Dust To Dust [Closed]

[Ryanti]

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It was the beginning of what would be a long and dark evening. The salty wind of the ocean rode upon the feint wind of the open sea hugging Vesper Bay, taunting Thanalan soil with the taste of open water. The air was not too harsh to the skin however; the weather was calm and clouds were thin. It was neither too hot, nor too cold. Beyond the wind's influence, the night was still. Beyond the first moon's loving embrace, the stars were out. They would be the only witness to what events would play on the Vesper Bay coast line.

 

The tide was low and calm. The hour was near. From the shadows of the open water, near the tall cliff parallel to the bay, came a small wooden raft. It was no larger than a simple rowboat. The oars had long stopped gracing the water's edge with its thick paddles. The boat rode the tide, and the oars were merely used to keep it on course.

 

There were four individuals on board, cloaked in black from head to toe. One was a Hyuran Midlander, with short black hair and tanned skin of Thanalan's sun. One was a female Miqo'te Seeker, her dirty blonde hair tied up loosely in the back of her head with feint peach skin. One was a auburn-haired Lalafell, his lower jaw hidden by a black veil, his robes more tightly strung than an average man of magic, and more utensils hanging from his belt than any average scholar. The other was of a Hyqo'te with platinum white hair. Materials like grappling hooks, chisels and pouches lined his belt.

 

The Hyqo'te took a few good breaths, the humid air of the sea below him doing well to soothe his dry, nervous throat. He had reasons to be tense. For the past few weeks, he had been resting at his home city. To recover from what he felt like was a kind of... depressing fatigue. It was as if he was sick, but he was not sure what it was. He had just felt encumbered, and his jumbled nightmares of voices and flashes did not do well the job of alleviating him from stress. He had felt better though, so this was his first mission back on the job. It brought heaps of nerves and loads of pressure, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. It was worth the chance to experience all of what his job brought to him. Even now, he was resting one of his hands upon the cargo of the rowboat. There was a small notion inside of his subconscious, a notion of connecting with something; A feeling overcame him that felt long lost with what lied inside.

 

Behind them were two boxes of varying size. The first box touched the bottom of the rowboat, and was made of wood. It looked very similar to an industrial wooden crate that could be found anywhere in the back alleys of Ul'Dah. However, the second box deviated from the norm. It was a rather small box compared to the much larger crate design, black in its color and seemingly made out of steel or perhaps something even stronger. It was a lockbox of some kind, protected by a keyhole that presumably one of them had access to.

 

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This was what the Hyqo'te was resting his palm upon.

 

"So why do you think we aren't getting orders anymore from the Alliance?" The female seeker said to the Hyuran Midlander, who looked a bit older than everyone else. The Midlander stayed silent for a moment, before glancing over to her briefly and then rearing his head back where it needed to be, in front guiding the boat to the coastline.

 

"I'm not sure, 85." He replied to her, with a deep voice, addressing her by a number. "I too have noticed the lack of action from our Overseers." The three individuals motioned their eyes towards the Lalafell, who spoke next and with a rather snappy accent.

 

"We were told to move this VIA to Source Command." The Lalafell stated. His eyes, though rendered invisible by the darkness of the night, thinned in lecture. "Source Command speaks for the Overseers and it is inconsequential if the Overseers remain silent on the matter, we have our orders despite the lack of communication occurring across the Net of Command."

 

"He has a point." The Hyqo'te chimed in, with a rather posh accent. "It may be our only order, but we have them. Who knows? We may not be needed as much as we used to be."

 

"Keep your hands off that, number 77! Else it would find itself being clumsily pushed off at the bottom of the ocean!" The Lalafell exclaimed, having realized that the Hyqo'te had his hand upon the box.

 

"Easy, 43." The Midlander commented, as it was obvious that he was the leader of this group of four. "We have arrived at any rate." He murmured as the tip of the rowboat graced the floor of sand, cushioning it in what would forever be its resting place until someone's lucky day granted them a rowboat for the taking, having never known the role it played in the great aspect of things.

