The New Yorker Member

Good to hear.

So where should I start? After you guys get into the city? I imagine I'll be meeting with the group which Gregory already has some level of familiarity.

*A collab between Raid & TNY* Esra pushes and pulls the Captain's body. Men keep on getting in the way with their rough hands and opposing ideas as to what's best for their leader. Perhaps men do know what's best for men, but right now, with the healing of the Captain's chest, who is the expert in such things? With two languages at her disposal, she doesn't know how to express what is happening. She acts instead and thinks that maybe Captain Sharkas' quarters were simply opulent and most captain's are rooms trashed like this. (One thinks the most ridiculous things at time where there is blood and life and death. When Othman begged for death, she thought about her favorite food that her mother made with dates that she can't get in Rabat.During Captain Sharkas's murder she felt phantom pains of Samy and Ahmad's delivery.) The sounds twist into Deena's cries as she teeths or Othman's laughters. Images wave between past and present and things that never were and things that might be. But the smells. Vomit and rotting wood and bitter burn of salt. Those press on her nose and makes her eyes water. She balls up fabric to place under the Captain so that he's reclining rather than laying flat and gestures to strange friend to lift him up. Allana turned the heavy iron handle to the door and stepped into the crowded room. She'd just been here, a cutlass brought to her throat one minute, firearm pointed at her the next, and here she was again after a hasty escape. The aftermath of her hostile actions had changed the room some how, and her experience in it had painted it with a different color. She let the door close behind her, and walked up to the center of the room; she leaned against the wooden table there and watched the movements of Esra and her motley crew. Epu helped lift his captain for the doctor and set him back down slowly. His hawkish visage turned from the bed to the woman dressed in black who'd so casually wandered in. It took him a moment to check his vocabulary, and moved to address her in Portuguese. "Keep your distance, wench." He said extending his hand. "but stay where I can see you. The Captain will see you when he awakens." Allana eyed her fingernails, flicked a fleck of dirt from under her minddle finger, then finally addressed Epu. "That will do, brute. You need not worry about me." Epu snorted dismissively, "That may be true, you did save his life. But, the origins of how you got here are dubious, indeed; we'll have everything sorted soon enough." Epu said over his shoulder. He looked at Esra, thought better about speaking to her since she seemed utterly intent and a tad nervous. Esra checks the Captain's pulse again to distract. She shivers as the woman speaks. How strange that Esra feels more comfortable in the presense of strange men rather than in that of her own sex. If on shore and before last night she might have considered something worrisom about this thought process. Now, it is natural. She makes eye contact with the Captain's friend and lifts her chin a bit higher. She's not sure what she means by it, if anything. It seems appropriate in this moment to show her preference for this man. Deena snores as she sleeps, her feet limp against Esra's back and hands clutched in her mother's knotted hair. She waves at some of the crew to leave, wanting to alleviate the pressure of worry from the room. But why listen to a woman with a balding spot? "He must sleep. Leave. Leave," Esra alternates between Berber and Arabic, hoping something had an inkling to what she meant. Weren't two hands clasped together resting against her cheek a universal gesture? Epu followed the woman's delicate movements with a childs eye, glistening in the light of a mothers warmth. He smiled when he understood what Esra was meaning. "Alright, everyone, move out, get some sleep. Leonard," Epu snapped his fingers at the man who was currently listening for the faded breaths of his captain. The Englishman straightened out from leaning over the bed and took a look around. "Get everyone below deck." Epu said casually. Leonard nodded and turned around, waving everyone away from the room. Epu fetched a nearby, overturned chair and set it right side up next to Esra. "Sit," he said in Mapuche, the tongue of his tribe. It was soft and deep. He was as gentle as he could be. Then he moved on, walked about a bit to the front of the room, played with a tiny compass on a nightstand, then turned to the rest of the room. The witch, Esra, the Captain, and Epu, were the only one's left. He folded his brawny, scarred arms over his chest, eyed Allana. Esra decides she doesn't trust this colored man with his pecular shaved head, but she'll won't waste his kindness. Unhooking Deena from her back, Esra settles into the seat, sighing as her clothing settles around her body. The Captain's hair is matted and needs washed and she thinks of the oils in Rabat her mother-in-law used to brush out Esra's hair on her wedding night. She smell of Jasmine makes her sick to this day. "What is your name?" he asked bluntly, with a bit of caution nonetheless. "Allana," she responded. "And yours?" "Epunamun. This is Esra, I believe that's her name, anyway. That's what the Captain told me." "Charmed." Allana responded back with a curt smile. "So, how did you get here?" Epu asked, sitting on a low dresser. "Well..." Allana started with a chuckle, folded a lock of hair behind her ear. "She was here to kill me." a voice said from the ignored section of the room. Emillio was sat upright against the bedpost. "Or to sabotoge us at the very least." Esra watches the stiff movements of the Captain. Stiff yes, but not compensating, not twitching in pain. Fatigue, yes, an expected symptom. It is like watching a rusted wheel being greased as it gain momentum. She lifts Deena's head to her lips so that she can block out the smell of the vomit. "Nothing like that," Allana scoffed. "Really?" Emillio asked with a lifted eyebrow. "Well, sort of-- in a way like that, I suppose. But, I've changed my mind. If the Harbinger is your enemy then we must be friends, must'nt we?" Emillio sat with his legs over the bed and looked around the room. Epu had a pistol holstered in his bandoleer. Emillio quickly lifted from the bed, strode across the length between them with exacting speed, extracted the weapon expertly, and pushed his friend as they separated so he couldn't stop his next movements. Quickly, and without hesitation, Emillio grabbed Allana into his grasp and held the pistol to her head. He was so fast, so unabashed and unassuming, Allana couldn't have seen it coming. She cursed herself for allowing this to happen a second time. "You should always let your enemy change his mind before changing yours." Emillio said with a shakiness. He was exhausted, but he could make his body work long enough to hold her. "I saved your life, what else do you need to trust me?!" Allana decried. *Lies, lies!* Emillio thought. Emillio knew that his life was no one else's to save, it didn't even belong to him anymore. He was changed in the caverns below Sintra castle, changed in such a way that no mortal could ever change him ever again. He knew that now, if he knew nothing at all. "I want answers, and not the damned half truths you tried to feed me last time!" He shouted at her as she recoiled from the hard metal to her head. "Like what?" She said quickly. "Were you working for Luna?" Emillio asked, his voice nearly cracking. "Yes." "Were you here to kill me?" "Not exactly." she said. Emillio pushed the pistol even further against her head, she winced. "The ship, I was to make sure this ship came under fire. Luna has a mercenary frigate lined up just outside the Iberian." She admitted calmly. Emillio glanced at Epu, who looked worryingly back at him. "Last question, do you know anything about the Harbinger?" he asked. Allana tilted her head, looked at the searching eyes of the Captain. She moved her head back into position, removed his arms from around her body. She could feel his desperation. He was lost, and she could provide some light. "Yes" she said with a smile. Emillio relented, dropped the pistol to his side, placed it on the table. He leaned on it so he wouldn't fall. "Do you know where these brigands are?" he asked. "I have an idea. I could find their exact position, as long as you're willing to trust me." Allana said with a newfound confidence. Emillio thought to himself, played over the events from only minutes before; what felt like days to him. She'd encapsulated him in something, protected him from the Harbingers blows, as far as he could tell. She had access to magics, something Emillio could not ignore. He would need to bind her, find some way to gain hand. He would need to speak to Mahmud, perhaps he knew some ritual for something like her. On that front, Emillio wondered if Gaspar could find out what Allana actually was. She was certainly not human, Emillio could sense that. The boy seemed smart, well cultured, he might be able to find something. With that in mind, Emillio admitting he could trust her now could become an advantage in and of itself. He would still watch