. She is accosted by someone (your character) and though it's quickly discovered that she's not the guilty party, they realize a simple truth: Azurei is very far away and is very small and not well known. Being a nation that liked to keep to themselves, nobody really knows the language or much about the inner workings of this nation, so your character convinces mine to help them track down those responsible, figure out why it happened, and to get justice.

Your character might be of the law in some form or another. Your character might be a political figure. Your character might be an average Joe who takes it upon his/herself to deal with the situation. Whatever works for you. I'm not picky.

This is only a jumping off point for the plot and I hope that from there, we come up with something together. That's usually how I roll.

Setting wise I was thinking like, maybe some kind of alternate universe, either with 'modern' technology or maybe it's more futuristic sci-fi with planetary travel? Maybe it's got more fantasy elements. Maybe everyone's human, maybe there are elves/humans/dwarves etc. I'm up for whatever.

Anyone interested?

Shadow World (High Casual to Advanced)

I'm curious. Tell me more? where do you want to go with the plot?

In Dark Seas We Sail

Rohaan offered up an incredulous look to Wheel when he was told to go hunting with a bow. As if he would sink that low! He huffed, affronted, and said something to him quickly in vokurian with a scowl on his face. Berlin had a point about guns even though he hated them. And Rohaan wanted to learn how to fight with a knife. But a bow? What was he, a peasant human-farmer? There was no point. He did not fear bows like he did other weapons--they were limited in their uses and lethality, particularly if the target could suddenly sprout armored dragon scales. Not to mention, crunching around in the woods with a bow was a clumsy, slow way of hunting. Animals had better senses than that! He would know. Besides, the mere suggestion was an insult to his hunting skills as they were, and though Wheel could stomp him in hand-to hand combat with weaponry, no one could argue he was not a good hunter.

"You do not ask a cow to give milk from her ears and you do not ask a wolf to kill with his tail alone," he growled defiantly, his characteristic stubborn streak cropping up. "You do not ask a shifter to, ugh, hunt with a bow. I am not so low as that!" If he wanted to test survival skills without shifting, he could have asked him to identify edible plants vs poison ones, or to free dive for shellfish (which he was exceptional at, as he'd done it his whole life). Besides, he was exhausted and he did not relish the idea of dragging his kill through the dirt like some lowly scavenging animal. He was a proud predator and would behave as such.

Rising to his feet, he snorted, "Fighting with weapons is your world. But hunting is mine." He spoke with more clarity than a boy his age might, particularly one of low birth and zero education. This was something he felt strongly about. After all, he had learned many things about the ways of humans, but it did not mean he had to become one. He was still ranting when he stomped away. "Next I'll ask YOU to catch a rabbit as a hawk! See how YOU do! Hmph!" His bare feet were still striking the sand hard when he came into their camp and snatched up an apple, sitting on the ground with his feet dangling in a tidal pool lined with dark purple starfish and colorful anemones.

Berlin approached carefully, seeing the stormy look on his face. He didn't know why, but he had the feeling it would be better to speak in vokurian, so he did. "So...how did it go?"
"HE wanted ME to go hunting with a BOW. Ew."
Berlin tried not to laugh, but he did let slip a small smile. "But did you train with a knife?" When he got a nod punctuated by the crunch of an apple, he continued, eyeing the blossoming bruises all over the boy's torso. "Did you fight?" The word he used for 'fight' was one of two the vokurian language had; one meant combat with the intent to harm, the other meant sparring. He used the former.
"No. It was kinda fun..." he admitted. "But he does not know our ways. He does not know my ways."
"No, perhaps not. Are you up for hunting today? After all your practicing?"
"My way, yes," Rohaan asserted edgily as if Berlin had suggested anything otherwise.
The captain held up his hands. "Aye, aye," he said in Carisian. "Tomorrow I'd like you to work on aerial maneuvers, both with Hana and Wheel. Might as well have the rest of us practice too, while we're at it. And if you and Wheel want to invent some new routines between the two of you, that wouldn't hurt either. And..." his tone softened then. "Would you speak with me tonight? About..."

Rohaan seemed to shut down almost immediately. He stopped kicking his feet in the water, stopped taking bites of the apple in his hands, stopped looking at Berlin entirely. With his gaze fixed on the still surface of the tide pool he said softly, "Aye, Ca-mm."
"Good lad." Berlin went back to the fire pit where he found Pieter, and the two went of to practice with the grappling hooks as Wheel had suggested. This was nothing new to either of them--years at sea meant that this skill was old-hat. But Berlin believed in continuing practice lest a skill get rusty. The two chatted idly as they worked, as old friends do.

