You never know! It’s fun keeping it open ended. I would have so much fun bringing them to Azurei at some point though!
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LadyAnnaLee
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Berlin didn’t speak for a while. He stood as if in a parade rest, hands behind his back and his feet slightly parted, looking thoughtfully out to sea. Wheel raised some good points. They were only six after all, and the Barizians were many. Any of them, even Rohaan, could be overrun by sheer numbers, though they all stood a better chance than most. He sighed. Berlin wanted an assured answer to give to his crew, but he frankly didn’t have one. They’d never planned an assault this large before and their normal, casual tactics wouldn’t apply here. Normally they could sack any ship they felt inclined to, or at least sink it. But this would be different.
“I’m not decided yet,” he said honestly. Wheel wasn’t the sort who liked dancing around truths anyway. “I want the lad to scout out late tonight, see what we’re up against. According to Pieter and Uban there’s nine ships, one of them larger than the others. But that’s all I know for certain. The lad will tell me what this island is like and where they’re situated. But I think a frontal assault is not the best way to start things off. It will probably end that way, but I think we need to be careful in how we approach. I don’t want to give them time to prepare, so stealth is of the utmost importance. We’ll strike at night for sure. But I think…” he tapped his lips absently. “I think our best weapon here is chaos. I want to cause as much as possible. Rheoaan can provide fire—nothing breaks ranks like fire. But I have…other things planned. Well trained men can deal with fire. They can deal with cannons. They can deal with a man coming at them with a sword. But there are some things you can’t train for…” he looked at his hands, then back up at Wheel and said frankly, his voice hard and resolute, “I’m going to make them kill their own captains, and then each other. It draws fire away from us and dwindles their number at the same time it cuts off their leadership. It means I’ll leave the ship in command of Pieter and Hana and lead the attack. Rheoaan can bring me in close and keep me moving and once the alarm is sounded, we begin the attack in earnest. That, at least, is my thought on it, but I welcome your input.”
—
Cat-Rohaan offered only a purring meow in reply, a bubbling, “Bbrrreeoow” as he closed his eyes and leaned into Pieter’s hand. Truthfully he was too tired and sore to cause much trouble and whether it was because he was currently a cat or because he really was that tired, part of him wanted to curl up and go back to sleep. He put that aside as a future option as he watched Uban and Hana work. A soft scraping noise came from the barrel’s surface as his little claws raked it with kneading paws.
—
“Chain it?” He couldn’t help but still be grinning, though some of his jubilance faded along with his confidence at that. “Well..I don’t know. I guess I’ve never tried. Maybe ah, let’s try a smaller scale version. Instead of firing them at full speed maybe we start by just tossing them up? This might take a few tries…”
He was right about that. Even at a slower speed he struggled to get the lightning to connect from one to the other. He could hit one perfectly, and on the next round he was able to hit the other, but both? It didn’t seem impossible. Uban compared it to learning a language—the words were out there, he just didn’t know what they were yet. He had to think of how to ‘phrase’ it, how to will the energy to do what he wanted. After a few more tries he managed to get both lit at the same time, though the lightning didn’t connect.
His eyes were a bright gold and the stray strands of hair that wandered out of his ponytail began to stick to his forehead and the sweat that beaded there. But he was determined. He could see where she was going with this and, if they managed it, it would be incredibly useful. If only he could get it. With the other things he’d tried, it had come so quickly; one or two failed attempts and he had it. But this eluded him. He was making progress, which was the only reason he didn’t write it off as impossible, but his exuberance gave way to frustration as he tried, failed, and repeated. But finally, sweaty and short of breath, he had a breakthrough. The lightning hit one ball and then moved over to the other almost lazily, leaving a trail of squirming bolts behind it, though the arc did not stay.
“This time! I think I’ve got it this time. I think I understand how it works….” He wished he could describe how it worked, but he wasn’t really sure himself. He just had abstract feelings of a connection, a link between him, the objects, and the lightning. A few deep breaths, a moment of focus, and then he nodded. The balls were tossed into the air once more and this time, blessedly, the arc jumped from his hand to one ball, then arced across to the other and stayed, forming a bridge between them. However, as the balls traveled at slightly different angles, they began to move further away from each other and as they did, the arc between them split and withdrew back towards each ball separately.
“YES!” He bellowed, relieved that he’d actually managed it. For one thing, he wanted to prove he could. But he was also getting tired. “There’s a problem though, if they’re too far apart, more than two feet or so, I can’t hold the arc between them. It just breaks. It’s like there’s too much space to fill and not enough….’stuff’ to fill it.”
“I’m not decided yet,” he said honestly. Wheel wasn’t the sort who liked dancing around truths anyway. “I want the lad to scout out late tonight, see what we’re up against. According to Pieter and Uban there’s nine ships, one of them larger than the others. But that’s all I know for certain. The lad will tell me what this island is like and where they’re situated. But I think a frontal assault is not the best way to start things off. It will probably end that way, but I think we need to be careful in how we approach. I don’t want to give them time to prepare, so stealth is of the utmost importance. We’ll strike at night for sure. But I think…” he tapped his lips absently. “I think our best weapon here is chaos. I want to cause as much as possible. Rheoaan can provide fire—nothing breaks ranks like fire. But I have…other things planned. Well trained men can deal with fire. They can deal with cannons. They can deal with a man coming at them with a sword. But there are some things you can’t train for…” he looked at his hands, then back up at Wheel and said frankly, his voice hard and resolute, “I’m going to make them kill their own captains, and then each other. It draws fire away from us and dwindles their number at the same time it cuts off their leadership. It means I’ll leave the ship in command of Pieter and Hana and lead the attack. Rheoaan can bring me in close and keep me moving and once the alarm is sounded, we begin the attack in earnest. That, at least, is my thought on it, but I welcome your input.”
