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The Halberd, Flagship of the 9th Squadron, Sea of Jade
“Word of the Dodo’s Wail?â€
Commander Haelstyrmm was a man much fixated on his food, and he asked the question without glancing up from its preparations. While his supper fare was a task he entrusted to the galley, the breaking of his fast was his own doman. A particular sort, he made a point of ensuring that each piece of ship’s biscuit was carefully toasted, the bread turning black over a plate heated by fire crystals he brought specifically onto his ships. While it was a more common thing to soak tack in order to soften it, Haelstyrmm was of a mind to ensure that his morning meal was hard enough to crack an adamantoise shell. He watched the slow process of charring with an expression of intense interest, eyes not so much staring as fixed in place, light grey hands folded together at the edge of the small desk in his quarters and lit with the faintest orange hue as the crystals expunged their aether.
Torrael had long since given up trying to understand the process. Haelstyrmm was a man of peculiarities, but that was no surprise. Former pirates had their quirks. Executioners, moreso. “Aye, sir. Came in over pearl from the Bulwark Hall last evening.†She was hoping for a brief report and a return to duty. A staff officer ought to have attended to the commander’s needs rather than the ship’s captain, but he had long since dismissed his aide, preferring to rely on the captain herself for day-to-day reports. “My means to the men,†he called her. Something to do with preferring to be not to be too remote, perhaps. Again, quirks. She’d heard passing rumors that the commander of the 8th squadron believed himself to be pregnant with an aurochs. Compared to that, a bit of paperwork was a mild fate.
“Was any reason given?†Haelstyrmm wiped a bit of sweat away from a balding pate, his hair having long since succumbed to time and age save for the patch of it around his ears and the back of his neck and the graying strip around his chin.. It was a cool day with a good wind and just enough gloom in the sky to keep away Azeyma’s touch, but as close to the heat as he was, some perspiration was inevitable. He made no effort to lean away from the toaster. “Surely, it is not some mere status report.â€
“The request was vague, sir. Transcriber said it had much to do with a possible defection, but the source was suspect and wanted to confirm.†At the word “defection,†Torrael edged back a step, and lowered her head such that the bangs of her dark blue hair fell into her eyes enough to shield herself from the light of the plate and Haelstyrmm’s undivided attention.
“Defection? From the Wail? Surely not. Captain Aerstbhar is a good and loyal privateer with a long service.†Reaching for a set of small iron tongs, at his desk, he removed his plate from the crystals as the last of their aether died away, the two biscuits he afforded himself now more closely resembling a choice piece of coke stolen from a kobold’s furnace than a meal. “Nevertheless, we must a’course - pardon, of course retain order. A defection is a serious matter.â€
“Aye, sir. Anticipating your order, I’ve sent word to the other vessels to seek out the Wail’s colors and report back with any recorded sightings.†She straightened her back, taking care not to look too far down her nose at the commander - a difficult thing for Torrael, given the length of it, and the width and flatness of its bridge. “I expect reports within the bell.†That should very well have been the end of it - a return to her post and to the business of manning the ship.
“Well-anticipated, Captain.†Haelstyrmm plucked a piece of char from his plate, far too soon for it to have cooled. He did not seem to react. Torrael presumed his callouses were as thick as any other sailor’s, especially one who had risen through piratical ranks. “A terrible business. If there truly is a defection, well then.†Whatever the rest of his point, he did not make it, placing the biscuit between his teeth and biting down. The crack was sharp enough to pass for a pistol’s report. He swallowed. “Now, about this week’s muster for discipline?â€
Damn. Torrael kept her fists unclenched, though she gripped the side of her uniform sleeve’s collar in one hand. “Aye, sir. But one name. Forecastleman Eynabyl. Twelve lashes for striking an officer about the face.â€
The commander seemed surprised, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips. “Just about the face? Surely, twelve lashes is o’er - overmuch.â€
“A repeated assault, ser. In truth we should hold him until Vylbrand to convene a martial, but it was too blunt a thing - some argument about the quality of his sister between one of the Storm Sergeants and he.†The captain scowled, her lips seeming to stretch and fold into the set of scars along the side of her cheek. “Hyurs, captain. Asking the wrong kinds of question about Sea Wolves.â€
“Ah, you support the forecastleman’s actions.†Haelstyrmm allowed a teasing smirk. Torrael, against her better judgment, allowed herself to relax, and unclenched her sleeve.
“It was a rude set of things he said, sir. Still, we’re pirates no more. Have to set an example.â€
“Very true. We cannot afford a loss of order, especially if we seek mutineers.†Picking up his second biscuit, Haelstyrmm rolled the morsel between his fingers, leaving a little char on his flesh. “Six lashes, I think. More than fair.â€
Here it was, Torrael thought. That momentary note of hope which was, on occasion, rewarded. “Just six, sir?â€
“Yes, Captain. I shall be sure to wield the lash myself.†He set the biscuit between his teeth and bit, issuing another sharp crack. He swallowed once again. “Dismissed, Captain.â€
Saluting with enough sharp attention to please him, Torrael left the commander’s quarters, making a note to notify the ship’s doctor to be ready before the discipline muster.