her, still keep his sword arm strong and quick. "Don't." Esra says in Berber. After years of sitting in on negotiations between her husband and Captain Sharkas, the body language is undeniable. Whatever this woman and the Captain were bargining, he would undoubtly be the one to suffer the most losses. He already has. Deena keeps sleeping and Esra can't hold her daughter much longer. "Don't do it," she repeates, staring at the vomit instead of acknowledging the woman before her. Emillio's head whipped to Esra as she spoke. He couldn't understand her dialect. He spoke in a curt Arabic, "explain." Esra keeps her head down. She watches the movement of her daughter's eyes beneath her lids. "It's better to be alone than in poor company," she advices in her native tongue, looking up. "You explain to the people on this ship that the very monstrosoties that brought us together with heat and flame we are to use? Fight a monster with a monster and you'll only become the monster." She thinks about the types of deals that Captain Sharkas would make with slavers during the worst of hauls in a desperate attempt to keep his men appeased with the coin brought in from human flesh. Emillio softened at her words, they soaked into him like dew to supple cloth. He knew the truth in her statements, the pure logic. But it was a shame that she could not see the truth of it. There was no *'after'* to worry about. "A monster does not belie it's intentions. This one is hiding something, yet we have not come to what. For that she is more human than monster, and perhaps we have that to fear most of all." Emillio was thankful now for his father's tutelage. He was able to utter those words with the confidence they deserved, and he wondered whether that would serve. Saying such things meant little indeed. Only staunch vigalence and dexterous limbs could keep women like Allana in check; nothing more, nothing less. Esra smiles at Emillio with too much teeth to be pleasant. "Ah, yes, humans are indeed the worst." She looks at her daughter and wonders what horrible decisions she will make in the future. "Why are we here, Captain Emillio?" she asks, setting Deena down on the lavish bed and pushing away the blankets that threaten to entangle and smother her daughter. Looking at him she asks, "With ashes in our hair we climbed onto this boat with revenge and regrets as our main cargo, but what's left when the water wears that away? Run a ship with a handful of loyal hands and bribed backs?" She can't look at the woman, so Esra skips over her and looks at the American instead. Sharkas complained her gaze was too direct. Othman soothed her at night that her green eyes unnerve the Captain. Emillio thought about his answer, it was a serious imposition. He couldn't just answer with contrivances, she'd recognize them. He settled for the theme of the evening, coarseness. "I've never wanted anything more for myself, and I can't pretend to want anything differently now. Besides, the final deed is mine. Once the water has washed the ash from your hair, you and your children have a choice. I'm bonded to this path, forever. Thank you for everything. You should get to your children, I'll see you tomorrow." his final words were as soft as he could make them. Then Emillio shifted back to Allana. "You'll have your freedom, and you'll have your trust. But if I even sense one of your delicate fingers out of bounds I will cut it off. I will watch you. I hope you understand." He said finally, calmly leaning on a chair. Allana didn't understand anything the captain and his healer had said. She smiled when he spoke to her, she nodded and smacked her lips. "Yes, I dare say I do." She said with a certain amount of passion bubbling to the surface. There was a thin subsurface layer of seduction in her voice and the look she sent his way. "Do you?" she asked, topping it off. "I think I do" he responded with a knowing smirk. One which dissapated easily behind an air of smugness. "Go," Emillio said to Epu and Esra. When Allana tried to leave he stopped her by extending his hand. "You can stay here. We'll find a place for you tomorrow." He said as he began tiding the place up. "And bring a mop, please!" he called behind Epu. Esra covers Deena's head with her hand as she passes by the Monster. Although ship captain's might have different preferences to the state of their cabins, it seems as if all of them all lie to themselves. She looks back at the American and wonders if she should attempt thanks or a goodbye. Deciding against both, she seeks out her children to shepperd them below, resolute in keeping her family away from the folly of yet another Captain.

No one's biting on the Int Chk's?

*A collab between TNY & Peik* Hata'i watched as the captain's wounds started to close themselves. His gaze was lost in the mess made by shades of moving red and white. Unknown hands were grafting muscles and intestines back inside the wound, drips of blood sliding themselves back into the hole like retreating snakes. It all ended when two flaps of skin miraculously sewed themselves back over the tissue, and a moment later, the wound was all gone. It wasn't the impossibility of the event that caused Hata'i to lose himself in it, though - rather, it was the flow of color and matter. When you removed the context, the event itself looked quite aesthetic. Aesthetic indeed. "Well, that's something you don't see everyday." Hata'i paused. After a few seconds, he decided to reply. ''Would you believe me if I said I've seen this more than a few times?'' Allana folded her arms in front of her chest, her straight black hair waving around her smiling features. She let out an incredulous puff of air. This man seemed to be different than the others some how. Perhaps, Allana considered, she was wrong about him. She considered his clothing, his face, the texture of his hands, and his sweet, solemn eyes. "I suppose I would," she answered, amused. "You have the look of a man who knows all sorts of things men shouldn't know. I imagine it gets you into some trouble." The captain, held by several men, was whisked by as she spoke. She didn't give him or the men who carried him a second glance. He would be fine, Allana knew that clearly. He had an ancient blessing on him, something done and undone with the most esoteric of magics. Funny thing is, nothing he, the Harbinger, or any of the men around could have done would have changed the outcome. Emillio Cicatrise, as far as Allana was concerned, was destined for this adventure. And, perhaps most scarily, Allana thought as she looked at the people around her, and finally at Ahmed, their destiny was intertwined with his. Of course, all this could mean only one thing; those behind Emillio's actions, and those on the recieving end of them, were playing a sort of tug-of-war with the delicate fabric of time. Emillio, like so many other men before him, was only a tool for the enegmatic entities who played marionettists with Gods and Kings. It was all a smoke and mirror show, Allana knew that, but like any other jaded member of an audience she had no means of identifying any one part of that trick from another. Trouble. The words that came out of the witch's mouth echoed inside Hata'i's head - she was right, and despite the urge in him, he knew he could not deny that. His life was built around knowledge - learning it, enjoying it, or suffering from it. He was here because of it. His mind flashed into a trip in memory lane from the point he was right now - before he knew, he was once more fighting Qizilbash, running from Djinn, hunting abominations, or observing miracles. He was fifty six - at least thirty years of that was spent delving into matters man was not meant to know. He could've chosen a different, a much simpler life. He could've been living in a two-story house near the Hungarian neighborhood in Galata. Or he could've been a simple Mutafarriqa in service of a Pasha. But his pursuits had led him to the extremes, and here he was, hunting dragons. A blink of an eye, and there he was again, on the ship, next to a witch. But this path had rewarded him with the taste of truth. And that was infinitely more satisfying than anything else. ''Yes. Yes it does,'' Hata'i said with a slight smile on his face. As another Hata'i had said; ''I've a malady, yet I wouldn't trade it for a thousand cures.'' Allana took note of the smirk, the roguish connotations behind his reply. In some shape or form this man did not fit, he was a bit of an outcast, like herself. "Yes," she replied while unlatching strappings on her armor, allowing her to shed some of the heavier leather portions. "Well, I'm afraid you might already know, as I have learned, that you don't need to do much to get into trouble in this world. I figure, why try to avoid it?" She unstrapped bands along her arms which were magically imbued, they glowed with a faint aura before they were tucked into one of her belt pockets. "In some ways, you might be the same. A holy man with an expertise in magic. You had to know where that would lead you." she chuckled as she settled her pauldrens atop a crate behind her. She sat on the crate, and reached behind her, pulled out something wrapped in cloth. When she unfolded the cloth it revealed several small moist green balls. At a closer look, one may notice that they were made of some sort of leaf, wrapped around a rice-like substance. Allana plopped one into her mouth, chewed, and seemed to enjoy it. Indeed, it refreshed her, helped her calm, and provided a snack. She gestured her clothed hand to the man, offering a token of solidarity. Whatever it was [i]that[/i] was supposed to be worth. Hata'i watched as the