—
Cat-Rohaan offered only a purring meow in reply, a bubbling, “Bbrrreeoow” as he closed his eyes and leaned into Pieter’s hand. Truthfully he was too tired and sore to cause much trouble and whether it was because he was currently a cat or because he really was that tired, part of him wanted to curl up and go back to sleep. He put that aside as a future option as he watched Uban and Hana work. A soft scraping noise came from the barrel’s surface as his little claws raked it with kneading paws.
—
“Chain it?” He couldn’t help but still be grinning, though some of his jubilance faded along with his confidence at that. “Well..I don’t know. I guess I’ve never tried. Maybe ah, let’s try a smaller scale version. Instead of firing them at full speed maybe we start by just tossing them up? This might take a few tries…”
He was right about that. Even at a slower speed he struggled to get the lightning to connect from one to the other. He could hit one perfectly, and on the next round he was able to hit the other, but both? It didn’t seem impossible. Uban compared it to learning a language—the words were out there, he just didn’t know what they were yet. He had to think of how to ‘phrase’ it, how to will the energy to do what he wanted. After a few more tries he managed to get both lit at the same time, though the lightning didn’t connect.
His eyes were a bright gold and the stray strands of hair that wandered out of his ponytail began to stick to his forehead and the sweat that beaded there. But he was determined. He could see where she was going with this and, if they managed it, it would be incredibly useful. If only he could get it. With the other things he’d tried, it had come so quickly; one or two failed attempts and he had it. But this eluded him. He was making progress, which was the only reason he didn’t write it off as impossible, but his exuberance gave way to frustration as he tried, failed, and repeated. But finally, sweaty and short of breath, he had a breakthrough. The lightning hit one ball and then moved over to the other almost lazily, leaving a trail of squirming bolts behind it, though the arc did not stay.
“This time! I think I’ve got it this time. I think I understand how it works….” He wished he could describe how it worked, but he wasn’t really sure himself. He just had abstract feelings of a connection, a link between him, the objects, and the lightning. A few deep breaths, a moment of focus, and then he nodded. The balls were tossed into the air once more and this time, blessedly, the arc jumped from his hand to one ball, then arced across to the other and stayed, forming a bridge between them. However, as the balls traveled at slightly different angles, they began to move further away from each other and as they did, the arc between them split and withdrew back towards each ball separately.
“YES!” He bellowed, relieved that he’d actually managed it. For one thing, he wanted to prove he could. But he was also getting tired. “There’s a problem though, if they’re too far apart, more than two feet or so, I can’t hold the arc between them. It just breaks. It’s like there’s too much space to fill and not enough….’stuff’ to fill it.”
Also idk if I ever told you but a huge inspiration to Ridahne's appearance is Tziporah from Prince of Egypt. Just a fun tidbit!
No worries!
Ridahne was silent. She was content to see to her meal instead of looking in any place in particular. It seemed like the entire tavern gave her a wide berth, like a school of fish parting to avoid a predator. She didn't mind. She was used to it by now. Most humans were a little wary around Azurei elves, even the ones that didn't give off such a dangerous vibe, as their inked skin often gave them a fierce look and most, even simple merchants or sailors, carried knives. Most weren't as deadly looking as Ridahne's and in fact most of them took on a more utilitarian feel, but they all had at least one. It was as much for daily use and defense as it was a part of their culture. The use of the blade was an art, so much so that the word for practice sparring was the same word used for actual dancing.
Ridahne was quick to understand the implications of everything Darin said. There was no telling when the task would be accomplished, and no telling how far they had to travel in order to see it done. And, Ridahne knew, that would mean going back home. That was a small hitch, but not anything that couldn't be dealt with. But what made her stop and look up at the woman, studying her carefully with those piercing eyes was her insistence that she not treat her differently. Ridahne examined her for a long, long time without saying much. Just looking. Watching. Thinking.
"I unnerved you with the 'Ri'atal' thing, didn't I?" Her tone was uncharacteristically soft, understanding. It seemed incongruous that someone so fierce, so prickly and aloof could be so gentle and sympathetic and yet she was. "I have no illusions that you are...any more than you seem. You're a farmer. You desperately need riding lessons--and, by the way, I think it's good Talbot is coming. He will serve you well, and Tsura could not carry us both for long. You can't defend yourself all that well and we both know you need to. You're inexperienced in a lot of ways, Martin, and this world is too cruel and it will consume you if you aren't careful. We have work to do. But that doesn't negate what you are. You can avoid it all you like, downplay it all you want. But it doesn't change the fact. And that fact doesn't make you a great warrior or a skilled ranger. It doesn't make you intelligent either. If it did, you wouldn't need someone like me. I wouldn't have been sent here at all. But I assume you were not randomly chosen. You didn't find it on the roadside, it was given to you. Specifically you. And that isn't nothing. Understand that Ri'atal," she said, using the term as something of a code, "and the naive farmer you are are not different things. You are both. The fact remains that there is a job to be done and you are responsible for seeing it done. Not me, not anyone else. You." She poked one long, slim finger into her sternum gently. That gesture might have been seen as forward or aggressive in these parts, but commonplace where she was from. "I am only here to aid you where I can."
Ridahne took a moment, gathering her own thoughts while letting her words sink in. Finally she looked away, staring at some point on the opposite wall. "I understand the risks and implications. Realize that I have nowhere to be and not much to return to when this is over, so I'm in no rush. I only want to fulfill my own purpose and give worth to a hundred years of empty deeds and mistakes. I'm not entirely welcome in Azurei...If you take me with you, I will tell you what brought me here." She looked down, growing quiet. "You have a right to know but...just...I ask that you give me time. It's not something I want to speak of. But know only that I traded one wrongdoing for a greater good. That said..." she sighed. "Azurei does not see it that way. Especially those that don't know the full story. If--when we go, people will know what I've done just by looking at me." She tapped the most recent tattoo on her face. But the Sol, our 'queen and princesses', they know everything. They know my purpose and yours. We would have to seek audience to explain and I would need to gain a temporary leave to travel Azurei without being harassed. That won't mean people will treat me well, but I won't be challenged to a duel or assassinated in the street." she smirked, though it didn't sound like she was joking. "I have connections in the Sol's palace. He--" she swallowed hard. "They can escort us safely until I am given amnesty."
That would be a hard trip, bittersweet, but she would do it when the time came. This task was all she had left and nothing would stand in her way once she had determined to go.
Ridahne was quick to understand the implications of everything Darin said. There was no telling when the task would be accomplished, and no telling how far they had to travel in order to see it done. And, Ridahne knew, that would mean going back home. That was a small hitch, but not anything that couldn't be dealt with. But what made her stop and look up at the woman, studying her carefully with those piercing eyes was her insistence that she not treat her differently. Ridahne examined her for a long, long time without saying much. Just looking. Watching. Thinking.
"I unnerved you with the 'Ri'atal' thing, didn't I?" Her tone was uncharacteristically soft, understanding. It seemed incongruous that someone so fierce, so prickly and aloof could be so gentle and sympathetic and yet she was. "I have no illusions that you are...any more than you seem. You're a farmer. You desperately need riding lessons--and, by the way, I think it's good Talbot is coming. He will serve you well, and Tsura could not carry us both for long. You can't defend yourself all that well and we both know you need to. You're inexperienced in a lot of ways, Martin, and this world is too cruel and it will consume you if you aren't careful. We have work to do. But that doesn't negate what you are. You can avoid it all you like, downplay it all you want. But it doesn't change the fact. And that fact doesn't make you a great warrior or a skilled ranger. It doesn't make you intelligent either. If it did, you wouldn't need someone like me. I wouldn't have been sent here at all. But I assume you were not randomly chosen. You didn't find it on the roadside, it was given to you. Specifically you. And that isn't nothing. Understand that Ri'atal," she said, using the term as something of a code, "and the naive farmer you are are not different things. You are both. The fact remains that there is a job to be done and you are responsible for seeing it done. Not me, not anyone else. You." She poked one long, slim finger into her sternum gently. That gesture might have been seen as forward or aggressive in these parts, but commonplace where she was from. "I am only here to aid you where I can."
Ridahne took a moment, gathering her own thoughts while letting her words sink in. Finally she looked away, staring at some point on the opposite wall. "I understand the risks and implications. Realize that I have nowhere to be and not much to return to when this is over, so I'm in no rush. I only want to fulfill my own purpose and give worth to a hundred years of empty deeds and mistakes. I'm not entirely welcome in Azurei...If you take me with you, I will tell you what brought me here." She looked down, growing quiet. "You have a right to know but...just...I ask that you give me time. It's not something I want to speak of. But know only that I traded one wrongdoing for a greater good. That said..." she sighed. "Azurei does not see it that way. Especially those that don't know the full story. If--when we go, people will know what I've done just by looking at me." She tapped the most recent tattoo on her face. But the Sol, our 'queen and princesses', they know everything. They know my purpose and yours. We would have to seek audience to explain and I would need to gain a temporary leave to travel Azurei without being harassed. That won't mean people will treat me well, but I won't be challenged to a duel or assassinated in the street." she smirked, though it didn't sound like she was joking. "I have connections in the Sol's palace. He--" she swallowed hard. "They can escort us safely until I am given amnesty."
That would be a hard trip, bittersweet, but she would do it when the time came. This task was all she had left and nothing would stand in her way once she had determined to go.
By the time Darin returned, Ridahne was up and eating breakfast downstairs in the common room. Fresh eggs, rashes of bacon, and an apple with a mild white cheese. Delicious, but Ridahne found herself missing teruk, a curry-spice that found its way into a lot of Azurei cooking. The spice itself wasn't hot, though most things with it usually were, and she found northern cuisine to be bland in comparison. Not that it wasn't good, and she had grown very very fond of apple pie when she could get it, but it wasn't what she'd grown up on and therefore could never quite be 'comfort food'.
"Yes, but have you even seen him before? Any of them?"
The blacksmith's apprentice, who had heard from his teacher all about what this elf woman had done the evening before, shook his head timidly. He was a quiet lad and not one prone to violence despite his tree-like build. She still had on her traditional Azurian clothing, not her traveling clothes, and her knives were still visible. He could only see the harness from where he sat, but he eyed it with all the same fear as if she'd flashed the blade itself in front of his face. "Ain't seen nobody with tattoos on the face or head come through here...er...um...besides you and that bald fella that you...uh..." He didn't finish that.
"Any idea where that practice comes from? There can't be that many cultures out there that tattoo the face." At his blank stare she prodded, "Nothing? Not even a guess?"
She wasn't being harsh but that did nothing to allay his fear of her. He kept thinking that she was some spirit of death, some mystical being with horrible, terrible powers of death and destruction. It wasn't because she'd killed three brigands in just moments and came out without a scratch. No, there was something about her that almost reeked of death. It was not a physical sense, just something he felt he knew as he looked into those amber-gold eyes. And so relaxed about it too...
He shook his head, slowly at first and then more vigorously. "I...I'm sorry, I just pump the bellows and help Gareth work the forge, I--" She held up a silencing hand and he clamped his mouth shut.
"That's alright er...Damien? I was just curious. Thank you."
The lad nodded again, stood up a little awkwardly and scurried off to the other side of the bar looking like he'd escaped his own death, though he looked back at her like that death was seated on a barstool in the form of an elf woman.
Ridahne saw Darin enter. "Ah, Martin. Good morning. Sit, have some breakfast. How is your shoulder feeling? And...have you given thought to my offer?" She was curious but didn't appear anxious about the question, about her fate. Truthfully, she didn't worry herself over it too much because she honestly wasn't sure how she felt about everything. Best to let fate take its course then, she'd thought. She didn't particularly want to be executed, but some beaten down part of her wondered what else she had going for her, and whether it wouldn't just be better to let her struggle end with as much dignity as she still had left. And yet, looking at Darin, Ridahne felt like she had things to do still. She might feel differently if Darin was in the care of another warrior, someone capable and determined and not easily swayed. But this human girl was alone, and Ridahne had just seen what kinds of things she was up against. She couldn't abandon her to that fate and secretly felt a flash of guilt for even thinking of her own end at a time like this.
"Yes, but have you even seen him before? Any of them?"
The blacksmith's apprentice, who had heard from his teacher all about what this elf woman had done the evening before, shook his head timidly. He was a quiet lad and not one prone to violence despite his tree-like build. She still had on her traditional Azurian clothing, not her traveling clothes, and her knives were still visible. He could only see the harness from where he sat, but he eyed it with all the same fear as if she'd flashed the blade itself in front of his face. "Ain't seen nobody with tattoos on the face or head come through here...er...um...besides you and that bald fella that you...uh..." He didn't finish that.
"Any idea where that practice comes from? There can't be that many cultures out there that tattoo the face." At his blank stare she prodded, "Nothing? Not even a guess?"
She wasn't being harsh but that did nothing to allay his fear of her. He kept thinking that she was some spirit of death, some mystical being with horrible, terrible powers of death and destruction. It wasn't because she'd killed three brigands in just moments and came out without a scratch. No, there was something about her that almost reeked of death. It was not a physical sense, just something he felt he knew as he looked into those amber-gold eyes. And so relaxed about it too...
He shook his head, slowly at first and then more vigorously. "I...I'm sorry, I just pump the bellows and help Gareth work the forge, I--" She held up a silencing hand and he clamped his mouth shut.
"That's alright er...Damien? I was just curious. Thank you."
The lad nodded again, stood up a little awkwardly and scurried off to the other side of the bar looking like he'd escaped his own death, though he looked back at her like that death was seated on a barstool in the form of an elf woman.
Ridahne saw Darin enter. "Ah, Martin. Good morning. Sit, have some breakfast. How is your shoulder feeling? And...have you given thought to my offer?" She was curious but didn't appear anxious about the question, about her fate. Truthfully, she didn't worry herself over it too much because she honestly wasn't sure how she felt about everything. Best to let fate take its course then, she'd thought. She didn't particularly want to be executed, but some beaten down part of her wondered what else she had going for her, and whether it wouldn't just be better to let her struggle end with as much dignity as she still had left. And yet, looking at Darin, Ridahne felt like she had things to do still. She might feel differently if Darin was in the care of another warrior, someone capable and determined and not easily swayed. But this human girl was alone, and Ridahne had just seen what kinds of things she was up against. She couldn't abandon her to that fate and secretly felt a flash of guilt for even thinking of her own end at a time like this.
Berlin looked up with his stormy eyes at Wheel, studying his expression for a moment before looking wordlessly back down at Rohaan. The lad knew that look and quickly shuffled stiffly away to perch himself on the barrel Pieter was sitting on, though the lad turned into a little black cat that shoved his little head under Pieter's calloused hand to demand pets. Rohaan was never particularly good at articulating feelings and verbal affection was no exception. He did, however, have other ways of showing he liked someone's company, and it came out in different ways with different people. He liked to share silence with Pieter, though he did occasionally ask for old legends or for some of his own sea-tales, knot-tying lessons, or to ask him about the patterns of the stars and how to use them to navigate.
Berlin watched Rohaan go and, when the two were alone, the captain inclined his head. "Yes, Wheel?" Whether it was obvious to all or just some character of Berlin's innate magic, the captain could see the berserker was a little more tense and knew the curse was dogging him, gnawing at him. Berlin had educated himself a bit about the berserker curse either from written accounts of others or from asking Wheel directly. He had a vague, basic understanding of its effects, or at least enough to read Wheel when the curse was particularly restless in him. Berlin said nothing of this though, as was his way. He just silently watched and listened.
--
Uban chuckled and listened to Hana's idea. It was a good one. A wild, mischievous grin spread on his lips without really meaning to; he always got excited about trying new things with his lightning. He plucked one of the balls from her hand, turning it over a few times before experimentally tossing it a foot or two in the air and letting a thin little tendril of purple-blue lightning leap up towards it. Like the medallion from their practice, he could feel the object as though he could reach out with his mind and 'touch' it. Another toss--higher this time--and another jet of lighting, and as he caught the ball again, his green eyes seemed to have a slightly lighter, more yellowish hue though they hadn't turned completely.
"I think this could work. I mean, in theory. I've obviously never done it and I don't know how fast I can be. But let's say chasing a fired ball doesn't work, say it is too fast. If I'm the one holding the gun then the answer is easy, I just electrify the pistol and then fire. But if I'm on an enemy ship, say, or up aloft, and Pieter's the one holding the gun, then he runs the risk of getting zapped. Unless we made new handles with--wait! Hana, you did something that protected you from it when we practiced, a mark or something. Can Pieter do that before a battle?" He grinned toothily. "But I wanna try the first way though. Here, let me see that pistol..."
