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Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - Printable Version

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RE: Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - Leanne - 03-28-2017

Beaches of Gloam

The sound of her feet sinking into the soft sand coupled with the breaking waves of the sea were a peaceful and serene metronome, thought Leanne in a moment of errant thought, as she walked along the shoreline, eyes vacantly staring towards the horizon. Where in many other places that would be an uplifting, beautiful vista to her, symbolizing the possibilities of the future ahead, the grey and blue clouds forever tormenting the little island made sure it was gloomy, mostly devoid of color, and marred with uncertainties.

“Right or wrong.” Leanne asked herself as several arguments in her head threw shots all over, pending to one side, or the other, all of them valid in a way or another. Ribald’s words echoed in her mind. “Do not take as a sign that I disagree wit' ye, Leanne. Just that I reckon thar be no true right in th’ world. If thar was, ye would not be crackin' yer noggin’ right now.”

She had no doubt she did the right thing in saving the people from Gloam, for life is a precious gift, and it must be safeguarded. Yet, something still tormented the young seeker. From Virara words, what first were apparent encouragement, came something more profound. “Kill Hael. Save Gloam. Save Grey Cat. Choose what you must do. If it’s Hat Lady, you should be able to achieve it.”

“Save Gloam.” she muttered. She did save Gloam. The island itself. But why she did so, she asked herself. Was it really the “right” thing to do, or it were simply but a selfish desire of her own.

For the happiness of the island’s inhabitants.

For the sake of Slaeglac’s dream.

For the sake of their freedom.

For the sake of freedom itself.

For the sake of my ideals.

Why did Gallien help her so much? The man that were her pillar and anchor in the many stressful moments that tormented her days in the island. Many suns planning each move, each reaction for the sake of what they deemed at the time as the “right” thing to do. What was his motivation? Were his reasons different of her own? Was his right different from hers? If so, how? Perhaps his right was better than hers. Perhaps to him, the entire effort was simply out of pure solidarity. While hers was for the purpose of validating her own ideals.

For the sake of myself.

Maybe her reasons weren’t so noble after all. And at the realization of such, Leanne frowned. If only, because she felt she lied to herself.

“Did you?” A familiar voice echoed within. As the voice took the shape of a dragon in her mind’s eye, Leanne could only purse her lips. “I think I did.” her ears lowered in shame.

“Hah. What are you trying to do, besides an attempt at being pretentiously self-aware?”  the dragon mocked Leanne, pushing the girl into a pause from her stride along the beach. “Excuse me?” the girl growled. Slowly, the dragon shape morphed into a mirror version of the seeker, with the same golden eyes and frown. “You heard me, Leanne. What are you trying to do? What are you trying to convince yourself of? What is the purpose of this meaningless crisis of yours?”

Leanne snarled. “You wouldn’t understand.”

The mirror image shook its head. “No, I wouldn’t. To me, all that you’re doing is creating reasons to doubt and loathe oneself.” shaking its head, the mirror image approached Leanne, setting its hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I’ve seen what you did. I know your reasons. Yes. Gloam became a glorified symbol of what you believe. Yes, that made you more fierce and more determined to save it. But that’s not why you did what you did.”

Leanne’s frown withered as an uncertain expression took over her features. “Then why…?” she asked. With the question, the mirror image began to glow, until it became a silhouette of blinding light, from which the dragon eye that fueled her life pulsated in tandem with her heartbeat.“Skysinger. Your heart bleeds for others, ever did and always will. You didn’t only fight because of an ideal. You fought to keep a smile.”

The light that composed the silhouette began to fragment into several motes that were scattered by the wind, presenting a vision to the girl of golden eyes. And with that vision, all of Leanne’s doubts, just like the motes of light, were scattered away. The vision of Guerrique and Ursuline walking together along the shoreline, hands held, each of them now owners of bright, -genuine- smiles.

Quick to press herself behind a conveniently placed tree, Leanne hid herself, just so she could quietly watch them pass by with a large, warm smile of her own. “Ah. So that’s why...”

For the sake of their smiles.

Once they were out of sight, Leanne brought herself out of hiding, smiling stupidly at her success. As she became devoid of awareness, a group of kids of kids ran towards her, ambushing the young bard. All of them tugging at her clothes, laughing and smiling.

“Ms. Leanne, Ms. Leanne! Why did you run away! You promised us a story!” One of the children said. The rest of them naturally echoed. “A story, a story!”

Giggling, Leanne brought herself down to a knee, fondly petting each of the child in front of her. “I did, didn’t I? Sorry I didn’t deliver it yet. Ms. Leanne was busy being dumb.” the group of kids naturally paused at the answer, looking at her questioningly. “Being dumb…?” the question all of them shared was eventually aired.

“Aye, being dumb. Don’t worry, she wised up. A bit, at least.” she chuckles, shaking her head. Lifting herself, Leanne offered her hands to be held, which were quickly taken by the two youngest. “Come on, everybody. Let’s go find Mr. Slaeglac. I think tis’ a story he would like to hear too.”

For the sake of their smiles.

RE: Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - LiadansWhisper - 03-30-2017

The salt in the air tickled Liadan's nose as she stepped out of the Topmast Apartments, her satchel slung over one shoulder. She tipped her head back to stare up at the bright sun in the clear blue sky and smiled to herself. She'd miss this...for all she'd once thought she'd never miss anywhere but the Shroud. Yes, she'd miss this place. Adjusting her satchel on her shoulder, she headed down the cobblestone path towards the docks and the ferry across the bay to Limsa.

And we find what we're made of
Through the open door
Is it fear you're afraid of?
What are you waiting for?

Limsa Lominsa that afternoon held the chaos and bustle she'd learned to love about the city, and she took her time making her way through the market towards the ferry to Thanalan, for it would likely be some time ere she saw it again. A bolt of brilliant blue cloth, a pouch of dried Chamomile, and a small tin of Paprika later, she finally found her way past Maelvaan's Gate to the ferry docks. Her expression was thoughtful as she watched the white city fade from sight aboard the ferry ship.

Helplessness as Dominic Morris was carted away to his sentence.
The comfort of Ursuline and Guerrique's arms around her.
Raw fear at the sight of the Gunship approaching the Iron Bitch.
Overwhelming power the moment when the storm became hers to command.
Shame at having misjudged a man who deserved her respect.

We're only here for a season
I'm looking for the rhyme and reason
Why you're born, why you're leaving
What you fear and what you believe in

Three days into her journey north through Thanalan, she still had no answers. She had studiously avoided thinking in-depth about the situation with the singer, and probably for the best - that was a wound that would not fade easily, if ever. And still Haelsytrmm's words continued to nag at her.

The Alchemists of Thanalan were very...particular about where and how they offered their aid, and the Executioners were not well-favored, nor were most pirates.

Aye, that was what bothered her the most. That he had been turned away by those with the power to save his wife. That he never thought to look further for help, or perhaps the Fane would have turned him away, as well. It all seemed so wrong to her.

"If it's the hope of all mankind, Courageous, why do we insist on hiding it under a rock, doling it out to only those we deem worthy?"

Alas, the pale chocobo had no answers for her, merely trilling a high-pitched kweh, as though commiserating with her. She sighed, reaching down to pat the neck of the bird, "I know. People are stupid."

And she was headed right back into the thick of it...the prejudices, the petty hatreds and disdain for those who didn't look like them, didn't talk like them, didn't know any better. All the while, the Empire loomed ever closer over the boughs of the Shroud.

Why you're living and breathing
Why you're fighting it and getting it even
Let's go headed down the open road unknown

And yet, the closer she drew to the Shroud, the more excited she became. The desert had ever been her bane, a thing she couldn't help but detest. So the first sight of the scrub and small trees in Wellwick Wood that marked the beginning of the transition between Thanalan and the Shroud proper caused her to break out in a wide smile.

Most people described feeling nothing passing through the Hedge, but Liadan was not among them. She could feel the moment she stepped back inside the forest that had been her home for as long as she could remember. She slid off the back of her chocobo, walking over to the nearest tree and leaning her forehead against it with a sigh. Her eyes blurred with tears as she stood there for several minutes, simply breathing in as the cool breeze ruffled her hair.

How we have waited...

The whispers in her mind began almost immediately, with a clarity and coherance she hadn't heard in months. She pushed away from the tree with a smile and started walking further down the path, her chocobo following in her wake. As she moved deeper into the Shroud, a small glowing orb floated out of the treeline to hover over her shoulder.

So I'm back to the basics
I figure it's time I face this
Time to take my own advice
Love alone is worth the fight

She didn't regret it, not any of it. She hadn't completely succeeded, but no one ever did. She'd persevered where it mattered, though, and brokered a middle ground. It wasn't what she had wanted, but it was better than the alternative. She'd have to cling to the memory of Ursuline finally unburdened by what had occurred so long ago in Toto-Rak, and the promise of Morris's freedom. She'd carry the memory of Haelstyrmm's failure to save what mattered most to him, as well, and remember her own failure in judging him by what others said, and the visage he presented, instead of looking at his heart.

The drums of war were already echoing throughout the forest, and she'd have to hope she'd learned enough from all she'd seen, all the mistakes she'd made, to make the right decisions this time.

I am only one, but I am one.
I cannot do everything, but I can do something.
And what I can do, that I ought to do.
And what I ought to do, by the grace of the Twelve
I shall do.

Show Content


RE: Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - Caspar - 04-01-2017

She climbed up the mooring line like an over-sized rat. Virara was never one to do things the easy way. Perhaps she wasn't as far from their kin as one might be led to expect. The four-legged crawl suited her well. She'd left Leanne to her own devices with the Revenge. Understanding what Hat Lady wanted from its crew was beyond her capability, or care. When she was called upon to act, she did it. There was no reason for Virara to follow her onto that ship, nor raise any questions about what happened there, or what Leanne meant to do. There was a different obligation to settle. Somehow the time passed slipped through her mind like a faulty sieve. Virara found herself upon the Tumult's deck, a faint air of disorientation entering her impassive features, as if reconsidering her choice to come aboard, or to speak to that man. Her expression was far nearer to seasick than all the time spent upon the ships, the rocking of the boat particularly insufferable during the time they were underway to meet the Garleans cannon to cannon. 

Slaeglac wasn't hard to find. There was a strangely respectful air on board the Tumult. People were approaching him like he was some kind of god. The battle of Gloam and its results, the pending treaty with Limsa - all of it was well-known to all on the island, and Slaeglac was, of late, being credited with the creation of it all, for none of it would have happened had he not taken the first step and gathered the crews together on the island.

If he was enjoying this, he didn't seem to show it. Indeed, he seemed bothered by it all, resting at the aft deck and watching the opening to Gloam's natural harbor, a point wedged between two rocky outcroppings on the island's western edges.

"Slay Man." 
Virara spoke suddenly, though as is typical of her, it's easily drowned out by the slightest ambient noise. 
"I am here." 
An uncomfortable glance towards the harbor. She focused her eye on the water where the land and sea connected, searching for whatever invisible landmark Slaeglac occupied himself with.
"The island. Is it well?"

"Hm?" 
He turned his head to the left, then had to cast it far, far down to see Virara. 
"Oh. Aye, it's fine," he replied with a nod. "Word came from the Garleans. They've shut down the Dagon facility. Still pumpin' out enough fuel to keep us goin' and them powered, but otherwise all's well. We're right secure." 
He wrinkled his nose. "Didn't think I'd live t'see it."

An eye like a glass bead looked back at him.
"Did you want to?"

"Don't know if I wanted to. Just thought it'd happen." 
He lifted his captain's hat to scratch his head. The man was old, but for once he actually seemed to look and act his age. 
"I was ready for it, tha's for sure. Whether by hangin' or battle."

She sat limply against the ship's gunwale, watching the man with an irregular focus. It wasn't unlike an inept student attempting to decipher a foreign language; the intensity with which she tried to absorb everything in front of her dwarfed her inability to comprehend.
"... Why did you offer yourself to the Maelstrom?"
Her words came slowly, as if questioning itself was alien. Why was she so curious?
"Was it to take responsibility? For the division?"

"Aye. Well, if it'd keep the Maelstrom happy then that'd be one thing." 
He picked up his Sahagin-tooth necklace in one hand, running his thumb across a fang. 
"That'd be responsibility, surely. More'n that, place can't be free if they're always looking over their shoulder t'see what ol' Captain Slaeglac would think've it." 
He chuckled. 
"Not even goin' to the treaty signin', you know. That'll be Goldyna's doing, an' rightly so. Be a good cap for her term as speaker."

She looked strangely exhausted. There had been relatively little fighting for her to do since going to that strange island, with its wrongly shaped trees and blue clouds, and yet the invisible vitality driving her forward seemed diminished. Her arms dangled limply at her sides. 
"She is a normal woman. Not a captain. Not a fighter. Not like you. Can she do it? Protect this island."

"Everybody starts out that way, don't they?" 
He thumbed to himself. 
"Weren't as if I were brought up bein' a captain an' a turncoat. Was just a poor kid signed up to sail an' make some extra coin, an' from there it just grew. Same for a lot've these people. She's done fine here, so far. Pretty clear the people didn't pick 'er out've pity."


She tilted her head, a inky pigtail drifting incongruously alongside her blank face.
"And if the city turns upon your island again? What will you do? Will they rely upon you again?"
Her unblinking eye shut once.
"I can't understand. I want to understand. It's strange. Is it wrong for them to watch you? Learn from you?"

"Not wrong," he said, frowning and shifting from side to side, seeming to try and work his way through the pathways his thoughts were taking to shape them into something more concrete. "But I ain't always right. I was wrong about the Wound. Got people killed f'r that. An' I don't need people learnin' the wrong things from me on account've it. I wanted t'give 'em freedom, the real thing or as close as I c'd get it. Not Slaeglac's Island and associates."

"As for the city . . . they might. They might turn again. An' I'll step up again, if I'm here when it happens."

"So it's because you made mistakes. That's why you don't want them to learn from you?"
Virara brushed the side of her head with a small, round hand. Its grip was uneven, shaped oddly, like it was grasping something invisible in the air before tangling itself in her messy bangs.
"You want them to not rely upon you. But you don't want to leave them alone. These things are enemies..."
She peered up at him.
"How do you decide? You can't stand between them and Limsa without them behind you. Can you support them from the side?"

"I don't want them to treat me like some manner've god. That's how y'get more Admirals, y'know. Thinkin' 'One man did all this.' An' I didn't. It's not true. You an' yours saved us, but we all made choices. We voted not t'use Dagon, t'even come out here. But all those little smart decisions, they're just gonna - " 
He made a puffing motion. 
"Gone. All in'face of my own choices."

"Your flattering is unbecoming. I was of little use, with my meager skills."
Virara shook her head, hair flitting about.
"If it happened, it happened. It won't go away. I don't think it will. What you've given them. I don't understand how it would disappear."
The words struggled their way out of her closed throat with a raised volume much unlike her, but hardly enough to qualify as another's indoor voice.
"I don't know gods or admirals. But I know what it is to follow. Is following wrong?"

"Wrong enough when you follow 'em inta the wrong place. Ought to be damn sure of it here, clearly. Followin' is what makes folks like the Commodore get where they are - he's a bastard, they say, but at least he follows."

"So yeah, I don't want 'em following me. Not like that. I pointed a way. They can go that way or they can sod off an' do different fifty years down th'line."

"But I don't want 'em to follow just on account've it's me. I want 'em to follow on account've they think it's right for themselves."

Virara's lips tightened into a deeper, firmer frown. A spark of life coursed within her, small but fervent.
"I hate what if's. How can you make a decision to surrender them solely to make choices based off that?"
Her hands tightened around the hem of her beggarly coat, faded and stiff from the endless sun and salt of Vylbrand cool air. 
"Are you not forsaking them?"

"Depends on who you ask, an' what that means. There's a fair few people who say I'd have forskaken them if I hung. Would y'say that?"

Virara lowered her chin in contemplation, mouth drawn taut with the effort.
"Master told me. In the old country, some nobles slit their bellies to assume responsibility for failure. Not being permitted to do that... It is unthinkable. But at the same time... I've never seen such a thing. Because I'm a stranger to her country, if not her ways."

A fugitive sigh made its escape.
"I believe a person can choose when they die. Until their body chooses for them. I'm unqualified to speak of how they'd feel. But I don't think they'd accept it. They would feel forsaken."

"Well, there you have it then. I'm not planning on forsaking them. If the Maelstrom still wanted m'head for the safety of the island, then yes, I'd do it. Small price. I said as much before an' I do so now.   If it's not needed, then I'm going to settle in to the island an' enjoy the success, an' if pirates or Garleans come calling, then the Tumult'll sale out to meet 'em, an' I'll be at the helm." 
He patted his chest, at least aware of that much.
"But I'm not in charge, is my point. I follow them, now on."

Virara paused, almost freezing in place as she attempted to decypher what he has said. Not for simple lack of comprehension, but rather as if the concept itself was impossible to truly grasp for her. She continued to observe it inside from every possible angle. No matter what pattern it took, Virara was unable to perceive the entirety of its form. Something fundamental was missing from her that keeps her from seeing anything but meaningless shapes.
"... You'll follow them? So you do not aim to die, then."
Her hand fell slack to her side, loosely gripped, fingers encased in worn leather.
"I see."

"If I'm followin' 'em, and they seem to be damned keen to keep me alive, seems the least I could do, wouldn't y'agree?"

Virara for the first time that day averted her gaze, following lines in the ship's wooden deck.
"I misunderstood you yet again. Forgive me."
Without warning, she rose to her knees and bowed her head against the wooden deck in a display laden with sullen obsequience.
"I came here to be your second. I see that is not necessary."

"Could've been." 
He seemed familiar with the concept. Perhaps his travels had taken him to Doman waters in years past. 
"If they'd asked it, it could've been. But there's ways t'take responsibility an' then there's ways, you see? I'll keep 'em safe. IF the Admiral wants me head for it, that's one way. If they want me at the ready to push back the Garleans, that's another." He gave her a curious look. "Why y'need a death like that, d'you think?"

"I-"
Her head jerked upward, a bit too hastily to be truly polite. It was all a gesture trained to the point of reflex, sincere but clumsy, the meaning behind it never truly settling in.
"But that man. Woman. Whoever they were. They denied you your chance to settle the matter with Limsa Lominsa. Did that not shame you?"