witch unlatched parts of her armor and continued the conversation. She was right about avoiding trouble, Hata'i thought, though a part of his mind was stuck on her attire, as parts of her costume had a slight sheen to them. He was going to respond, but decided to wait for her to stop instead. Her comment about his profession leading him to things other people would avoid, he disagreed with - the thing that led him here was something completely different. It was not his profession, but rather, his boldness. He was the one to point out the elephant in the room, back in Istanbul. His profession was merely something that would amplify his opinion amongst the crowds - amongst the people of the East, a holy man was much more important than a well-read man. If he had kept silent about the problems and instead focused on trivial matters, Hata'i thought, he could even have been the Sheik-ul Islam. He turned his gaze towards the sea, and once more reaffirmed to himself that he liked this life better. ''You are right. Trouble can find you in this world. But it wasn't what I did that led me here - rather, it was who I am. I suppose you could say I was too bold.'' His gaze slid back to the witch when she offered him an odd, spherical object. Hata'i took it in his hand and watched the witch throw it inside her mouth. It was a rather odd piece of food, he thought to himself - though he remembered from an obscure Portuguese Jesuit travelogue that the people of Nifon ate such things. He sniffed it for a second and found the smell rather peculiar. ''What's in this?'' He asked, turning his head wholly to the witch. Allana turned her head up to the man in cloths, furrowed her brow a little and allowed way for a tiny smirk before turning back to the ground. "I've found it's best not to ask that question." Allana said flatly before wrapping the food up again in it's magical bindings. They would stay fresh for days-- weeks, if she could find salamander tongue. She stood, the weightlessness offered by the removal of her armor was comforting. This came with other implications as well. She would have to trust that Emillio would not find fault in her and see that she had tried to help him. She hoped her trust placed in him was not misguided. As she thought of that she turned her head to the cabin, shiffered in the night air. "Perhaps we should check on the captain." Allana walked around the crates to get a better look at the door and the thin blood still left on the floor. "I wouldn't want us stranded at sea. Or worse, see what happens when this raft looses it's leader." She recoiled from her own implications and thought it best not to even consider them for much longer. She headed for the door, the skirted portion of her clothing, black long cloth, flittered behind her in the dampening wind. ''Never eat what you don't know,'' Hata'i's father had taught him - he had taught a lot of other things too, but they hadn't stuck on for the last thirty-something years. But that one was good advice, admittedly. He had seen many people get sick and die of eating weird stuff, including a salamander which had hid itself in a grilled lamb to escape the flames of a campfire which had been fueled with log that was once its home. The man who had eaten the salamander was a very large fellow - and the bite he had taken from the lamb was also very large. They had went to sleep after the meal, and when Hata'i woke up, he had found him dead, with something wiggling in his throat. The fear he had felt after opening his mouth and seeing the black-orange creature try and pop out was still fresh. The witch had left to check on the captain's status - it was a good time to get rid of the weird thing in his hands. ''Nope,'' Hata'i thought to himself, and let it fall into the sea, and watched as it made a bubbly ripple by the ship's hull. Suddenly, the bubbling increased and something black and yellow came out, sticking itself on the hull. Hata'i saw a likeness to the salamander which had been swallowed by the strongman years back on the creature, though it looked much more like a frog. ''Tawba astaghfirullah,'' he thought to himself. ''Tawba astaghfirullah.''

> I am intimidated. I am never intimidated when it comes to the possibility of joining a RP. I feel ya.

Yeah, still here.

Agreed.

We can start that collab whenever you want Raid. Slap a start up on TP if you'd like. I was wondering what you thought would happen during that scene. Is it just to see what happens with Emilio and Esra? Because I think Peik and I are coming onto that in a paragraph or two.

I was thinking there could be some technique in creating an explosion with fire, that doesn't seem so far-fetched to me. I'm not really sure what the restrictions are, but I'd imagine fireballs are something elementalists could do. If thats the case, only one step further would be necessary to make an explosion, creating a volatile source of energy within that fireball. That might be out of an elementalists skill-set, which is fair, and that's why I asked.