Uban took the weapon and, after rubbing the ball between his fingers for good measure as if to 'feel' it more strongly, he loaded it, cocked it, and fired straight up. With his right hand he sent a melon sized ball of lighting after the bullet, turning his eyes full golden. The lighting moved blindingly fast, almost like natural storm lighting, to seek its enchanted target. It found it with perfect accuracy and faster than Uban ever thought possible, and at his unspoken command the energy lingered around the ball as it streaked upward, arced a little, and then plummeted back down. Both ball and lighting struck the ocean's surface with a steaming pop, then both were gone.
Uban was laughing. "That...that was amazing. I've never seen it go that fast. Not even when we were practicing--then it just kinda, like, streaked across instead of literally jumping to it." And then Uban realized in a flash it had done so now because he had wanted it to. He looked down at his hands with a new appreciation. Just how much control did he really have...? "The only thing is though, with that way, I've got to be ready for it. If Pieter fired off a shot, I'd have to be watching him and wait for a given signal or else I'd miss it. So maybe you give him that enchantment to protect him and I try the method where I pre-zap it?"
He wondered with a surge of wild glee just how much lightning he could infuse a ball with at one time. She could enchant the cannonballs too, now that he was thinking about it. And if water conducted, what kind of damage could he do if they could ensure the deck of an enemy ship was thoroughly wet? Would he need a puddle? Or would soaked wood suffice? He didn't know, but he wanted to and his anticipation seemed to be boiling over. He got that way when he summoned lighting. Physically more drained the more he used it, perhaps, but was otherwise invigorated. A little more enthusiastic, a little more eager, a little more jubilant. It made him feel incredible like a jolt of adrenaline, and like he was tapping into something outside himself and yet a part of himself at the same time.
Berlin watched Rohaan go and, when the two were alone, the captain inclined his head. "Yes, Wheel?" Whether it was obvious to all or just some character of Berlin's innate magic, the captain could see the berserker was a little more tense and knew the curse was dogging him, gnawing at him. Berlin had educated himself a bit about the berserker curse either from written accounts of others or from asking Wheel directly. He had a vague, basic understanding of its effects, or at least enough to read Wheel when the curse was particularly restless in him. Berlin said nothing of this though, as was his way. He just silently watched and listened.
--
Uban chuckled and listened to Hana's idea. It was a good one. A wild, mischievous grin spread on his lips without really meaning to; he always got excited about trying new things with his lightning. He plucked one of the balls from her hand, turning it over a few times before experimentally tossing it a foot or two in the air and letting a thin little tendril of purple-blue lightning leap up towards it. Like the medallion from their practice, he could feel the object as though he could reach out with his mind and 'touch' it. Another toss--higher this time--and another jet of lighting, and as he caught the ball again, his green eyes seemed to have a slightly lighter, more yellowish hue though they hadn't turned completely.
"I think this could work. I mean, in theory. I've obviously never done it and I don't know how fast I can be. But let's say chasing a fired ball doesn't work, say it is too fast. If I'm the one holding the gun then the answer is easy, I just electrify the pistol and then fire. But if I'm on an enemy ship, say, or up aloft, and Pieter's the one holding the gun, then he runs the risk of getting zapped. Unless we made new handles with--wait! Hana, you did something that protected you from it when we practiced, a mark or something. Can Pieter do that before a battle?" He grinned toothily. "But I wanna try the first way though. Here, let me see that pistol..."
Uban took the weapon and, after rubbing the ball between his fingers for good measure as if to 'feel' it more strongly, he loaded it, cocked it, and fired straight up. With his right hand he sent a melon sized ball of lighting after the bullet, turning his eyes full golden. The lighting moved blindingly fast, almost like natural storm lighting, to seek its enchanted target. It found it with perfect accuracy and faster than Uban ever thought possible, and at his unspoken command the energy lingered around the ball as it streaked upward, arced a little, and then plummeted back down. Both ball and lighting struck the ocean's surface with a steaming pop, then both were gone.
Uban was laughing. "That...that was amazing. I've never seen it go that fast. Not even when we were practicing--then it just kinda, like, streaked across instead of literally jumping to it." And then Uban realized in a flash it had done so now because he had wanted it to. He looked down at his hands with a new appreciation. Just how much control did he really have...? "The only thing is though, with that way, I've got to be ready for it. If Pieter fired off a shot, I'd have to be watching him and wait for a given signal or else I'd miss it. So maybe you give him that enchantment to protect him and I try the method where I pre-zap it?"
He wondered with a surge of wild glee just how much lightning he could infuse a ball with at one time. She could enchant the cannonballs too, now that he was thinking about it. And if water conducted, what kind of damage could he do if they could ensure the deck of an enemy ship was thoroughly wet? Would he need a puddle? Or would soaked wood suffice? He didn't know, but he wanted to and his anticipation seemed to be boiling over. He got that way when he summoned lighting. Physically more drained the more he used it, perhaps, but was otherwise invigorated. A little more enthusiastic, a little more eager, a little more jubilant. It made him feel incredible like a jolt of adrenaline, and like he was tapping into something outside himself and yet a part of himself at the same time.