"Should it?" 
He smoothed out the bald patches along his pate, mostly the product of scars rather than age. It left his hair a little on the wild side past his temples. 
"I've me shames, no mistake. Shamed I trusted the Garleans an' didn't know I was damning the Wound in trustin' 'em. Shamed that I had -six- ships planned to come here, an' naught but three arrived, in the end. I thought I knew me people better. Shamed I could do naught but stand and pray while that Garlean beast sailed towards the island as the other ships fired 'pon it."

He lifted his eyes to the harbor. 
"I'd be more shamed if I didn't work twice as hard to overcome 'em."

Virara could but digest his words. Another shame. Another form. Another method of assuming responsibility. The enormity of what he'd taken upon himself became visible in its entirety. The patterns merged together. It'd been, to her at least, a matter of thrusting people into a situation they were unequipped to handle without himself, something to apologize for; once settled, it was finished. Just another form of settling obligations, like so many Virara accounted for. Slaeglac could disappear like he'd wanted. There was far more to fret over than she'd ever recognized before. Did Virara have the capacity to feel that weight? Did such weight mean anything to -her-?

"That's what draws you back to them. You can't leave them alone, but neither can you let them follow you."
Virara nodded once.
"Twice I've misunderstood you. To judge you as incapable, before when you spoke of the Garleans to us. I regret my carelessness."

"I apologize."

He listened to her words with an increasingly incredulous look, and then, at last, he laughed. It was a powerful bellow, and for some reason the crew of the ship seemed heartened by it when it happened.  An echo of the freest man on the sea.
"Well, I'm sorry I called y'daft. It's a Doman way of thinking, innit? Should've known better, meself. No harm done either way." He leaned to face Virara. "An' thank y' for wantin' to second, ifn' I did decide, that were the way."

She shook her head furiously, raising a hand to deny him in quiet modesty.
"Would that it were. I am foolish, my Master says. What is daft and what is not, I can hardly tell. It might be... that this land has something useful to teach me yet."
Virara leveled a calm, serious gaze at him. But it lacked the same everpresent bestial suspicion. The look she gave everyone, like they were either out to steal her food or beat her red was gone. It was only for a moment.
"The offer stands. It's your choice to accept or not."

She lowered her head in deep respect.
"My promises don't fade."

"Well, if it e'er comes to that. If my own hands have brought these people t'ruin, if they're cursin' and damnin' my name an' both they and Limsa alike want me head, I will send for ye. Is that fair?"

Virara bowed at the waist in that overly formal manner of hers.
"I understand."

RE: Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - PhantasticPanda - 04-03-2017

((This RP was done between Qara and I, with Qara NPCing a Captain presiding over Chakha's case.))


Zanzan would arrive in a rustic old office. It looked like the kind of place that would be a Captain’s cabin on a ship except it’s in the city of Limsa. Sitting at a desk made for a Seawolf was a Lalafell Plainsfolk woman in Maelstrom uniform. Storm Captain Jujudi Judi wasn’t the typical ship Captain. She was a treaty and code officer; an interpreter of laws for a city-state full of guidelines. She stood in her chair when Zanzan entered. It helped her see over the huge desk.

After Zanzan had entered the office, he gave a quick glance around before letting out a deep sigh. He carried nothing else with him except for a satchel that hung from his shoulder as he treaded deeper into the office and stopping just in front of the desk. He met his eyes with the Captain before he offered a Maelstrom salute; straight hand to temple with a rigid posture.

"Captain." He spoke in a formal tone before once more, letting out a deep sigh. "As stated in my letter, I... have come to speak on my own behalf as well as Chakha Hotgo's about our prior and current situation. You've... no doubt heard all about it, yes?" His tone quieted at his last words.

Jujudi Judi smiles for a moment. It is hard to tell if it is sincere, or a mere polite gesture. “At ease Quartermaster Zanzan Yanzan. Aye, I know why you are here. You may sit.” She too lets herself sit.

“You know who I am, but for the record I am Storm Captain Jujudi Judi, a treaty, signal and code officer of Maelstrom Command. I am one of three judges presiding over the case of Chakha Hotgo, but I can tell you now that I know how my fellows will decide. I have still not made up my mind on this case.”

Zanzan allowed himself to ease somewhat with his posture relaxing as he took a seat in front of the Captain's desk. "Pray tell, what has been reported to you about the case? Only so that I would not need to repeat what has already been said." He began to move his satchel into his lap.

Jujudi let out a sigh. “I have been playing catch-up with this whole mess. I have the leve plate for the leve in which Jenny Hellfist was killed, I have witness reports, reports on Gloam, limited records of your Captain Qara Hotgo, a letter from Qara Hotgo, a report from one Aigharn Kha about the airship that was battled at Gloam, a report from the tactics department made by Ojene Suinuet about a bunch of people I can only assume she wants dead or discharged; that includes Qara Hotgo and yourself…. I think that is everything. A whole mess of papers that are trying to give me the whole context of what the Hells is happening.”

Zanzan inhaled a deep breath as the Captain lines out everything she had heard and read, only to exhale again once she had finished. Zanzan grows a pensive expression.

"Miss Suinuet has... an ill repute as of late. I had initially gone to her, hoping to gain Chakha a fair sentence, or at the very least, aid. Such was not the case." Zanzan paused for a moment. "'Tis true that I had harbored Chakha away from the authorities, though out of fear that she would be sentenced to be hung, especially to satisfy the unrest of our fellow Limsans as of late."

Zanzan took another pause as he broke his gaze from the Captain for just a brief moment. "As stated in the leve, it had given adventurers and mercenaries full permission to take Jenny's life if deemed necessary for its completion. While Chakha indeed took her life, 'twas not of her own desire, but that of her prior employers, the Syndicate."

Jujudi looked to the papers then back to Zanzan. “I cannot charge you with harboring someone you helped to turn in! Miss Suinuet says you and Captain Qara admitted to such, and while some may applaud your willingness to take guilt, harboring a criminal means hiding them from the authorities until such time that the authorities apprehend the criminal. We didn’t because she turned herself in.”

“Now, if there was evidence that you protected her from authorities, and in that time she committed more crimes, we would have a problem. But the killing of Jenny Hellfist was before she reunited with you and her sister, correct?”

“As for the leve authorizing the killing of Hellfist, we have the semantics of what ‘necessary’ means. Blowing her away with a cannon before negotiations can even complete is not necessary by most standards. Her actions resulted in us losing the entire crew and a Galleon to piracy.”

Zanzan winced at the mention of simply, overkill. "Correct, Qara and I have watched her closely since then. To my knowledge, she is not guilty of any other crimes. We've been committed to offering her a new life away from that." He then sighed, an act that has been much too common for the past several moons. He slipped out a letter before sliding it across the table to the Captain.

"This was Chakha's order from the Syndicate. To resolve the situation involving Jenny Hellfist by any means necessary. Observing how her blockade damaged their profits, they wished for the matter to be resolved quickly. Knowing their practices... I believe they wished to exploit the leve."

"I understand this by no means pardons or forgives Chakha for what she has done... But 'tis was not her willful intent or desire to kill Jenny. She has since then abandoned her previous employers and I only wish for her to be granted a new opportunity of an honest life." Jujudi speaks.

"I understand you must abide by the words of the Admiralty's laws, but many of the Maelstrom and Limsans alike have committed piracy and acts that would be considered crimes today. Many of us can be find guilty, but 'tis what we do now that should judge us. Pray, allow her to make a new life for herself. Do not let her rot on a barge."

Jujudi let out a sigh as she read the letter. “This would be easier if she gave us the bloody names of her employers.” She paused. “You have a loyalty to her like she is your own crew, yet she is not on any records. She’s some refugee. Not really a citizen of Limsa Lominsa. Part of me wonders if exile is the answer… If we don’t hang her, which I think is the wrong sentence - we don’t hang those who make mistakes on leves, and we don’t jail her for life, what do we do? What would you do has she committed such a crime on your ship? Limsa’s criminal background is true, but to control such people, we need strong enforcement of what laws we have. We need to scare pirates into check.”

Zanzan hung his head as he thought and thought. "She is a refugee... But one that was alone and did what she needed to survive... Until we found her, until her sister found her.

Zanzan peered back up to the Captain. "Then we must teach her. Let her do her part now to make up for her mistakes. She is new and needs a guiding hand. To speak true, I do not know what I would do if she were to commit another crime... But Qara and I are making sure that such an act would not happen again."

Jujudi nodded then interlocked her fingers on her desk. “Aye, now, tell me, why did she turn herself in then? To make sure she stays under control, we have to know how she thinks.”

"To make things right... Those were her words." Zanzan said simply.

"But she doesn't feel guilty. We talked to her, and I am afraid of someone who can not feel guilt. That's likely what had Ojene so worried. So, Quartermaster Zanzan Yanzan, to make things right for whom?"

Zanzan ponders for a moment. "Mayhaps... Make things right for those who suffered from her loss. Surely she had friends... family... And she was of Limsan blood. There were many that felt for her loss."

The Captain sighs. "Are you trying to protect someone, or are you lying to me? Mayhaps you miss the obvious? The girl turned herself in because of her sister. Am I wrong?" There was a brief pause. "After livin' my whole life in Vylbrand, I know what makes people pirates, and it's rarely because they want to be at first. I don't think this girl -wanted- to be an assassin, but she has the mind of one. So what made her go from not givin' a damn to suddenly turning herself in when she could have fled? Only thing I see new is you and her sister. I really don't think she just suddenly felt guilt for everything."