--

Hana found Uban chewing some leftover meat from that morning's breakfast, looking hot, tired, but not miserable for it. Despite being autumn, summer had yet to fully release her grasp on the world during the day and would occasionally beat the land with hot sun before the cool moon came out. Like Rohaan and Berlin, he too had tossed aside his shirt to better feel the cool breeze. This revealed a set of questionably criss-crossing scars on his back that looked suspiciously like lashes, and one poorly done tattoo that had to have come from prison, though whether it was some kind of identifying mark like the brand on his wrist, or a piece of gloomy artwork done in the dim light of a cell with a sharpened bone, was unclear. His hair, which he usually wore either down or in a sort of half-ponytail was now bound in a sloppy half ponytail, half bun that proved with certainty that he had no idea how to do hair of any kind.

He flashed his trademark smile. "Going well? Hope you gave Pieter hell. I, on the other hand, finally got the jump on Berlin. Kind of literally..." He took out his actually sharp dagger which he was using to cut the meat and held it up as it buzzed suddenly in blue arcs for a second before letting them recede. He offered up a chunk of meat, which was cold now, and asked, "So...tell me what you know about like, summoning lightning. Or, heh, if that's too ambitious then what sorts of things can you do with lightning? Can you summon a storm? Or, or, ooh, could you create perfect conditions for a storm? Like you know how in summer, if you're wearing wool, you're fine but in the winter, you put on wool socks and suddenly you're shocking everyone you touch?" And with a very readable hint of self doubt he wondered softly, "Or...is that just me..?" He stuffed some food into his mouth and through it said, "I'll admit, I'm not entirely confident that I know all of what you're capable of. Never met a mage before."

In Dark Seas We Sail

A slow, wicked grin set on the boy’s face. Wheel had pushed him hard, but Rohaan was glad for the challenge. Generally, he was a high-energy lad, and like a shepherding dog left to sit alone inside, he got destructive, impish, and wicked if he didn’t have something productive to put his energy towards. Berlin had learned this and kept him busy when he could, whether that was with work or with more mental exertion like studying maps, learning knots, and more recently, attempting to read. But like Wheel, he enjoyed a good fight. The world had always seemed to want to fight him, so he figured early on that he should rise to the challenge. Besides, he was always one to prove himself quickly and fiercely.

Each slap of the blade had just fueled him further. While Wheel had his curse to goad him, Rohaan had anger. Not the kind of anger born of magic, but true, hardened anger born of strife, of loss, of pain. Though his technical skill with the blade itself was fledgeling and new, his spirit was tenacious. He had been focusing hard on trying to do things Wheel’s way, but now the man was giving him permission to do it his own way.

The impish grin turned quickly to an amused snarl as the boy grew, becoming the young man who had fired rifles earlier. He was breathing hard, but that never seemed to deter him as he hefted the blade, took a few steps around Wheel as if sizing him up or feeling the ring, and then he plunged back into action. Larger, he was faster now, and stronger. More precise. He was a long way from it yet, but someday he would be a formidable opponent no matter which weapon he chose to wield—tooth or blade. Rohaan’s fighting style changed, too. Though he was always scrappy, his previous style with blade alone was stiff in comparison to the fluidity of his body language now. He had the option to shift now—he was comfortable, in his element. And he saw their makeshift fighting ring in a different way.

After a series of parries and blows (which he still needed work on but at least had the strength to back up his maneuvers) Rohaan stepped back, crouched low and looking decidedly wolfish, and before he re-engaged, he kicked a spray of fine sand up at Wheel’s face. Any other opponent with more normal reflexes would have been blinded momentarily, disguising his quick shift to a swift hummingbird—it was as if he disappeared in a cloud of dust like a storybook magician, except the chirping buzz of his quick wings could be heard zipping through the air. After some quick maneuvers in an attempt to confuse his target, he seemed to materialize behind Wheel. There he was with his knife like an apparition, grinning madly.

Rohaan became either difficult to track or would go on the offense by changing shapes into something large that the could use in an attempt to throw Wheel off balance or to get his legs out from underneath him. Sometimes he would put what Wheel had taught him about the blade to use, and other times he would default to his usual changing of shapes. He was well lathered in sweat before the rugged blonde became a wiry boy again and he let the blade slip from his fingers into the sand. He couldn’t speak—he was gasping for air—but even as he swayed tiredly, he lifted one hand and touched two fingers to his forehead, then brought his fist to his chest. A Vokurian salute—the first one Rohaan had ever given Wheel. And then, spent, he dropped to his knees with a faint smile still lingering on his lips.

“A’ae si tennanae, Estahan? Have I done good, Teacher?”

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban couldn't conceal his enthusiasm at having a chance to practice with his own magical skill. He tried, but that smile of his, quick to his face always, bloomed on his face despite his attempts to wipe it away. He was a good natured guy to begin with, but at the moment he was quietly beaming. He chuckled. "Don't you worry, I got better control now. Probably." This was only a joke, as he did have much better control of his ability now that he knew it existed. He hadn't then, back in Oak Hill. It had been so sudden, so...well...shocking. And he wasn't sure at the time which was more disturbing--the fact that he killed a man he knew since childhood by stopping his heart, or the fact that he could, and had been sitting on this ability all his life.

Rohaan knew what was coming next. He was even worse at hiding his excitement than Uban; the boy shifted his weight impatiently and kept his eyes on Wheel.
Berlin gave a resigned sigh. "You're giving him a blade, aren't you? Stars above. Alright. Rheoaan, I know it's Wheel but...try not to actually stab him?"
"C'mon Berlin! I wouldn't...I'm not clumsy!"
"No. Just over eager. Ah, never mind. Go on. You should learn at some point or another." Silently, Berlin looked at Wheel and begged him to keep the situation under control. They were his volatile members, the ones that could do the most damage in combat, but also the ones that were most likely to fight outside of a battle. They were like two unstoppable forces, and Berlin often feared what might happen if they ever broke out in any kind of conflict more serious than a little wrestling match or a flung boot. Wheel was a plow. Whatever stood in his way, he would mow down. And Rohaan was chaos embodied--unpredictable, proud, and fierce. Neither would ever back down in a fight, and it was this that Berlin feared.

Uban elbowed Rohaan just as the boy was about to dash off after wheel. "Give 'em hell, kid." They exchanged a grin, and the two went off for their separate training sessions.

--

Rohaan, despite being exhausted from the moving target practice, suddenly seemed to have a second wind, because he was brimming with energy. Though this happened regularly, this moment was particularly good since he actually had somewhere productive to direct all that energy. And he was very ready. Rohaan nodded and listened, though silently he thought that it was kind of silly he couldn't shift. That would be like asking Wheel to turn off his curse, as if that were possible, or for Uban to stick only to pistols. One did not ask a fish to swim and a dog to fly, did they? But he kept these thoughts to himself. Rohaan knew Wheel well enough to know that if he picked a battle with him, the older man would write him off and refuse to teach him immediately. He needed to be patient and do this his way if he wanted it at all.

Rohaan peeled away his tattered shirt and cast it away; the sun was growing hot and he wanted to be unencumbered as much as possible. No matter how much Berlin fed him, he always looked a bit thin. Not emaciated, but wiry and lean. There was a large pinkish scar against his suntanned skin on his side where Hana had patched him up only days before. He had other scars as well--smaller, older ones. But he looked every bit the street rat as he took the blunted blade in his hands and dropped into a fighting stance. That, at least, he understood on instinct. It wasn't exactly specific to blade fighting, but there was no arguing that he knew a fair amount about body posture, movement, and a good solid stance. He took very quickly to stabbing. Parrying, however, took more practice for him and once when he and Wheel were trying it out at speed, he instinctively shifted to a horned ram and made to bash Wheel with his skull, but he realized his mistake and stopped almost instantly and shifted back with a frustrated huff. He was good at adapting while on the offense, but in defense, instinct was hard to break. Overall, he was quick to learn and quick to move. His time on the street made him scrappy, and it was clear that in the future, when he had enough practice to be a decent knife fighter, he would absolutely fight dirty.

---

Berlin swung his cutlass around a few times, listening to it whoosh through the air. He was unaccustomed to armor, but he figured it might be something worth familiarizing himself with. "Think you can match me, Uban?" His tone was playful; he rolled up his sleeves and stretched the muscles in his neck.
"It's on, Berlin."

In that moment as their swords crossed, there was no Captain and sailor. They were just two men, friends, having a friendly spar that got gradually faster and more heated. Their steel rang in the air and their feet scuffed through the sand; occasionally a gruff cry or a growl would sound from their lips. Sweat beaded on both of their brows by the time Berlin, who was very good with a sword, caught Uban's in his own and in a firm motion, swept his own blade around it and knocked it out of Uban's hands, bringing his edge to the younger man's throat.

"Damn! For a while there, I thought I'd have you."
Berlin laughed. "Oh no. I'm not that old yet. You've got a long way to go before you can best me. Come, let me see you light that thing up a few times before we practice at speed, eh?"
Uban grinned wildly. "Aye, let's see..." He thought for a moment, then his cutlass burst into veins of bluish arcs. The sound was deafening, a hissing, buzzing, roaring sound that drowned out even the crash of the waves. Uban let it go, his usually green eyes going a bit gold as they often did when he was playing with extensive voltage. He was laughing devilishly.
"Damn, that's loud. Do it again!" Berlin goaded.

Uban did. He held it longer this time, allowing himself to swing it around experimentally. The dancing arcs trailed behind his blade like short streamers, crackling all the while. He struck a nearby tree and the bark around it burst into small flames as sparks flew from it. They quickly doused the flames, but then Berlin suggested trying it while mid-spar. They started slow at first, looking like they'd only recently ever held blades as they went through steps like a dance. Eventually, Uban was able to reliably pour electricity into his blade even while striking or parrying, and they began to increase their speed until they were back up to full like they had been.

Uban knocked Berlin's hard blow aside, feinted to the right and then cut sideways. Berlin was good and caught the blade, but he wasn't ready for what Uban had in store for him. There was not the same roaring crackle as there had been when Uban had faked an electric blow. This was softer, a buzzing only. And by the time Berlin detected it, it was far too late. His hands clenched and he staggered back with a deep 'oof' sound as he felt a sensation similar to slapping the surface of water with his whole body.

Berlin was blinking numbly when Uban came and extended a hand to help him up; he clapped his captain on the shoulder as he lifted. "You a'right?" He asked.
Berlin gave a surprised sort of smile. "You got me." They both laughed then. "You were going easy on me then. I hate to see the fate of the man who actually crosses swords with you. Damn." He shook his head, still a little stunned. The captain stabbed his sword into the sand and leaned on it casually, breathing hard. "Well go on, show me what else you can do. I know you been working on your stuff these last few months."
"Aye, I have! I want to try and throw it, but I can't quite get it to leave my hand past six inches or so." As he said this, he upturned his palm and tentacles of blue light burst out from it, reaching and grabbing at the air. He clenched his fist and it was extinguished like a wet lamp. "But I can go much further between my hands, see..." He held them apart and an arc jumped between them. His eyes were full gold now, and both men had flyaway locks of hair sticking straight upward.

"Can you fight like that? With it between your hands?" Berlin asked.
Uban shrugged. "I could. I can't do it as strong though. Not sure this would kill you, out like this. I need contact to do that. I can do a lot if I'm touching someone, or something," he said, glancing at his own cutlass.
"Can you make it stronger?"
"Stronger?" Uban laughed. "I don't know. Maybe?"
"Try." He did. Berlin could see his muscles flexing and a look of stern focus on his face, but the arc did grow larger, louder, brighter, even with his hands spread almost to their full span. "C'mon, more! Harder!" Berlin was smiling now, pushing him like he'd pushed Rohaan earlier. Uban got a little more out of his arc, and then with a gasp of breath and a very loud bang, he let it go and it popped out of existence. But between his very heavy breaths, Uban began to laugh heartily.
"I don't...think I got...anymore in me, Cap'n."
"Aye. Go get an apple or something, and we'll go and see how the others are doing."

In Dark Seas We Sail

Rohaan looked at the rifle that was as tall as he was and then gave a hesitant look to Berlin, who was encouraging him to take the weapon. Rohaan then looked back to Wheel with a betrayed expression—he wanted to train with a knife, not a rifle! Rohaan hated guns. They were his great nemesis and the memory of his recent encounter was a little too fresh. They had killed his parents. Destroyed his home. To him, they were a blunderingly loud, skilless way to kill someone. Not that Rohaan was a stranger to killing—by ten, he’d killed more men than some soldiers do in a lifetime career. He never once had guilt for any of them. In some alternate universe, he might have. But at eight years old, people came into his life and took from him all that was good and right in the world. Whatever childhood innocence he had then, it was stolen that night. And guns were the symbol of everything he hated.

The captain strode over to the lad, putting his hand placatingly on his shoulder. “Rheoaan,” Berlin said coolly, seeing the look on the boy’s face and knowing his moods. “I’ve told you about the importance of knowing your enemy, aye?”
“Aye.”
“Right. The more familiar you are, the better off you’ll be. Besides, if you can’t shift for whatever reason, I want you prepared.”
Rohaan looked horrified, like Berlin had just suggested barbecuing a baby. “Can’t shift...? Why couldn’t I..? Berlin...”
“I just mean nobody knows how sorcery can or can’t affect you. I question if even Hana knows—I don’t think that’s something they teach in schools anywhere. No harm in being prepared,” he said with a pat on the boy’s shoulder.
“Well then....” Rohaan hefted the gun; he was strong and wiry, but it was still quite big for him. “Can I shift bigger?”
Berlin thought for a moment then answered, “half, yes. The last half I want you to do in khiv’tali,, you hear?” The word was Vokurian for “true form”. Berlin figured there was no harm in a bit of a warm up before he really got to training, especially since the boy didn’t interact with guns if he could help it.

Rohaan nodded and changed to his older self, about the same age as Uban in his early twenties. He had the same hair tied back in a ponytail, the same flashing blue eyes, but he sported stubble and a few lines of wear on his face. Cleaned up, he might be described as roguishly handsome in a rough sort of way. And though his voice was deep and he had a confident smile to match Uban’s, there was something distinctly childlike about him. Perhaps it was his gait or his wandering gaze, or maybe just the expression on his face. He now easily slung the rifle over his shoulder and followed the crew into the pines. “You’ll have to show me how to use it, then, Ca-mm,” the unfamiliar voice said. It would have been easy to mistake him for a stranger except for his use of the very distinct ‘ca-mm’ that was unique to Rohaan. “Ain’t never fired one before.”

And as the crew began their marksmanship training, he unsurprisingly did not turn out to be very talented with either a rifle or a pistol, no matter what his physical age was. His combat was all tooth nail and weapons were a foreign concept to him entirely. He did at least understand a knife, as it was merely an extension of the arm. But a gun? It was awkward to him.

Uban proved to be half decent—he had a steady hand and a good eye. Though he was a bit slow with a rifle, he was good with a pistol. Still, Berlin had much more experience than he did and blew him out of the water in both rate and accuracy, and Pieter beat him still. Pieter, after all, was a magnificent gunner. Both he and Berlin had naval experience ages ago and had been trained in marksmanship then. But if it came to it and Berlin was pressed into direct combat, he much preferred a good pair of cutlasses.

—

After they’d spent barrels of powder, Berlin scooped up a handful of very small pebbles and said, “Wheel, if you’ll excuse me, I have something to add before we move on.” He passed out the pebbles to everyone but Rohaan. “Rheoaan, my lad, I don’t doubt these men will be cooler under fire than the Yonin navy. They will be good marksmen. They WILL fire at you. I want to make sure you know what to do so we don’t have a repeat of last time. I almost lost you…would have if it weren’t for Hana.”
Rohaan scowled. “But I can’t stop a ball. An arrow, yeah, but not a ball.”
“I don’t expect you to. But you need to learn when to be on the offensive and when to defend.”
“But I just said I—“
“Defend or EVADE.” Berlin watched this roll around in Rohaan’s head for a moment before adding, “I’d like you to practice. Under fire.”
“What!? You’re gonna shoot me?”
“Easy lad. That’s what the pebbles are for. They’re little, see? Much smaller and lighter than a ball. They won’t pierce your cyradan hide, though they might sting just a little. Are you up for it?”
The boy scowled, deep in consideration and definitely more than a bit nervous. But eventually he nodded resolutely. “Aye, Ca-mm. They won’t get me again so easy.”
“Atta boy! Now up you go. Stay low, like you would if you were going to attack.”

Rohaan shifted and the sleek black dragon vaulted into the air, circled a few times, and then began doing sweeping fly-bys, one after the other. Each pass sent dirt and sand and dry pine needles following after him. Berlin looked at the crew and in all seriousness, raised his own rifle skyward and said, “Fire at will.” He had checked twice that his was loaded only with the little pea-sized pebble, so he took aim, fired, and earned a twitch of muscle and a high growl from the cyradan. “Dead, boy! Try again!” The crew fired, and Rohaan was attempting to use his superior maneuverability and speed to save him. But as his little growls became louder and more frustrated, it was clear that wasn’t working. This exercise served also as moving target practice for the crew.

Above, Rohaan could see Uban lifting his rifle and aiming, tracking him with the evil object, and in a burst of frustration Rohaan tried a different tactic. He waited for the crack of the gunpowder before shifting to a very small swallow. The shot went wide as Uban’s large target became suddenly immaterial and tiny. Berlin, who had been coaching him all the while, laughed and shouted, “Yes! That’s it! Once more!” Pieter fired next, his aim true. But once again, Rohaan had gone from cyradan to swallow the moment the gunshot rang out. Except this time, the little bird became even smaller and the boy all but disappeared, until he swept before them as a hummingbird, then became a cyradan again. It was as if he’d teleported. The dragon jutted his neck out and roared, the sound both deep and rumbling, but also with a discordant note of shrill sharpness. Berlin’s stray locks of hair that always seemed to escape his ponytail fluttered back in the wind of Rohaan’s hot breath, and the man laughed.

Rohaan changed back, panting hard, looking a little fierce but triumphant. “Did I do good?”
Berlin stepped forward and embraced him, looking every bit the proud father. “Aye, Rheoaan. You were magnificent. That’s enough of that. You get the idea, now?”
“Aye!”
“Keep that in mind next time we fight. You’ll need that skill.” He turned back to his master at arms. “Alright, Master Wheel. What next?”

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban was up first. After a lifetime of waking with the sun, as any good farmer’s son does, he was never fully able to break that habit unless he’d been carousing the night before. He awoke to the soft hiss of waves on sand, the call of seabirds, and a snoring he guessed belonged to Berlin. After relieving himself, Uban rekindled what was left of the fire and began butchering the boar brought by their young hunter. Even though the crew was asleep, he could feel an air of anticipation around him. If he was honest, he was excited to have a chance to push his abilities to their limits and to see what he and Hana could do together. They would need a lot of food in the next couple of days—they always ate more than most as a mostly magical crew, but today they’d need extra. He fetched some tea, some bread, and apples from the ship as well.

Rohaan, awoken by the smell of smoke and meat shuffled over with his hair looking even wilder than usual. His bare toes dug happily into the sand—this was like Home to him. Almost. Uban heard his scuffing feet and then felt a head drop onto his shoulder from behind with a little tired grumble. Uban laughed. “Woke you, did I?”
“Te.” Rohaan plunked down beside Uban, leaning up against him wrapped in his blanket.
“Cold, eh? Startin’ to get cool at night now that fall’s a’comin. Oughtta get you some new winter gear—I don’t think yours fits anymore.” Uban put an arm around him while the other poked at the bacon with a long fork. “You ready for training? It’s gonna be a tough one. I think Wheel’s got plans to push us hard.” Rohaan made a soft noise that was vaguely affirming as Uban pushed a small mug of tea into the boy’s hands. There was a comfortable silence as the half-asleep Rohaan sipped his tea, snuggled up against Uban, then the older man said softly, “we’re gonna get ‘em you know.” Rohaan said nothing. “Berlin aint gonna hold you back—not this time. We’ll show ‘em how stupid it is to mess with The Borealis, eh? And we’ll send ‘em down to the briny blue where The sharks will eat them whole.”
“Yeah...” came his soft reply. “If I don’t do it first.”

Uban blinked hard. “What did you say? Can you—can you do that? Eat a man?”
Rohaan gave a noncommittal shrug. “Probably. I seen it done once.”
Uban stared at the mess of blond hair poking out of a gray wool blanket beside him, his mouth open. Surely he wasn’t serious...but then...maybe he was. “Lad, sometimes you scare me.” He often forgot what he was. It was easy to when he was in a sweet mood and half asleep cuddled up beside him like any young boy. But then he would say things like that, and Uban felt chills down his back.

Rohaan drifted back to sleep, nearly spilling what was left of his tea until Uban slid it out of his hands and nestled the cup into the sand. He let him stay there until the bacon was finished and he held the sizzling pan under the boy’s nose. “Baaaaaacon......baaaaaacooon....” he taunted as the two blue eyes cracked open slowly. Rohaan was more aware this time, more alert, and gratefully took the proffered food and began to munch steadily on it.

The rest of the crew began to stir, with Berlin lagging uncharacteristically behind after the night’s drinking. But they gathered and ate, and as the chewing slowed, Berlin spoke. “So, Wheel. What do you have planned for us? I have an exercise I’d like to do with myself and Rohaan at some point, and Hana needs her obligatory flying lesson. Not to mention, you two should go over your usual aerial maneuvers again as a refresher. But the rest I leave in your capable hands.” Berlin was comfortable enough in his own authority to easily hand it off to someone else if the need arose. Wheel was the master of combat amongst them and, more importantly, he knew firsthand what they were up against.

In Dark Seas We Sail

The two men drank then in amiable silence, Berlin letting the sounds of the sea and of his ship wash over him like a soothing lulaby. He did love the Borealis, and as always, he loved the sea. He tilted his head back to glance up at what little of his figurehead he could see--a beautiful carving of a depiction of the Lady Tevira, the very spirit of the sea who sometimes took the form of a mermaid and had been rumored to both pull sailors down to the depths or to guide them home--depending on her fickle mood. A little smile touched his lips as he lounged back, letting his eyes shut contentedly.

---

Uban nodded, taking the bowl of water from her and setting it down as he got the tools and himself ready for his task as Hana sat down. "You got powder, eh? Well aren't you fancy!" He gave a little chuckle. "It's been a while since I had any powder. Got good at doing it with just a bit of water or sometimes a bit of regular soap, myself, but there ain't no denying the luxury of good powder." He listened to her explain about the cultural significance of shorn hair amongst mages, and he tried to think back to every bald person he ever encountered and wondered if secretly they were mages. Likely not, as they dressed usually like pirates or, if they were from Oak Hill, the blacksmith. In a little tiny bowl, he mixed a bit of the water with the shaving powder and whisked it up with the horsehair brush until it frothed into a sort of light paste.

Uban placed one gentle hand on her scalp to direct her head as he applied the frothy powder with the brush; she could feel the distinct lack of a finger on his left hand as he did so. And though his skin was rough and calloused due to a life of ropes and daggers, and an even longer life of farming tools and tack, his hands themselves were gentle, even as he began carefully scraping the blade of the razor in ordered lines down her skull. He wasn't kidding, he was quite good at it and never once nicked her, yet still managed a close shave.

He rinsed the blade in the bowl of water and started the next little section. "So you aren't fully trained? Didn't finish school or something?" his tone was only inquisitive, not judgmental. He'd never had any schooling in his life and it was only under Berlin's tutelage that he learned how to read at all, though he picked it up far easier than Rohaan ever did, who was unused to the idea of a written language at all. "Elbar's a long way from Yonin, and you never struck me as the Telor type. It's a port city full of...well, pirates and ingrates like myself." He laughed. "What brought you out there anyhow? Berlin never said."

--

After sailing in the direction Rohaan specified, they at last sighted a break in the reflection of the moonlight on the waves that signaled land. Sure enough, the island was little more than a very large sandbar with some tropical flora making up the entirety of the land. The moment the ship was moored in the sand, Berlin (who was holding it together quite well but still swayed when he stood or walked) released the crew to either sleep in their usual quarters or to go ashore if they wished and sleep by a fire, an option Rohaan took almost immediately. The boy loved the ship, but he also loved the warmth of a good fire.

Rohaan had been sleepy on the remainder of the trip to the island and had dozed off twice where he sat after his long flight, but the moment they were ashore he caught a second wind and a wicked, gleeful glint was in his lapis eyes. "Ca-mm, can I go hunting?"
Tiredly, Berlin rubbed his face and nodded. "Aye, boy. Do what you like as long as you stay near the island." He did not lecture Rohaan about getting to bed, nor did he worry about him wandering alone. Berlin knew he was perfectly capable of handling himself and there wasn't much trouble he could get into in a place like this. Besides, he had learned long ago that trying to force Rohaan to settle down was a hopeless cause without his calming ability once the boy was stirred. Besides, if he caught something good, they could have some fresh meat and even get some hide out of the deal, too. Rohaan would sleep when he was good and ready, and when he did crash, he did so quite fast. If he had extra energy to burn, it was best to let him get it out.

"Light a fire for me first 'fore you go, Rheoaan. I don't feel like toiling over some flint at the moment."
"Aye, Ca-mm!" Rohaan shifted to a dog, and, tail wagging, he dashed off to collect wood. When he had a sufficient pile, he shifted to a Cyradan and with a little intake of breath sent a tiny liquid jet of fire to the dry timbers and the pile blazed instantly. And then, launching into the sky, he melted into the shadows in his silent, swift form. He was not heard again after his initial wingbeats grew too distant and soft, until a bit later a small excited cry was heard from the other side of the little island and a flash of dim red lights could be seen shooting down from the sky to capture what had to be his prey.

Rohaan was a very good hunter. All vokurians were, due to their ability to become apex predators. But Rohaan was especially good at night. His favorite form, his Khiv'estanye or literally translated, 'true alternate' was a nocturnal creature of aerial stealth. Quick, silent, sharp-eyed and camouflaged. It made him a deadly foe in daylight, but a phantom at night. He returned not long after with a boar in his dark talons and dark crimson glinting off his black teeth in the firelight. The bioluminescent red stripes along his body were pulsing softly and despite his intimidating shape, he had the air of a proud bird-dog bringing back a prized goose.
"Nice catch, Rohaan," Uban said, patting the scaled creature on the shoulder like it was no less common or dangerous than a placid horse. "I'll dress and butcher it tomorrow and we'll have us something like proper bacon for breakfast, eh?"
Rohaan shifted back, looking more exhausted than ever but no less pleased. He had blood on his face and on his hands and Uban, not a stranger to this sight, still cringed and turned him towards the lapping waves. "Eesh, go wash lad."
"What? Don't like bloooood?" Rohaan grinned, his now white teeth stained red.
"Ain't that. It's just that its chilling enough to see a man with blood on his face, much less a ten-year-old."

Rohaan did wash, and then, after fetching a blanket from the Nest, came and settled down by the raging fire he'd created. He was asleep almost instantly.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Berlin gave a low chuckle, eyes gleaming. “Aye, I’d imagine I’m not the first. Not the last either.” He was now fully slouching, hands splayed loosely on the barrel used as a table, and his eyes were no longer quite as sharp. It took half a bottle of rum, but he was finally proper drunk, and was now sucking on the lime again as he spoke. “But I got a lotta years left in me before I might get the itch to wander ashore. This ship here is my home. I ain’t got a home anywhere else. And I sure as hell ain’t goin’ back to Cavastan.” Cavastan was a rather large port city in the far north of the country of Daegis, which was known for both having excellent whaling waters and miserably cold weather year-round. Every whaler worth his salt had spent time in Cavastan, or somewhere near it, and it was sung about in many songs as being awful but profitable. It was also where Berlin grew up and got his start sailing.

Berlin’s face turned to a scowl, the same sort of stern look he’d just given Hana for being called a gentleman, though Pieter knew him well enough to recognize it as grimly thoughtful. He leaned back (a little clumsily) to crane his head upward and search the dark night sky for any sign of the young shifter boy, but doing so was hopeless. The lad would be gone for hours and ranged very far from the ship. Even if it was daylight, he would not see him. “No,” he said almost darkly. “Rheoaan will never be free. Out here, yes, or in the quiet of the wilderness. But he will never have the freedom that Uban or you have in society. He’ll never be able to buy or sell goods, and I’d be shocked if any human lass would have him. And even if she did, it’s not like they could have children. And something tells me that even if he ever did find his way home, he could never again be content with a stationary life. He’s as much a slave to this life as your many brats are to theirs, even if he won’t admit it. But....” he leaned back, taking another sip from the mug that he realized was never empty, as if he had never noticed Pieter filling it at a certain point and assumed it kept filling itself magically. He smiled then, a warm grin with that equally inviting look in his eyes that was so typical of him. “I suppose if you’re going to be a slave to any life, this is as good as it gets.”

Berlin thought for a moment, then lifted his mug a little waveringly and toasted with a small laugh, “to freedom.” For that was what he loved most about pirating and the sea. He was free. Free to go as he wished, to take or not take what he wanted, and he was the master of his own destiny. He never had to adhere to polite society, never had to dress a certain way, speak a certain way, and never had to apologize to anyone for being as drunk as he was now.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Berlin gave a sheepish grin. "Foolish of me to think I could ever leave my Lady Tevira. The sea has always been my first and greatest love. But aye, I thought my rollin' days were done and thought to settle down, and she ensnared me. It was good for a while, but then I started wandering down by the docks and taking work there, but the kind where I'd come home afterward. And you know how it is. One thing leads to another, and I convinced her to let me go on a short trip that lasted about a month. And then that trip turned to two, and so on. She finally came to me and said that I had to choose. Her, or the sea. And I knew then that I couldn't. I left her. I sometimes wonder how she's getting on...she's a decent lady, the sort that didn't seem to mind that I was a pirate. She told her friends I was a 'privateer' though." He laughed a little. "I couldn't bear the thought of scorning her publicly--I did love her, really. So I told her to keep my name and tell everyone I'd been lost to the sea. It's half the reason I don't use my surname anymore--In fact I think you're the only soul aboard that knows me as Berlin Havaiann. I like to think I...gave it to her. Plus it adds a pinch of theatrics to my pirating legend," he joked, though he meant it. He always did like watching decent men's faces screw up when they searched their brains or records for his last name and came up short.

"No children though," he said, relieved, after a long sip. "I wouldn't know what to do with a kid of my own. Rheoaan doesn't count--he's older and far more independent than any other lad his age, and besides, he ain't exactly mine. Not to mention he ain't got a chance at a decent future, not as a shifter. But can you imagine me barking orders and boarding ships with a baby?" He gave a visible shudder. "I'd have to actually be a decent man to set an example for my spawn." Berlin chuckled at that, finding the idea highly amusing.

--

"Ah!" Uban nodded, understanding as he stepped away from the helm. "Aye, 'course I can. I heard you telling Rohaan once it's...like a mark of your station, right? Not to mention a hell of a lot easier to maintain..." He said this flicking one greasy lock of his shoulder-length wavy brown hair like he did any maintaining at all. It was rough and tangled looking from so much exposure to saltwater, and he usually wore it back in a half ponytail loosely tied with a piece of leather.

"I assume you got a razor? If not I got one down in my chest I use for shavin' my face. I promise not to nick ya, neither. C'mon, take a seat then." He pulled over a crate that had once held apples but now served as a net for the times Rohaan went diving for lobsters, crabs, or mussels.