The whiskey did exactly what it was supposed to. Darin wasn’t terribly aware during the procedure, though that meant she didn’t squirm, twitch, or protest as Ridahne stitched her back together. She was good with a needle. She did alright with cloth and leather, but skin? What she did with it and a needle was nothing short of poetry. She’d been tattooing for decades and it was only a short hop to stitching flesh. Her hands were steady, careful, accurate, and she did not hesitate. Every once and a while Ridahne stopped to look at Darin and make sure she was conscious (or mostly conscious anyway) though she didn’t have much reason to worry. When she was finished, the elf took a little wooden jar from her pack and, dipping her fingers into the sweet-smelling amber-green goop inside, she smeared some liberally on the wound before wrapping it in clean linen. She cleaned up, leaving the jar out on the floor by the fire, and settled Darin into the bed and under the covers. “There,” she said. “Good as new. That salve will keep the wound from getting infected. As long as you don’t pull out my stitches, you’ll heal up in no time. Rest now. You look like you need it.”
Eventually, when the room was silent except the crackle of fire, and except for Darin’s very unaware form, Ridahne was alone. It was the first time she had been alone since she’d met Darin, and she had a quiet moment to reflect. The Gardener. She’d actually found her. After months of false hope and disappointment, Ridahne found her. What had felt like exile now had a purpose again, a reason. She could see the hope of redemption within her grasp and a few tears actually escaped her honey eyes from all the swirling emotion inside her. She could go home, she could see Hadian and his new wife. She’d be there when they had children. She could never be an Eija again but she could take up the family tradition of fishing, or she could try and apprentice under a master tattooer. She had a good hand. She could see Ajoran again. They could—
No. No, he would be better off without her. He had his career to think of, his reputation, his whole life. She would not be the one to to drag him down. Though she would be pardoned and allowed to have citizenship again if she succeeded in protecting Darin, what she had done could never be forgiven or forgotten. High treason was not so lightly thrown aside and she would never be seen the same again. Not with her Ojih declaring what she had done. It didn’t matter if it was paired with a redemption mark. The original was still there and always would be. Ridahne was probably the most hated person in all of Azurei at the moment. How could she ever go home, no matter what good she did? She could practically feel the hope sliding through her fingers like cold sand. Whoosh. Gone. No, no matter what her vision had told her, there was no redeeming herself now. If only people understood WHY she’d done it. If only…
Silently, Ridahne took out a wooden box from her pack—her tattoo kit. It was ornately decorated and carved, and it’s contents were clean, orderly, and well kept. And with a single bone needle she stretched out her right leg and began to continue an unfinished design that she began four months ago at the start of her journey. She would add to it for as long as this chapter of her life wound on, bit by bit, one tiny dot at a time. Ridahne always enjoyed tattooing when her mind was mired in confusing or difficult emotions. The pain helped clear her mind, drawing her focus into her work and the sensation of the bone needle getting poked in once, twice, ten times, twenty, fifty. And the act of creating something, doing something beautiful and worthwhile made her feel just a little less grim.
In the dark, silent hours of the night she stopped, smearing it with the same balm she’d given Darin. It was made mostly of honey, which did wonders to fight away infection, and the herbs and oils added to the mixture only improved it. The fragrance it gave off was sweet, pungent, and somewhat floral. It was the scent of her childhood. From treating cuts and scrapes to caring for her first Ojih tattoo, it had always been a part of her life and somehow made her think fondly of her mother.
She did sleep eventually, though she always had a light ear and woke a few times to drunken footsteps in the hall outside, though the night remained uneventful. When Darin awoke, she would find Ridahne on the floor under a blanket, sleeping on her stomach with her kinked hair down and spilling across her neck and face. Ridahne had learned long ago to sleep on her stomach, as it was easier and more comfortable when wearing a knife harness. There had been a time where she didn’t sleep armed, but that was before she was trained and after that she just felt naked without them. It wasn’t even so much that she felt unsafe, especially when she still lived in Azurei. It was just that she was so used to having them on her at all times that they did become a part of her. That was the key to Azurei blade training—familiarity.
Eventually, when the room was silent except the crackle of fire, and except for Darin’s very unaware form, Ridahne was alone. It was the first time she had been alone since she’d met Darin, and she had a quiet moment to reflect. The Gardener. She’d actually found her. After months of false hope and disappointment, Ridahne found her. What had felt like exile now had a purpose again, a reason. She could see the hope of redemption within her grasp and a few tears actually escaped her honey eyes from all the swirling emotion inside her. She could go home, she could see Hadian and his new wife. She’d be there when they had children. She could never be an Eija again but she could take up the family tradition of fishing, or she could try and apprentice under a master tattooer. She had a good hand. She could see Ajoran again. They could—
No. No, he would be better off without her. He had his career to think of, his reputation, his whole life. She would not be the one to to drag him down. Though she would be pardoned and allowed to have citizenship again if she succeeded in protecting Darin, what she had done could never be forgiven or forgotten. High treason was not so lightly thrown aside and she would never be seen the same again. Not with her Ojih declaring what she had done. It didn’t matter if it was paired with a redemption mark. The original was still there and always would be. Ridahne was probably the most hated person in all of Azurei at the moment. How could she ever go home, no matter what good she did? She could practically feel the hope sliding through her fingers like cold sand. Whoosh. Gone. No, no matter what her vision had told her, there was no redeeming herself now. If only people understood WHY she’d done it. If only…
Silently, Ridahne took out a wooden box from her pack—her tattoo kit. It was ornately decorated and carved, and it’s contents were clean, orderly, and well kept. And with a single bone needle she stretched out her right leg and began to continue an unfinished design that she began four months ago at the start of her journey. She would add to it for as long as this chapter of her life wound on, bit by bit, one tiny dot at a time. Ridahne always enjoyed tattooing when her mind was mired in confusing or difficult emotions. The pain helped clear her mind, drawing her focus into her work and the sensation of the bone needle getting poked in once, twice, ten times, twenty, fifty. And the act of creating something, doing something beautiful and worthwhile made her feel just a little less grim.
In the dark, silent hours of the night she stopped, smearing it with the same balm she’d given Darin. It was made mostly of honey, which did wonders to fight away infection, and the herbs and oils added to the mixture only improved it. The fragrance it gave off was sweet, pungent, and somewhat floral. It was the scent of her childhood. From treating cuts and scrapes to caring for her first Ojih tattoo, it had always been a part of her life and somehow made her think fondly of her mother.
She did sleep eventually, though she always had a light ear and woke a few times to drunken footsteps in the hall outside, though the night remained uneventful. When Darin awoke, she would find Ridahne on the floor under a blanket, sleeping on her stomach with her kinked hair down and spilling across her neck and face. Ridahne had learned long ago to sleep on her stomach, as it was easier and more comfortable when wearing a knife harness. There had been a time where she didn’t sleep armed, but that was before she was trained and after that she just felt naked without them. It wasn’t even so much that she felt unsafe, especially when she still lived in Azurei. It was just that she was so used to having them on her at all times that they did become a part of her. That was the key to Azurei blade training—familiarity.
Ridahne gave a casual turn towards the door when it opened. “Ah, Martin, there—damn...”
The girl didn’t look good. Ridahne had been so caught up in everything, so elated that she’d actually found the Gardener, so busy trying to talk down the locals that she’d forgotten about Darin’s arrow wound. There was a lot of blood. The human sat beside her and Ridahne immediately rose to inspect the wound with her experienced eye. She’d seen a lot of wounds in her time, both from weaponry and from accidents or wild beasts. She used to rescue ignorant travelers from the Dust Sea, the vast expanse of barren, shifting dunes that made up a strong majority of Azurei’s landmass.
The wound was superficial but still deep enough to be a concern for bleeding and infection. It was a clean slice and that would help in stitching it back up. “Ai lad, I’m sorry! I got distracted and forgot you were hurt...and it’s worse than I initially thought...” Ridahne was about to instruct her to get up and follow her upstairs but Darin’s head thunked against the bar. Was she always that pale?
“Barman, bring whiskey upstairs. And hot water.”
“Whiskey..?”
Ridahne gave a dry smile. “Don’t have a sleeping elixir, do I?” With that, the tall elf took Darin’s good arm, hung it over her own shoulder and hoisted the woman up onto her back like an over-long pack. She hauled Darin up the stairs and into the little room she was renting, laying her near the low burning fire. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m good at this.”
The barman came up a moment later with a bucket of steaming water, some clean linen rags, and a hefty glass of whiskey. Ridahne thanked him but shooed him away, latching the door shut behind him. Now alone, Ridahne began her work.
“Your secrets are safe with me. All of them. Here, take a big gulp.” She helped her lift her head and proffered the glass of whiskey. “I’m assuming you’re not the liquor sort, but I need you to empty the glass. Can’t have you squirming on me when I stitch you up.”
Ridahne bathed the wound in hot water, wiping it clean to get a better look. “I hear scars on young men are dashing,” she teased. “I can probably do the stitching with your shirt on, there’s enough of a hole in it now, but it will be easier if I don’t have to maneuver around it and you’ll need to wash and mend it anyway. The door is locked, so nobody will come barging in. And if they come through the window they’ll have me to answer to.” She smiled. It was a joke mostly, though she did mean it. Ridahne pulled a blanket from the bed and offered it to her.
The girl didn’t look good. Ridahne had been so caught up in everything, so elated that she’d actually found the Gardener, so busy trying to talk down the locals that she’d forgotten about Darin’s arrow wound. There was a lot of blood. The human sat beside her and Ridahne immediately rose to inspect the wound with her experienced eye. She’d seen a lot of wounds in her time, both from weaponry and from accidents or wild beasts. She used to rescue ignorant travelers from the Dust Sea, the vast expanse of barren, shifting dunes that made up a strong majority of Azurei’s landmass.
The wound was superficial but still deep enough to be a concern for bleeding and infection. It was a clean slice and that would help in stitching it back up. “Ai lad, I’m sorry! I got distracted and forgot you were hurt...and it’s worse than I initially thought...” Ridahne was about to instruct her to get up and follow her upstairs but Darin’s head thunked against the bar. Was she always that pale?
“Barman, bring whiskey upstairs. And hot water.”
“Whiskey..?”
Ridahne gave a dry smile. “Don’t have a sleeping elixir, do I?” With that, the tall elf took Darin’s good arm, hung it over her own shoulder and hoisted the woman up onto her back like an over-long pack. She hauled Darin up the stairs and into the little room she was renting, laying her near the low burning fire. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m good at this.”
The barman came up a moment later with a bucket of steaming water, some clean linen rags, and a hefty glass of whiskey. Ridahne thanked him but shooed him away, latching the door shut behind him. Now alone, Ridahne began her work.
“Your secrets are safe with me. All of them. Here, take a big gulp.” She helped her lift her head and proffered the glass of whiskey. “I’m assuming you’re not the liquor sort, but I need you to empty the glass. Can’t have you squirming on me when I stitch you up.”
Ridahne bathed the wound in hot water, wiping it clean to get a better look. “I hear scars on young men are dashing,” she teased. “I can probably do the stitching with your shirt on, there’s enough of a hole in it now, but it will be easier if I don’t have to maneuver around it and you’ll need to wash and mend it anyway. The door is locked, so nobody will come barging in. And if they come through the window they’ll have me to answer to.” She smiled. It was a joke mostly, though she did mean it. Ridahne pulled a blanket from the bed and offered it to her.
The bodies were hauled out back by the time Ridahne returned to the inn and she guessed someone was out digging them graves. That was good—she didn’t feel like digging herself, but she would help in the scrubbing effort. She had words with the Barman and tried to explain as best she could what had actually happened without revealing anything important. He eventually came to an understanding and let her stay in the inn, though he was clearly terrified by this dark, tall woman, her skin inked and bloodied. Who wasn’t? Ridahne was elegant, yes, but she had never been delicate and instead always had an intensity about her. It was one of the reasons she was scouted out and chosen to study the blade. It was either that or she would remain a fisher like the rest of her family, like Hadian still was. Would her life have been easier if she’d spent it at sea...? Probably. She wouldn’t be here, and she would not have her most recent tattoo in her ojih. Didn’t really matter, she supposed.
Ridahne bathed. She took extra care to clean her face and afterwards used the water to launder her clothes, which she hung to dry. When she came back down to the tavern, she looked much less like a road-weathered wanderer and more like a native Azurei. Instead of the sleeveless shirt she wore a fitted blue half shirt finished with small bone beads on its hem like clinking tassels, though now that half her torso was bare the smooth, worn leather harness that housed her two knives nestled against her lower back was clearly visible. The harness was dark and sweat stained, blood stained, and had seen probably decades of use, but it fitted her perfectly and it moved with her as smoothly as a silk blouse. She also wore a skirt-like garment that hung about her knees, wrapping in a specific pattern through her legs and around her waist. Called an uri by her own people, it was a casual, versatile daring worn in different styles by both men and women. If she hadn’t looked exotic before. She did now. But it also didn’t take away from the air of danger about her, as the outfit showed her knives, more tattoos, and many scars.
Ridahne took a bucket and brush and aided in the cleaning of the dark wood floors, pink suds rising between the bristles of the brush. When the wood was cleaned, she helped dry it with some old ratty towels before taking a seat at the bar and ordering wine this time. What she’d said to Darin about not bearing blades while intoxicated was true—to do so was dishonorable. But despite her lithe frame, Ridahne was no lightweight and could comfortably have a few before needing to disarm herself.
The barman was uncomfortable but avoiding her made him feel more so, so the man timidly tried to make conversation. “So...Azurei, right?”
“Aye.” Her voice was cool and impassive.
“Do you all have tattoos like that..?”
“Except young children, yes.”
“The ones on your face are important, right? Supposed to mean something?” When she nodded into her cup, he asked, “well like what?”
Ridahne sighed and asked, “do you have sex with many women?”
He blinked. “I....I don’t see how that’s any of your business!”
“It isn’t. And my ojih is not yours. If you can’t read it, then it’s not for you.” She said this matter of factly, keeping her tone measured. It wasn’t like the contents of her ojih were a secret to outsiders, it was more that, in a culture that displayed one’s life on their face for all to see and read, it was refreshing to have an opportunity to keep some things private. If she had been close to anyone, she might have answered more fully, though besides Darin, she had no personal connections with anyone outside of Azurei. Besides, she didn’t want to talk about her most recent mark.
It wasn’t like she regretted what she did. It needed doing, she told herself. So she did it. But that didn’t make her proud of what she’d done either. What would her father say if he’d been alive to hear of it? Her mother? Hadian didn’t talk about it, not directly, and for that Ridahne was grateful.
Ridahne bathed. She took extra care to clean her face and afterwards used the water to launder her clothes, which she hung to dry. When she came back down to the tavern, she looked much less like a road-weathered wanderer and more like a native Azurei. Instead of the sleeveless shirt she wore a fitted blue half shirt finished with small bone beads on its hem like clinking tassels, though now that half her torso was bare the smooth, worn leather harness that housed her two knives nestled against her lower back was clearly visible. The harness was dark and sweat stained, blood stained, and had seen probably decades of use, but it fitted her perfectly and it moved with her as smoothly as a silk blouse. She also wore a skirt-like garment that hung about her knees, wrapping in a specific pattern through her legs and around her waist. Called an uri by her own people, it was a casual, versatile daring worn in different styles by both men and women. If she hadn’t looked exotic before. She did now. But it also didn’t take away from the air of danger about her, as the outfit showed her knives, more tattoos, and many scars.
Ridahne took a bucket and brush and aided in the cleaning of the dark wood floors, pink suds rising between the bristles of the brush. When the wood was cleaned, she helped dry it with some old ratty towels before taking a seat at the bar and ordering wine this time. What she’d said to Darin about not bearing blades while intoxicated was true—to do so was dishonorable. But despite her lithe frame, Ridahne was no lightweight and could comfortably have a few before needing to disarm herself.
The barman was uncomfortable but avoiding her made him feel more so, so the man timidly tried to make conversation. “So...Azurei, right?”
“Aye.” Her voice was cool and impassive.
“Do you all have tattoos like that..?”
“Except young children, yes.”
“The ones on your face are important, right? Supposed to mean something?” When she nodded into her cup, he asked, “well like what?”
Ridahne sighed and asked, “do you have sex with many women?”
He blinked. “I....I don’t see how that’s any of your business!”
“It isn’t. And my ojih is not yours. If you can’t read it, then it’s not for you.” She said this matter of factly, keeping her tone measured. It wasn’t like the contents of her ojih were a secret to outsiders, it was more that, in a culture that displayed one’s life on their face for all to see and read, it was refreshing to have an opportunity to keep some things private. If she had been close to anyone, she might have answered more fully, though besides Darin, she had no personal connections with anyone outside of Azurei. Besides, she didn’t want to talk about her most recent mark.
It wasn’t like she regretted what she did. It needed doing, she told herself. So she did it. But that didn’t make her proud of what she’d done either. What would her father say if he’d been alive to hear of it? Her mother? Hadian didn’t talk about it, not directly, and for that Ridahne was grateful.
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