Zanzan gave out a deep sigh as he slouched over, burying his face into his hands. "Mayhaps 'tis me... or mayhaps 'tis only because of her sister... If she can change for her sister, mayhaps she can change for others. I cannot say for certain because only time will tell if 'tis a wise decision... Even if the we must bare its consequences, I wish to give her a chance yet."

Jujudi taped her fingers on her desk as she pondered. “The way I see it, she owes Limsa Lominsa a debt. We can argue about morals all sun, but it won’t change the real problem here. She can’t be convicted of murder since the leve said she could. But her actions did cost us a lot. I can’t promise what the other two Captains will push for, but I’ll try to steer a course that ends with her repaying that debt instead of being killed, exiled or wasted away.” She paused. “There will likely be pain. Too many Limsans want to -see- the punishment. But mayhaps the biggest irony of all could be us using her to serve Limsa instead of Ul’dah. Turn the Syndicate asset into our own. I will consider that.”

Zanzan gave out yet another sigh and hopefully the last for the night. It was both a relief to at least gain some sort of aid from one Captain yet he was still somewhat pained by the thought of a public punishment, one he knew his fellow Limsans would call for.

"If she must serve Limsa and her people, then so be it." He spoke in a sincere tone. "It would still lighten my heart if she can live a 'free' life, so to speak. Thank you, Captain."

"Freedom comes in many forms, Quartermaster. Hers may be better or worse than what she had before. But she won't rot in a gaol if I can help it." She sat back in her oversized chair. "It would be a waste of resources. And mayhaps... Someone who may surprise us. We will see."

Zanzan sat there for a long and quiet moment with his gaze faced downwards. He then finally slid off from his chair before offering another Maelstrom salute. "I await for the new of her sentence then, Captain. Thank you again, for speaking with me."

Jujudi stood in her chair and returned the salute. "Till sea swallows all, Zanzan Yanzan. Farewell."

RE: Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - Knight Kat - 04-05-2017

The Final Verdict
Part 2


A Lalafell woman sat in her rustic office with a huge stack of papers on her desk. The commotion of life in Limsa Lominsa - people talking, children playing and seagulls calling created an ambient sound that was muffled through the walls and closed windows.

Captain Jujudi Judi pinched the bridge of her nose. She was a bell away from needing to deliver a final verdict on Chakha Hotgo; the girl who killed Jenny Hellfist.

It was an odd case. Not only did this barely adult Xaela blow Jenny away with a cannon, she had good evidence that the Leve authorized her to take such action! What a mess. It meant the leve-writer needed to share the punishment, but his case was being handled by another judge.

Jujudi regarded the leve plate once again. The over-worked Leve-writer, named Varad Yayrad, made a clear breach of leve code! The plate read as follows:

“The privately-owned war galleon Night Plunder has dropped anchor in full view of Costa Del Sol's oceanfront scenery and refuses to move until their demands are met, threatening to harm tourism from the Ul'dahn elite and drive down beachfront property rates. Because war galleons are hard to replace, the Admiralty is looking for problem solvers who can negotiate their movement and/or kill the offenders as necessary.”

“Kill the offenders… As necessary? What a mess.” Jujudi let out a sigh.

Chakha Hotgo stated that she saw killing Hellfist as necessary, and the fact that evidence supported that she was a Syndicate-hired assassin suggested her employer saw the killing as necessary as well! Ul’dahn elite were being threatened after all.

Jujudi looked back to the papers and tapped her fingers on the wood of her desk. Her other hand supported her head by propping it up on her elbow. After reading reviewing all the evidence, Jujudi was ready to deliberate with the other Captains to come to a verdict.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a closed trial. The last thing Maelstrom Command wanted was to reawaken the riots of the recent past with the cause of Jenny Hellfist. In the makeshift courtroom, only the people necessary were present. Jujudi cleared her throat to speak on behalf of all three Storm Captains.

“After deliberations, we the Captains who have been given the authority by Maelstrom command to preside over this case, have come to a verdict.”

“Evidence is only strong enough to charge Chakha Hotgo of one crime: the murder of Jenny Hellfist. Anything more on her is speculation and hearsay.”

“She willingly turned herself in for arrest without being found or forcibly apprehended. She has confessed to her actions, and explained her motives.”

“However, her true crime is not what it seems. With authorization in the leve to kill Jenny Hellfist, and the fact that Jenny Hellfist was breaking the law at the time of her death, the killing of the privateer captain was not without precedent. We can only convict her of crimes of misconduct, and punish her for the horrible results that came of such.”

“Chakha Hotgo is found guilty of wrongful conduct during an official leve, misinterpretation of the spirit of an official leve, reckless endangerment of innocent lives and undue assault on Limsan privateers and adventurers.”

“Her actions resulted in the death of Jenny Hellfist, and the eventual failure of the purpose of that leve. Aye, the Night Plunder was removed from Costa del Sol, but her crew broke from the Maelstrom, and the ship was eventually lost. The purpose of the leve was to preserve that Galleon which our navies desperately needed.”

“By authority of the Maelstrom, we sentence Chakha Hotgo to be flogged. She will receive fifty lashes.”

“Chakha Hotgo is sentenced to service in the Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss until death or until the convent leader deems her unfit for work. She is to be taught Limsa Lominsan laws word for word, and she will be required to memorize them all.”

“To ensure she stays within the boundaries of law when she is not with the Dutiful Sisters, from this moment on, Chakha Hotgo will be considered the responsibility of Privateer Captain Qara Hotgo. Meaning, any crimes or misconduct committed by Chakha Hotgo will directly result in consequences for not only herself, but for Privateer Captain Qara Hotgo and the Stormbreaker crew as well.”

“Chakha Hotgo will be required to pay half of her earnings every moon to the surviving relatives of Jenny Hellfist. This will continue for as long as she works for the Dutiful Sisters. If we can not find surviving relatives of Jenny Hellfist, by the Twelve we will find -someone- to give that gil to; even if it’s the Maelstrom.”

“The stipulations of this sentence are complete, and further details on the various rules and exceptions have been sent to Maelstrom command.”

“Till sea swallows all.”

Jujudi pounded the gavel on the table then signed her name on the parchment with the exact wording of the convictions and sentence.

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Nearly twenty and four bells later, Qara Hotgo stood on the beach in the Mists with a wrinkled flyer in her hands. She held it securely to prevent the winds from blowing it away, or tearing it asunder. But her gaze rested on the sunset, ocean horizon.

She took in a deep breath then looked down at the flyer. It was a flyer from the Hellfist Foundation. On the day of Morris’s trial, Qara was handed one by a random person.

She knew little of their fate, and had not heard anything from them since. But whatever happened to them did not happen soon enough to stop Qara from getting a piece of their last efforts. Now that she knew the name of the person her sister killed, she could not help but think the others might have been silenced as well.

Would it not be ironic if she were to take up their cause? She wondered.

The freedom of Limsa’s privateers reminded her of the Xaela tribes of Othard. It is why she became one. But she quickly came to know the treachery buried in the heart of many in the city-state.

The ugliness she had seen made her want to flee, but that was not why she became what she is. Her training had been for the purpose of fighting the injustice that those with power forced upon the common folk. Running away would not do that.

Her gaze returned to the horizon. The sunlight reflected off the blue limbal rings in her eyes, and caused them glow.

"I will face it."

RE: Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - Aya - 04-09-2017

'Ace', is a Limsan Information Broker and Underworld figure, who aided Aya during the Merchant, Marine plot.  He's a childhood friend of Aya's during her brief time in Limsa Lominsa as a refugee. (here and here)  This post is he and Aya discussing the events of the plot, and their conclusion.

"Ah, good, you made it."

Aya smiled to her old friend, 'Ace' as he's now known.  She'd approached him from the right, his good side.  The recognizable smile put her at ease.

For him, the hooded woman was still a welcome sight.  Though, ostensibly, she obscured herself behind a cloak, she had a manner of revealing nearly everything else in her effort to avoid recognition.  The short skirt, the thigh-high, sharply heeled boots that emphasized shapely legs.  The open bodice that invited and tempted, rather than deflected attention.  For those who knew her it was impossible to not recognize her - and maybe that was the point.

"Of course," she answered with a breathy softness.  The Ishgardian accent upon her tongue still struck him with strangeness.  When they had been friends in childhood it was an altogether different accent that graced her voice.  It still took some getting used to.

"I couldn't disappoint an old friend could I?"

He let out an amused breath of his own, a smile curling upon the good half of his face despite his best efforts to restrain his emotion.  "I didn't imagine you would."

She stepped up to the railing, stopping beside him before turning her eyes toward the inky blackness of the sea.  Gentle swells lapped against the pillars of stone all around them.  

She very casually dipped her fingers into her open bodice.  Nowhere could provide surer keeping for a valuable gift: out she drew a small, thin rectangle tin several ilms across, offering it to him.

He furrowed his brow, one good eye focused on the unexpected, though familiar item as she held it his way. "Go on." She added, a smirk drawing across her carmined lips.

With a moment's hesitation he reached for the proffered gift, turning it for examination. It took a moment, but the smile of recognition that he offered was exactly what she'd hoped to see.

"Well, this is a fine 'thank you', isn't it." He grinned, clicking the tin open with his fingers.  With deft fingers he drew out the paper-wrapped cylinder and quickly flicked it below his nostrils, breathing in deeply the fragrance of the smokeweed.