“Word of the Dodo’s Wail?â€
Commander Haelstyrmm was a man much fixated on his food, and he asked the question without glancing up from its preparations. While his supper fare was a task he entrusted to the galley, the breaking of his fast was his own doman. A particular sort, he made a point of ensuring that each piece of ship’s biscuit was carefully toasted, the bread turning black over a plate heated by fire crystals he brought specifically onto his ships. While it was a more common thing to soak tack in order to soften it, Haelstyrmm was of a mind to ensure that his morning meal was hard enough to crack an adamantoise shell. He watched the slow process of charring with an expression of intense interest, eyes not so much staring as fixed in place, light grey hands folded together at the edge of the small desk in his quarters and lit with the faintest orange hue as the crystals expunged their aether.
Torrael had long since given up trying to understand the process. Haelstyrmm was a man of peculiarities, but that was no surprise. Former pirates had their quirks. Executioners, moreso. “Aye, sir. Came in over pearl from the Bulwark Hall last evening.†She was hoping for a brief report and a return to duty. A staff officer ought to have attended to the commander’s needs rather than the ship’s captain, but he had long since dismissed his aide, preferring to rely on the captain herself for day-to-day reports. “My means to the men,†he called her. Something to do with preferring to be not to be too remote, perhaps. Again, quirks. She’d heard passing rumors that the commander of the 8th squadron believed himself to be pregnant with an aurochs. Compared to that, a bit of paperwork was a mild fate.
“Was any reason given?†Haelstyrmm wiped a bit of sweat away from a balding pate, his hair having long since succumbed to time and age save for the patch of it around his ears and the back of his neck and the graying strip around his chin.. It was a cool day with a good wind and just enough gloom in the sky to keep away Azeyma’s touch, but as close to the heat as he was, some perspiration was inevitable. He made no effort to lean away from the toaster. “Surely, it is not some mere status report.â€
“The request was vague, sir. Transcriber said it had much to do with a possible defection, but the source was suspect and wanted to confirm.†At the word “defection,†Torrael edged back a step, and lowered her head such that the bangs of her dark blue hair fell into her eyes enough to shield herself from the light of the plate and Haelstyrmm’s undivided attention.
“Defection? From the Wail? Surely not. Captain Aerstbhar is a good and loyal privateer with a long service.†Reaching for a set of small iron tongs, at his desk, he removed his plate from the crystals as the last of their aether died away, the two biscuits he afforded himself now more closely resembling a choice piece of coke stolen from a kobold’s furnace than a meal. “Nevertheless, we must a’course - pardon, of course retain order. A defection is a serious matter.â€
“Aye, sir. Anticipating your order, I’ve sent word to the other vessels to seek out the Wail’s colors and report back with any recorded sightings.†She straightened her back, taking care not to look too far down her nose at the commander - a difficult thing for Torrael, given the length of it, and the width and flatness of its bridge. “I expect reports within the bell.†That should very well have been the end of it - a return to her post and to the business of manning the ship.
“Well-anticipated, Captain.†Haelstyrmm plucked a piece of char from his plate, far too soon for it to have cooled. He did not seem to react. Torrael presumed his callouses were as thick as any other sailor’s, especially one who had risen through piratical ranks. “A terrible business. If there truly is a defection, well then.†Whatever the rest of his point, he did not make it, placing the biscuit between his teeth and biting down. The crack was sharp enough to pass for a pistol’s report. He swallowed. “Now, about this week’s muster for discipline?â€
Damn. Torrael kept her fists unclenched, though she gripped the side of her uniform sleeve’s collar in one hand. “Aye, sir. But one name. Forecastleman Eynabyl. Twelve lashes for striking an officer about the face.â€
The commander seemed surprised, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips. “Just about the face? Surely, twelve lashes is o’er - overmuch.â€
“A repeated assault, ser. In truth we should hold him until Vylbrand to convene a martial, but it was too blunt a thing - some argument about the quality of his sister between one of the Storm Sergeants and he.†The captain scowled, her lips seeming to stretch and fold into the set of scars along the side of her cheek. “Hyurs, captain. Asking the wrong kinds of question about Sea Wolves.â€
“Ah, you support the forecastleman’s actions.†Haelstyrmm allowed a teasing smirk. Torrael, against her better judgment, allowed herself to relax, and unclenched her sleeve.
“It was a rude set of things he said, sir. Still, we’re pirates no more. Have to set an example.â€
“Very true. We cannot afford a loss of order, especially if we seek mutineers.†Picking up his second biscuit, Haelstyrmm rolled the morsel between his fingers, leaving a little char on his flesh. “Six lashes, I think. More than fair.â€
Here it was, Torrael thought. That momentary note of hope which was, on occasion, rewarded. “Just six, sir?â€
“Yes, Captain. I shall be sure to wield the lash myself.†He set the biscuit between his teeth and bit, issuing another sharp crack. He swallowed once again. “Dismissed, Captain.â€
Saluting with enough sharp attention to please him, Torrael left the commander’s quarters, making a note to notify the ship’s doctor to be ready before the discipline muster.
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Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine