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Sounsyy · **05-17-2015, 09:58 PM**

When Pamido Wolmido heard the knock from within, he turned and reached up to insert the heavy iron key into its lock. He had to stand on his toes as the lock sat just above eye level for the Lalafell. "Blasted thing," he muttered under his breath, finally able to open the room. He swung the door open inwards and gave a Storm salute to the group within.

"Mornin' Cargo, Master Gunner and 1st Cannoneer, Pamido Wolmido, at yer service. And might I say lad," he addressed Forty-three, "Yer lookin' fine sharp as a sawfish in them rags."

He looked over the other three for a moment while Forty-three rambled on about veils and metal bits and bobs. The Lalafellin marauder said nothing to compliment the others, but cleared his throat after Eighty-five had cut in. "Mm, yes, orders are to see to it yer fed well afore taking on yer duties aboard. Iffin yew lot follow me."

The Lalafell marched importantly along in front of the group towards the armory and then down into the Mess. His haubergeon clinked loudly as he moved along. Though dressed similarly to Berasaem, Pamido Wolmido's haubergeon differed greatly from the Roegadyn's simple Storm Private Haubergeon. His was polished black and adorned with a brilliant crimson sash befitting royalty, clasped with a golden broach and gilded shoulder plates. The bottom ringlets of the haubergeon's sleeves, collar, and skirt were also golden. The Lalafell's high leather boots were adorned with golden fish scales, similar to the leather uniform worn by Marjanie. Though Forty-three only received Pamido Wolmido's plainclothes, even they were expertly woven from the finest of silks and hides, and fitted true to form. This particular Plainfolk made it readily apparent that fashion and function were not always mutually exclusive.

But he was also a gruff looking Lalafell, possessing the scruff of what might grow into a full beard if allowed, brown in color with flecks of salty grey. For those who were not Lalafellin it may be more difficult to differentiate, but he was a man in his middle years. It was quickly becoming apparent that most of this crew were older veterans, faithful remnants of the old Thalassocracy. Each with their own glory days, stories, and deep sea of woes. In fact, the youngest member of the 8th Levy's crew appeared to be Marjanie, being a rather more elegant woman in her mid-twenties.

Though Pamido Wolmido had adjusted well to Lominsan life, it was apparent he had not yet forgotten the days when he was a pirate king of the Southern Isles. So he marched with that air of authority and never once feared of being stabbed in the back. At the bottom of the stairs, the middle-aged Lalafell skipped the last two stairs, hopping down to the floor, landing without so much as a waver. He pivoted and went into a deep bow, sweeping his arm out into the cavernous Mess Hall.

"This here's the Mess," he trumpeted, "Sit where yeh like but eat what yer given!"

The Lalafell seemed jovial enough, though his exclamation could just as easily be taken as a threat as it could his good humor. Perhaps too early to tell at this juncture. Those within the room turned to look at the guests arrival. Marjanie returned to her meal after catching sight of Ryanti's wave. Cwaenlona gave a short wave back to the young Miqo'te. Sounsyy just stared with a closed mouthful of egg puffing out one cheek. She finished chewing and swallowed before she chose to answer Ryanti.

"Yeh look... like a lot o' lost land-lubbers. At least none of yeh turned green yet," she said with a shrug. A few of the crew snickered. Sounsyy hopped off her stool and strolled over to Ryanti, giving him a critical look. She bit her lower lip for a moment before reaching out and pulling on the neckline of Ryanti's tunic, loosening the collar to show more of his chest and collarbones.

"Too proper," she chided, "Folk will think yer kin to Pamido Wolmido, but we can work wit this."

There was another collective laugh and the Lalafellin marauder gave another low bow. He piped up afterwards, "Ain't nothin' wrong with lookin' nobler than a noble grape upon the high seas, Cap'n!"

"Come eat," Sounsyy said after, ignoring Pamido Wolmido's retort. There were enough stools at the bar to sit, and additional tables if they decided to sit elsewhere in the room. Sounsyy took a few paces backwards and lowered herself gracefully into her stool. She grabbed her plate and held it above her lap with her left hand and ate as she watched the four of them. She continued after a mouthful, "I've been told our cook used all our stores fer the occasion. So do eat afore we starve the rest of our voyage."

"Susuroon thinks Captain is telling teasing teases," a hoarse, squeaking voice spoke from behind the counter. A Qiqirn clamored his way on top of the counter and held his arms out wide in welcome to the newcomers, "Susuroon gives most welcoming welcome to visiting visitors!"

The Qiqirn was dressed in a leather outfit, also similar to Marjanie's, though he had cut the sleeves so the black leather armor fit more like a vest. The shoulders were decorated with a waterfall of golden fish scales which cascaded down Susuroon's upper arms. He wore puffy black slops, but no boots, sleeves, or hood. His long ears were adorned with sparkly coins-turned-earrings, ranging from gil pieces to foreign mints unseen to these parts of the world. Clearly he had taken a leaf from Pamido Wolmido's book of fashion, but had not entirely grasped the concept of functionality that accompanied it. Susuroon's snout was shorter than the average Qiqirn and possessed a scar running vertically across the whiskers on his right side.

The Qiqirn beckoned them over excitedly, causing the fish scales and coin earrings to jingle madly. Cwaenlona ducked into the galley to the fore and returned with a cart laden with plates of food. Mostly egg dishes, quiche, omelettes, poached eggs, and eggs scrambled into a large pile. Each dish was accompanied by a variety of meat, either strips of dodo breast, turtle meat, or Lominsan anchovies and a hunk of bread or biscuit. Cwaenlona took waterskins from the cart and handed one to each of the four.

"Fresh water will soon go afoul," the Roegadyn explained, "We must drink it while we still can."
"And tasty eggs become less tasty eggs! This like Susuroon's outlook on living life. Spend days eatings eats before there is days of less eating."

"Aye!" A few of the crew cheered, the Lalafellin marauder included. Most of those in the room had returned to their meals by this point, eager to finish and begin their day or return to their bunks to sleep. Pamido Wolmido made his way over next to the group of three seated at the bar and pulled himself up on to one of the stools. Susuroon, once satisfied his guests were to be well fed scampered down to where the Lalafell sat and the two began chittering amicably to one another. Though every so often the Qiqirn would pass a quick glance across the room to see that his guests were enjoying their fare.

Sounsyy continued eating from her lap and surveying Ryanti and Jonathan strangely, as if the dream she had suffered was somehow their fault. Some color had returned to her cheeks since she began eating, but circles could just be made out from under her eyes. She finished off the last of her eggs and rested the plate down in her lap.

"I hope yeh all slept well this morn. I think I've settled on tasks where yeh could be made useful," she said to Sixteen. She examined each of the four briefly, an amused smirk playing across her face as she finalized their roles in her head.

"Forty-three, I could use a swab whats lower to the deck. Hard work, but needs doing. M'sizh Lohp will take care of yeh. Best pray yer friends don't catch sea sickness when we reach rougher waters in a few hours time. Eighty-five, ye'll be Powder Opo-opo fer Pamido Wolmido. He'll show you what needs doing when ye've eaten. Yeh can help Forty-three when he says yer shipshape. Seventy-seven, 'ope yer not afraid of heights. Ye'll be one of my riggers. P'welro and a length of good rope will be yer best friends by day's end. Which leaves Sixteen as meh Carpenter. Hull always needs maintenance and Cwaenlona could use the help. Any questions?"

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Ryanti · **05-18-2015, 08:15 PM**

Ryanti was able to differentiate Pamidoâ€™s wardrobe from that of the rest of the crew. His mind wandered about the importance of the middle aged man that had guided them to the mess hall. What facts he gained were that the people of this ship had many stories notched onto their belts. There were centuries of history to experience if all of their stories were combined into one life. He was especially eager to try to learn as much from them as he could. Not just about their lifestyles or any advice they could give, but to also learn more about this vast, all-encompassing world.

He had spent seventeen years of his life within a single compound, and another three within Ulâ€™Dahâ€™s city limits. His heart had yearned to find his own path among the vast open opportunities Eorzea provided. To make up for spending so much time alone by learning as much as he could as fast as he could. Were he to have had more time, he would have wanted to pick Pamidoâ€™s brain as well. But right now, his stomach ruled his thinking process.

Fortythree paused for a moment when he had made his statement of good humor with a dash of threat. â€œO-of course. Of course we will, yes!â€ He chimed with a happy smile. Jonathan raised an eyebrow at his compatriot, wondering to himself if he would ever be able to understand the relationship Lalafells had withâ€¦ other Lalafells.

Eightyfive gave herself a huge yawn, stretching her arms and being rather surprised along with Ryanti that anyone decided to wave back at him. He was grateful for that. At least one person decided to wave back. That was something.

He had thanked himself prior for being used to the â€˜outsiderâ€™ role. He had it when he was a child, when he was in the Barracks, and now made himself company among an entire group of them soâ€¦ this was no different, right?

The young man had glanced around him when Sounsyy casted her judgement. Was it really that bad? He thought he looked like a picture perfect sailor! Ah but what did he know about trying to look like something he just wasnâ€™t. Still though, it wasnâ€™t like he never wanted to know what it would feel like to be one. His sensitive ears picked up on the snickering, and he blinked in a rather surprised manner when he returned his gaze forward and found Sounsyy right up on him with that stare of hers.

â€œOhâ€¦ â€œ Ryanti murmured in realization when she placed her hands on his collar. Too proper. He had always been proper, and it was challenging not to be. He did not understand why so many despised it out in the open. To dress nice. To give his body some measure of dignity. He wondered if they would have thought the same about his choice of dress outside of the mission. Probably.

Ryanti hid his glance from Sounsyy as she made her adjustments. He was afraid what his expression would look like if he stared back at her being so close, especially after he remembered her face from the night before. Though his aquamarine eye did occasionally steal a glance.

His skin was pale, but not in a sickly way. It was his natural skin tone, betraying his familyâ€™s lineage from the North and East, as that was what he had inherited. His eyes brushed across the sight of the Lalafell bowing to another round of humor from the crew, knowing that they were getting a kick out of this. That, combined with the Captainâ€™s hands manipulating his neckline, made his ears tighten up a little. He had hoped that the blood would have rushed into his ears, instead of his cheeks.

Nice job, noble grape.

Eightyfive snickered in a rather evil manner at all this, being the first one to hop onto a bar stool four spaces down from the Captain after she gave them what would probably be their favorite order: eat! Jonathan had been watching all of this with a smug, rough smile. He had a very shell-blasted face like a good amount of Sounsyy's crew did, though he had earned his stripes elsewhere beyond the sea in a place rather more familiar to the Captain than she knew. He grabbed Fortythree underneath his arms and lifted the panicking Lalafell onto a bar stool three seats down from Sounsyy. â€œHeyheyeheyheyheyheyhe-!! .. oh. Thank you.â€ Fortythree said in half embarrassment.

Jonathan said nothing and quietly sat himself down next to him. Ryanti, having been the closest to the Captain since she had messed with his wardrobe a tad, was given the fate of seating himself right next to Sounsyy. He wiped a hand through his hair and scooted up a bit more towards the bartop, finally meeting gazes with her though right when he did, the four noticed the dramatic entrance of the Qiqirin!

â€œHoly crap itâ€™s a Qiqi- Qique-.... yeah!â€ Eightyfive mentioned right in the middle of stumbling over her words at the delightful surprise. Pretty much every single one of the four except for Jonathan were either surprised or dumbfounded at the sight of the man. Fortythree haâ€™d to himself in amusement, while Ryanti could not help but chuckle at the way he spoke, curiously eyeing the coins in his ears.

Eightyfive went after the comfort food, preferring starches and meats mostly. Fortythree found his Vylabrand calling with the Lominsian anchovies in particular, and the poached eggs and bred with some turtle meat. He was the one that had the strange tastes.

Jonathan and Ryanti went after a healthier pattern, choosing the quiche stuffed with vegetables and the omelettes stuffed with similar veggies and greens. The only meat they ate concerned the dodo breasts and the egg of the omelette. They both had a slice of bread that they ate only with the veggies. They started with the veggies and starch, then ate the meat after. For the protein and to feel full.

Both of course would have preferred to eat like Eightyfive, but not while on the job. Eightyfive just had this magical quality about herself to eat â€“anything- and be just fine. Although all of them generously accepted the water and had themselves all of what was in the bottles. â€œThank you so much, Cwaenlona. Youâ€™re a lifesaver.â€ Ryanti mentioned. He had warmed up to her a bit since he had witnessed her tend to others and wave back to him.

He could not help but smile fully when everyone else cheered after Susuroonâ€™s mini-speech. He transferred that warm smile in the direction of the Captain, though he was met with a rather odd glance about him and Jonathan that made him think for a moment. After peering at Sounsyyâ€™s dark blots under her eyes and her lack of speaking to the both of them, he sighed a little. It was not long after that he felt a finger tap his shoulder. It was his boss.

â€œSo who is going to be the one to talk to her about it?â€ Jonathan asked Ryanti with a whisper. The young Veanysus turned his attention to his boss by shifting his body to the center of the stool and peering to his right. After swallowing what he had in his mouth, he answered him back. â€œDo you think she saw it too?â€

â€œShe chose to see. So she â€“will- have seen.â€ Jonathan simply said. â€œShe will approach one of us today at some point. It is natural for her to. She is not yet familiar with the very nature of what we handle.â€

â€œWellâ€¦ â€œ Ryanti thought for a moment, keeping to himself in a moment of thought as he took a nice healthy swig from his waterskin. â€œShe will probably approach you. After all, you are her equivalent in this joint operation.â€

â€œHmm.â€ Jonathan mused to himself, taking a small bite out of a single piece of his dodo meat. â€œPerhaps.â€ Although the skeptical tone could be heard in his voice, as if the boss knew a thing or two about people though was obviously hiding something from Ryanti. The snowhaired Miqoâ€™te returned that statement with a contorted face. Though spotting the Qiqirin checking on them did take his mind off of the subject. â€œHey Susuroon! Where are those foreign currencies from! On your ears?â€ Few things would take Ryantiâ€™s mind off of something besides wanting to know something else. So there was that question he had wanted to ask him.

â€œOh. My. GOODNESS! This is SO GOOD!â€ Eightyfive exclaimed, in the middle of her little food orgasm. It was no question what one of her passions were: eating. She leaned a little forward, putting her arms out in front of her dish as if she was meaning to hug it. â€œIâ€™m in heaven!â€ Of course she had spent the last three days eating cold rations, but to the other three, it actually â€“was- a nice meal.

â€œYou make well of what you have here. This is a loving meal for the circumstance.â€ Fortythree insisted.

They all intently listened when Sounsyy gave out their roles for the voyage. Some more than others, as Eightyfive had both cheeks full of â€¦ whatever it could be while her tight eyes glanced in Sounsyyâ€™s direction. She was eating much quicker than Ryanti and Jonathan who ate at a normal pace. Fortythree was taking time sampling it seemed, creating a â€˜mealâ€™ out of sampling every piece of everything on the cart. â€œSuddenly, I donâ€™t think I have an appetiteâ€¦ â€œ Fortythree said solemnly after hearing what he would be doing. A diligent magi having toâ€¦ sweep the floors?

Meanwhile, Eightyfiveâ€™s feistiness once again came out over the mentioning of her role. â€œHelpinâ€™ Sir Noble Grape manage the shite that helps him to blow shite up? Hell yeah!â€

Ryanti was delightfully pleased at the idea of his role. Wow, so he would be climbing the ship and everything? He did remember enjoying his time with Pâ€™welro too. He hoped she wouldnâ€™t mind him starting conversation while working. So he would get to know what it was like to becoming a sailor after all? â€œIâ€™m excited. I canâ€™t wait to see how it w-â€œ

â€œ-ill be like to spend another day with Pâ€™welro?~â€ Eightyfive chimed while downing the last bits of crust from her quiche.

â€œWill you stop shoving words into my mouth!â€ Ryanti shouted at her, partially annoyed and a little embarrassed at her making all of these damn rib jokes at him. â€œNope.â€ Eightyfive deadpanned, drinking the last of her waterskin with a complimentary â€œT-aaahhh!â€

When it came time to ask questions, all but Jonathan began to open their mouths, but the leader of the group whom had been quietly enjoying his meal set his plate down with a noise that shut all three of them up. He cleared his throat solemnly, and like a mid-thirties farmboy that was pleased with a well-rounded breakfast, he smirked mildly at Sounsyy with a sparkle of thank you in his eyes through the patches of his rough face. â€œNo maâ€™aaaam.â€ He drawed out. â€œMy men are ready to work!â€

Sounsyy · **05-19-2015, 09:20 PM**

Sounsyy largely ignored the group's reactions to their assignments and nodded in response to Jonathan breaking his silence, since he was the only one who understood the question was rhetorical. If this group truly wanted to mesh, they would have to place themselves under her heel - become her soldiers. The Captain knew they each were quite skilled on their own, however, their individual talents meant little to her if they could not operate as a small cog in a large vessel.

She wiped her lips with a cloth and returned the plate, cloth, and empty waterskin to the counter. She reached over the counter to the cart and pulled out a bowl that had been left there, filled with scrambled eggs and finely minced vegetables, and a new waterskin. She held these carefully in her arms and made to stand. "Good. Report above deck when yer through," she said as she steadied herself on her feet and made her way slowly up the stairs, carrying the extra food. Cwaenlona cleared the empty plates and debris off the counter and made more room for Eighty-five to continue eating her mass portions if she so chose.

The Qiqirn chef made his way back down the counter and looked positively gleeful at the devastation Eighty-five had wrought. He clapped his tiny, clawed paws over his whiskers in excitement. He squeaked, "Susuroon is happiest of happy Qiqirns this sun! Savoring savors brings Susuroon pride!"

For a moment he looked as if he might embrace the female Miqo'te where she sat, but suddenly he recalled Ryanti's earlier question that he had hesitated to answer in front of the Captain. He ran a claw through the row of coins dangling from his ear and seemed exceptionally pleased when they jingled just so. At the base of his right ear was a goldtide psashp, a clamshell that had absorbed flecks of gold. The second coin was a Gridanian piece made of jade, bearing the sacred Lily and text which read "Wood's Will Be Done." The final coin was a very old gil-piece bearing the visage of Oschon. Susuroon's other ear was similarly decorated, though bore only two coins, both of unknown origins.

"Noble Miqo'te would take fancy with Susuroon's sparklies. Susuroon collector! Shinies and sparklies and jinglies. This shiny Sahagin psashp," he squeaked, indicating the gold-flecked clamshell, "This Woodfolk coin, shiny jade! And this! This Susuroon's shiniest shiny - early shiny from first baggie of gil-shinies."

"A hundred years old that coin is," Pamido Wolmido added gruffly to Ryanti from his seat down the counter, "From just after the Autumn War. Gave Susuroon that coin as a gift after I fished a whole bag of the things out the Rothlyt Sound me-self."
"Susuroon ever gratefully grateful to the Southern King!" The Qiqirn squeaked loudly and clapped both paws over his heart. His ears flicked a bit, reminding himself of the coins and he continued onto the outside of his left ear as if there had been no interruption, "This adamantoise shell, shinied by Thavnairian alchemy! Susuroon has only been to Near East once, but it place of wondrous wonders and eggs!"

He moved down to the base of his left ear, which looked like it held a shard of a broken leveplate. The silver rim held the triangular remains of stained crystal. The Eorzean Virtue Sapience could just be made out, engraved in the silver. "This, Susuroon's good eating friends, sparkly from the New World! Mamool Ja bring Susuroon coin in trade fer steep price of Susuroon's cooking! They know Susuroon collector and only bring best!"

"It's a bloody guildleve," Pamido Wolmido muttered exasperatedly under his breath at the four. Apparently they had had this argument before. Susuroon chittered in an annoyed fashion, "Mamool prized jingly!"

The Lalafellin marauder threw up his arms in defeat and hopped off his stool, "Yeh lot ready to get to work then? Ruddy Qiqirn will argue the point 'til supper. Sixteen, yeh can keep with Cwaenlona down here a bit."

The Lalafell led the trio up to the Roehmerl's main deck before the Qiqirn could argue his point more, or worse, before Ryanti could ask him any more questions. Pamido Wolmido and Susuroon, "Shortsnout" as the Lalafell called him, seemed to be very close friends despite their bickering or perhaps because of their bickering.

When Ryanti graced the deck, he was met with the sight of sea on all sides. The waves were short and choppy, slapping against the hull loudly and caused a more perceptible rocking above deck. Blue skies were dotted with thin white clouds, and a lazy plume of black smoke could just be made out in the distance to the West - off the port side of the vessel. The steady expulsion from Mount O'Ghomoro was the only indicator that land existed just beyond the horizon.

On deck, the Roehmerl was bustling with activity. Two sailors were running sheets and rigging the sails so that they remained full. Another sailor was cleaning the barrels of the cannons. A Miqo'te sailor with dark brown hair and a damp rag draped over her neck was on her knees scrubbing the deck. Pamido Wolmido indicated that this was Storm Sergeant and 2nd Cannoneer M'sizh Lohp and she would be Forty-three's taskmaster while aboard. The Miqo'te looked up with big brown eyes at the group and waved the reluctant Lalafell over. She was dressed simply, white shirt, blue pantalettes, and knee-high boots. The rest of her skin was bare, lightly tanned, and already glistening under the morning sun. She handed Forty-three a sponge, washrag, and bucket and explained the process to him of going bow to stern.

Pamido Wolmido gave Forty-three a hearty slap on the back as his way of comforting his kin. "Don't fret friend," he said, "We all get swab duty sometime. Yer lady friend here will be joinin' yeh soon once we see these cannons is shipshape." With that, he motioned Eighty-five along towards the very bow of the Roehmerl. This foreward section of the deck, called the forecastle, was raised two fulms higher than the main deck and was home to the bowsprit and the chase cannons.

"1st and 2nd cannons," Pamido Wolmido informed Eighty-five, pointing at the starboard then port cannon respectively. These two cannons boasted longer barrels than the other six around the main deck and were placed upon a metal slide track that ran outwards from the bottom of the cannons in a quarter-circle. This allowed the cannons to slide quickly up and down the short track to adjust their direction from "dead ahead" at 90 degrees to 25 degrees to the respective sides of the ship, port or starboard. Pamido Wolmido continued his lecture as he led Eighty-five back down the steps onto main deck and over to rows of hatches laid out behind each of the six main deck cannons. He opened one of the hatches to reveal a ladder leading into the darkness below, "Important we keep these tracks well oiled. Don't wanna get cannons locked. We keep our must-haves right 'ere below deck in this crawlspace. Ye'll find firesand by the pouch down there and oil in the small barrels. There's extras in the Armory, aye, but yeh don't wanna have to run down there in the midst of a firefight."

With Pamido Wolmido busy with Eighty-five, Ryanti had been more or less left to freely look around and take in the ship from his position below the foremast. From his position he could just make out the helm in his line of sight. The imposing Fhruhsunn stood there with Sounsyy by his side. He was leaning against the helm, holding the wheel steady with his forearm and holding what appeared to be the bowl Sounsyy had taken from the Mess earlier. Though it was difficult to tell from that distance, it appeared that Fhruhsunn was mashing his eggs with his spoon before spooning them into his mouth. He appeared to have trouble chewing as long intervals would pass between each spoonful of egg, and even though Sounsyy was speaking to him, he never replied back. Every so often the Captain would hand him the waterskin for him to wash everything down, then hold it while the man ate.

But Ryanti's observations were soon interrupted by a heavy coil of rope being dropped on the Miqo'te's head. P'welro sat on the lowest spar with her legs draped over both sides, looking down at the gawking Miqo'te with an amused expression. "Yeh looked like yeh could use somethin t'do! Give yerself a few fulms from the mast and tie that rope 'round yer middle. Don't be scared, if yeh tie yer knot well 'nough yeh won't hit the deck when yeh fall off."

P'welro wore a toothy grin as she watched Ryanti climb up to her level. Up on the mast, the boat's rocking intensified tenfold. Every wave that struck the hull vibrated the spar they sat on slightly. "Gets worse as yeh go up," P'welro said, referring to the swinging sensation of rolling back and forth that was far less intense on deck and hardly palpable below that. "What yer sittin' on, called a yard. What we 'tach lines that hold sails to, in simple words. Each sail's got a name. Roehmerl's got ten sails, ye'll get used to which is which. Mos' sails n' ropes named after the mast they 'tached to. Yer on the Foremast, so this lowest sail 'ere's the Fore Course. Above it 'ere's the Fore Topsail. Up there's the Fore Topgallant," P'welro explained, actually taking care to sound out each name, instead of her usual Lominsan slur. She pointed aft to the mainmast in front of the helm, continuing with her lecture, "So stands t'reason them sails are the Main Course, the Main Topsail, and the Main T'gallant." She tried sounding proper, but failed in the end. Her lecture continued, but Ryanti might have been distracted from P'welro's muddled explanation of Jibs and Trysails by Sounsyy moving onto the main deck below him, bucket in hand.

The Captain set the bucket down and removed her forager's vest, leaving only the thin shirt beneath to cover her torso. She draped the vest over a peg on the foremast and got down on her knees to scrub the planks with Forty-three and M'sizh. Her loosely tied hair, looked slightly more well updone, not nearly to Eighty-five's standards, but well enough that the majority of it did not fall into her face as she cleaned.

"Welcome to the glamour of the high seas," she panted.

The morning sun climbed into the afternoon sky and the Roehmerl carried onwards north much in this manner. By early afternoon, Pamido Wolmido and Eighty-five had joined the swabbies and most of the ship had been cleaned of salt residue, grime, and seaweed. P'welro had indulged Ryanti in explaining which sails were used for which purpose and, most importantly, which ropes commanded each sail. The blond Miqo'te wasn't entirely convinced he was sailor material, but the young man lent a good ear. "If yeh learn nothing else today, 'member when yeh 'ear 'BOOM' an' yer on the poop deck, yeh drop to the floor, aye?"

Sixteen had been gifted the least taxing work to start, having been shadowing Cwaenlona below deck that morning. The two had cleared away dirty dishware from the Mess and washed, dried, and stowed it away for the next meal. The Roegadyn woman then made her rounds through the infirmary, watering her plants and making sure her supplies were stocked. It wasn't until early afternoon before Sixteen saw above deck. The Midlander was quickly fitted into a subligar which was worn over his pants, the front of which clipped onto a sturdy jute rope tied to the main mast. Cwaenlona took her rope in hand and climbed atop the gunwale and dropped over the side of the ship, indicating that Sixteen should follow. From there, the two labored at removing barnacles and repairing imperfections in the hull, from wear and tear or old damage.

By late afternoon, the waters of the Merlthor had gone from their sparkling blue to a murky green. The water seemed thicker and the waves more violent against the hull. "Runoff from the Yafaem Saltmoors," P'welro explained to Ryanti. To the northeast, the far distant mountains of Coerthas began to rise from out of the sea. Below them, Jada Moui the Quartermaster busied herself passing out damp washrags and full waterskins to the crew.

From then on, the route only grew worse. Rolling waves rocked the boat on its journey north, and Fhruhsunn worked hard to keep the vessel from broaching. As night began to fall, Sounsyy ordered all but essential crew below decks to eat, rest, and escape the motion of the sea. This included the members of Sixteen's group, as Eighty-five started looking a little peaked.

The Mess was the popular meeting place that night. Susuroon served hunks of bread, sticky rice, and stuffed cabbage - lengths of pike wrapped in cabbage leaves and steamed. A helping of sauerkraut was also required at dinner time, Captain's orders. Susuroon didn't seem thrilled by the idea of serving stuffed cabbage alongside sauerkraut, but Pamido Wolmido reasoned that they were both traditional Sea Wolf dishes and the latter was an essential part of crew health. Susuroon sneered at the idea, but Sounsyy ignored his continued protests as she ate her meal happily in silence. "If it pleases yeh Susuroon, find a meal what better suits or incorporates kraut, but ye'll continue servin' it like yeh always have. None of my crew are getting the scurvy," Sounsyy said in a rather final tone after she had finished and cleared away her plate.

The next day followed much like the first. Sounsyy woke early, got her report from Marjanie, ate near the stairs, and began her day when she was finished. The Captain set herself to the tasks of any of the Roehmerl's able bodied sailors. It had not been for pity's sake that she aided Forty-three the day before. Sounsyy preferred to work with her crew. Today she aided the riggers with holding the sails against strong winds. Her arm muscles bulged against the strain of the task as the morning wore on into afternoon. The task became ever more difficult with her wounded left hand. Though today, a greater portion of the crew was devoted to the sails than the day before owing to the changing winds and the course set by Fhruhsunn through the bend beneath the westernmost reaches of Coerthas.

Here the waters were deeper, but deep sea caves and large spires of cooled volcanic rock jutted upwards from the depths, complicating navigation through already turbulent winds and waters. But the silent Roegadyn kept course, stoic in his resolve as ever. Fhruhsunn seemed to keep mainly to himself, though good natured and always ready with a smile or a tune to hum, he didn't seem particularly close to anyone other than Sounsyy or Marjanie. Marjanie, who was almost always in the company of other crew members never failed to take time out of her day to visit and talk to Fhruhsunn, though he never seemed to talk back. He at least seemed receptive to her company.

Sixteen and Seventy-seven were woken early out of necessity for their duties. They were allowed a quick meal of La Noscean toast before being whisked to their duties to maintenance the masts and sails. Forty-three had been allowed to stay in the private quarters to tend to Eighty-five who seemed to have taken seasick before breakfast. Susuroon had been devastated by the news and had made sure Cwaenlona had seen to the girl, as well as paid a personal visit before going to his post in the masthead. By day's end, it seemed as if Eighty-five had mostly recovered from her bout of nausea. Sounsyy had promised Forty-three and Eighty-five that there would still be plenty of deck to scrub the next day.

Though the Captain had worked near Ryanti much of that day, she had not yet engaged him or Jonathan with questions of her ever more disturbing dreams. She had surmised the artifact was to blame - something else to haunt her in the darkness - but she had willed the thoughts from existence during the day, and by keeping herself busy, successfully put them from her mind until it was time to sleep once more.

Night had fallen on the second day and a cool, hard wind blew at their backs. P'welro had spent much of the day entertaining Ryanti's curiosities in between uncooperative sails and brief water breaks. But she had decided to turn in early only to be up all the earlier in the morning to help the sails during their breach into the Indigo Deep. Marjanie, who for the most part had little to do with the new members of the crew, decided to take over as Ryanti's caretaker in the First Mate's absence. She relieved Fhruhsunn with a gentle hand on his shoulder and he took his leave below decks.

"When Azeyma shows her face tomorrow morn, we will have reached the Indigo Deep and you will see the curve of the horizon, and it will look as if the very sea is alight," Marjanie said soothingly. She had a silky voice, calculated and graceful like her own motions. Her sharp blue eyes were distant as she peered down the bow of the Roehmerl, beyond it, and seemingly into the future. "It is miracles from the Navigator like these that return sailors to the sea. On these waves we are born, here we die. Though Navigator willing, not soon," the young Elezen said, then was silent. Soon after, Ryanti was escorted back to the private quarters by Berasaem. Once the four were inside and asleep, Berasaem locked the door and took up her place against the wall as the boat continued its course through the current.

After a time, Sounsyy too returned to her cabin to sleep. She had drunk an entire bottle of wine before sleep finally took her and lowered her into a deep sleep. She felt as if she were floating in water, submerged beneath the brine. In the dream she opened her eyes and saw, and the dream began anew.

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Ryanti · **05-21-2015, 01:15 AM**

When the Roehmerl skimped a bit along a sandbar, it jolted all four of the members of the Black Label Unit awake from their aether-inspired slumber. After rubbing the back of his head rather painfully due to the bump it took on the side of the wall, Ryanti opened his eyes to the full moon that cascaded down to hover over their side window with its dying light. Dawn was a short time away.

Nothing was said between the members of the group.Their dreams had been utilizing them as a conduit on so many different occasions, on so many different missions that they were used to it. Although there was an extent to how used to it one could get. No one dream was the same, and although some could be similar, they were just never the same. There was always eitherâ€¦ something different or something more between each dream they had. They were all linked to that objectâ€™s wish, and were set out to fulfill it. Four of them knew what they were getting into, but there was a fifth that didnâ€™t.

â€œSo youâ€™re going up there?â€ The white haired Hyqoâ€™te asked the Black haired Midlander. With an unreadable expression and a chiseled face, Jonathan was impossible to read while he was focused on something. Like tying his boots as he was doing now. He let out a dark sigh, one that would betray his tiredness as a man awoken perhaps earlier than he would like and worked a bit longer than he wished. Or perhaps it was because he had slept -too- much. Who knew? â€œI am going up there. I have nothing to do here. I enjoy being out there.â€ he mentioned.

Jonathan had done an excellent job with the Carpentry the last two days before. He had kept a subtle smile on his face and even mumbled to himself a few tunes while repairing and fortifying parts of the ship, bouncing back and forth on the side of it like a pure natural. It was actually a hobby of his to craft his own sheds and build small, personal rowboats that he would sell to anyone willing to pay. A hobby he would practice while off duty. He enjoyed building things and sculpting things. It allowed him to shed off bad memories and focus on creating things in the world that could benefit peopleâ€™s lives. In fact, enriching peopleâ€™s lives is why Jonathan did what he did. Why Ryanti did what he did.

Ryanti watched him dress up and prepare as Eighty-five shrugged them off and went back to bed, not really wanting to wake until she had to. Forty-three had shuffled over to her, on his knees and placing a hand upon her neck to make sure she was doing okay. He had been doing that regularly since she had gotten seasickness â€“ a factor that she did not like admitting. Nevertheless, it had been obvious over the past few days that Forty-three was a very accomplished medic. During the last day, he had told Cwaenlona that he had went to school in Sharlaya to become a Physician, but that situations happened in his life that forced him to erase his dreams and start anew after suffering from a serious â€˜accidentâ€™ that left his face needing plates. He had never graduated, and had nowhere else to go, and so he found himself here. Despite his moping in cleaning the floors, he had done it as requested, and during his rest time he was sure to look over what they had in the Infirmary, and lend his advice.

â€œThough I do have a feeling that I have caused more death than prevented, I am afraid.â€ He had told her once, in a moment of guilt.

Ryanti shifted his focus from him and back to Jonathan as he gathered what he needed to gather and fastened the bandana upon his head. He wondered how he could just get up and go like that, seemingly without being effected by the dream. He cuddled up his knees against his chin and closed his eyes, reflecting upon the last few days. Vivid memories of Pâ€™welroâ€™s lecturing and educational tidbits were the first to come to mind. He had found to really enjoy her company. He had tried very hard to keep up with her. She was a sight to see when she was working. Like a reflection of a Captain exceptâ€¦ more like a picturebook.

He hadnâ€™t told her that yet still. He remembered, though, how he would tease her by pointing out what proper name she did not pronounce correctly. He smiled to himself, showing his teeth, remembering how the simple teasing turned into an effort by Ryanti to teach Pâ€™welro something of his own: proper speech. â€œSo if you want to say something like... Vineyard, it is just all about being patient and waiting for the word to say itself. Because youâ€™re rushing to the end of the word, yâ€™know?â€ He had said to her.

It was a good memory to him. How did those exchanges go? Vineyard, Vâ€™eyard. No, Vin, like Fin but with a V! Vi- Donâ€™t just give up so easily now! How am I going to ever take you to a ball, Pâ€™welro! Would you have to be a mute?

He remembered the exchanges being something like that. Twelve, they were constantly talking to one another. Ribbing. He had been caught by Pâ€™welro eyes while having his own distracted and focused on Sounsyy wiping the floors below him. Ryanti had looked up and caught her looking up at him. He had coughed a little awkwardly and had to ask her to repeat her last few statements. He made a note to glance only when there was nothing to listen to. He did though, watching the Captain do one of the lowliest jobs on the ship, stealing glances every so often. Wondering if she ever noticed him all the way up there. Probably not.

Every Captain should never make an order that they wouldn't do themselves...

All in all, despite the backbreaking work, he had a great time up there with Pâ€™welro. They talked so much. Smiled and even laughed at some points; his throat was so dry by the end of it that her retiring early was the only reason why he did not beg to sleep with a waterskin because of how dry it made his throat. He had learned so much from her, and even a little bit about her.

He had other good memories. He had hummed along with Fruhsuun once, after overhearing him hum so often that he had begun to pick up on the notes of one of his hymns. The next time he began it, Ryanti did it with him. He never questioned his inability to speak.

He was beginning to finally realize that despite how different these people were to him in contrast, he wasâ€¦ beginning to really enjoy himself on this ship. He was beginning to really like these people.

He knew that would only mean more pain later. More hurt. The worst was yet to come, and he knew no matter how hard he tried he was simply not able to prevent Nyemia from seeing her lovely fate through. He knew that they might not all make it out of this, and it already felt like it hurt him so. But he was willing to put up with that hurt. To grin and bear it and to deal with it. Because for Ryanti, he valued keeping his heart on his sleeve more than any kind of pain could make him believe otherwise. But damn it, that still did not mean he would not fight as hard as he can to make sure none of that happens.

It was then that Ryanti took his thoughts off of that matter, and the words of the beautiful Elezen took their place.

"When Azeyma shows her face tomorrow morn, we will have reached the Indigo Deep and you will see the curve of the horizon, and it will look as if the very sea is alight." "It is miracles from the Navigator like these that return sailors to the sea. On these waves we are born, here we die. Though Navigator willing, not soon."

The miracles from the Navigator... He had heard much of this God from the men and women on this journey so far. What Marjanie had described was poetic and beautiful to Ryantiâ€™s ears. He wanted to be there for that moment, and he did not want to take any chances. He was not going to obtain any more sleep that night anyway. His dreams had spoken to him once more, and when they silenced themselves he knew his night of rest was over.

â€œI am going with you too.â€ Ryanti said to Jonathan as he too started to dress himself in his meek sailorâ€™s wears that he had become best friends with over the course of days. â€œItâ€™s not like I am going to ilm myself any more sleep.â€

â€œHmm.â€ Jonathan murmured underneath his breath, watching the young man wardrobe himself while glancing all too many times out the window to make sure it was still dark. â€œSomething tells me it is not because you are aching to get back to work.â€

â€œPerhaps not.â€ Ryanti admitted, standing up on one tied boot while tying the other. â€œButâ€¦ I do not want to just sit here. I was told that Azeyma will show her face when morning comes. That it is a reason why sailors return to the sea. I donâ€™t want to miss something like that when I have the chance to see it.â€

Jonathan snorted a bit in response to that idea, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow and that same crooked expression he had given to Sounsyy days earlier. â€œWell, what are you waiting for? Go, go! Get out!â€

Ryanti raised his eyebrows and clutched his teeth in a bit of a strained smile as his response, dressing up a bit faster than one normally would. â€œYes sir, heh.â€ He told him enthusiastically, hopping unnaturally on one foot as he made his way to the door.

They were extra quiet in knocking the door, and informed Berasaem politely that they would start the day early. They were led out the door to the mess, where it was a brief mini-breakfast of La Noscean toast, and some water. Ryanti wanted to eat quickly, and so he did. He did not want to miss that moment on the ocean. It was the first time he would have ever been on open sea in his life. He had remembered how small the mountains in Vylibrand looked from where they were yesterday. What would Hydealyn look like to him now? Would she show another face to him this morning? Azeymaâ€™s?

His slow methodical steps could be heard ascending the aft stairs onto the main deck of the ship. He was relaxed and leisurely in his pace, for this was the first time he could truly enjoy the presence of peace and quiet upon the vessel without trying to get some sleep. A brush of air colder than he remembered yesterday swept underneath the threads of his clothing, and caused a mild feeling of discomfort that lasted for but a moment the gust was at its strongest. It caused his white locks to fly about his face, and he used a hand to try to keep those locks from entering his eyes.

His aquamarine irises sparkled with life and with the reflections of the moonlight bouncing across the water. Twilight was about to approach in a little while. So he had made it. No one in hell would yank him off of this deck until he had seen the sunrise.

And the water. There was so much water! Water as far as the eye could see. Ryantiâ€™s untrained eyes on the ocean could not spot a sliver of land anywhere, though the late shroud of the elderly nightfall kept him from seeing fully. Still, the stars were out as they ever were in the absence of the sun, which had probably awoken at the same time Ryanti himself. It just took a little longer for the sun to emerge from its bedchambers.

Besides the initial gust, the winds were calm. He softly swiped the palm of his hand over the thick foundation of the mainmast, looking at his hand as he swiped the tiny bits of dust off of it, along with the crusty feeling of handling wood. â€œItâ€™s so nice out here, when itâ€™s quiet and the stars are out as they are. Itâ€™s so different too. Beautiful. Endless.â€

He smiled warmly at who he was talking to â€“ the First Mate whom Ryanti was observing from a fair distance as he walked from the mainmast, to the middle of the deck. â€œDo you need someone to help you with anything, Pâ€™welro? I â€¦ didnâ€™t want to miss the sunrise. So Iâ€™m up early.â€

Sounsyy · **05-21-2015, 10:14 PM**

P'welro leaned upon the larboard gunwale, staring off across the open sea to the south. Vylbrand lay far across those waters, but she was gone from sight now. The Roehmerl had cleared the Merlthor a few hours before, and their course was set westward across the expanse of the Indigo Deep. The winds and waters were both cooling the further they traveled, the depths returning to a deep, dark blue. The waters looked clean enough to drink from, even though that was far from true.

P'welro sniffed the air and muttered something that sounded like, "I don't like these waters." Despite this unusual shift in her demeanor, P'welro straightened her back and put on a grin for Ryanti. The First Mate looked as if she had been awake all evening. "Iffin yer offerin', yeh can 'elp meh put up the light air sails. This gentle breeze ain't strong enough to lift the 'eavier sheets we 'ad to withstand the rougher winds las' night. But this, this is jus' a bit o' calm. The Deep always plagued by storms. Yeh see red risin' ye'll know its comin'. And if yeh ain't believin' in the Gods after seein' all this beauty wit yer eyes, ye'll believe in them when yer facin' their wrath, alright."

The blond Miqo'te went about her duties as the boatswain with Ryanti in tow, furling the sails and rigging up a set of lighter ones. These airy, cotton sheets felt nearly weightless in Ryanti's grasp, which was more or less their purpose. P'welro explained that these sheets were only used for light winds to keep the ship moving forwards and steady, and that stronger winds would shred them - or worse, damage the yards or rigging. Sailing was the most delicate of balancing acts. The winds on the open seas could change, die, or pick up at any moment and it took the combined efforts of the helmsmen and the riggers to keep the Roehmerl afloat, erect, and sailing in the right direction at all times.

"'Sides," P'welro finished, "Ye'll get a better sight o' Azeyma's risin' from the crow's nest. Susuroon won't mind yeh up there, he's busy cookin' fer the crew anyhow. Jus' be sure to 'old on tightly."

As they worked, the sky began to brighten in the east behind the Roehmerl, casting a soft red glow upon the ship's blood red sails. Sure enough, the clouds drifting over the Merlthor were emblazoned in red, long before the sun had even peaked the surface of the horizon. P'welro let Ryanti watch as Azeyma the Warden rose in her sanguine glory, igniting the skies and silhouetting the waters against Her flame. For a few moments, the sea had turned black, until the sun fully crested the horizon and faded from crimson to orange, softening Her rage.

"Red sky at mornin', sailors take warnin'," P'welro said calmly, "The Navigator is beautiful and terrible, Seventy-seven. Thas why we return to Her call. We wanna be like Her."

P'welro finished attaching the sails in silence and began climbing down to the main deck to tie off the loose ends of the rigging. By the time she had finished, the sun had broken free from the surface, and the sea became alight in Her shimmering essence, as if a fractured sun lay beneath the waves. Soon this light reflected all around the ship, dancing like sprites in the ever shifting waves below. It was magical, if one could see past the ill omen behind it all.

Sometime while the two were at work, Fhruhsunn had come out onto the deck to see the sunrise. For the crew of the Roehmerl, this was more than just a simple thing of beauty to admire once in a lifetime, it was part of their daily routine. Check the sky, check the winds, test the waters, wake the crew, maintenance the vessel, rest the crew. It was the constant cycle of readiness that prevailed upon the sea. An environment where anything could happen at any moment.

Marjanie relinquished the helm to Fhruhsunn, then began making marks upon the nautical map they were using to navigate. She showed the Roegadyn what progress she had made and her course and he nodded a few times in understanding. She said a few things more to Fhurhsunn then retreated down the steps, casting a brief glance up to Ryanti above, before moving over to the Captain's cabin and knocking softly upon the door. She opened the door softly and went inside, closing the door behind her as she went.

Inside the cabin was dark still. A soft orange glow of the angered Warden cast disfigured shadows about the room. Sounsyy was slumped in her armchair, half awake, cradling a finished bottle of wine against her breast. Her eyes sluggishly climbed Marjanie's figure, resting upon her blue eyes. The Elezen looked exceedingly young in the orange glow. Her face was without lines or wrinkles, no scars or imperfections. Her long, black hair was neatly braided.

"We've passed into Garlean patrolled waters," Marjanie said simply. The Captain roused fully and rubbed her eyes against her right forearm. "Put the crew on alert," she said quietly, "Though with any luck this storm will give us some measure of cover."
"Agreed, I've informed Fhruhsunn of our route, and Jada is already preparing the armory for your orders to quarter. Maelstrom Command's last vessel in the region reported all clear, but that could change at a moment's notice out here."

Sounsyy nodded, replacing the wine bottle on her desk and moving to her armoire to change into fresh clothing. She pulled a clean shirt over her wounded torso and slid into a clean pair of leggings. "Good, go get some rest, lass. Ye've earned it."

"You as well Captain," Marjanie wore a look of concern, though her voice was even toned, "Have your nightmares gotten worse?" Sounsyy said nothing for a while, as she laced up her boots, one strap held between her teeth. By the time her mouth was free, she could think of no words so she merely nodded. Marjanie gave her Captain a comforting smile as she was very comfortable with non-verbal communication after spending so many months with Fhruhsunn.

"You and Seventy-seven may have that in common," she observed in response, "He has gotten up exceptionally early this sun with Sixteen. He's been helping P'welro with the sails. She looks as if she could use the hand today. Navigator knows this storm will not be easy for her."

Sounsyy regarded her reflection in her vanity as she finished dressing. She made a few adjustments to her forager's vest before pulling her mess of hair into a short ponytail. Marjanie couldn't help but smile at the attempt. Sounsyy turned to her, laughed softly in spite of herself, and shook her head some, returning to the topic at hand. "I'll tell her to get some rest and take over fer her fer the time being. I must needs speak with the young Miqo'te anyroad."

What seemed like half a bell had passed since Marjanie had entered the Captain's cabin. By this time P'welro had finished most of her duties, and had allowed Ryanti to sight-see for the most part while she replaced the jibs on the bowsprit. The sun still hung low in the sky, its soft morning rays just starting to warm the cool sea breeze. When Sounsyy finally emerged from her cabin with Marjanie at her heel, she made for her First Mate and the two moved in close to one another, exchanging some whispered orders. P'welro nodded, gave a short wave to Ryanti and moved with Marjanie below decks.

A few moments passed as Sounsyy moved to the base of the mainmast and began tying a rope around her waist. She climbed swiftly to the the masthead where Ryanti was allowed to linger and sat herself beside him. She followed his gaze out across the boundless sea and sighed softly as a cool wind brushed against their cheeks. Her eyes slid towards Ryanti soon after though, not taking the time to admire the view.

"Tell me about the dreams," she said rather suddenly and bluntly.

Ryanti · **05-22-2015, 06:01 PM**

He reasoned that it would be easier on him if he were to just get himself busy with a task right away. After all, he didnâ€™t want to feel guilty just standing still when he had gotten himself up upon the main deck that dawnâ€™s eve. As always, his ears were open to Pâ€™welroâ€™s explanations. He had learned so much about the shipâ€™s sails at that point that he could not promise he could retain all of that information. He had no idea that maintaining a vessel required that much knowledge and that much all around work. He would have never guessed if he had not sailed on one of these.

But he found knowledge in general to be valuable, and so Ryanti would never truly find a way to thank Pâ€™welro for all she was doing. When she mentioned how the sight of the sunrise would be better seen from the Crowâ€™s Nest, Ryanti craned his neck to glance up at the structure, his hands still occupied with what he was doing. He was getting to the point where he could afford to do some of this stuff without actually glancing down at it and quietly determining whether or not he was doing it right.

When she had said to hold on tightly, Ryanti smiled in such a warm and legitimate manner that he did not realize. With a chuckle or two, he had made his way diligently up to the Crowâ€™s Nest itself. â€œIâ€™ll take warning though, I promise.â€ He had told her. His thoughts were still wandering on what he had said when he made his way up there. They wanted to be like her. The Navigator. Beautiful, yet terrible. He could broaden that description to include all of mankind. All of Hydealyn. The present. It was beautiful, yet he had found out after losing his innocence, terrible. Ryanti would answer her call today. But he was unsure whether or not he ever would again.

Seventy-Seven lightly rested the palms of his hands upon the wooden rail that circumvented the Crowâ€™s Nest and observed the Navigatorâ€™s fiery awakening shade upon the fabric of the horizonâ€™s peak. He did not squint his eyes but barely. The sunâ€™s rays illuminated his white hair in such a manner that it appeared to glow. He felt his heart rate jump a little as he observed how the colors in the sky changed from red to orange, and finally blue.

Everywhere around him felt like it went on forever. Forever was there clear blue water, forever was the sun and forever was he. The young man felt very free and liberated in that moment, finally closing his eyes to allow the warm sunâ€™s rays to glance across his cheeks. It was not like Ryanti could see past the ill omen. But he just put it out of his mind for now. He wanted to see the good in things so badly. It was both a strength and weakness.

When finally his gaze retreated, he had seen Marjanie eye him from the deck, and Ryanti gave her a nod, letting her know that he had taken her words to heart and wanted to see this gift for himself. It was his own version of non-verbal communication.

He had folded his arms upon the railing and rested his posture and weight upon it in what little relaxation he could get as the Elezen went inside of the Captainâ€™s cabin. A sliver of thoughts went through his mind during that time. They were minor things. About how he had seen so many new things about the world in the last two years. About how he had done things he never thought he would be doing. That despite how stressful and haunting this job was, it did have its fulfillments. He also wondered how the Captain, how Sounsyy was handling everything.

He supposed that he had to get out of the Nest eventually. So he proceeded to slowly but surely climb back over the nest, holding onto the outside of it when his ears picked up the sounds of a door opening. It was the door to the Captainâ€™s cabin. He had looked that way briefly before focusing on where he was. As Sounsyy gave her quiet orders to Pâ€™welro, he had gently sat down upon the mainmast in the corner. His feet dangled from the air and he allowed them to loosely rock back and forth. He was given no more orders, and so he reasoned that perhaps he could stay up there for a little longer, observing the early morningâ€™s sun for a little while.

He did not have to look down to know what was going on when he felt the foundation of the mainmast slightly shift. In that moment, an ear of his flicked as he realized that Jonathan was right. The rate that she was climbing the mast was too quick to be of pure leisure. Perhaps it had come? Everyone else that had been plagued with dreams had not told her a word, had given her space. Was it now the time?

His legs still idly rocked back and forth as she sat herself next to him. It was a moment of silence, but yet still felt so different to him simply by the addition of her presence up here. It wasâ€¦ a little heavy, despite how peaceful it was currently.

Ryanti remained still as his hair blew about in the wind, though listening to her question intently. A slight hum emitted from the depths of his throat as he immersed himself in thought, and a manner in which to answer her question to the best of his ability. He closed his eyes, allowing the memories of his previous dreams on this vessel to resurface to the front of his mind.
He tilted his eyes towards her, locking with them for the first time in a while. Perhaps since that day he had challenged her on the Bloodsands. â€œHave you ever heard of a man by the name od Saint Coinach?â€

He smiled a little at the mentioning of the name, it being a man that he had really looked up to after reading about his life. As appealing as he found to keep his gaze intertwined with hers, he had to break it away to stare at the sun once more, so he could think of other things besides. â€œHe was a man that changed the way historians see the world. Before him, it was taught that the civilizations in our time were raised from the ashes of a former era that preceded our own. An ancient, magnificent era that saw an apex of society and culture. An era that waned and collapsed because of their legendary abuse of magic and the exploitation of aether that nearly sucked Hydealyn dry.â€

He raised his right hand up to his shoulder level, extending his index finger and bouncing it up and down in the direction of the ocean softly as if to emphasize his words in that manner. â€œBefore him, historians believed that the rise of the Fifth Astral Era saw civilization reach a high point, and that was â€“it-. Before them, there was nothing more or less beyond organized tribes and nomadic hunter-gathers that formed communities and settled down when they realized agriculture bared fruit. But you see, there was a myth during that time. A myth that eons before even the beginning of the Fifth Era civilizations, there was a time in Hydealynâ€™s history where civilizations reached a pinnacle the world has never seen again.â€

His pointed finger turned into an upward palm as he explained further, utilizing the inspiration of the beautiful sky before him to allow him to word out his thoughts. â€œSaint Coinach believed it to be more than a myth. Despite no one believing in him, and despite everyone trying to prove him wrong, Saint Coinach spent the majority of his lifetime chasing that belief. Eventually, he had gathered enough evidence to where once he made his findings public, no one could argue against him. It was found that there was in fact a civilization that took hold before any of the civilizations we ever knew. A one â€˜Allagan Empireâ€™ that spanned over most of the land in the three great continents. It was said during Coinachâ€™s lifetime that the Allagan Empire was vast, glorious, and prosperous in the likings that the world has never seen before or since. Then, at some point around five thousand years ago, they justâ€¦ vanished.â€

He solemnly rested his gesturing hand onto the wooden pole that he sat upon, tightening up his shoulders in a bit of a stretch. â€œThat is common knowledge to anyone interesting in looking it up. Butâ€¦ what the world doesnâ€™t know is just how small we are compared to what they were. How their technology would make the Garleans look like bronze-age cavemenâ€¦ or how their mastery of magic would make even the wisest Conjurer sage of this era completely dumbfounded. From what masterpieces of magic we have seen in the Fifth Era and now, and what technology we have beheld ourselves against in today's time was.. nothing compared to them.â€

He paused for a moment, allowing himself a moment to moisten his parched throat with a swallow. â€œThe artifact you laid your eyes upon is from that era. A very old, very ancient era that has been lost to history. But even though knowledge of them has been, for the most part, lost to mankind, their legacy has not died. They have created things during that era that has survived for this long because it had been built so unbelievably well. That includes what we have on this ship.â€

He slightly shifted his posture enough to partially face her now, finding his balance as he let both of his hands free of supporting himself on the mainmast pole. He gestured both of his hands palm-up towards her, forming his hands in a shape of a partially open sphere. â€œThat artifact is a product of immense technology and mastery of magic. It is filled with a dormant channel of aether that activated when we set out on this mission. So itâ€¦ â€˜came to lifeâ€™. It has an attachment to where it needs to belong, which is the objective that we are heading to. When you glanced your eyes upon it, it sensed your intentions. It chose to accept you. It formed a connection with you.â€

He rested his hands back onto the pole and relaxed himself a bit, locking glances with her once more. â€œSoâ€¦ it is trying to look for a way to communicate. For a way to reach out to us, and guide us. One of the ways that it does that is through our dreams. A long, long time agoâ€¦ there were other souls that lived and worked around that object. That key. Those souls eitherâ€¦ perished alongside it, or had a strong attachment to it during their lifetime. Their will, their essence, perhaps even their very spirits itself are still here. But they, their era, and their stories have been completely forgotten by mankind for such a long time that they are desperate to call for help. To be laid to rest, and to tell their story. They want us to understand, so that we can be able to do the right thing with handling what they have left behind, and to learn from their mistakes so that their dramatic end may not happen again in some distant future when civilization reaches that apex again.â€

His feet rocked back and forth for a moment longer. â€œAnd I have faith in all of us. Not just because of the faith I have in the people on this ship, or my partners. But also because we are being watched over by them. Yâ€™know, by the Allagans.â€ He smiled a little. â€œI may not be the most experienced on this ship, but... Iâ€™ve done this job enough times to know that they have picked us. That they are.â€

His eyes trailed away from hers, down to the injured hand that was closest to him. Talking about this had him think about her more. He stared intently for a moment at the wound, all bandaged up and everything. He had felt a hand of his own move in to lift it up, to examine it for himself, but at the last moment he hesitated. â€œMay I?â€

Sounsyy · **05-24-2015, 11:12 AM**

Sounsyy instinctively withdrew her hand an ilm away as his moved closer. Her tired eyes stared at the young Miqo'te. Her gaze was one that should have born some fire, but coal to keep that passion stoked had long since been used without replenishment. So her stare was blank. Were there thoughts behind those eyes? Or did she just act from a basic, primal reflex to preserve herself like some lowly beast.

Her hand was held steady in its recoiled position, hovering just an ilm above the wood, a few ilms from Ryanti's own hand. She spoke slowly, carefully sounding out each word, "I dream I am not myself. In a place I've never seen. Dark and weightless, as if suspended beneath the sea. I dream of standing above a world made of cities and towers. I do not understand how I can be so high, and then everything be so dark. It is as if I am falling through the night sky. Then there is a door and lights, bright lights but not suns nor torches. So bright that I come awake and I feel as if my eyes must adjust to the morning light. Is this... familiar? What does it mean?"

She lets the questions hang in the air. A breeze rustles her hair and aerates the skin beneath her injured hand. She looks down, remembering it. She stares at it a while longer, seeing yesterdays bandage discolored from sweat and seaspray. She holds her hand out, palm down, slowly for Ryanti to see better. With her other hand she begins unwrapping the hand. The skin beneath is pale, void of sun and breeze for over a week. Her fingers twitch slightly as she unbinds her hand.

The back of her hand is bruised a deep purple with a sickly yellow border. Her ring finger was severed at the nearest joint below her knuckles. It appeared as if someone had attempted to perform healing magic to close the wound, but had failed and resorted to cauterizing it to staunch the bleeding. From the stiff way she held the finger, it was likely the bone at the base of the severed finger had been completely shattered.

"Were a bullet," she said finally, "Pierced meh shield and took a finger with it."

Ryanti · **05-25-2015, 02:48 AM**

Ryanti had seen eyes like those before. The blank stare. He was no stranger to that emotion. He had lived in Ulâ€™Dah after all. He had witnessed the dim, hopeless refugee. The financially broke merchant. The lowest slaves of the low cleaning after peopleâ€™s messes with zero pay and zero hope for freedom. That look brought upon a feeling of defeat. An image of numbness in a desperate attempt to stop the pain. To treat the symptoms but not the cause. He didnâ€™t want to believe that Sounsyy would be the kind of woman to be defeated like that. That there would be no resolve behind her eyes. He had barely seen her smile or laugh though. All he could see was those dead eyes now.

He knew how that was. To be unable to escape the numbness. But unlike Sounsyyâ€™s expression, Ryantiâ€™s eyes were full of life. The aquamarine umbrella of his iris shone brightly in the morning sun, and his window to the soul seemed to be infinite when one would glance into his pupils. They were full of youthful energy, vigor, and resolve. However, there are also something missing from his demeanor. A kind of hesitation. A lack of fulfillment, as if he was seeking to fill a void somewhere. As if he wanted something more out of life.

Ryantiâ€™s feet returned to their slow, casual rocking pace as Sounsyy explained to him her experiences and feelings about the dreams she was having. His eyes hinted at empathy and his expression became that way. His ears tightened a little in the interest he had in her wording. He digested her insightful description and her questions as a calm wind bent his locks towards its direction. Sounsyyâ€™s eyes may have followed her hand, but Ryantiâ€™s eyes stayed fixed to her cheek.

It was only after she had completely undone her bandage that he shifted his glance down to her injured hand. He pursed his lips a little tighter at the sight of the ugly bruising, and cauterization marks instigated in order to save her. He could not imagine the pain she was in during that moment. Or what had immediately taken place after.

A moment or two passed. A sound of the waters splitting from the shipâ€™s bow echoed off of his ears. â€œItâ€™s very familiar.â€ He finally said, scooting a half-ilm closer to take up the spot that her hand had been in order to get a closer look at the extent of the injury. He spoke slowly, and very sincerely, pausing between each sentence. â€œI have those dreams too. As if I am someone else. Swimming in darkness one momentâ€¦ and falling from the sky in the next. The lights you see â€“ they are neither suns nor torches. But they are real. As real as the world you have seen in those dreams. There was a time where Hydealyn was such a world. Tall, unwavering structures so tall they would touch the heavens scattered the land as far as the eye could see. Lights that seemingly come from nothing, as you see from Garlemald â€“ but in all colors, shapes and sizes, that illuminated the horizon. And the ships. Ships of luminous metal that could not only sail the waters, but the sky itself. Even those that could sail above the sky, to mimic the moonâ€™s journey around our planet. I could not hope to convince anyone unless they saw it themselves. We are seeing it from their eyes. From their time. And I think when I am floating in that darkness, it is where I am to go. Where I must go in order to understand. To be able to understand themâ€¦ and their story. That is what I think it means, at least.â€

He fell silent as he continued to examine her bruised and battered hand. â€œWe all get those dreams. Me, my partners. Now you. But youâ€™re not alone. I see the difference, yâ€™know. I see the lack of rest in your eyes. I can tell these dreams trouble you so. Donâ€™t let it. They are not malicious if you donâ€™t let them be. I have not lost much sleep. Some, but not much. Actually the less you allow it to trouble you, the sharper the dreams become. If you do that, youâ€™ll sleep well. Besidesâ€¦ there are no words to describe how breathtaking it can be to see it. To see that world.â€

He exhaled one long, slow breath through his nose. His right hand inched ever closer to that injured left hand. He said nothing, he justâ€¦ didnâ€™t want to do anything wrong. He rested his fingers incredibly lightly up against the palm of her hand from underneath, not wanting to hurt her. They were warm, despite still being a bit wet from his earlier duties and gripping the mainmast pole as he did. His thumb gently rested itself right behind the knuckle of her index finger. He very carefully manipulated the hand to tilt a bit, eyeing the bruising and the extent of the injury in her bone. He could feel the pulse emitting from that hand. It made him feel a kind of life coming from her that he could not see from the look in her eyes.

â€œItâ€™s suffocating. It needs air. At least for a little while.â€ He quietly mentioned, his thumb subconsciously moving a little horizontally across her skin, a little more towards her thumb. He used his index finger that rested under her hand to softly tilt it a bit back to have a better view of her severed finger. â€œThe bone â€“ I would maybe see Forty-three. He mentioned pursuing a physician career. He could probablyâ€¦ help straighten it out. It would hurt, yes, but the bone would need to be straightened out to heal properlyâ€¦ orâ€¦ â€œ

His words lagged a little, as it was beginning to dawn on him that he was no longer looking at the hand, but at Sounsyy herself. If Ryanti had thoughts in a hypothetical situation, he was either running out of them or his thoughts were running away from him. â€œâ€¦ something.â€

Sounsyy · **05-28-2015, 06:24 PM**

Sounsyy watched as the young Miqo'te examined her hand. She let her wrist become limp so that he could manipulate it to get a better view. It stung slightly, but it was a dull pain that she could handle. His assessment of her dreams intrigued and annoyed her. An ancient artifact wanted to return to the bottom of the sea? Good riddance.

"I'm visited by enough revenants of times lost. I neither want nor need five-thousand year dead ones to invite themselves. Yer young, though I don't claim to know what ye've been through, but sometimes yer dreams are yer last bits of yerself what're truly you. Yeh don't want them taken over."

Truly, the Captain had always been haunted by disturbed dreams, twisted memories of long dead friends, happier times, and sometimes imaginary places in the sea that at once soothed her and horrified her. But after all these years of living within her twisted dreamscape, she had grown used to this sort of trauma. These new demons were unwelcome. She had enough to entertain.

She took her hand back and massaged her skin with her other hand. A little bit of color and life had returned to the pale skin beneath the bruising. She looked at her finger and regarded the ugly injury with a scowl - one more blemish to hate. The way the tip was wrinkled and blanched white from the cauterization made her sick. It brought her back to Carteneau, where everything was aflame. These were the kinds of memories she lived with. What did Sounsyy see when the red sun rose? She saw the red sky over Ala Mhigo, when her nation was in flame after the fires of resistance were lit. What did she see as the sun blazed across the roiling waters? She saw the firefights of Carteneau. Garlean artillery booming from the smoke, crystals dancing with firelight. What did she see as the Roehmerl's sails caught wind and bloomed outwards? She saw the standards of her nations - Limsa Lominsa and Ala Mhigo - flapping in the breeze as she charged against Garleans amid her unit. Those blank eyes still saw many things, even if they seemed blind to the present.

"In time, it will heal, but I cannot rest it. There is work to be done. Which, as we arrive on the topic, I'll be takin' yeh under wing fer the day. P'welro will need time and some space. Not all scars can be treated by a chirurgeon's touch. Bear that in mind," Sounsyy said and began climbing down the mast, using her left hand as sparingly as possible. She landed gingerly upon the deck and set about untangling herself from her harness. She beckoned for him to follow her down.

By now much of the crew had surfaced and set about their daily tasks. Today, only a few cleaned deck, while more resources were devoted to the maintenance of the hull, masts, and cannons. Word had been passed along of the growing danger. The crew was once again on high alert, like how they behaved that first evening. P'welro and Marjanie were nowhere to be seen and did not return above deck. Some time passed before Eighty-five and Forty-three were roused and escorted to their duties. Cwaenlona and Sixteen headed the maintenance efforts to the ship. It was clear that this crew was highly functioning without their captain's directive. All were able bodied sailors and veterans who knew what needed to be done and did it. On the open seas, disaster could make waves at any moment. They all had to be ready.

"Seventy-seven, we're headed into hostile waters. Yeh were free to enjoy the beauty of the morning, but I must needs urge yeh to consider the open sea as a place of danger, first and foremost. Yer team is new to sailing, and more so new to our methods. I think it'd be pertinent to run our strategems and maneuvers by yer group so yer not at a loss. I expect yer all combat veterans, in yer own ways, however, aboard a vessel, the battlefield is ever changing. There is no such thing as steady ground. A rocking boat can misplace unweary footing, as can the movements of yer crew on one end of a vessel affect the balance of those athwartship."

Sounsyy suddenly gave a shrieking whistle with her mouth and those on deck snapped to attention. She looked about at Jonathans group, the only people on deck not standing at attention. She smirked and gave another whistle blast, this one was lower in tone and held for two whole notes.

"Yer fractured group operates together on the premise that ye've all had similar training in similar combat scenarios. To most of yeh, this field will be foreign, these strategems alien. Yeh may act as a cohesive unit to those among yer people, but I cannot use yeh as a cog in mine own vessel. And so yeh pose a danger to me and mine. Jada!" Sounsyy called, and the Quartermaster slinked up from below decks into the morning sunlight. Her dark skin shivered off the morning seaspray, but her icy blue eyes remained locked on the captain, awaiting her orders. She held a bushel of weapons over one shoulder.

"Yer first lesson," Sounsyy began without so much as a glance at her Quartermaster, "Is offense is left to the Helmsmen. If we are boarded, our struggle becomes defensive. Fer this, we use long pikes to harry invaders. Cannoneers aboardship take the brunt of the fire, and close in fer close range, occupying those what get past a spearhead. Ranged get on high and pick off stragglers or key targets. Our priority is to defend our Helmsman and our cannons. While my crew will also prioritize these things, I'd like yeh four to bear the brunt of that task."

Sounsyy gave a short nod to Jada Moui, who set the weapons down in response. She withdrew two Maelstrom Issue shortswords and handed one to Ryanti and one to the Captain. She withdrew two more and handed one each to Sixteen and Eighty-five. She knelt down to the pack of weapons and made as if to draw a fifth shortsword, but Sounsyy spoke.

"First drill, come, show meh what yer group can do," Sounsyy charged suddenly - her shortsword held like a stinger, ready to strike! The crew came to life in that moment, moving in her direction across the ship, causing it to lean heavily to port. It was to simulate rough waves, but a dozen veterans charging in a solid line athwartship at Sounsyy's battlecry was enough to throw just about anyone off their guard. Sounsyy reached Ryanti and made to swing upwards at Ryanti's bare chest, but feinted to one side and pivoted to ram her elbow into Eighty-five.

Jada, who had remained crouched, stood now withdrawing a long pistol from the pack. She held it aloft so that it was visible if the four weren't distracted by Sounsyy's attack. She gave a count of two before she fired the first round at Fhruhsunn. The hulking man had his eyes closed, but kept steady. If he would speak, he'd either have been cursing or praying. His face was difficult to decipher. Jada reloaded and made to fire another shot at Fhruhsunn as Sounsyy violently engaged the group with her blade.

The crew shifted once more, to change the level of the field. Sounsyy adjusted easily, and tried to swipe out the legs of someone who didn't with the flat of her blade.

Show Content

Ryanti · **05-29-2015, 06:31 AM**

Ryanti felt a warm embrace take him over upon that mast. But it was not the type of heat welcomed by his body. It was a hot pain, as if he had swallowed fire from a shot glass. It sunk into his stomach and latched onto his innards as if it was a parasite. Empathy was not always a positive feeling to the one suffering from it. Very often it was a painful experience. Like her words. Her words sounded so sad. It was like she was advising Ryanti not to do something. Not to continue to walk on the path that he was.

He felt like there was something more besides those dead eyes of hers. He knew it because he felt it. Her body was warm, and her heart was beating. Even in the one place of her body that was most physically ravaged. Was she telling them this because she had lost something and did not desire him to? Was she taken over? Taken over by something to make her eyes wilt and die? Or was she just simply saying it because she thought he was crazy and that she wanted no part of sharing the insanityâ€¦

He saw her glance at her finger. He glanced at his own. They were healthy and even though there had been a blister or so in the days of hauling rope and rigging sails, they were already healed well enough. He gripped his hand into a fist, hard enough so that blanched white spots decorated the inside of his palm. He was like her now with a spot of blanched white skin. But it disappeared within moments. How would he have felt if he had glanced at his hand and saw a finger missing? But he knew that Sounsyy was not thinking about that. She was staring at her hand. The hand she now despised. Though nowâ€¦ she was staring at nothing. Staring at the past. Not the past that they were both dreaming about though.

The young man nodded slowly at the notion of more work. There was always work to be done no matter your state of mind. Every day there was something new. Ryanti also understood that every day had a chance for the same old thing though. He watched the Captain as she made her way down the mast but he didnâ€™t bother to move. Not yet. His eyes followed her form as she gingerly made her way down. Perhaps once or twice more than what was allowed of him. He noticed the itty bitty signs of struggle since she only had one good hand to use. He felt like he could do nothing. Like he was helpless.

â€œWhat about new memories?â€ He said, as if she was still next to him but she of course wasnâ€™t. He had instead said it to himself. Almost as if to ask Azeyma herself. Ryanti was not always the most faithful young man. He could not find it easy to believe that he always had someone to go to when he felt like he needed it. He almost never did.

His fingertips gripped onto the bits and pieces of the mast that he could get a hold of when he decided to go. As he made his way down, Ryanti felt the emotion from being up there on the pole leak up into his throat. He felt his teeth clench as he began to talk to himself, or perhaps someone else besides himself. â€œIf Azeyma is the Goddess of Inquiry, then can I ask if I am worthy of this place? If there is someone out there watching me do what I do, then please tell me if I am doing it right. If the rising sun across the ocean is the last gift I will ever receive, then what can I do to beg for the gift of strength?â€ She told him that dreams could be the last thing that makes you you. But what was Ryanti to these people? A number? Was he himself just a number? He did not know who he was, or what he was about. He had clung to this adoration of ideals, a pyramid of values, principles, conviction and pride. But who was he? Neither Midlander, nor Keeper of the Moon. Never at the right age, and never at the right time.

He had a significant family, yet belonged nowhere within it. He had wealth and privilege, but the countless hours spent in tutoring when he was a preteen and the cold feeling of gil coins in his hand felt as empty as his identity felt in his heart. Who was Ryanti? A young man that dreamed too much? Wanted too much? Was he just a number serving a cause? His number was for his missions, but he did not want to be known as a number to people. He wanted to be known for being him. But was it okay to be him?

--

The day went on for a while like normal. He found himself working by the Captain but felt like he was unable to speak much further. Silence was golden at times. All during the morning, while Eighty-five and Forty-three were yanked upon the deck and joined in seldom idle conversation, Ryantiâ€™s thoughts were mostly occupied on what Sounsyy had mentioned to him atop of the mast. These recent days had placed a lot on his mind. He could afford to do the routine tasks he had been rigorously instructed to do rather well without thinking. He just followed the whim of the Captain. For someone who was learning, he was coming along. While he was far from a natural at it yet, he was able to efficiently predict a lot of the routine procedures. But he noticed just how much quieter things were on the ship.

Sounsyyâ€™s first comment to him about heading into hostile waters confirmed his suspicion. So they were in enemy territory now. Outside of the safety of their nations. The open sea was no longer supposed to be friendly, but just another obstacle to overcome. There was no one out here to watch over you. It made more and more sense that it was the case. He hoped he was wrong. He had hoped that Azeyma, Llymlaen, even the willpower of the ancient Allagan aether that clouded their cargo were watching over them. It was as if Nyemia was saying that it was their fate that they see this through. He held onto that hope.

He had glanced at his unit working along with the crew in the morning light. In his ears he absorbed Sounsyyâ€™s lecture, his face contorting into a bit of a frown as she mentioned his unit. Fractured group. Danger to her group. This and that. He was beginning to notice a pattern that they were always seemed to be blamed for everything bad that she had to deal with. What the hell was he doing hereâ€¦

Jonathan seemed to have no such thought pattern. To him, he belonged here just as damn much as anyone else on his ship did. In his mind, assignments were assignments, and you were expected to work with your co-workers or die looking like unorganized dunces on the edge of dying from stupidity. He raised an eyebrow to the second whistle, his nose twitching a bit as he stood to attention along with the rest of the group. He was the first, and at wits about himself, the others following not too shortly after.
When Ryanti glanced to see the Quartermasterâ€™s strong blue eyes coming from below deck, he blinked. He had never seen her before in such bright sunlight. Based on Sounsyyâ€™s dialogue about their roles and the time that Jada made herself known aboard the deck, nearly all of the unit concluded that this was planned. They had managed to learn from the past; expect something from this crew if something appears premeditated. So Ryanti managed a fair amount of steps towards the rest of the group as they all got closer to one another while absorbing the information the Captain was giving them.

When each of them received their swords, Ryanti twirled it a bit in his hand to get a feel for it. Eighty-five grinned in the reflection of the blade in her hand, as if to see if her teeth were clean. Jonathan simply eyed it down with the same kind of excitement a Roegadyn would get from going shopping and picking up a boring can of beans. He neither felt it out nor swung it to test to the weight. He didnâ€™t need to.

--

They all expected an attack to come. They were hear to be tested to their roles once more. But none of them expected the kind of fury an entire crew charging in the same direction via a battlecry would behold them. Within that moment, they had felt the weight of the ship underneath them tilt, their center of gravity bouncing away from where they were used to standing. Within that one moment, Ryanti saw the Captainâ€™s dead eyes aim straight for the intention of piercing his heart. His eyes lit up, alive and true, as was his mouth agape at the struggle to maintain his footing.

Everyone took steps back. Forty-three almost fell, while Eighty-five and Sixteen held their ground the best. But even Jonathan stumbled for a moment, looking down at his feet to make sure he was in a correct kind of posture. Sounsyy charged and Ryanti took the most steps back to try to adjust in time to parry efficiently, only to be fainted.

The battle had begun. Whoever in the midst of their running bothered to look, it was going to be a hell of a show.

Eighty-five had brought her arms to match with Sounsyyâ€™s elbow. However, it was intercepted by the elbow of another; Jonathanâ€™s. Both of their bones smacked against one another, causing them both to slightly reel from the pain. Despite that, both of their elbows were locked before Jonathan shoved her back a few steps as the group adjusted their footing.

When the first gunshot was fired, it startled near all of them. But they quickly understood what that symbolized. â€œEight!â€ Jonathan called out with a harsh voice. Eighty-five didnâ€™t even respond as she had already broke out in a vicious sprint towards Jada.

Ryanti had come in from the Captainâ€™s flank and swung in an overhead blow, only to be swatted away. Jonathan flanked from her other side and his blade found Sounsyyâ€™s on multiple heights within a second before the Captain swatted him away momentarily with a curved swing of her sword that bounced off of his one-handed block.

Jonathan spun and maneuvered in front of Forty-three, who had ample time to make symbols with his hand and pressed his palms upon the floor. A sudden slippery gust of wind swatted the two lancers that were now charging towards them on either side of the Captain off of their feet at the same time his cloak blew from the effects of his wind spell. But the movement of the ship thrusted the mage forward. Which landed his legs right into Sounsyyâ€™s sweep. It sent him flipping errantly and landing hard on the wooden deck back first.

Before the Lalafellâ€™s back hit the floor, Eighty-five had tackled Jada in a wreckless fashion to the ground as she was about to fire. The shipâ€™s tilt during their grappling had caused the gun to jump from Jadaâ€™s hand and onto the floor. Eighty-five had Jada on her back, straddling her. She threw a flurry of closed fists to Jadaâ€™s neck, nose, chest, even behind her ear, but Jada blocked all of them in a tangling of arm limbs. Jada hit home with her first strike â€“ a side hook to her chin. Recoiling from the punch, she spun off of her and ended up on her knees. Eighty-five got up to her feet while Jada got up to her knees, grabbing Eighty-five attempted kick to the face, but Eighty-five thrusted her foot forward, landing the mark anyway.

Sounsyyâ€™s blade switched from left to right in a flurry of offense, sandwiching her two male opponents on either side who took turns clashing steel with her. The two men were unable to attack in this violent offense, instead defending high, low, and sideways. However, Sounsyyâ€™s effort was hitting nothing but steel. Her offense was brutal and furious, but the two men facing her were seemingly in sync with their idea of strict defense. That was until one of the two lancers reached Ryantiâ€™s flank. The young man was forced to break off his conflict with Sounsyy to swat the spear away from his throat.

The Lalafell seemed awkward and slow in getting up. The lancer targeting him wasnâ€™t. The spearmen headed for him with tip point outstretched. It was only after that the Lalafell finally stopped playing possum. His awkward fumbling was actually a clever ruse in disguising another whirling of his fingertips, drawing symbols into each hand. As the Lancer aimed to pin him down to the floor, the Lalafell whipped himself up with another wind spell, twirling his body in a graceful tornado fashion up onto his face like only a mage could, using his other free hand to execute his third wind spell, crushing the might of the air down upon the Lancerâ€™s spear, causing the tip of his weapon to be pressed to the floor. It was then that the Lalafell demonstrated his martial skill by running up the pole and jumping into a violent spinkick, aided by what little potency he had left in the last charm he used, knocking the Lancer onto the floor in violent fashion.

The crew ran in the other direction, again shifting the boat. It caused Forty-three and the floored lancer to slide until they hit the edge of the boat.

The two girls that had been fighting over the gun in-between them, however, were just getting started on what would end up being one of the high points in the drill. When the boat shifted, Jada jumped up in the air to hit three kicks targeting Eighty-fiveâ€™s head, but they were all blocks by her swiftly moving hands. They were both sly, slick, and extremely quick, making this a fight between two females flare up in intensity as a rivalry sense of mind began to take form. What resulted was a beautiful show of conflict.

Their pace quickened immensely; both girls attempted a high roundhouse kick twice, with each girl starting with a right, then a left, almost as if they were fighting their opposite. Their legs clashed against one other as if they were swords when this happened, and with vicious power they matched each otherâ€™s kicks blow for blow that was getting faster and more intense by the second as both girls exerted shouts of exertion and pain from clacking their shins together like rams batting horns. Jada aimed right for the cheek with a spin kick to break the cycle, only for Eighty-five to duck and deliver one of her own damn nearly as fast as hers was. Jada dodged as she did, catching her right in the nose with a direct punch, sending Eighty-fiveâ€™s face snapping back and her feet stumbling. She caught her footing right when Jada crouched and reached for the pistol, kicking it aside from her hands and, keeping the leg in the air, swung it horizontally around to catch her with a hook kick, heel first. Her first blow to Jada. Then snapped it back for a knee-powered roundhouse to her face. Make that two. The second blow Jada used for momentum on her end, spinning back around as they reached a neutral positioning again.

Forty-three was a little dazed from hitting the wall, but wasted absolutely no time in tracing runes from his hands. This time he utilized earth elemental spells upon his hands in runes. Once they were both able to recover, Forty-three used his size and weight to make the spear wielderâ€™s task of putting him down difficult. He dodged a forward thrust by tilting his head, then shifted to the side to dodge another. He grabbed the pole the second time and cartwheeled over it while using it for support, smacking his palm against the Lancerâ€™s leg. It felt like he smashed it with a rock. His hand was like stone. He had skinned his hand to feel like stone. The Lancer let out a yelp of pain before swinging his stick like a bat, smacking the Lalafell upon the head and sending him reeling a few feet backwards.

During all of this time, Jonathan and Sounsyy had been fighting. Though this fight was much more methodical than the rest. Jonathan had shunted himself in front of Ryanti and the other to get the Captainâ€™s attention. With everyone else occupied, the Captain found that she had no choice because Jonathan immediately went on heavy offense. He had the same look in his eye as she did. A look that no one really noticed that he had possessed before now. Or was it a different look? A look that would only turn on and off like a switch in the mind? Nevertheless, Jonathanâ€™s face was completely emotionless, and as he swung at the Captain, she found it physically intense to block his advances. He had immense power behind every blow but it seemed to be coming from nowhere. In reality, he had mastered the use of his legs and hips and projecting that energy into the tiny point of impact that he attacked. He had mastered this kind of style with a sword. One of relentless offense. His attacks were incredibly straightforward; he only used a total of ten different kinds of blows. But the order in which he used them were almost impossible to predict. It was a very precise style. An Ala Mhigan style. A style seen often in the war they had with Garlemald. But he was doing it so well that even someone who was familiar with the style would struggle to keep up. To make things worse, he appeared to hit faster and harder with every blow. Like a machine. Sounsyy was finding herself defending each blow with more and more sloppiness as Jonathan began to show his true colors as a warrior. Their swordplay became blurs of steel clashing one another in a display of finesse and precision. But Sounsyy was turning from frustration into desperation, falling back. Even with the ship moved, Jonathan just kept frigginâ€™ coming. It forced the Captain to let out a desperate noise of exertion. It was a duel between the leaders, and she was losing. Fast.

Ryantiâ€™s more graceful style of attack initially caught the Lancer that fought him off guard. But the Lancer switched their style to match it by treating the lance as a quarterstaff with a blade on one end. He twirled the spear around his hands masterfully, spinning to create more momentum as Ryanti stuttered back to prepare to block. With a yell, he thrusted his blade into the spearâ€™s offense, clacking against it. Ryanti then thrusted like a fencer would, the side of his blade meeting the defense of the spear. Five clinks sounded as he adjusted the direction of his previous thrust with each block, but the Lancer shoved one end of the long spear after another in a rapid flurry of defense, pushing Ryanti back right after with athletic twirls and spins of his body in another flurry of offense. The lancer grabbed the stick still in the middle of the rush, switching to thrusting again. Ryanti ducked underneath one of these thrusts and wrapped his arms upward and around the stick, pressing it against his shoulder blades and, in a display of strength, used the spear as a pulley and tossed the Lancer upon his back and sticking the end of the spear into his gut, causing him to murmur in pain. He grabbed his sword after and rushed forward.

Eighty-five was bleeding from her nose. Jada didnâ€™t care. The two women had been trading punches rapidly, cancelling each other out with their legs by intercepting knees. Eighty-five landed a wild hook to Jadaâ€™s face, causing her to stumble over herself, and then landed a beautiful side kick directly to her nose, causing it to bleed. Finally, Eighty-five attempted a running jump kick, but it got grabbed by Jadaâ€™s grip and she viciously slammed the girl on her back. She was done. But her hand was on the gun.

Eighty-fiveâ€™s demise happened at the time of the Captainâ€™s desperate yell. Forty-three had been legitimately hurt by the spearâ€™s clubbing hit, as his head was already not what it used to be because of his previous injuries to his skull. But Jonathanâ€™s eyes quickly flashed over because of the Lalafellâ€™s painful moan. It was this that saved Sounsyyâ€™s ass. He ran and shunted the Lancer that was about to get him so hard that it knocked the wind out of him as he hit the floor, out of the fight. He winked at the Lalafell but the hurt man pointed up at the mainmast. There was another gunner climbing the nest and getting ready!

Swearing at his lack of foresight, Jonathan began swiftly setting himself up to climb the mainmast. But the damn ropes functioned in a different way than the ones he used to hang from the shipâ€™s sides!

While Jonathan was trying to figure it out, Ryanti focused his attention directly at the Captain when his superior left the fight. Sounsyy was a faced with a new opponent, the very young man she sat next to that morning. Not reacting to Ryantiâ€™s sudden advance, Sounsyy instead decided to advance on her own. A swirling overhead strike was countered by ducking and him swiping at her dominant leg, but Sounsyy switched her dominant side and thrusted towards his midsection, forcing Ryanti to back up as she switched back to her usual leg up front. Perspiration was pounding off of the both of them. Sounsyy engaged at a rapid offense of five consecutive side swipes, targeting the mid-section, then the legs. Ryanti countered with three offense moves of his own; a thrust towards her thigh, a high hit, and then a spinning overhead. All three were blocked with steel. They next thrusted at each other, countering and spinning around each otherâ€™s blades with their own like fencing pirates before Sounsyy pushed Ryanti further back with a superior offense. Ryanti however broke this offense by changing his style; he switched his thrusts for broad slashing swings with some power behind them, tiring Sounsyyâ€™s arm and forcing her on defense.

This was becoming more than a â€˜littleâ€™ drill. This was becoming a competition between two different units with the same mission. A release of all of their pent-up differences and inner feelings of conflict. They were beginning to understand one another by fighting one another.

Jonathan was swiftly trying to catch up to the one ahead of him on the nest. That gunner had reached the top by now, and was beginning to rapidly reload. Though it was a blank, the gunner also counted the time they would take loading the actual round. â€œSeven!â€ He called out to him. He knew he didnâ€™t have to give the order. Ryantiâ€™s ears flicked. He was the only one active on the deck now. He had to keep them from reaching Jonathan.

He swung one more time at Sounsyy and turned his back to the bow of the ship, backing up to reach a spot where he could defend Jonathan, but was caught in a full nelson by Jada. Ryanti head-butted himself out of the predicament but was caught off guard by Jada grabbing the fifth sword she was pulling out earlier, causing Ryanti to lose a lock or two of hair having barely dodged it.

His teeth clenched. Swear was pouring from him now. He was now surrounded by two. His style changed again as he formed a box of defense around his front, moving in a way to keep them both having to face his front, trying to catch a bit of rest by only worrying about parrying thrusts made by them two running. However it would not last forever. After a moment he found his back hitting the mainmast, and he clenched his teeth so hard it hurt as he parried Sounsyyâ€™s strike to his neck and swiftly shifting his wrist to block a thrust to his legs, then finally ducked another swing and spun around the pillar.

Only to spin his back to the stern of the ship and the thrust of the Lancer that now had gotten up from the stomach shot he had given him earlier. Ryanti let it slip under his arm pit, giving him a swift elbow to the face. His eyes lit up when he saw the other two run for the mast. He intercepted them by sprinting ahead of them. He knew he couldnâ€™t run anymore. He had to stand his ground.

Ryantiâ€™s blade flicked back and forth in his front box, his eyes dilated as his adrenaline caved into its full force and turned him into a being thinking of survival and survival only. He seemed feral as he made his first offense flurry at the two, bouncing his blade off of theirs with one clash every fourth of a second for a whole three seconds before a shoulder thrust by Sounsyy cut through his thread, crimson blood emitting from the wound, causing Ryanti to back up in the burst of pain.

The gunner up top had loaded the gun, and let out a shot at Fruhsuun. There was nothing Jonathan could have done. He hadnâ€™t climbed up there yet. This was a very challenging test. That he knew. But he knew that coming out of it, he had done his best. He knew one thing though. That gunner was not going to give up another shot.

Ryanti let out another cry as he was nicked by the Lancer from behind. It caused another tear in his clothing, on his ribs, near the bottom right above his waist. The boat tilting again gave him no opportunity to counter attack, but Ryanti was able to adjust this time. He switched his style one last time, placing both hands on his sword if he needed a powerful block, because at this point he was doing all defense.

He was fighting with all he had. His blade was all over the place as he spun and dodged the thrusting spear and the hellfire offense of Jada AND Sounsyy. Everything that he had learned, between Ulâ€™Dahâ€™s barracks, Sentinalâ€™s Ark, his time in this unit and even his teenage years learning ball dancing was being applied here. Ryanti starting letting out yells of exertion and to psyche himself up, somehow it made him block even faster, something that his adrenaline could have justified.

Then, something happened. Something clicked. He had felt like he hadnâ€™t belonged. Like he wasnâ€™t supposed to be here. But here and now, in the middle of all of the flying steel and the desperation and the sweat and the angst and the pain of his wounds because of the salt in his sweat, everything clicked. He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to show them what kind of heart he had. What he would do to protectâ€¦ and what he would do to see his dreams through.

His dreams. One of the only things that could be left when it comes to who you are.

He went for a low block of Jadaâ€™s, and swiped it away like his ancestor Alexandria would probably had been able to do in Ishgard so long ago. He bent his stomach inward and leaned forward to dodge a thrust from a lance, much like Rei-Sigh three hundred years ago in his bloodline would have done in one of his stage performances. He momentarily gave himself space with a rapid spin of his sword in a 360 degree rotation, much like his brave father probably had done in Cartenau, fighting for his familyâ€™s life at a time when everyone thought the world was going to end.

But only thought it would end. The world did not end. The dreams of the people came true. And while any of his familyâ€™s lineage â€“probably-, -maybe-, -might- have done what he was doing, it didnâ€™t matter. The people on this ship were not fighting Lorenthian his father, or his ancestors. They were fighting a young man with the blood of all of those people in his veins. They were fighting Ryanti Veanysus, and this was who he was!

For the first time in this desperate attempt to not lose, Ryanti began going on the offense. He blocked another spear thrust and pulled the spear in front of the swords. When all of the blades locked, he thrusted his blade down on the first blade he saw that wasnâ€™t his, cutting Jadaâ€™s hand and causing her to recoil. He ducked underneath the blades and only undid the blade lock afterwards, positioning himself on the opposite side of the spearman. He blocked two high shots from the women on either side of him, then jumped up above the spearâ€™s thrust in a sloppy way of dodging it but landing on the stick itself with knees and shins, rolling under two low swings from the blade landing him next to the Lancer again in which he elbowed the lancer in the side of his face and then with a backhand, sending him falling to the floor but not without him sticking the pointy end to prick Ryantiâ€™s leg, a red blotch slowly forming in his pants leg.

Ryanti was hurting at this point. All of these little cuts were eating away at him. The two made their way for the mast again, but Ryanti stopped them by running in front of them with a calm expression opposite of his feral expression from earlier, but with determined eyes. He made an attack for Jada, but was blocked and got cut again on his shoulder by the Captain, making it two cuts there. He winced in pain but his shook his head violently, not wanting to stop yet. Jada went in for a mid-section thrust but Ryanti parried and spun their blades around in a lock until both blade ends hit the Captain in the upper part of her good arm, forming some cuts of their own, causing her to make a noise. He had now put a mark on everyone.

But there was an end to every last stand. At the moment Jonathan reached the Crowâ€™s next, both women started to make the same overhead strikes at the same time, forcing Ryanti to continue to block upwards, but his blocks were getting weaker, weaker, and weaker. His back slid against the pole as another simultaneous hit was cracked against his blade â€“ and finally his blade gave, the metal shattered into one large piece and two smaller ones, crumbling next to him and causing Ryanti to shout in pain from the vibration, letting go of the hilt and shaking his hands while shivering in tension, crouching down to sit on his butt at the mercy of them.

Right then, Forty-three blew the two women away from Ryanti with another forceful wind spell. Not enough to push them off of their feet, but enough to separate them.

The Plainsfolk mage was glowing with a slight green tint now, having etched a rune symbol upon his chest itself. His fabric was floating in the wind, almost as if it was slightly weightless. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes had a bit of sheen to them as well. â€œIt isâ€¦ so much harderâ€¦ to do thisâ€¦ without my staffâ€¦ â€œHe muttered with his accent flaring with every phrase. He sounded exhausted. But with another strong exhale, gusts of air that he had pocketed within his body left with that aura and settled things down on his end.

Eighty-five, knowing that she was defeated, laid on the deck with an arm over her face in a rather frustrating mood.

Jonathan had the gun muzzle-up in the air. It had never been fired. He looked down with a bit of a hard expression, knowing that it was finished.

Ryanti was in heaps of sweat and there were plenty of small cuts on his body that had torn through the threads of his clothing and stained it with blood. He was hurting from all of the salt being poured into those wounds. He was also breathing very quickly, finding it hard to settle his heart rate. He was tense, so tense his hands shivered. In fact, he was tense enough for one of the capillaries in his nose to burst from the blood pressure. A slow, but thick stream of blood silently fell from one of his nostrils as he felt the burning pain of that wound opening up. That wound was not from the battle, but from stress. Stress of holding that many at once. Of that skill. For that long.

He moved a little bit. He was now sprawled out in a seating position against the pole. He had a dazed look in his eye, as if he didnâ€™t know where he was at first. He swallowed. He was so thirsty. His heart felt like it was going to explode. It was normal for him to feel this way. This was the first time in his life that he fought that hard without his life being in danger. It was also the first time it probably would have ended in his death.

A moment later, he started wiping at the stream of blood from his nose that had now drooped all the way to his jaw and even his neck with his bare arms. When it wasnâ€™t stopping, he placed two fingers up against his nose and let out a cough. He needed some help.

Sounsyy · **05-29-2015, 10:21 PM**

"Enough," Sounsyy said calmly, raising her left hand into the air. Her crew went at ease and made their way over to the wounded. Two cannoneers helped the first, downed lancer upright. The lancer was an aging Midlander male named Aric, from whom Sixteen had borrowed his clothes. After he had righted himself and recovered his breath, he shook off the two Cannoneers, as each of them had taken the time to have a little sport at Aric's expense.

The second lancer, who Ryanti had bested was an Elezen man named Juselmont, a rather distinguished looking Elezen with a graying, sand colored beard and carefully braided head of hair. He and the musketeer from the crow's nest went to Forty-three's side to check on his health. The musketeer was a olive-skinned Midlander woman in her fifties who sported the Roehmerl's leathers instead of simple clothes, much in the way that Marjanie broke the tradition of musketeers wearing simple clothes. This woman - Simin - was of a similar ilk to Marjanie. One side of her head was shaved, while the other sported long, flowing white hair. She carried herself like royalty - graceful, elegant, but dangerous.

Juselmont knelt beside Forty-three and offered the Lalafell his hand to help him stand, "A fine display of conjury, friend. My deepest apologies for any injuries! Sometimes we forget not all are as conditioned to the drills our Captain has us run almost daily." Simin, who stood silently nearby nodded in agreement.

Jada Moui lowered her guard, and at the Captain's call for peace, set about the task of collecting what weapons had been disarmed and flung across the deck. She took quick inventory and returned the items to her pack on her way over to the downed Eighty-five. She squatted down next to the Seeker and perched her rear on her heels, looking over the damage with a smirk. "Com'on love, I didn't whip yeh that hard now, did I? Can yeh stand?"

"Get the injured to the infirmary!" Sounsyy shouted across the deck, "Every scrape, sting, or cut gets a look, clear! Return to yer posts when fit, we'll be all hands when the storm sets in."

Cwaenlona was already at Ryanti's side, tilting his head back with one strong hand and holding gauze against his upper lip with a firm finger. The pressure to his upper lip slowed the bleeding enough for the Roegadyn medic to begin mopping up the exhausted Miqo'te. Sounsyy regarded the Miqo'te for a moment before moving to Sixteen's side at the base of the mainmast.

"Well fought brother," the Captain said to Sixteen as she neared, "It does me good to see the old ways of our people are still remembered. If this had been purely a test of yer martial strength, I would've deemed yeh all worthy victors. However, yer goals were to protect my Helmsmen and to work in cohesion, rather than division. In this, yeh still will need practice. But this is but the first drill of many, and I am already impressed."

This was a rare compliment coming from Sounsyy. Something her crew knew had to be earned. They were all experienced veterans, fighters, leaders, idealists - of that there was no doubt - but because the bar had been set high, to earn favor, they had to prove themselves in other ways. Comradeship, leadership, sacrifice and recovery. These were attributes of the character, things that were not so easily taught, but came from personal experience and empathy.

Sounsyy turned her gaze back to Ryanti as he was being aided by Cwaenlona and now a few other crew to help the young Miqo'te to his feet. "Seventy-seven fought well. But he is sick. This is twice I've seen the boy defeated by his own body. I hesitate to push him harder, though it is my belief that he must needs be."

Sounsyy wiped her face dry on her sleeve, only to have fresh beads drip down the sides of her face. It was a welcome sight when one of the crew returned with Susuroon upon her heels. The Qiqirn was laden with several waterskins, which he began distributing to those on deck. He seemed to be in his usual cheery mood. Even after taking her waterskin from the Qiqirn, Sounsyy kept her eyes on the young Miqo'te. Her thoughts began down a darker line of thought.

Ryanti · **05-30-2015, 10:42 PM**

It was amazing how the pacing of the people aboard the deck slowed down so much in such little time all because of one command. If there was a best example of the term â€˜at easeâ€™, this had to be it. It was no question that perhaps the event itself this day would be talked, joked, and bragged about for the next few nights in the mess hall. A lot had happened in that simple drill.

The metal plates on Forty-three were sewn to his skin in a manner that was very precise and was probably done at the hands of a sophisticated chirurgeon. Perhaps someone he knew back in Sharlaya. He was too vain, and perhaps too concerned for his scalp to have shaved his head after those plates. So what resulted was locks that hovered over the plates on the side of his skull which hid the pieces of metal over a light Auburn curtain. It was one of these plates where on both sides the skin was welted but the plate was not bent or dented in any way. This was where the Lalafell got smashed in the face.

â€œOh thank you. But you only did what you thought you had to.â€ Forty-three said, gently taking his hand and allowing himself the assist to get back up on his feet. He gave himself a little shiver and rubbed up his arms with his own hands to calm himself, glancing up at the two individuals in front of him. â€œSometimes I realize just how much more difficult it is to pace yourself with spells when you do not have a channeler. I believe all magi have their moments when they understand how much they rely on their staff or stave or what have you.â€ Because his head was aching, the lalafell place a concerned hand upon the side of his head. â€œPerhaps in the past I could be able to stand a blow like this before my â€¦ well, these plates see? Magic can always be just as dangerous to the user as to his enemies.â€ He said quite clearly with a sigh, speaking slowly because of the throbbing pain. â€œNow thenâ€¦ how about Iâ€¦ make some tea for everyone after my check up? Before I get chewed out by my superior?â€

Eighty-five was as still as a statue. She had that one arm over her head, and she was completely still right in the spot where Jada laid her out on her ass. Ah well, at least she was able to get in a few hits herself? Yes, that was right! Jadaâ€™s face didnâ€™t look the same! Take that you! Still, it wasnâ€™t enough to remove the rather exaggerated frown on her face. Her temperamental mentality of being the best bitch in the business had been overruled by a quartermaster. Sheesh.

But she didnâ€™t hate her or anything. On the contrary, she thoroughly enjoyed the contest despite losing in the end. When Jada asked her the golden question, the frown turned into a devilish smirk. â€œHmph! Of course I can!â€ She retorted, swinging the arm off of her face and rolling onto her knees, dusting off her shoulders and giving her a thumbs up. â€œYour hand-to-hand is like my mirror, like youâ€™re a sister from another life or something! So Iâ€™ll declare right now: anytime, anyplace, rematch!â€ She exclaimed, balling that same hand up in a fist and smiling through the bit of blood on her lip towards the other woman. â€œAnd Iâ€™ll make sure to keep you alive until that time comes, sister!â€

The leader of the splinter faction was surveying the scene around him. If it was not for this being Sounsyy's, he would be the one calling the orders. Sometimes it was challenging to avoid that instinct. But he knew his place for now, and kept his mouth closed. Instead of shouting orders, he focused on examining, by visual, the well-being of each member of his crew. It was customary for each member of the unit, when they first meet, to explain to the assigned squad leader of any unusual ailments or conditions they might be privy to, such as the vulnerability of Forty-threeâ€™s head. While there were several beads of sweat on him, the man did not seem too tired at all.

For him, it was a switch. The warrior came, the warrior dealt, the warrior was gone, and Jonathan was back. His rugged smile reawakened in the presence of the Captainâ€™s flattery. To Sounsyy, his facial expression was radically different from the one she had seen during her fight with him. In subtle ways. â€œSo. We share a common homeland, do we? This is interesting.â€ He murmured, with a stroke or two of his chin. â€œYou will find that the remembrance of our people will climax with the return of our city to its rightful hands. However, that is neither of our intentions at this moment in time. I was raised from the fire and ashes of war, and was tasked with shaping soldiers into pillars of steel.â€ He made a thinking hum from his lips after hinting at his past as a drill instructor. â€œHowever, this is different from open war. And as you know, sister, it requires different methods of shaping.â€

Jonathan did not line his men up and scream at them anymore. He did not try to break them anymore. That part of him was mildly humbled after he was captured by the Garleans. After what they did to him and what they made him do. When he had escaped, with nothing to show for it except for hundreds of well-placed permanent cutting scars all over his body deeming from past experiences of torture, he had grown weary of distancing himself from his own humanity. He had turned away from that life after so many years of being molded into an absolute killing machine, until he was called back to serve the greater good again. This time here. â€œYou set an extremely high bar for my men to meet. We WILL meet it. But in the end, that is why Sharlaya picked this crew. It promotes pushing one another to be the best they can be. We will need that practice and encouragement to weed out our flaws. Now you have a much better sense of what those flaws are, Captain. I expect you to assist us in phasing them out.â€

Meanwhile, the young Veanysus tried to focus his vision until the blurriness went away. It was only the soothing touch of Cwaenlonaâ€™s care that finally made his heart rate go down. The blood stopped a minute or two after, and he closed his aquamarine eyes. There wasnâ€™t much to dwell on what happened, as memories during times of strife was one of the more difficult ones to recall in vivid detail.

He was tired. Sore. The cuts that had been given to him during the vicious fighting were still burning, and that kept him from becoming drowsy over his fatigue.

His breaths were loud, but calm. He was not stubborn to be given care by Cwaenlona like some young men would. He fully welcomed her methods. Ryanti cared much about his body, and never wanted it to forsake it because of pride. He could taste his blood as he swallowed while his head was tilted back. It tasted like warm, salted iron. It disgusted him to a degree, but also let him know that he tried his best. His arms felt very cold being rubbed down, but he didnâ€™t want to see the blood on them again and smell that smell. He preferred not to.

â€œThank you Cwaenlona. Youâ€™re like an angel.â€ He said to her quietly and with sincerity after she patched up his most grievous wound and wiped the dried blood off of his arms. The maintenance on his cuts had to wait for the infirmary, but the piece of gauze taped to his nose would take care of that wound. A few calm breaths later, and a gust of wind with more energy than usual flung his dampened hair about, but did not affect the stare of his vibrant eyes towards the darkening clouds over the horizon. â€œA â€¦ storm is comingâ€¦ isnâ€™t it?â€ He murmured to the medic as several other members of the crew helped him up to his feet with a little bit of help from the young man himself. â€œI will be ready. For anything that comes my way.â€ He said after, in a combination of reassuring them, and reassuring himself.

Jonathan squinted his eyes and examined the young man from where Sounsyy was after she made the comment about him being sick, which immediately raised a cause for concern in the Ala Mhiganâ€™s eyes. The word sick was not treated by that unit lightly. Rarely did the word sick ever mean a normal illness in their line of work, and one of Jonathanâ€™s important jobs was to make sure the kind of sickness he was thinking of would never happen.

â€œYou told me before that he challenged you on his own time.â€ Jonathan mentioned, and after a brief pause he continued. â€œHe must have done so before he was cleared. Our Keepers are the most vulnerable to the side effects that come with handling artifacts that are thick with the residual energy of the past. Sometimes the aether like to leak into the skin and take refuge within the body. We are only made to carry so much within ourselves. If too much foreign aether takes hold within the body, they become saturated with aether and become aethersick. It is still not fully understood what it exactly does to the body, but what we know, thank the Twelve, is that if one simply spends time away from this occupation, the aether tends to dissipate over time, and the body is able to fully recover. That is the primary reason why we have large gaps of time off, among other things. It is a decent return for how dangerous this is.â€

Jonathan took the waterskin from the happy little Qiqirn and watched the go-lucky individual hand them out to the group where Ryanti was, who seemed very happy at receiving some water. Of course the person who was the most happy was Eighty-five, who hugged the giddy creature. â€œHe disobeyed orders by fighting you the first time. He was not fully recovered. In most cases, becoming aethersick can drain you of energy if you physically exert yourself. But that is not always the case. Sometimes it is the opposite.â€ He let out a little snort. â€œReminds me of how I was, actually. He values people over governments. Ideals over orders on paper. Most Keepers tend to be that way. They are the only ones in our branch that volunteer to be in it.â€

The older man watched as Ryanti began speaking to the others that he had fought. He was complementing them, and asking questions about their methods of fighting and tips about how he could do better against them. He was also shaking their hands, making sure to do so to everyone he crossed paths with during the drill before being urged to get to the infirmary, wincing a bit at the pain of his open cuts upon the open air. Jonathan spoke as Sounsyy kept her eyes on him. â€œYou have nothing to fear, Captain. He is not sick. The first sign to look for is if the very blood in his veins become illuminated. When his veins light up. That is the first symptom. I see no such thing on him. It is also incredibly rare for that sickness to return on just one mission. It takes several chains of missions before it begins to come back.â€

He smirked a little bit. â€œHe just fought a little harder than his body was prepared for. His focus could use some work, and he got really sloppy at the end, but he showed a lot of heart. Did you say something to him earlier?â€

As Ryanti was being guided to the infirmary, he eyed Sounsyy Mirke one last time. The corner of his lips curled into a bit of a smile, but his eyes had defiance in them. When he turned his gaze away, he became despondent. Softly, he asked the medic as he was stepping down the steps â€œAm I still just a boy to this crew? Is that all I am to her?â€

Sounsyy · **06-06-2015, 10:34 AM**

"I set an impossibly high bar," Sounsyy corrected the man, "Accomplishment invites complacency. Yeh must always be improving, always learning, always pushing. Few besides we Ala Mhigans truly understand assaulting impassible walls or sacrificing everything on impossible goals. Even the children of our nation have forgotten these things. Yer team may impress me, but I'll never be satisfied. Be forewarned."

Sounsyy watched in silence as the the Sharlayan crew were being led away. Juselmont leading Forty-three, Jada leading Eighty-five, Simin had joined Cwaenlona in escorting the chatty Miqo'te Seventy-seven below decks. The bloody Miqo'te passed one last look over his shoulder in Sounsyy's direction but the Captain merely shook her head at the boy. She sighed and eyed the gathering clouds above that now diminished the morning sun.

"It's yer team. I'll trust yer judgement. But do not mistake, this is very much 'open war'."

Pamido Wolmido joined the pair then and Sounsyy motioned for Sixteen to follow the Plainsfolk below decks to be examined with the rest. The Lalafell was looking increasingly more gruff, his stubble growing into scruff since they had boarded. His decorated armor clinked as the two descended the aft steps into the Infirmary. For once, the room was bustling with activity. The lancer who Sixteen had tackled, Aric, was sitting on one of the medical cots. Simin was attending to the man, pressing her bare fingers into the man's stomach to check its firmness. Jada Moui was collecting arms and armor from those in the room for storage and shouting for everyone in armor to strip down to their shirts before returning to the deck.

Ryanti sat on a medical cot next to him while Cwaenlona attempted to soothe the Miqo'te's concerns, "I can't speak for the Captain, but you're no boy. A young man perhaps, but you're doing a brave duty. Think we all see that. Just don't expect the Captain to get all fuzzy with you. She don't take a liking to most folk."

When Sixteen reached the bottom level, Simin came to him and bowed respectfully before giving a short report in a thick Near Eastern accent, "Your crew is well, just a few scrapes. Eighty-five took a bit of a beating, but nothing a bit of healing and some gauze wouldn't handle. More than most can say after tangling with our Quartermaster. So if you will - you're the last to be checked up."

Simin motioned towards an empty cot and began looking over Sixteen while Cwaenlona finished with Ryanti. Simin explained that for small heals and superficial wounds, she was more than capable, but anything beyond that fell upon Cwaenlona's shoulders. After a short examination, the two crews were dismissed and returned to their duties, which were mostly uneventful as the day pressed on.

It was mid-afternoon that day when the storm finally struck. It started as turbulent waves and a light sprinkle of rain from the clouds. The light sails that Ryanti and P'welro had rigged that morning were struck and replaced with storm sails, made of much heavier cotton. The crimson sails looked like blood against the darkening sky. Then the rain began to pour, swallowing the deck in a deluge. The sea grew more violent and Sounsyy ordered Sixteen's crew below deck. She would not hear any protests, claiming they were too inexperienced at sea to be of use. Pamido Wolmido escorted the four below deck and into their private room. Hurried footsteps could be heard racing down the hall outside.

The Plainsfolk explained that during stormy weather or during engagements all doors, portholes, and shutters were sealed and locked. This compartmentalization lowered the risk of the Roehmerl taking on too much water. The Lalafell pulled the shutter over the room's porthole shut as he said this. Then he set about flipping the four mattresses within the room on their sides and stacking them against the four walls in the room as a cushion.

"Llymlaen's juss gettin' started wit us. Yeh thought standin' steady were hard earlier, wait 'til we crest a rogue. Yeh'll feel as if yer balls jumped up into yer throat," Pamido Wolmido laughed heartily at this, "Though, if yer wantin' to practice yer footing, is a good time, juss try to aim fer yer mattress on yer way down."

Like the Southern King predicted the storm only got worse. Ryanti had not been below deck an hour before the Roehmerl was met with its first rogue, a massive rolling wave of black water rising high above the deck. The vessel heaved upwards and crashed through the wave. Water flooded across the deck sweeping those nineteen sailors still on deck off their feet. Each sailor gripped their mooring line that held them fast to one of the masts. Fhruhsunn and Marjanie both held tightly to the helm, using their combined strength to keep the wheel steady against the pounding of the waves against the rudder. Seventeen other men and women devoted their strength to maintaining the sails, lines, and rigging, keeping them in line with the howling wind.

The Lominsan vessel was whipped about by high winds and rolling waves that looked like black mountains. The red sails were like tiny rose petals blowing through the valleys of the great watery peaks. Pamido Wolmido tried to keep conversation flowing between the group to keep them from growing anxious, but before long the roiling brine beneath them grew so loud, no words could be discerned over the Goddess' fury. Every great wave sounded like a roar, as if deep sea beasts were rising from their dark depths to feast for the first time in centuries. It was easy to imagine how fisherfolk and seafarers could envision such monstrosities like the Kraken or the Nepto Dragon - if only these monsters were truly imaginary...

Above their heads, seventeen bootsteps clapped upon the deck, mixing with the ever increasing rush of water, grinding like sandpaper across the deck. A body fell with a loud thump, only to rise and be washed away again. Suddenly, the bosun's whistle let out a shrill call that sounded above the waves. Pamido Wolmido looked above him and whispered a solemn prayer, "Shite."

Above them there was gargled screaming. Sounsyy and Berasaem raced across deck at full speed towards the port gunwale. Berasaem made to grab for one of the jute ropes that lay taut across the deck while the Captain looked out over the side of the deck, screaming into the roiling abyss below. Berasaem had the rope in both hands and was pulling with all her strength, her muscles bulging as her strong legs pushed against the deck. But she could only lift the rope a few ilms before a wave would break upon the deck and wash her over onto her side. Sounsyy could see nothing but water below so she ran to help the Roegadyn. Two more sailors rushed to their aid and tried to pull the rope free from Llymlaen's hold.

A body emerged from the waters finally, limp and waterlogged. Sounsyy rushed to the gunwale and tried to reach out to the form but her arms were too short. "Pull her up!" Sounsyy screamed above the howling wind and the three heaved.

"Brace!"

Marjanie's cry came too late and the Roehmerl lurched violently, its bow crashing flat into a rogue before being lifted upwards into the rising, sucking waters. There was a crackle, then a loud pop, and the jute rope gave. The woman's body fell with Sounsyy in after it. A loud cry and the three rushed to the Captain's rope and began to heave before the waters carried her beneath the keel. Two more joined the effort and Sounsyy came above the water with a gasp. Her injured hand gripped the first woman's belt tightly, her knuckles white. Sounsyy was screaming in pain but held tightly as they pulled her back over the gunwale. She curled into a ball when she hit the deck, her hand was still locked around the belt as if she couldn't let go. P'welro had to pry her fingers loose and when she did, Sounsyy cradled her hand and sobbed.

Cwaenlona rolled the drowned Miqo'te onto her back and started pumping her chest with her bare hands. Water and saliva spilled out of the woman's mouth, but she did not wake. Another wave came crashing over the deck and three sailors threw themselves over their fallen comrade to keep her from being washed back into the brine. P'welro pulled Sounsyy to her feet and Berasaem grabbed ahold of the drowned Miqo'te, and with Cwaenlona, carried her by her extremities to the aft hatch. P'welro held Sounsyy's arms while she steadied herself. The blond Miqo'te shouted at the Captain, but her words were muted in the storm. Her lips read Are yeh here?

Sounsyy nodded and the two moved to the hatch, unlocked it, and opened it so the Roegadyn could descend the stairs into the armory below. Water washed down the planks and as soon as the three were below, Sounsyy and P'welro resealed the hatch. Then the Roehmerl struck the next wave.

Below Pamido Wolmido could make out nothing but the storm and the occasional cry from the crew on the wind. His lips were pursed and he leaned against one corner of Forty-three's mattress and closed his eyes. The bosun's call had made no further cries since that one solitary blast. Ever since the call, Pamido Wolmido had been on edge, but refused to say why. In fact, "shite" was the last word spoken to any of them. His attempts to keep their spirits high had been utterly dashed. They'd all five have to wait out the storm in darkness.

~Day #4~

The storm lasted all that night, and well into the next day. Sometime during the night, the four operatives began their ritual of burning their manifests and praying to Nymeia that they made it through the storm. The tiny flames cast odd shadows about the room, but Pamido Wolmido merely watched the group and kept his prayers to himself.

Pamido Wolmido did not sleep that night, nor had anyone come to relieve him, so he continued to sit quietly with the four. It was difficult to distinguish morning from the night before. It was still dark, and the wind and waves had not yet let up. Perhaps the only measurement of time was the measurement of their hunger. No food was had during the storm. Though it would have only been regurgitated in all likelihood. No more whistles had sounded in the night. For this the Plainsfolk was grateful to the Navigator. He gave his thanks for this during the early hours of the morning and was finally able to get rest.

Four hours passed and finally the sea seemed to calm. Rain could still be heard pounding the deck above them, but this was an improvement, as before the patter of rain had been drowned in the groaning of the goddess beneath them. The waves were still choppy, but less so, and not a single rogue had been felt in the last hour. The Lalafell came awake with a start at a knock on the door. He rushed to open it and was met by Susuroon carrying a tray of food. Five bowls of creamed wheat and a loaf of bread had been brought. The Qiqirn was sopping wet and appeared weary, not at all his normally jovial self. He gifted each bowl silently and then to each a bottle of grog. Pamido Wolmido could not eat, all he could think to ask was, "Who?"

"M'sizh," Susuroon said in a hoarse squeak, "Su-Susuroon saw M'sizh go below for long while. Cwaenlona say is too early to tell if M'sizh wake."

The main deck and infirmary were off-limits to the four for the rest of the morning, but Pamido Wolmido allowed them to go anywhere below deck freely while he visited M'sizh in the infirmary. A few of the crew were wandering below deck. Susuroon was scrubbing the Mess below and righting what dishware had fallen from the shelves. This wasn't a great quantity, as most things upon the Roehmerl were tied or bolted down. But a cabinet had sprung open and several wooden bowls had tried to escape down into the cargo hull.

Juselmont sat on the gundeck, talking to a Midlander named Hound. Berasaem stood guard outside the door to the infirmary. She was without her armor, dressed in simple clothes. She now wore a brace on her left wrist. All of the others were still tasked above deck.

It wasn't until that evening that Ryanti and the others were allowed above deck. Much of that afternoon was devoted to scrubbing the deck, cleansing the oak planks of the fine salt residue that the storm had left behind. It was hard work, but it kept the crew's minds off the recent storm and the life that had nearly been claimed by the sea. M'sizh was recovering in the infirmary below, but her curtain remained drawn. Cwaenlona had to drive two needles into the woman's ribs to drain the water from her lungs. Even after, she required constant ventilation until she started breathing on her own again so that her lungs would not stick together and collapse.

Forty-three was allowed to forgo swabbing and retreat to the Infirmary. There Cwaenlona, Simin, and Pamido Wolmido had spent most of that day, and would the following days, regularly checking in on M'sizh recovery. Simin had the night shift, so her visits during the day were brief, but she tried to assist Cwaenlona where she could. The Roegadyn woman looked as if she had not slept since the storm. Nor had she, but her duties lasted as long as she was needed. However, the medic finally allowed herself rest so long as Forty-three and Pamido Wolmido were keeping watch. The Roegadyn woman retreated into a nearby medical cot, closed the curtain and was asleep in minutes.

Jada had spent much of her time on deck with P'welro, so Eighty-five had taken to helping Susuroon in the Mess. In exchange for conversation and helping him clean, he would sneak her baked treats he had prepared but feared may go stale before there was occasion to eat them. It did the Qiqirn good to see his food being enjoyed. His spirits soared as the day went on.

P'welro's, however, seemed to be doing the opposite. She was distant and often would gaze out over the gunwale for hours at a time. Jada and Sounsyy had picked up her duties with the rigging that afternoon and enlisted Ryanti that evening into doing most of the tasks to keep him busy. Sounsyy warned the Miqo'te that some things were better left un-questioned. "Perhaps she would confide in yeh, but I'd rather yeh didn't ask her. Remember when I said that not all scars can be treated by a chirurgeon's touch."

Midnight had come and still P'welro gazed out over the deck. After careful calculation, Marjanie reported that the Roehmerl was still less than a hundred malms off the coast of Vylbrand even though they had left the Merlthor two suns before. The storm had rooted the vessel's progress and had thrown it back further than it had gained. With a pause, she said, "Means we're still in the middle of it." She did not elaborate further on what it was, nor did Sounsyy ask.

But as the night wore on, it would become all too hauntingly clear what Marjanie's meaning had been. In the water, black as the night sky above, luminescent forms began to swim near the surface of the water, racing like fish around the boat. A haunting, gargling cry sounded from them, like one might hear a whale's song at a distance through a malm of water. The glowing sea creatures sounded distant and pained, even after they began rising from the water.

Once above the waves, Ryanti could better make out their forms as men, rather, ghosts of men glowing that soft aetherial blue. They rose from the water, dripping sentinels, and moaned their requiem. P'welro watched them, leaning heavily upon the gunwale. A glowing figure swam beneath her then raised itself from the depths to greet the Miqo'te. She recoiled at first, looking pained, then softened as the revenant reached out for her. Everyone on the deck looked concerned, but they were frozen watching the sad scene before them. Everyone except Ryanti, who moved towards P'welro.

The revenant sang its distant song at P'welro and the blond's shoulders began to shake. It came nearer to the boat, reaching out to cup P'welro's cheeks in its watery hands. It looked at her without eyes and without a true face, just a gaping liquid cave of a mouth. P'welro leaned forward slowly, holding onto the gunwale, and kissed the revenant's forehead. It cried and tried to pull the woman in, but P'welro stiffened and the revenant melted into water, its hands moistening her cheek and neck. Ryanti reached out and touched P'welro's shoulder to steady her, just as P'welro's fingers reached out to touch the revenant's face as it returned to water.

Her head throbbed painfully, and suddenly Ryanti felt the world give beneath him as he was pulled into P'welro's echo of the past.

Ryanti now stood upon a Maelstrom warship much larger than the Roehmerl. Its sails were at full and the crew scurried across deck. Ahead of this warship were three others, all at full sails and all appeared to be chasing down a boat in the distance. The vessel was Reaver in make, black sails, and flat bottomed. It seemed slow, laden. An order crackled over linkpearl and to starboard, the Maelstrom vessel in lead fired its chase cannons at the Reaver vessel. One crashed into the water, another struck the hull, causing the Reaver ship to shudder.

"A hit! Sink it! Sink it before it reaches open water!"

P'welro stood solemnly on the deck by Ryanti's side. She did not look like she were four years passed, she looked as she did upon the Roehmerl. This was not her vision, this was someone else's. P'welro was gazing at a brown haired Miqo'te male, racing to one of the cannons to starboard. He cheered on the lead vessel, several lengths ahead of the second vessel in pursuit. That vessel fired again, but missed its mark.

"Welro, what can yeh see?!" The Miqo'te male shouted up into the rigging. The sun was too bright to look up at the mast, but P'welro's voice answered back, though the P'welro standing beside Ryanti was silent. Another shot, another hit to the Reaver vessel. It lurched dangerously in the water. The other Maelstrom vessels were closing in now. It would not escape its fate. But then a strange beam of light burst out of the Reaver vessel, reaching up into the sky. A howl sounded from the depths as the sea around the Reaver ship began to twist in on itself, creating a deep funnel that the Reavers were swallowed into. A blast of light and the head of the Primal Leviathan emerged from the whorl. It reared higher into the sky, the glowing scales of its body solidifying as its form became fully corporeal from the energies of the crystals that had weighed the Reavers down. Its great body seemed to almost touch the clouds as it rose higher above the whorl.

The sea groaned beneath Ryanti's feet like it had during the storm two nights before. Orders began to crackle over linkpearl. The first and second vessels fired upon Leviathan, but their cannons did nothing to its scaled hide. Then the waters began to draw inward, pulling the 4th Squadron forward. The whorl began to funnel upwards around Leviathan's floating form. It was as if some mighty god had reached their hand down into the sea and had pulled it skywards.

<About ship!>
<Turn about!>
<Leviathan is summ->

The linkpearls crackled madly, until Leviathan's roar drowned out all other sounds. The male Miqo'te's ears bled and he cupped his hands over them as sailors staggered all around the deck. Then the waters burst outwards, the whole sea lifting upwards and crashing back on itself in a great tidal wave. The wave swallowed the first Maelstrom vessel in the blink of an eye and the second was lifted into the waters, the keel buckled, and the warship shattered like a glass bottle upon cobblestone. The third tried to turn about, but it broached quickly under the wave and capsized and was lost as well. The broken bow emerged for a moment, revealing that the vessel had been ripped in two.

The Miqo'te abandoned his post at the cannon and ran for the mast, calling up to P'welro in warning, but it was too late. The wave was upon them, and the split carcass of the third Maelstrom vessel rose out of the wave and crashed into the warship. The mast shattered and P'welro, who was clinging to a yard high above, was ripped away with the wooden beam and flung into the whorl. The boat heaved upwards, standing vertically, frozen in time for just that most brief fraction of a second, before it too cracked, broke, and was forced beneath the wave that rushed towards the western shore of Vylbrand.

Ryanti was returned to the Roehmerl's deck. P'welro cradled her head beside him, leaning heavily upon the gunwale. The revenant had disappeared beneath the waves and the aetherial glow subsided as the ghosts retreated from the passing boat. Though Ryanti could still see them in the distance, lurking like lamp marimo just below the waves.

"Rest, husband dearest," P'welro choked and collapsed against the deck.

~Day #5~

P'welro did not leave her private room for two days after. Jada would bring her food at mealtime. Sometimes she would disappear into the room for an hour or more. Sometimes she would be inside just long enough to deliver the food before retreating and closing the door behind her.

Despite all this, spirits were again starting to rise aboard the vessel as they resumed their coarse across the Indigo Deep. Grog was now served at mealtimes, as much of the water reserves were depleting or risked spoiling. Cool waterskins were now reserved for keeping those working on deck hydrated during the day's labor. Whether this was related in some way to the crew's rise in morale was unknown.

By the next day, M'sizh Lohp had nearly made a full recovery. She was able to sit up, talk - albeit hoarsely, and breathe on her own. As his services were no longer needed, Forty-three was asked to return to swabbing the salt residue from the deck, a task which seemed neverending since the storm, as the salt kept reforming upon the planks' surfaces. Cwaenlona and Sixteen were also hard at work repairing and performing maintenance upon the Roehmerl after the storm. While the boat had taken minimal damage, Cwaenlona insisted that every ilm of the ship be inspected for tears, warping, rot, or other such damage that may have been inflicted.

Ryanti aided Sounsyy with the rigging when the Captain could pry the curious Miqo'te away from chatting up her crew. Inevitably the subject of P'welro had come up over the course of their own limited talks. Sounsyy stared at him for a long while before speaking, "P'welro were 4th Squadron before this assignment. Almost a year after the Calamity, the Sahagin and their Reavers tried to summon Leviathan. The 4th Squadron were tasked with stopping them. They couldn't in time. Leviathan's wake destroyed the 4th Squadron, near washed away part of Vylbrand, and swallowed a village of innocents, Halfstone. Adding salt to the wound, the Sahagin claimed that land now fer their clutches. Lot of death, in a time when we had more than enough death to go around. Those shades- those revenants in the water were the souls of those lost to Leviathan's tainted waters. How many of that Squadron are drowned Reavers now... how many out there like P'welro's mate..."

Drills had been resumed by the sixth day. Though M'sizh and P'welro were absent, limiting the number of daytime crew, Sounsyy made due. These drills of the Roehmerl's strategems were intense affairs, lasting one or more hours at a time. Though not all placed the two crews at odds with each other, much to Eighty-five's chagrin. For one, Jada and Eighty-five were partners having to aid each other to reach a common objective. Many of these were trust exercises, designed mainly to show that no feat should be undertaken alone, but to trust in the crew to aid one another.

~Day #7~

On the seventh day, P'welro emerged from her room and once again took up her duties as bosun. Sounsyy was able to finally seek rest in her cabin. She sat back in her armchair that morning and unwrapped the heavy bandage around her hand that Cwaenlona had applied after the incident in the storm. Fresh bruising painted her fingers and knuckles. She sighed and washed the pain away with a bottle of red wine from her collection.

With M'sizh and P'welro returned to active duty, drills became the daily labor of the vessel. When Sounsyy rested, P'welro pushed Sixteen's crew. When P'welro rested, Sounsyy drove them. They ate, drank, slept, trained, and did chores with the rest of the crew. It was an endurance test - a constant battle with the sea. It was open war. But with every day they improved. Every exercise seemed to bring them closer with the crew. Ryanti seemed to have improved the most, or at least, was trying the hardest as if he had something to prove to the Captain.

In their downtime, the two crews mingled and integrated. Eighty-five could often be found with Susuroon or Jada below deck, chatting amicably about food or throwing taunts at one another. Jada liked the sassy Miqo'te, though it was the woman's serious side that won her over as friends. Jada even went so far as to divulge how she came to be in the Maelstrom to Eighty-five. How she had once been a blacksmith on an isle in the far south of the Rhotano. For money and protection, she sold her wares to the pirates who found her shores. Soon, an entire village had grown up around her forge and the town became known for being a haven for illegal arms dealing with Jada at its head. Though, she never divulged why exactly she left her forge, just that, if they were ever in need, it still existed in the far south.

Pamido Wolmido took Forty-three under his wing as he made his rounds to the crew. He was easily the social center of the vessel, making jokes and laughing at them with all of the crew. So Forty-three got a good deal of exposure vicariously through his Plainsfolk kin. Pamido Wolmido was a gracious friend, often giving Forty-three the spotlight to speak, even though he rambled, stumbled, and muttered things almost at random. The aging pirate didn't seem at all bothered by it. Most of the crew found it amusing - that two Lalafell so small had such a tall list of topics of which to engage in conversation.

Throughout the day, P'welro had given Ryanti a series of odd looks, as if waiting for him to ask her about the events of a few nights before. The way he looked at her, she knew he wanted to know, but probably thought it best not to. Normally, P'welro would've told him to keep his nose in his own business, but she had a fondness for the boy, so she chose to confide in him that night at dinner. They sat in the Mess at one of the crate-tables and there was enough chatter to conceal most of their conversation. Especially with Jada, Susuroon, and Eighty-five being loud and merry at the counter.

"Were meh husband I saw out there. I guess yeh figured that bit out. Died four years past. Yeh saw that too didn't yeh... Sometimes, I get these visions. 'Ave fer years. Of the past. Kinda. Not really meh past ever. But I were fine not revisitin' that one. 'Ow Cap'n lives wit all them damn mem'ries. We were on Carteneau afore that. Seventh Hell didn't 'ave nothin' on that field. Her Levy - they don't make it 'ome. Mine? We survive all that, juss to drown at sea. Cause the fishbacks got scurred. They saw we were down n' weak. So they kicked us 'ard."

P'welro was interrupted by a round of raucous laughter from down the counter. Susuroon had gotten his short nose in too deep into his own grog and was now dancing on the counter, jingly madly, which seemed to only encourage the small creature. Pamido Wolmido was clapping and stomping his tiny foot in rhythm as the crew burst out into a dirty sea shanty. Fhruhsunn was humming amusedly in the corner, clapping his monstrous hands in sync with the Lalafell. Sounsyy sat next to the giant Roegadyn, a smirk spread across her face as she watched the show. She drank deep, but didn't clap along. Or couldn't clap along.

It was a sight for weary eyes to see the crew unreservedly jovial after the events of the last week. This was true recovery - as good as it ever got on the Five Seas. Jada had pulled Eighty-five along to dance, even though she was perfectly sober. P'welro laughed and joined in. More was drank, "To M'sizh!" they began shouting in between songs and refills. Those on the night shift had long since gone about their duties. And sleep starting taking the day shift one by one until the revelry had ceased. When Ryanti looked about him, Sounsyy was nowhere to be seen now. She had ducked away not long after the party had started, preferring to drink in the solitude of her own cabin.

Berasaem clapped a strong hand to Ryanti's shoulder. "Yeh should be gettin' some sleep now. Tomorrow's the big day. Should be gettin' where yer goin'. But right now, yeh should be gettin' some sleep." With that said, Berasaem led Ryanti and a wobbly Eighty-five out of the Mess and back to their private quarters to sleep. Forty-three and Sixteen were already inside, laying on their mattresses. The Roegadyn closed the door behind the two and locked them within.

...Day #8...

Ryanti · **06-12-2015, 06:51 AM**

Day 8: 0400 Hours
Garlean Exploratory Naval Vessel: The Ganesha
Simulation Room 004

â€œAdvanced Gauntlet Simulation Procedure: Defense Course completed. Your current tally for todayâ€™s training session: One thousand, three hundred and twelve successful parries. Two hundred and fifty-six successful ripostes recorded in a total ofâ€¦ ten runs. Would you like to continue?â€

The robotic voice hummed from the administrative console in the room. The place was a hexagonal shape that contained one door per side of the hexagon. The entire space was thirty fulms by thirty fulms. The only lights in the area were dim LEDâ€™s that traced the bottom of the sides of the walls, circling the room with a deep blue ambient glow. In the corner of the southern side of the room laid the terminal, which stood out from the floor in a cylinder shape. The monitor faced the entryway of the room, which laid opposite of the center of the room.

Within the room stood a man. His trousers were loose about his legs yet tight around his waist. They were jet black, with bloody red stripes on each side. His boots were thick and durable, plated on the top with a light layer of reflective steel. He was an imposing man of medium bulk, a Hyur Midlander standing at a full six fulms tall. There was not an ilm of body fat on him from what any average man could see. He could hear the heartbeat within his own chest. It was irregular, like it always was. With a harsh breath, he blew the stress out of his mind.

He was not a normal man. The injuries upon his body were immense, and partially unnatural. Scarification existed on both of his arms, and one enormous slash mark was stamped on his chest. Various spots of his back and neck were burned as if with torches. But these were only the natural wounds of war that he carried. What was the most compelling fact about him was what was done to keep him alive from the much more serious injuries that happened to him.

In several very specific and intricate spots on his body, steel alloys and cybernetic components were woven into his skin. To replace tendonsâ€¦ jointsâ€¦ even muscle. At times, the light blue glow from the Ceruleum fuel that coursed through those steel components like adrenaline would to normal tissue illuminated the parts when he stressed them. They were heating up, just like a computer would, and cooling down when he became less stressed.

The age upon his face would place him in the mid-forties if it was left natural, however the modifications to his body had seemingly stopped his natural wrinkling of his facial features, reversing the process and allowing his face to look slightly younger at around a man in his late thirties. He had a full head of hair with locks that bent and curled around his scalp in a wavy form of an Imperial style, yet it had turned grey very prematurely due to the effects of having Ceruleum in his body. But it was half of the overall components that kept him alive. After an incident involving Allagan artifacts, his body had been on the brink of death. But Garlean technology kept him alive, despite destroying whatever fortune his family name had left him.

The man, known by the name of Terminus Sas Garvus, did not care. His familyâ€™s fortune was from his old name, a name he had discarded decades ago when the Empire took over his homeland as a little boy. Fascinated by the strength, beauty, and power of the Garlean Empire, he had tossed away his lineage by the time he was a man. To him, his old name was the name of a child. A savage that lived in a muddle of filth until saved by the civilized world.

Over time, he had grown fascinated by Allagan technology. He had grown fond of serving the Empire via providing them with material to reverse engineer. He had no interest in its people or the values of the society that existed millenniaâ€™s ago. To him, their time was over and it was his responsibility to utilize their works as tools and leverage, just like everyone else, in order to promote the wealth and dominance of the Empire.

His greedy exploits and selfish pursuits allowed for him to misuse and abuse Allagan left-behinds. One such indecent nearly destroyed his body, but his resolve to the service of his Motherland was infinite. Even as his natural aether left him as Hydealyn called for his soul, he denied her the gift of it and kept himself alive by feeding on the aether of prisoners and criminals. His foreign lineage allowed him the use of magic, which he exploited as well to do just that. Just like anything else.

This training session was boring him. The magitek battle-bots standing around him idly was cakewalk to him even on the highest setting. What the modifications took away from him in the form of taking years off of his life and leaving him forever uncomfortable with permanent respiratory problems and irregular heartbeat, it gave to him the strength of five men and the stamina of three. The cybernetic enhancements had elevated his reflexes and strength to unprecedented levels for his race. He could hit with the power of a Roedagyn and even beyond, yet still with the speed of a Midlander.

His eyes, which used to be blue but now a dull red due to his aether issues, glanced over to the training console. He made his way over to the console, firmly pressing down on the initiation button again. â€œAdvanced Gauntlet Simulation Procedure: Defense Course initiated.â€ The robotic voice stated from seemingly all corners of the room.

He stepped into the center of the room, and closed his eyes, waiting for the beep. He had taken something from the panel, which he then glanced at. It was a rebreather mask with a circular piece on the bottom of it in the shape of a collar. He bent his head slightly forward, and the attachment automatically snapped together around his neck. He placed the rebreather over his mouth and it locked into place with another snap, connecting to the tiny implants on the sides of his cheeks with magnetic connectors. His loud and full breaths could be heard from the mask the instant it was placed on.

He heard the beep, and the metallic contraption came to life. They began their procedures of swinging, stabbing, lunging and snapping at him with advanced procedures from a program studies from the martial arts and styles of all of the nations they have conquered so far. The man brandished his sword and began to defend himself as if it was nothing. His body moved in cohesion with his footwork. He was incredibly precise and straightforward with his blade work and defense. Over time, his movements seemed to go faster, as if he was trying to entertain himself. The cybernetic parts of his body illuminated with a very dim blue, showing some stress, but not much, even as he began to defend himself with one arm.

As he did so, that arm moved at a pace no normal man could keep up with. Light squeaks emanated from his Ceruleum parts as they moved to rapidly defend, defend, and defend. His rebreather increased in breaths as he got more and more agitated, more and more bored. Finally, he just could not take it anymore. He began to methodically reduce the training bots to bits one by one. He dismantled, dismembered, and disabled them inâ€¦ colorful ways, barely breaking a sweat. When he was done, the bots laid upon the floors in scraps and pieces, smoke billowing from everywhere.

â€œViolation: Offensive Moves Utilized in Defens-â€œ The panel began to say, before the Tribunal disabled it by punching the failsafe with a finger. Terminus snorted in a rather pissed off manner. Oh well, he thought. It was useless to continue this daily. They were no match for him. â€œI told him that this will not suffice.â€ He said outloud, referring to his Tol superior that fancied a vacation while sending him alone to practically do his job. What a lazy fool.

â€œI shall have to order only the latest batch of models from now on.â€ He told himself in a deep and sinister voice modified slightly by the rebreather. He marched to the door of the room. His skin was beginning to burn. He needed another cleansing. His first of six per day.

--

0500 Hours

The cleansing felt nice. The showering water, blended with medicinal fluids at a ratio of 1 for every 100 drops, helped to soothe his eternal wounds and clean them for now. Until first lunch anyway.

He was in full dress now. His crimson Imperial Coat of Plates, signifying his rank of Tribunus Angusticlavius and the Commander of the Garlean Manipulus on the ship, hung from the center of his deep black armor. Like most of his rank, it was partially standard Garlean fare, and partially customized just for him. He had armor on his neck that were plate of Garlean twine cross-stitched that hugged his throat and cupped his chin. His rebreather rested on top of it. Garnishing his outfit was a brilliant crimson half-cape that hugged his left shoulder and fell all the way to his feet. (1)

The men and women that walked beside him felt a lump in their throat when they were next to him. Unlike the Manipulus that were stationed on the ship, Terminus was considered a very staunch idealist, and even an extremist. His incredibly intimating posture by nature struck fear into the hearts who served him, although it also commanded absolute obedience and respect, which was why he was tasked to uncover what had been discovered: a derelict Allagan Starship from a few generations behind their downfall, carrying valuable data of an unknown sort.

However, not everyone was afraid of him. Awaiting at the end of the Bridge, overlooking the main deck stood a woman one fulm shorter than he. She was another Hyur Midlander, with raven black hair tied up in a professional manner with occasional swaths of her hair sticking out from her loose knot on the upper-half part of the rear of her scalp. (2) She wore glasses with black-laced rims, complementing her rectangular lenses. Her cold hazel eyes pierced through those lenses with a very strict and sharp sense of self. She was very attractive, and if the men (and perhaps women) on this ship were not afraid of her too, they would probably be fighting over her right now.

She observed the main deck and examined the Garleans upon it. Unlike the Roehmerl, the Ganesha was mostly powered by Cereleum motors on the rear of the vessel, allowing it to sail multiple times the Roehmerlâ€™s top speed with minimal effort. The men upon the deck had duties much less involving the sails that remained (which were concentrated on the rear of the vessel in a circular design), and more duties involving routine maintenance of upkeeping the immense firepower on board the main deck, and of course the enormous pride of the Ganesha, the massive Magitek cannon that could split a Limsa ship in two with one shot if it was spot on.

The female Ala Mhigan native smirked. The men and women here were easy to win over. They were hesitant about two foreign leaders at first. But learned very quickly about insubordination.

When the bridge doors opened, the tall man entered, his cape flowing. The men and women underneath the bridge, managing computer terminals, did not dare to look. With guile, the Tribunal proceeded to address the woman once he had reached her, crossing his arms and glancing out at his men. â€œPrimus Ordinarius Silverstien, I see that you have persuaded the deck hands to keep their pacing on schedule this time.â€ He said with his signature ominous voice.

â€œI merely did my job.â€ The woman stated, adjusting her glasses with a smug expression. â€œOf allowing these men to do theirs.â€ Terminus laughed slowly with a gruff manner at her comment, closing his eyes for a moment before re-opening them again. His pale red irises focused away from the deck and to the side windows, where he could see the water. They were making great speed. The Easterling ships had three days prior and they had already caught up to them: The might of the Garlean technology at work.

â€œWe are making splendid time. In a matter of mere hours we shall arrive at the approximate location of the Allagan Starship. Once there we will immediately begin an introspective surface drilling, followed by the extraction of anything and everything concerning value to the Empireâ€™s cause.â€

Terminus spun around on his feet, raising his voice so that the men and women on the bridge could hear. â€œContinue your recourse! Impress me with your work ethic and you will be rewarded with bonus compensation and paid vacation!â€

â€œSIR YES SIR!â€ The Garleans responded, happy and motivated in their efforts to impress their Tribunal, who had damned well impressed them. It was unusually different from his normal routine, which was more fear-inspired than promise of reward. But it was because he was excited â€“ excited to discover what was down there.

In a few hours, he would get to see what laid dormant in the Indigo Deep.

The woman in question, a woman by the name of Cynthia Silverstein, turned to face her Tribunal, whom had begun walking back from the bridge and towards the door again. â€œWe will have to slow down our nautical pace within the next two minor cycles in order for the Easterlings to stay with us. The total combined time before we reach our destination is hovering around the four hour range.â€

â€œI am aware, Silverstein.â€ He responded, the doors to the bridge opening and closing behind the two as they made their way back. â€œThese damned Easterlings and their bed blankets for propulsion are getting on my last nerve. Hopefully with this massive success a Legatus will finally approve my bid to compose our scouting party of entirely Garlean vessels, however spread thin we are the dimwits will realize just how important my work is for the Empire.â€ He paused for a moment, smiling underneath his rebreather. She had been a loyal and persistently efficient woman so far. â€œAnd of course, your work Misses Silverstein.â€

â€œYou compliment me sir.â€ She said to him, with a slight smile that could tell anyone that she loved being told good words. However, her face turned a bit serious when the Tribunal stopped. He seemed preoccupied with something in his pocket. It was a triangular piece of equipment about the size of a palm of a hand. The metal it was made out of seemedâ€¦ strange and foreign. She could see that it was emitting something, and that the Tribunal was occupied with it. â€œBut I must ask, what must you be peering at every so often?â€ She said, as she took a peek from behind his shoulder.

The imposing man suddenly snatched a hand upon her shoulder and squeezed with cyberneticlly enhanced force. Immense pain went through the womanâ€™s body, and her professional and snap-headed demeanor faded into an instant as she yelled in pain to the grasp, forcing her look away as she grabbed at his hand, her feet spazzing a bit.

â€œI am afraid that is for the Tribunalâ€™s eyes only.â€ He said with a hoarse breath as he let go, causing her to stumble a step or two before losing her composure. She dusted off her military garb of pure black and saluted him. â€œMy apologies sir.â€

â€œNow leave me.â€ He ordered her, and within moments she was gone. With no one around, the man slowly clicked the button in the center of the triangular artifact once more, and stared at what it had displayed in front of him. â€œFinally, something worth my time salvaging again.â€

--

The Roehmerl
0700 Hours
Indigo Deep

The early morning sun had passed about an hour ago. The scheduled time for the unit of Jonathanâ€™s was to wake up at eight oâ€™clock when things went according to plan. This was how it always was since they began this lengthy and memory-laced journey together with the crew of the Roehmerlâ€¦ when things went according to plan. Yet inside of the small room, where they had been nesting since the beginning of this grand adventure, everyone was awake. Except for the legendary Captain Pamido of course, who slept like a damn log all the time when he did get to sleep.

â€œI am not saying that there hasnâ€™t been multiple incantations of the word â€˜firmâ€™ in regards to how it can be interpreted.â€ Said the voice of Forty-three, a man known to be rambling like this, especially when it came to deep discussions of matters involving mysterious dreams they were having. Unlike the Captain, the three members of the unit that did have these dreams had a much briefer version of the Captains. It was merely the sound of a voice, an otherworldly voice. A voice saying â€˜stand firmâ€™.

â€œOne could say that standing firm would mean to not fall off the side of the ship like that poor lady. Having another storm upon this could confirm that.â€ He continued. Then came the voice of the leader of the unit, the former Ala Mhigan Drill Instructor. â€œThat voice was not one of ours, and not one of theirs. It was told in a commanding, yet anxious way. It was a warning. A warning to stand ground. The Captain of this ship is not so gaunt in the brain to write it off as a mere passing of another storm where there isnâ€™t a single dark cloud in the sky.â€

â€œAll I am saying is that we cannot adequately confirm that this was a direct message that our mission is going to go up in smoke! We need to rely on our heads at least equally to the dreams we have is all I am saying.â€ The Lalafell consented, sighing and folding his arms being huddled in the corner. â€œI want my staff back.â€

Ryanti had been up earlier than any of them, yet had not said much. Even before the morning light his eyes were open. He had seated himself upon his mattress with his back against the one window in the room. In his hands he held a notepad only about a quarter of a Fulm long. He was more anxious than ever on days like this, when he knew that it was the big day, and that anything could happen. He wasnâ€™t sure how anything could prepare him for the task he was about to consent himself to. For what fate or destiny laid out before him.

Ryanti was a deep-thinking, concerned man at heart. He had thought much about the journey he has experienced so far, and thought deeply about the people of this ship and the people of his unit. In the first section of the small notebook, he had already written much. The pages were thick with his own private thoughts, his own private concerns, and his own private wishes. But there were many other things written down too.

At one point, he had written about Fruhsuunâ€™s humming and Fruhsuun himself who was given a chance to write a few things in his notebook too. It inspired Ryanti to ask others during leisure time to put something down in there as a memento. He was able to get a good bit so far. One poem from Marjanie and a recipe from Susuroon (Who Ryanti had to write down himself because Twelve forbid the creature got his hands on it). Some stick figure sketching of his unit destroying their enemies from Eighty-five and some advice about random facts of life from Forty-three. Jonathan, after eons of persuasion, finally had written something down in there as well. It wasâ€¦ instructions for how to build a rowboat the â€˜Jonathanâ€™ way. A bit bland and impersonal, but Jonathan was a private man.

Ryanti also had a section for private thoughts: a short diary of sorts. He wrote about his feelings, experiencesâ€¦ and the trip. He also wrote about others. Many words were written in there about Pamidoâ€™s stories. About Jadaâ€™s skills. There was a great bit about Pâ€™welro, and of course, about Sounsyy herself. Those were the hardest to look over after he had written down those words. They also were the two people Ryanti wrote about the most in his book. Now he was on his third section of the notebook, divided by tabs. This was where he doodled random sketches as he saw fit. But this time it wasnâ€™t random. He was taking a lot of time with these sketches. He was being serious about them. All the while, through the hours that he stayed awake alone, he doodled, and thought about those people. He probably didnâ€™t have time to do something for everyone. Actually, he knew he didnâ€™t. But he at least wanted to do it for some.

As for what that was, well, who knew? Ryanti had not showed a soul that part of his notebook yet but his own.

â€œWhy donâ€™t we ask the Keeper.â€ Forty-three finally said after that long moment of silence. â€œRyanti â€“ what do you think that message meant?â€

Ryanti took a few more seconds sketching out the bits of a sketch he had planned to give Pâ€™welro, looking up slowly from his doodle with a bit of a sloppy stare because of his intense focus recently. He sighed a little, adverting his gaze from the Lalafell, pursing his lips a little bit. â€œThat they are watching over us.â€ He murmured finally, slightly embarrassed over being so honest. But he said it like it was nothing. Like he felt he knew. â€œThat weâ€™re going to make it.â€

The Lalafell frowned a little at Ryantiâ€™s notion. It sounded a bit too romantic for a man that was raised in medicine and always second-guessing things. Jonathan however smiled in a little rough manner, and closed his eyes and sighed, trying to rest while he could. They had one hour left, after all.

One hourâ€¦

The only one that did not talk was Eighty-five. She was still on her side, pretending to be asleep, her back facing the rest of the group. She huddled her arms next to her breast, and for the most part had a very sad and despondent look on her face. Concern filled her mind and doubt lingered upon her stomach. Why was it that they were getting the dreams, but she wasnâ€™t? Why was that? She understood that she was new, butâ€¦ why? It scared her. It scared her so much. So many times she had thought to herself that she should tell Jadaâ€¦ and during one of those serious moment in the last few days, she had. She told her that she was only one not getting the dreams, and it ate at her.

She felt alone in this group. And it hurt.

Show Content

Sounsyy · **06-14-2015, 12:36 PM**

Sounsyy opened her eyes slowly against the morning light. Her view of her cabin was blurry, the woven tapestries upon the walls looked like colorful blotches of red and purple and blue, glowing in the pale light. She rubbed her eyes and pulled herself out of her curled position in the armchair. She placed her palms on the desk and arched her back with a groan. She had slept well, for once in many moons, but the dream's recurrence made her ill at ease. So she washed down the feeling with a swig of wine that had survived the night before.

Having replaced the bottle on her desk, she made for her cabinet to dress. Her usual forager's attire and tights. She still felt discomfort in the pit of her stomach. Her memory of the dream was starting to slip from memory. A giant vessel soaring above the heavens - that thought was enough to make Sounsyy want to heave! So many lights blue and white, flashing and solid, lights which reacted to the fingers as they were touched. It was almost too much, too fantastical. Ryanti believed these dreams? But that night, it was as if the dreams were speaking directly to her. She had forgotten what they had said, but she knew they were speaking to her. Warning her.

"Whatever comes, we'll be ready."

A knock sounded on the door to her left. She felt her heart skip - so much for being ready. She opened the door and P'welro entered. They exchanged quick formalities before the blond woman started her report.

"Shift were changed early as yeh asked," she said, "we'll 'ave all men on deck fer when we arrive, ready n' rested. Marjanie gives us another three bells afore we're at the coordinates."
"Understood," Sounsyy said, nodding and handing the remainder of her bottle to P'welro, "Have everyone awake by nine. Gives us a bell to organize. The Sharlayan crew will dive, do what must needs be done, and when they resurface we're about ship and headed straight fer that rendezvous to be done with this."

P'welro drank deep from the bottle, draining the last drop from the bottom. She handed the bottle back and gave a sharp salute. Sounsyy nodded and replaced the bottle in a chest containing many other bottles from nights passed. P'welro lingered, giving her Captain an uneasy look.

"Something wrong, lass?"
P'welro shook her head, opened her mouth to speak but fumbled over her words. Sounsyy held up a hand to stop her. "Yeh don't have to explain anythin' to me, P'welro. I been there. I know what it feels like on the inside. Yeh took the time that yeh needed. We made do with the seventy-seven boy. But I'm glad yer back with us. Go on now."

Sounsyy left her room behind P'welro, taking time to lock it behind her as the blond Bosun raced off across deck to her duties. Sounsyy went below into the, now empty, infirmary. She looked around at the cots laid out in a semi-circle against the aft wall. Light shimmered into the windows from the eastern sun. The clean water in the room's center basin reflected the dancing light. How different, yet how similar, this room was to the one in her dreams. She moved towards the basin and dipped her hands into the lazy water. She splashed her face with it, seeing if she was truly awake. The Roehmerl's infirmary was still there when she opened her eyes, which satisfied her compulsion.

She left the infirmary and made her way quietly across the gun deck. Most of the night crew were still sleeping in their bunks, though a couple had already risen early for the day. Pamido Wolmido and Berasaem were talking outside the Sharlayan quarters. They both saluted as Sounsyy passed and continued on her way down to the Mess. It was mostly deserted this morning owing to the earlier shift change. Marjanie was awake and seated at the bar, however, being one of those from the night crew who had been unable to sleep. Sounsyy sat with her and they talked while Susuroon prepared their breakfast - grog, kraut, a poached egg, and Indigo herring caught the night before by the crew's fishermen. It was a healthy start to the morning.

Much to Susuroon's chagrin, food stores of perishable items were dwindling. The eggs were nearly gone, fresh water reserved for day labor only, most of the land meats like dodo had long since been devoured. The crew was relying on fresh-caught fish from the night crew. Herring were in abundance, but there was also bream, cod, haddock, and squid to be had. Sounsyy was largely a pescetarian anyroad, so this suited her just fine. Scarcity did not exist upon the bounty of Llymlaen's great seas.

The eighth morning bell had come and Pamido Wolmido and Berasaem knocked on the Sharlayans' door to rouse them, despite their already being awake. The two guards gave them leave to dress and led them to the Mess when they were ready.

"Eat a hearty meal, friends," Pamido Wolmido said, "Ye've got no chores or drills today, just the mission. Word is we'll be at the coordinates yeh gave in less than two bells. Long last, eh?"

As they passed through the Armory and turned to go down the stairs to the Mess, Jada Moui passed Eighty-five a warm smile and a wave from her perched position atop her counter. Ever the matron... and Quartermaster... she worried for her crew, even her adopted one. And out of all of them, Eighty-five seemed the most troubled today.

Sounsyy and Marjanie broke off from their talk of dreams when the group came pattering down the stairs. Susuroon gave them all a warm welcome and chittered on about how he should've had the foresight to save a grand feast for this morning, only for Marjanie to remind him that he had chosen to stuff them for the entire first half of the voyage instead.

"I'm sure they all can manage on just enough to fill the stomach Susuroon. They are, after all, learning to become sailors," Marjanie said with a smirk, "You shouldn't always spoil them."

Berasaem chuckled a bit before saying, "Since I'm up, should get to seein' what I can do to be useful this morning. Care to join meh, Marjanie?" The Elezen nodded and traded her empty plate for a full one on the counter. She stood and straightened her jerkin before picking up the second plate of food. "Of course," she said smoothly, "I need to make sure Fhruhsunn has eaten anyroad."

The two women made their way past. Marjanie patted Ryanti on the shoulder with her free hand as she went. Pamido Wolmido climbed up where Marjanie had been and Sounsyy motioned for the rest to sit before she returned to her own meal. She took a bite of herring, swallowed, and wiped her mouth on a cloth before she spoke.

"I trust yeh all rested well?"

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