"The finest available, if I understand correctly."  She grinned out to sea.

"The Emperor himself has no finer smoke."  Purred the Miqo'te with satisfaction.  With the cigarette squeezed between two fingers he offered the smoke back to Aya, "I'll share, you know."  

She demurred with the raise of her hand, "I have my own vices, mon ami.  This one's for you."

He laughed, sliding the tin into a coat pocket before fishing out his auto-lighter.  "Where'd you get these?" He asked, with his lips pressed together.

"Escrow and Sons.  I'd saved them for just such an occasion."  Her grin, still directed out to the sea, grew ever brighter.  

"Mighty fine, mighty fine." He replied with some admiration, before lighting the smoke and drawing in.  "One hell of a 'thank you'," he repeated himself with immense gratification.  

She chuckled lightly, keeping her enigmatic gaze upon the sea.  She had a way of projecting contemplation - an expression that belied the shallow and careless persona she normally adopted.  

He took in another breath, letting it out with a sigh of fulfillment.

"What do you think?" She finally asked in a soft tone.

"Think?" He eschewed, glancing her way before lowering himself down, elbows resting on the railing against which they stood.  "Think about what?"

"All of this."  She answered softly, he knew exactly what she meant, but her lack of specificity still irked him.  "All that's happened these past few weeks.  Everything since Leeds."

He nodded, idly flicking the ashes off the end of the precious cigarette -- off into the brine lapping below their feet.  "Ah."

There was a pause while he enjoyed the smoke for a few moments more.  No sound intruded upon them except the lulling sea and the muted preparations of a Maelstrom vessel docked in the near distance.

"Not much."  He finally answered, lips wrapped around the smoke. "Not much at all, I think.  The entire affair could have been scripted."

"Scripted?" She finally turned her eyes toward him.  His good eye met hers as he offered an almost imperceptible nod. "Aye.  You know pirates: short-sighted, only after their next share of loot, and hatin' to let anyone else tell them what to do more than anything else.  The Maelstrom's only pirates in better uniforms."  He pulled the smoke away from his lips, turning his eyes out toward the readying ship.

"Those mutineers are no different than the rest, really.  Don't like being told what to do, and filled with nostalgia."

"Nostalgia?" She asked with a hint of confusion - though she'd recognized the sentiment in her very first contact with the Gloam-bound privateers, she'd never heard it upon another's lips.

"Aye.  They remember how they thought it was when they were young.  Or have been told."  He waved his free hand out toward the ocean, "Before all of this.  When the sea seemed free, at least to them who didn't know better."

He grimaced, a bit, "O' course it was ne'er like that. They just don't know any better.  Thought they could ha'e it all again.  That they could find somewhere they'd never have to listen to anyone else again."

She nodded, "I think you're right.  They're not happy with how things are. They'd rather face their problems their own way.  On one hand, they want to escape those who feel they can tell them what to do, on the other hand they're running from responsibilities to anyone other than themselves.  They're just looking for a place to call their own, to live life as they wish.  But that's never as easy as it sounds."

He offered her a side-long glance, "O' course, you know, 'venturers are the same as pirates, right?  They tend to chase a different booty, that's all.  They also don't see the day after tomorrow, and can't stand it when someone tell's 'em what they've got to do."

She listened. She knew better than to think that she could disagree with that sentiment.

"So, you put all these sorts together.  Pirates seekin' booty or freedom.  Adventure's all the same. And an avaricious Empire with its own to gain.  And what do you get?" He gestured with his hand, "Lots o' mates tellin' each other how they got to do it.  And none of 'em listenin'.  The strongest and cleverest win, at least temporarily.  And 'ere we are again. Its the Limsan way, ever been so."  He nodded with some satisfaction. "Like one of those show-plays I hear you did, aye?"  

He turned his good eye upon her as she listened, "So you don't think it could have gone any other way?"

"Oh, it could have gone many ways.  But it'd only have been a difference o' degrees.  Nothin's really changed.  All a bunch of noise and ruckus makin' for no end.  Maybe it'd have been worse to have a Garlean island out there, but it'd be a problem for the Maelstrom more than us."

"About the Maelstrom, what about all the trouble they had? The riots, the court martials and all?  You don't think any of that's going to matter?" She asked, eyes fixed on the preparing ship.

"Well.  The Maelstrom: they were just a bunch of pirates.  They're still just a bunch of pirates.  All that's different is they're smarter than they used to be: they decide things by figurin' out who'd win the fight, rather than actually killin' each other.  Saves a lot of wasted effort and ships and makes the Admiral look like a genius."

He waved his hand, "And, yeah, tension with the Foreign Levy, right?  But here's the thing: they never really did trust the Foreign Levy.  Always a thorn in their side, just a necessary thorn.  I don't think that's changin'.  They're willin' to shame one of their own to keep the Levy happy, but that's about as far as they'll go."

"What Captain Hellfist and the other Privateers?"

"I don't know, really.  She's just another dead pirate.  I mean, what do you want?  You tell someone pirate's get into trouble, and the Syndicate's wicked, and they're already gonna know exactly what you mean.  How's this been any different?" He let out a dark laugh, "Hell, if the Captain had known what was going to happen she'd probably have done the same damn thing.  Pirates are proud like that.  And as long as the Maelstrom can keep them in line, nothin' changes.  So far, so good.  Probably all the better for Limsa, in the end.  We've got more than enough problems as is."

"How did you know about the Syndicate?" She asked with surprise.

He laughed, "You don't give me much credit, do you?  Not like its hard to figure out.  Just think about the circumstance, its obvious whose interest it was in.  S'imba had nothin' to gain, really.  And as we seen, he's no ally of the Maelstrom.  If anythin' I wager he was on Hellfist's side.  I'd have liked to seen the looks on his eyes when they accused 'im of killin' her!"

She focused on him with narrowed eyes.  He'd peeled the onion with surprising deftness.  She thought about delving further, but instead shifted the question again, "And what about Gloam?" she asked.

"What about it?" He repeated.  "Its a pirate haven.  There been dozens of them before.  The Maelstrom put an end to most, turned 'em into bases for their own operations when they brought the pirates to heel. This one's just a place out of time.  And it'll end jes' the same."

"Yeah?  How's that?"  She asked, unsure of exactly what he meant.

"They'll draw attention.  Bringing in even more pirates who don't like bein' told what to do.  But, in the end, there's only one way to settle things: the strongest get their way.  They'll fight, with each other, with others. Power will shift one way then another.  Finally, they'll piss someone off too much, be it Maelstrom or Garlemald, and they'll be snuffed out 'afore anyone even knows what's happenin'."

"You think they're doomed?" She asked; he felt a pang of sympathy in her blue-eyed gaze.  

"What can I say?  They don't have many options do they?  Survive raidin' eastern independents?  Even then the Empire will get tired of it eventually.  Can't raid Eorzean vessels, can't raid Garlean without invitin' another expedition.  The Empire, o'course, learns its lessons well.  This time there won't be any question o' the result."

She nodded, letting out a breath, perhaps he was right.  "Even if they don't, I wonder what we've really gained in Gloam..."

"Good question.  Places like that aren't really as nice as they sound at first.  They're only as nice as the strongest gun-arm lets them be.  That's the way with pirates, always been.  All those idealistic paeans you 'eard were just that.  They can't survive in reality.  They talk about 'freedom' as if they could find any such thing out there.  Squeezed between the Maelstrom and the Empire, with no one but the biggest guns to decide what's right.  That's no freedom, not really."

"I know you're right about that... " She'd never really liked pirates. She could respect many of their desires, their valor, and bravery. But at the end of the day, they were people who survived through pure violence.  Violence against each other, and violence to prey upon those weaker than them.  Its why she'd chosen not to live among them.

"The damned thing is that they've already forgotten the lessons Limsa Lominsa learned the hard way." He added with the flick of the cigarette, "The Maelstrom didn't come out of nowhere.  Its an adaption to changing times.  The old ways are dead for a reason, and there ain't no revivin' 'em.  A bunch of besotted pirates can't fight against reality, can't fight and win, at least."

She sighed, hanging her head momentarily.  "I know... I'd always wondered what their end game was.  I was sure they'd never give up their Garlean protection, where can they go now?  It is hopeless isn't  it..."

He nodded.  Its obvious she'd cared about the cause - or, perhaps, not so much the cause, as those who had fought for it.  "That's just the damned thing isn't it.  To 'ave any real sense of freedom, they'd have had to give it all up.  Lose-lose.  Better to die trying, which I guess is what ol' Slaeglac did in the end.  Just went better than he'd expected."  He bit his good lip for a moment while looking for a way to change her depressed tone, "Still, it was somethin' at least to beat a Garlean squadron.  They'll be lickin' their wounds for a while."

"Of course..." She nodded very slightly, lowering her gaze.  "The trouble is that it means the Empire won't underestimate the Maelstrom next time."

"O' course," he nodded in agreement.  "That's truth, and I'm sure you know what it means." She nodded in agreement before he continued, "We've given away the element of surprise in exchange for respite, for a near-worthless little island.  Not perhaps the best play for the Maelstrom"

"Its not worthless to those there, at least..." she countered, thinking of the Osric, Leanne, and others who'd rallied to the cause of those on the island.  "And in the end, they did stand up to the Empire."

"Truth again.  And in full honesty, it ain't exactly worthless, except when lookin' at it from the Admiral's perspective.  Someone out there's makin' a pretty penny off it, no doubt.  Its gonna be a growin' concern for some time.  And whoever's makin' the pennies is a clever one, I'd wager. He's not puttin' many back into it."

He nodded to himself, "There's your real winner, if you were lookin' for one."

She just watched the sea.  "No doubt..."  she stated in a distant, soft voice, while her mind wandered to Edda and her father.  

"O' course there are other winners. In Limsa, no one's goin' to remember a riot a week later.  But, reputations 'ave a way of stickin'. And more than a few 'ave been made and lost 'ere.  Slaeglac's name is near legend, can't say how long that will last, but that's a man who won't have to pay for his own rum for a while.  Seems there are a few other Officers who've earned themselves promotion too.  That Holkstymm, for example.  Word is he's gonna found some new Maelstrom judicial branch, or somethin'.  I don't know if I care for that, pirates is still pirates in the end."

"And, a few others have lost theirs, I doubt its necessary for me ta mention the names, but they're out there on the streets."

She knew just who he meant. Her thoughts wandered to Anstarra, Yheli, and others. For some it wasn't so much that they'd lose their standing with the Maelstrom, as the Maelstrom had lost its standing with them. Zanzan, Khunbish - and no doubt more who would never look upon their membership in the Levy quite the same way, if they did not resign it completely.

"Those are the sorts of things that stick with us - effect the future in ways no one can know yet.  That'll wind up mattering more than Gloam, I'm sure."

She looked at him, curious, if unconvinced.  

"And, o' course..." he turned to her, a direct gaze she couldn't help but return, "There are a couple of sailors alive who wouldn't have been otherwise.  That's somethin', aye?"

A smile played over her lips, she could see the old friend she remembered - in there somewhere beneath that cynical crust of an exterior.

"It is..." she readily agreed, thankful to think of something more positive.

"Savin' those that didn't have to die.  That's something to take home with you and put in your pipe for a good smoke."  He turned back to the sea, nodding.  "Maybe it'll mean even more someday.  Depends what the lads do now, I wager."

"We can hope."

"Aye... if hope's worth having'."  He seemed unconvinced, and paused for a moment as he enjoyed the quickly dwindling cigarette.  

"That reminds me, there's also a certain Miqo'te privateer that made fool of himself several times over.  He and that mate of his, 'Troublemaker', 'Problemsolver', whatever it is."  He flicked his eyes toward her with a hint of accusation, as if he knew of her friendship with S'imba and Osric, and her time on the Sultana's Revenge.

She turned her eyes back toward him.  "That's somethin' likely to stick for a while too.  More bad, than good, for him I'd wager."

"Speakin' o' the 'Revenge'," he started, "I heard a strange rumor.  The crew's sayin' they had some sort of blonde goddess aboard out at Gloam."  He offered a brief glance her way, as he knocked the ash off his nearly finished smoke.  "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

She turned to him, lips slightly parted as she avoided a straight answer.  He flicked the bud of his cigarette into the briny deep.

"That's what I thought." He stated with a laugh while pushing back from the railing.  Turning to walk away he waved an empty hand back to her, "I'd stay far away from Gloam if I were you.  There aren't enough real goddesses to go around, as is."

She sighed.  That was that then...

RE: Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - LystAP - 04-10-2017

Limsa Lominsa - Foremast - Parade Square - [Very Slightly NSFW]
———
The sun rose high over the Foremast as a unit of Yellowjackets and Maelstrom guards gathered. Security was heavy, despite the lack of a crowd; the recent Simb’a incident necessitated the large guard as Limsan officials sought to prevent another lost of face. Nevertheless, the lack of a crowd drew some awkward concerns from a few of the guards, “Where is everyone?”, “Did yea he’r? Ever since the Hellfist folks started disappearing, they be saying there is a curse,” “Yea jest? Me thought those only rumors,” “They say this one worked for them dirty Ul’dahians, mayhap they making sure….”, “Sush, yea don’t call down the Trader’s curse by poking yea nose around…, they say them Death's Embrace are involved...”

The rumor mill continued churning around as the guards sought to alley their concerns by reaffirming their superstitions. After a bell, drums rolled and the guards automatically scurried into position and snapped to attention with drill-honed precision. Drums rolled and a group of people emerged from the shadow of the Foremast towards a prepared stage. In the middle of the group, bound in tight ropes and in light clothes barely preserving her modesty, was a female Xaela, the prisoner Chakha Hotgo. Her tail sways perhaps unconsciously with the drumroll and she looks up at the open clear sky, her face locked and devoid of emotion.

How long ago had it been since that fateful day in Hawker’s Alley, where she spotted aaja… where the world she thought she had lost… came tumbling back. At first it was disorienting, then maddening… especially once she learned of the man… the Zanzan. She was well acquainted with the scheming nature of his kind; while she saw her former mistress as a friend, she knew very well how true that stereotypes of her mistress’s kind, the lalafell, can be. Such silly assumptions however, cast shadows within her mind that clawed at her psyche… once more, it felt as if someone was trying to take away what family she had left.

She remembered the sun… the night… cries of fear and terror… the laughter of the massacrers… the roar of the cannon… the yells in the night… screams of outrage … what was she remembering? What was she recalling? The drumbeats synchronized with her heartbeat… with the beats of her minds eye set adrift into the depths of her memories. Before long she was on the platform… and the officer read out the charges and sentence… what was said is said and what is to be done shall now be done. The whip was raised, and the punisher’s face blanked out against the sun (and covered by a hood). With a lash… it came down and the sentence began.

One Lash - it barely registered, despite the officer’s strength and sense of duty in carrying out the punishment. Within, the shock was absorbed as she recalled the true nature of her flesh… and mayhap soul. For a soldier of the Empire, magitek was the incarnation of Garlemeld’s superiority over the rest of the world… and to use it… to become one with it… was considered a means of becoming a part of the Imperial war machine. For the shadows of Garlemeld, many did not utilize said enhancements… fearful of what could be lost in the process. However, for those devoid of purpose nor care, said enhancements were means of granting both physical and cultural power among the legions of the Empire.

Ten Lashes - Was it her decision? Yes. She cannot deny it. They filled her emptiness with power - with purpose - she was no longer Chakha of the Hotgo - a innocent naive girl of the steppes. She was a weapon… a tool to be used by those who would impose order on the world - a tool did not need family nor did they need to feel… no remorse, no regret. The orderless world of the steppes took from her… the Dotharl as she knew… did not felt remorse nor regret… in a “free” world… they celebrated their slaughter. Those who would go against order needs be cut out before they infect others… if only the Dotharl were destroyed before… she wondered. If only they were all destroyed…

Fifteen Lashes - Her body shook, but she felt numb - how many people did she eliminate? Was the Dotharl band the first… when she lead the Empire to their camp? Or her fellow trainee? Or was it the insurgent boy? The corrupt centurion? Eliminate. Eliminate. Eliminate. Erase. Erase. Erase. The whip cracked against her skin - openly breaking and bleeding, but her castle remained strong. Erase, Eliminate, Remove, Cut, Delete. Delete. Delete. So many lives… so many diseased portions… so many possibilities… so many hopes and dreams… erased… deleted… eliminated.

Twenty Lashes - How many lives did she delete - eliminate - erase? As easily as a entry into a Allagan data frame or Garlean processor - she removed many confounding variables, without a hint of regret or hesitation. Her orders came down and she carried them out. A shinobi is a tool, a blade used by their masters, the only objective that matters is that the mission is carried out to its fullest. A running family of a rebellious lord. A noisy local official. Annoying pirates off Ilsabard. An army moving through a narrow and collapsible pass. So many faces, all blank and full of regret. Hers or theirs?

Twenty-five Lashes - Her master was defeated. It seemed impossible, but it became fact once the apparent missive was sent out. Many had betrayed their homelands, their people, their families, yet a single letter had abandoned them to the hordes. Chakha herself was on assignment in Vylbrand, disposing of a bothersome pirate captain, before learning from her contact of her master’s death and the disbandment of the Shadows. Never since the massacre had she experienced such a shock… but it remained for only a moment. She was alone again… far from those she knew… cut off from her duty and purpose. A blade cast off into the sea.

Thirty Lashes - There she would have remained, if not for the experiences she obtained while wandering the land of savagery. Chakha knew who would have need of her services, and who would give her a purpose once more. A aspiring, yet unfortunately overambitious merchant. A renegade paw. A crazed heir. A gang of rogue Blades. Her new masters were pleased with her work and sharpened her blade with praise and generous portions of gil. She was passed along like a borrowed sword - she was a borrowed sword - owned by those who knew of her. A short time, yet a long time, eventually leading her to her last mistress.

Thirty-five Lashes - Emerald eyes scanned her face, blonde hair with black highlights frame her head, although Chakha could smell the faint scent of hair dye. She had been passed along from master to mistress to master… and now she found herself in the employ of a girl only a summer or two below her own age. “Hi! I mean… *cough* greetings, Miss.” Her first mission with the mistress, passed over from her old master to the young mistress… was amusing. Infiltration. A trinket shrouded in darkness. She wasn’t sure that her new mistress knew the nature of her work. But the times… was entertaining, at the very least.

Forty Lashes - For the first time in a long time, she eliminated relatively little. Here and there, an unfortunate soul. At first, it was a misunderstanding… but as she knew more about her mistress… she became hesitant… briefly… her means of elimination changed. The greatest of her past work was her capacity for delayed action… the army in the pass, the rogue Blades… the renegade gourmet. She refined these skills as she worked about fulfilling the innocent requests of the girl. For a time… she recall… “Because we’re friends, right?” A dramatic yet honest smile, it was a interesting time. The tool felt itself being used in interesting ways, yet it felt something. It did not quite feel… this way in a long time.

Forty-five Lashes - It began when she moved to Limsa - Hellfist. What a pompous yet stereotypically Limsan moniker. One name caused so much trouble, she had eliminated, deleted, cut, removed so many others. Yet this one name caused so much trouble, it was another mark - another name to slash off on a lifetime of marks. Mayhap it would have been easier if she did not find her ajaa and learned of the Zanzan which grasped the former’s heart. Twice did she come close to slaying the Zanzan, yet it only looked at her… ‘his’ attempted murderer with strange eyes. Hate she knew. Fear as well. But the Zanzan did not show such emotions. Thus, she concluded that the Zanzan is a deceptive and unknowable being. Even if ajaa ordered her to tolerate him, she still could not bring herself to accept the Zanzan. The Zanzan was not a mark, none desire his death, yet she felt - she FELT.

Fifty Lashes - She felt for the first time in years. Days of light and joy, shrouded by a night of fear and terror, the pain between her legs and heart shearing away the brilliance of the past into dark agony through which becoming a object was a means of release. I’m sorry. She said… now or in the past? The object felt… the object desired and despised… the object regret and saw a long line of puppets… their blank faces filling up with features as they turned to stare at the sinner. In a world where life was cheap, the auditor reigned; yet now the soul counter turned her… it’s gaze on her. A snap. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. She was alone again… on the dark steppes… fires in distance behind her… and a new sun rising… figures approaching from the sunrise. The imperial patrol of her past…? her ajaa…? Or a new shadow cast by her own mind?

A few bells later - Chakha huddled in her cell, her treated wounds still aching and her horns and tail end throbbing; conjury had closed the wounds, yet the stings of the mind still hurt. She muttered “I’m sorry…” over and over, until a presence pressed upon her. She opened her eyes, and a figure sat there on the floor. It eyed her through reptilian yet familiar eyes, “Regret is for the weak.” It stated in a robotic monotone, a voice she recalled using in the past, “You have become weak, vulnerable.” It stated. “I will regret… for ajaa’s sake,” Chakha replied. The figure just sat there and tilted her head, “Ajaa does not understand. She doesn’t know all that you’ve done. She is blinded. But she will see one day. She will abandon you one day. You are a tool. To cut, to eliminate, to delete, to destroy. That is your purpose.” Chakha closed her eyes, “No. No. No.”

———
Prison Hulk - Off the Coast of Limsa Lominsa - 

“Ey, who she talking too? She’s the only one in the cell.”, “Shush, they of get delusional after a flogging. Just ignore it.” "How she only get off with fift'ty lashes for murde'r?" "Ant' non left of the Hellfist crew to call for he'r ead. So the Admiralty just wiping their hands of it. Yea know how it works, you don't got a crew to yell at the Command Post, yea just chowder for the fish. 

The guard muttered, ""Plus, this here lady got the service of Lieutenant Zanzan. They say he could convince the Admiral herself to dress up like a lass, or get the Syndicate to convict themselves in a forthnight with his siren voice. A real enthralling thing that little man is." "Mayhap he be a siren, glamoured in the guise of a man?", the other guard whispered, his eyes shifting back and forth. "Mayhap, gotta keep a eye on that little one."

RE: Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - Anstarra - 04-10-2017

[Following the week of April 9, to April 16]

When the call came, Anstarra was unprepared.

One might be inclined to believe there was a pattern to such things, or perhaps a sort of balance; a cynical or philosophical (or religious?) mind would perhaps state that it was a right and just balancing of scales. That she should be called upon when otherwise needed. Alternately, such a mind might conclude that she was being blessed; for was this not a reprieve from responsibilities she had been growing ever more desperate to avoid, and had just now been buckling down to face?

Whatever the reason, or underlying order of cosmic balance (if such a thing even existed), Anstarra was unprepared... and yet responded eagerly, hastily, when she got the call. The first call, the one she'd been expecting for half a moon, almost to the day.

The call to go back to sea.

There was a certain romance to it, to be sure, underscoring the dread. Romance, and a sort of... appropriateness, which was a terribly unromantic word. Perhaps destiny (though she didn't like to lean on that word too heavily what with certain other obligations she'd been hiding from). Still, it WAS appropriate that that which she'd been cast from, that which she'd lost by committing her crime, be regained through... another crime.

Even if she didn't quite know what said crime WAS. Even after the sennight's journey shipside was past.

"We have every intention to make use of your skillset. Your past accomplishments are nothing to scoff at. For the most part, you can expect to be sent to sea from time to time, mostly with men who have been in your shoes before. The jobs will be simple. You will be raiding very specific Garlean trade routes, and sinking ships there. As you will be taught by the Captain, there will be no boarding, and no contact with outside sources. It is work you should have an ease of familiarity with, I am told."

It had sounded too good to be true, too easy, compared to the weight of the crime she'd committed. She told herself that made sense; of course they would recruit those willing to do the work. Killing, sinking Garlean ships... or even Eorzeans trading to Garleans... that was not so unpalatable. They were traitors, weren't they? There was a humorous, slightly bitter irony to the notion that she'd be doing pirates' work after all, but at the end of the day, if it meant she could walk on Vylbrand with minimal fear of being arrested, it was a small price to pay.

Too small a price. The more she'd thought about it, of course, the more she'd worried, and so she'd devoted herself to not thinking about it. Drowning herself in dissolute pleasures, in adventurous combat, in the attentions of willing lovers, in work at the Host Club, in that little escapade in Ul'dah in which she helped to bring down Lord Kokoripu (and hadn't that been satisfying? She'd been reprimanded, by Alec, for taking such a risk, after.. but he'd still had to praise her for bringing those valuable documents, pillaged from the monetarist's mansion, to him).

Never mind that niggling question, as to why they weren't to board those ships. Pirates who only sunk, and didn't pillage... it smacked more of assassination, or financial sabotage, than simple piracy. She'd been told to ask no questions, beyond the necessary, which did not at all keep her from THINKING them. At the end of the day though, it didn't matter. It was what she had to do. To be able to return to Limsa.

And she HAD returned. Even before being sent on this mission.

She still remembered setting foot on the landing platform. One sennight nearly to the day after making the deal, the time frame Alec had promised... which had seemed inconceivable to her. Setting foot on solid ground. Keeping a smile on her face, trying not to look like the wanted criminal she knew she SHOULD be, as she went through customs. Half-certain that it had all been some sort of scam, a vicious prank, a trap...

...and then, somehow, miraculously, getting through. Welcome to Limsa Lominsa. Bustling merchants, hawkers, sailors. That moment, when she noticed a Yellowjacket staring at her, she remembered freezing in sudden panic... and then virtually sobbing with relief when he made a lewd gesture.

It had been true, all of it. Everything Alec had promised. She didn't go flaunting herself around Maelstrom Command... and she'd avoided flirting with Baderon like she used to (the man was a little too savvy to rumors and stories, after all), but otherwise Limsa had welcomed her back with open arms.

Leading her, of course, to wonder just what in the Seven Hells she'd gotten into. Until, one sennight later, the time came... to go to work.


The Merciless Maid sailed out of Moraby on a cool, misty morn. A sizeable ship, comparable to the Iron Bitch in complement, though there the resemblance ended. Armed to the teeth and crewed by every manner of ruffian, they set out.

A full sennight she would spend on board, and far from the worst she'd ever spent, aside from the frustrating and incomprehensible ban (ban!) on sexual relations. Past troubles, she was told. Captain Herlmhas' own personal orders. The Captain himself was a touch peculiar, demanding order and cleanliness somewhat beyond what she was used to, yet was not overall unlikeable. The crew... no particular surprises there. A fair spread, mostly male, mostly Limsan, all of whom had done something to put themselves on the wrong side of the law (though most did not willingly speak of their crimes, at least at first).

Out then, to the high seas. To the Bounty, where they sought their prey... and soon found it. A single, unmarked vessel by way of Thavnair. She tried to flee. The Maid did not let her.

Anstarra helped load cannons. Her comparatively small size and disproportionate physical strength allowed for quick work, and she took pride in the fact that her station was ready before any other, each time a salvo was to be launched. The heavy smoke of firepowder, the blinding rush of action... the shocking, deafening roar of the cannons. Over and over, until the enemy ship... until the target was utterly destroyed, and sunk.

And that was it.

Always, in the past, she'd been up top, ready to board... had been among the first to engage in bloody melee. She felt no qualms about battle, but to kill like this, far away, out of reach felt... unfair. Like she'd cheated the enemy of the chance to fight back, to take her own blood. Or, perhaps, like SHE had been cheated of the chance to have her own blood spilled. The rush and thrill. The savagery.

Her shipmates did not share the sentiment. Indeed, it seemed that other times their targets on occasion had been far more difficult, well-armed or even escorted; this attack was a milk run, by their reckoning, and they were glad of it. In the after-time, some of them would paint vivid images of past times when it had not been so easy: fellows of theirs getting shattered by cannon fire, unable to see or even realize their deaths before they happened.

These discussions did much to dispel Anstarra's qualms over 'fairness'. The old rules were true out here. Predatory truths. Kill or be killed, no quarter, no chances.

In a way, it was... chillingly nostalgic.


The return took place without incident. Deprived of one of her physical activities of choice, she indulged in the other: melee combat training. Far more on the return trip... she did not turn, in her heart, from the simple truth that the mass-murder of a shipful of complete strangers had been something of a bonding exercise.

It was a dark thought. But, more and more, she was coming to the fullest understanding of the fact that it was a dark world, not just back home, but everywhere. And the only brightness that mattered was that which you held in your hands, be it wealth or love or friendship. That which was tangible and close, not some murky painting lying in the past, nor some promising gleam in the future. The here, the now, that which you had or would soon have.

And so she helped train them. These killers and thieves. These traitors and con-men. These villains.

These fellows.

These kindred spirits.

And when she disembarked at Moraby, on a cool morning not unlike the one she left upon... when she looked up, and saw Limsa Lominsa's flag drifting lazily in the breeze, she smiled, and tossed a salute. And then spat on the docks.


And then Anstarra made her way off, tail dancing as she thought only of how she was going to throw Nihka over her shoulder, and carry her to a room.

Possibly for a sennight.

RE: Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - Leanne - 04-10-2017

Vesper Bay, within the Sultana’s Revenge

A gentle melody was woven together within the captain's quarters, its sole instrument being the voice of a humming seeker examining oneself in front of a mirror. The old desk which she used was completely bereft of objects, most of them packed together within the large backpack sitting by the door. She would miss that desk, she said to herself on an errant thought. Commanding an entire ship was never her thing, but she would miss being able to boss people around. A long sigh interrupts the flow of Leanne’s voice and mind as she turns around to regard Ribald, who were the entire time by the other side of the room, quietly resting by the wall with his impassive demeanor. Sensing his captain’s eyes falling on his person, the man straightened himself into a more erect posture, which prompted a faint smile out of the girl.

“...How do I look?” Leanne asked, showing herself off to the man. Ribald, by then used to the girl’s sunny disposition proceeded to shrug, maintaining his cool, even tone of voice. “Ye look ready t’ be hanged.” he shook his head afterwards, continuing his prose. “Honest opinion, capt’? Ye be makin' a big deal out 'o 'tis. Fer ye charges, what ye be gettin' at best be 15 lashes.” Leanne’s smile grew sheepish at his words, the little embarrassment she felt allowing a hand to crawl under the beret she wore, if only to scratch the fiery mane of hair underneath. “Aye. You are right.” she shook her head afterwards as her arm fell back to her side. “Everything is ready?”

The man proceeded to sight before taking calm, if not lazy steps towards the table, dropping a tall, still corked bottle of rum, label seemingly scratched away not only by hand, but by age. Sitting on a chair, Ribald reclined and crossed his arms with a soundly grunt. “Aye. Th' men have their orders. They...” he closes his eyes before grunting again. “They be not quite sure whether or not followin' ye or th' previous cap'n be worth it, but they be doin' as ordered. 'Tis be what ye wanted, right? Loyalty.”

Leanne pursing her lips momentarily, slowly nodded. “...You are right.” turning away from the man, she walks in a briskly pace towards the door, lowering herself if only to take her backpack, and slinging it over her back. As her hand rested on the knob, a pause ensued. “I was going to ask for you to keep an eye on the idiot for me, but...you are not staying, are you.”

The man’s expression, usually devoid of any particular expression, couldn’t help but allow a brow to float up his forehead. If the small change in features denoted amazement, curiosity, or something else, Leanne could not tell. “Ye be right. After S’imba returns, I’m goin’ to Gloam, see if I can join one 'o th' crews over thar.”

Leanne exhaled. “Thought as much. A question. Ribald…? Why did you help and follow me so faithfully?” the old, seasoned highlander remained calm as ever, idly opening a flask before having a deep draw of whichever contents were within. After a short breath, the man shrugged, smoothing out his ever unkempt locks. “You promoted me, didn’t you capt’? Were I supposed to do any different?” The seeker, in a mindless manner, nodded to his words. “Well, aye, but...”

The man continued. “I like ye, Leanne. I reckon ye did a good job as capt’, inexperienced as ye be. But be aware, whoever won that “competition”, ye or Melkire, didn’t matter to me, or others in th’ crew. We be not men actin' fer th' sake 'o a cause, or seekin' to do heroics. We be just folk tryin' to scrape by our days, dealin' wit' cards life gives us.” he sighed before waving Leanne off with a hand. “That is why yer floggin’ is a waste of time. Yer satisfying only yerself ‘n yer-” Leanne interjected. “My sense of right. Yes, I’m aware.” Ribald nodded. “Right. No one gives a rat’s arse to it except yerself. But if ye are that keen to uphold whatever ye want to, I won’t stop ye.” he grunted. “All I will do is t' fort ye built fer him as promised, but only 'til th' other cat comes to take it. Ye do what you must, capt’.”

The seeker nodded once more before drawing a sigh and looking over her shoulder, irradiating her warm smile. “...Thanks for your service, First Mate. It was a pleasure having you onboard.” Ribald, in answer, raised his flask. “Glad to be 'o service, capt’. May th’ weather be fair t’ ye.” Leanne tipped her beret to the man before finally opening the door. Off she goes.

RE: Merchant, Marine [Semi-Open] - Diskwrite - 04-10-2017

She was used to these sort of looks.

They didn’t come so often anymore, not as long as she avoided the Shroud. Limsa, after all, had never been racist to her in the way the Wildwoods were. Here, Ojene was an irregularity- a spectacle. But by now a familiar one. And in the days of adventurers, she was no longer the La Noscean rarity she once was.

But still, she stood out.

As part of the flow, Ojene walked, just another body milling her way through sweeping Limsan bridges. The younger, the faster, the unencumbered passed her, circling by as her cane tapped against wood and stone. So it was, that a Sea Wolf stepped around her. A red bandana splashed over the woman’s deep brown hair, clashing with the ragged jerkin that hung from her shoulders. She shot a glance at Ojene as she passed… and her eyes narrowed.

Ojene knew that look. Her hand tensed on the head of her cane. But the Sea Wolf didn’t pause, didn’t stop. With a nose-wrinkling sneer, she whipped away and strode a little faster until she vanished into the crowds.

Huh.

I wonder if she was from Gloam.

It was a reasonable thought, Ojene presumed. The rap of her cane quickened as she changed her direction for a path a little more populated. Rumors flew like birds sometimes, and it seemed like far more people than she’d care to say had caught wind of that ludicrously tall middle-aged Duskwight who’d turned a Maelstrom hearing on its head. Or at least, who’d tried her best to do so.

The response wasn’t all great. That was to be expected, when you stepped up to defend an unpopular Commodore from the accusations of adventurers who’d never had to make the sorts of calls he did. But adventurers were capricious creatures. Their hatred would burn and flare, then vanish, puffing out on the wind when the next big thing drifted their way. If they’d ever questioned themselves, Ojene would never know. But their actions too often did not seem like the sort taken by people who put great thought into the greater ramifications to come. If they had, they’d likely have done some things differently. Or perhaps they’d never have sought the Commodore’s blood, for they’d have understood the instability their actions could bring.

Commodore Haelstrymm. As she made for the Coral Tower, her eyes lit upon the back of a massive Roegadyn with a bald patch in the back, and for a tremulous flash she wondered if it was him. But when he turned his head, his features were all different- a scarred cheek. A broken nose. And Ojene couldn’t deny the tingle of relief that spread through her bones.
The former Commodore would want to talk to her, she suspected. And she would be duty-bound to engage in conversation. To stand before him. To hear what he had to say. Maybe he’d thank her. Commend her. Maybe he wouldn’t. She’d probably find out, in the days to follow. It wasn’t a bad thing. Nay, it was a mark, perhaps, of how far she’d come. But something about the thought sent an unease roiling beneath her skin, one with an origin she couldn’t quite place.

Duty. She’d done her duty. That was the important part. And without a moment’s hesitation, she’d do it again.

As Ojene stepped into the Maelstrom offices in the Coral Tower, the bookkeeper sitting at the front desk looked up with a smile. The uniformed soldiers standing nearby did too. She was becoming known, it seemed. And here, amongst the Grand Company she’d sworn to defend, the rumors were apparently good.

“Miss Suinuet, back again.”

“Yes.” She stopped before him, both hands laid atop the head of her cane. “Is Second Commander Holskstymm in?”

“Nay, nay.” The bookkeeper pushed back his narrow spectacles with one finger. “He left on business this morn.”

“Ah.” Ojene reached into the sturdy pouch at her side. “That’s fine. Just see this delivered to him when he returns.”

Out she pulled a sealed letter, the hardened wax seal freshly cooled. The parchment crinkled as the man took it. “I will. Does that mean we’ll be seeing you round here more often?”

Ojene paused. And she flashed the bookkeeper a wry smile. Rumors.

“Yes,” she said. “I quite expect it does.”

It was a peculiar sensation that washed over her as she stepped back out into the Limsan sun. An end of an era, but the beginning of something new. Miss Suinuet she would be no longer. At least not here. Legalman Suinuet, Storm Sergeant to the Maelstrom, now that was a title to say.

Shit.

She was going to have to practice her salute.