 

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The footprints that they would leave in the sand would fade with the wind in the matter of minutes. The Miqo'te and Hyqo'te picked up the large crate by the handles on its short sides. It was a heavy crate, and so their movement shuddered with the weight as they maneuvered it off of the boat. "Make sure you possess your necessary equipment. Keep your essentials on your person at all times." The Midlander mentioned, his Sharlayan goggles hooked vertically near his collarbone. The rest tapped their own collarbones to make sure as well.

 

It was then that the docked ship came into their view clearly for the first time. Such a sight brought a second wind to the hearts of the four individuals lugging what could be one of the most valuable pieces of anomolic discoveries the soil had seen in eons. Seeing that his men were pleased with their accommodation for the mission, the 36 something year old quoted from his briefing journal. "Introducing one of the Third squadron's frigate-class vessels, the Roehmerl. Impressive, isn't it?" "

 

"This might be one of our most fortunate situational concurrences for sure, number 16." The Lalafell replied, seemingly pleased, which was rarely seen for him. It wasn't like any of them were expected to know that though. Like most of the missions this unit had undertaken, they were only introduced to their partners at the very beginning of it, and rarely ever saw them again by the end of it.

 

If they were still alive.

 

This was how it was. This was how it must be. At least for now. Until the world was ready.

 

Well, perhaps it could of been that way. But like how people always are, they could never find themselves to be so cold, so often. At least to one another, for they were on the same side, and they believed in the same values. Values the Tactical Operations Unit of the 8th Levy shared. So in fact, they did know. Which ended up in them making some snarky giggles towards the Lalafell.

 

The guard who stood at the middle of the pier noticed them coming, and read himself a little note he had made about their arrival, and what to expect. Four individuals, two boxes of cargo, coated in black and heading straight for him without deviating direction. It appeared that this was the group he was supposed to flag down. However, he didn't have to do so, for he was already flagged down by them.

 

"Tell your superior that we have arrived." The Midlander said, while the Miqo'te Seeker made an offhand comment: "And that we better get situated quickly because my arms are killing me holding this thing."

 

"I second her.." The Hyqo'te next to her noted, gazing his eyes towards the vessel itself wondering... if the Captain and the Captain's crew was going to be to his liking or not. Who knew?

[Sounsyy]

The Roehmerl had made land earlier that sun and preparations were set about for the long journey ahead. Sounsyy had been most displeased with her assignment after being called from ongoing operations in Thanalan to safe waters in Limsa, only to return on a matter of import with only the scantest of details regarding the mission. Her commander, Sabine Gavronchette, had simply briefed her that it was a matter of great import to the Admiral.

 

"The mission is simple, too simple, and you know I hate simple, Captain," Sabine had said as she rounded her desk in the Coral Tower, "Your vessel is to take on cargo at Vesper, transport it to a rendezvous point in the Indigo Deep before traveling north where a Sharlayan vessel will await you."

"Sharlayan?"

"It would seem your intended cargo is a matter of some import. If you would, do find out what it is exactly. I don't think I must needs remind you we are in the business of obtaining information for the Admiral. I can only imagine the Admiral wishes to know the nature of these items and if they pose a threat to Limsa Lominsa, or, if they can be used to our advantage."

"Aye, ma'am!"

 

Sounsyy looked down at the papers strewn across her desk. She was alone in her cabin, one candle burning low and giving off a sweet odor. The dim lighting just enough to illuminate shipping manifests and illicit transactions that Sounsyy had been painstakingly monitoring for the last several moons. She thought she heard footsteps outside and began tucking the documents away in her drawer. She had just finished the tasked and locked the cabinet when a short rap echoed into the room.

 

"They're here," a woman's voice called softly through the door. Sounsyy extinguished the candle with a finger and the room fell into the darkness of the late evening. Sounsyy made a noise and P'welro stepped into the cabin doorframe. The light of the moon found its way into the cabin at the Miqo'te's feet.

 

"Welcome them, as we discussed," Sounsyy said lightly and set to the task of dressing herself for the occasion. P'welro nodded and closed the door quietly as she left. Her boots padding softly down the hall until she came to the gangplank.

 

 

Outside on the pier, Fhruhsunn stood statuesque as he watched the small dingy approach and its members disembark upon the sand. He was a man of impressive stature, even for a Roegadyn, tall, with darkened skin and salt-gray hair and beard. He could easily pass for a man in his late fifties, yet had maintained much of his youth's physique. He crossed his arms over his chest as the group of four came into view of the vessel. He dressed in a simple rust-brown jacket, with a simple pistol on one hip.

 

When the Midlander hailed him, he held up his right hand in silent greeting, ignoring the two Miqo'tes' griping. He began moving down the dock towards the gangway, beckoning silently for the group to follow him. He seemed genuinely unconcerned for his safety alone on the pier with strangers, but high above, the silhouette of an Elezen woman stood with musket in hand on the gunwale - ever watchful of the silent Roegadyn's well-being.

 

When the Sea Wolf had lead the group to the gangplank, he stood off to one side and motioned for them to go ahead of him. At the top of the wooden brow stood the figure of a grizzled Seeker woman with dirty blond hair and so many earrings adorning her ears they looked as if they were drooping from the weight.

 

"Ye muss be the cargo," the Miqo'te called out gruffly, "Welcome o'board the Roehmerl. Come now, that looks 'eavy, less get yer loot to the Hold a'fer yeh meet wit the Cap'n."

 

She motioned towards the Midlander as if speaking to him more than the others, continuing to speak as they were ushered by Fhruhsunn up the gangplank. This was clearly a crew that didn't like wasting time fraternizing. They had a long journey and a schedule to keep after all.

 

"Name's P'welro, Roehmerl's First Mate. Midlander, yeh got the air of this venture's leader. I'd say introduce-ins are in order, but we're all gonna have time to get chummy 'ere soon," she said and retreated into the vessel. She led them inside the empty gundeck, illuminated by a lantern on the mainmast base. "This ways to the Mess and Hold," she said as she walked, her left hand reaching out to one side to point down a connecting hallway. This slight of hand meant to detract from the smooth motion of her right hand drawing her pistol and turning on the Midlander's crew.

 

Several other figures materialized from the dark side hallways. A lancer flanked either side of the gangway the group had just entered. Their speartips pointing threateningly at the two Miqo'te. Two other musketeers appeared at P'welro's sides, holding their muskets at the ready to fire. The massive Fhruhsunn blocking the gangway behind them. Another lancer joining to one side, spear ready to pierce whoever dared tried to run first. Fhruhsunn remained with his arms crossed, his pistol still at his side. Clearly, he didn't think any of the four were foolish enough to try to escape by him.

 

"Don't," A soft voice said to the four from the dark. Sounsyy descended from the stairs to the main deck. Her tight leather jerkin creaked beneath her cobalt breastplate as she moved quietly down the stairs, as if not to wake some sleeping beast nearby. Unlike the others, her weapons were not drawn.

 

"Don't do anything foolish. Precautions, you understand. Set down the crate, slowly," she said calmly to the two Miqo'te. Her eyes locked onto Ryanti the moment she distinguished his face in the dim light. So he was behind this? She broke her gaze away from him and returned her attention to the Midlander, "What's in the crate?"

 

This was Sounsyy asking nicely. P'welro held her musket steady, her forefinger brushing the trigger, a hairsbreadth from ending the Midlander.

[Ryanti]

The unit quietly followed the thickly built Fruhsunn on the pier. Their dialogues ceased, and the demeanor of the four individuals became silent and stoic. The Lalafell seemed unconcerned about what lied above his field of vision, though it was Ryanti and his Miqo’te companion that spotted the Elezen upon the gunwale. Although they didn’t show it, they were rather pleased that this crew was taking this mission seriously.

 

Ryanti could not help but blink and let out a curious sigh at the sighting of the first mate. She looked in every bit of a word someone born to the sea. He had never seen anyone so embroidered in jewelry and someone so south in the Lominsan accent. It was as if she had popped right out of a picture book. This voyage was going to be interesting indeed.

 

The Midlander stayed silent, and did not seem to acknowledge the First Mate’s words by doing anything else but following her lead. In truth, he was analyzing every bit and piece of these first few tidbits of introductions. He understood that, because this was a joint mission, it was a variable unknown of how the other half of this mission’s party would react. He could not afford to give them as much initial faith as he would one of his own, and he understood that they felt the same way about them.

 

As they approached further into the hold, Ryanti glanced about at the ambient light the lantern cast upon the empty gundeck. It was a soft light that, while accenting the area with that ‘warm, loving’ Limsan feel’, was a little less light than he expected. The Midlander in front of them cricked his neck a bit, as if popping a cramp there. In reality, it was a signal to expect a ruse. He had suspected this ever since he was not greeted by the Captain herself.

 

It was why the entire unit did not seem all that startled when their tour guide First Mate pulled a gun on them. The Midlander seemed the least startled, having absolutely no sign of agitation when being cornered from every angle as the possibility of death became a reality. The Lalafell was the most eccentric group member; therefore he seemed the most agitated by the sudden stick up.

 

Ryanti looked a tad uncomfortable having a spear being pointed at him, the same with his partner that stood adjacent to him. She seemed the most fearful out of all of them; she had death stare her in the face a little less often than the rest of the group, due to her being a bit more green. Still, this unit was assimilated into a very hostile and untrusting world, full of greed, power, and of course death. This was their world. Their reality.

 

Still, one would have the instinct to defend themselves. They were certainly not taught to suppress that instinct. Rather the opposite. And so, both Ryanti and # 85 had their free hands arched in draw, and # 43’s staff began to rise vertically to the floor. Though, right after the first phrase of the ship’s Captain was spoken, # 16 raised his hand to hiatus the unit, a serious look on his face.

 

“Go ahead.” The Midlander said to the two holding the crate. “It’s okay.” Slowly, and hesitantly, the other two complied, lowering the heavy wooden crate that composed half of their cargo down upon the floor where they stood. Beyond being a dignified maker of orders, it also appeared that the Midlander knew how to lessen tension within his men as well.

 

Upon standing back up from hunching over, Ryanti’s aquamarine eyes that reflected every tiny bit of light that hit it met Sounsyy’s right back. He sucked in his next breathe with an element of surprise. His eyebrows tensed up and he stilled his gaze in a dose of legitimate shock, but above all else, concern. He was almost embarrassed to realize that the very Mirke the Maimer he had challenged in a friendly spar in the recent past happened to be the Captain of the very Squadron assigned to this joint mission of theirs; embarrassed two-fold at having to meet again this way, on the bad side of her barrel.

 

Well, her crew’s anyhow. He felt at least briefly at ease to know that Sounsyy wasn’t herself armed.

 

“I understand your need for precaution, Captain.” The Midlander replied to her once she asked her the golden question he had expected of her. “As well as any negative impression one might have about being left in the dark. I admit, our interests do not generally result in joint-task operations. Rest assured that the secrecy behind this mission exists for a very good reason. However, I understand that both of our entities will be working most intimately with one another. Because of this, I will offer partial disclosure of our intentions, as well as display the materials of interest.”

 

“Jonathan… “ The female Miqo’te blurted out in a whisper that reeked of concern and emotion. The Midlander narrowed his eyes, and seemed to be wrestling with himself over the decision. However, he was not planning to change it, now after what Ryanti said next. “Let them see.” The young man murmured, nodding his head slowly and agreeing with his commanding officer’s decision. “It is the only way they will understand the severity of the task before them.”

The female Miqo’te clenched her teeth and allowing them visible by parting her lips. She seemed really stressed about the matter, but the decision was made. The Lalafell, indifferent until now, made a comment himself. “I hope you know what you are doing.” He addressed to the Midlander.

 

“I do.” The Midlander mentioned. “I am number sixteen of one-hundred and thirty-six of our specific entity. You may call me Jonathan, and I am the leader of this strike team. The Miqo’te lady you see before you is number eighty-five. The Lalafell under my command is the number of forty-three. Finally, the young man left is number seventy-seven. Treat these numbers as their names, I insist.”

 

The Midlander glanced behind him and nodded. After he did so, both Ryanti and number eighty-five placed their hands upon the roof of the crate, jolting it a few times so hard that the crate itself moved, before finally opening the top of it. The wood did not creak nor squeak when they pulled open the top for it was newly assembled and well taken care of. Upon reaching down, the two lifted out what appeared to be two wetsuits. They were very slickly designed, pitch black and with various intricacies sewn into the fabric. Partially hidden by the dark environment, on could only tell that those intricacies and gadgets sewn onto the suite were chrome in nature.

They looked top-of-the-line in technology, rivaling anything Garlemald could replicate with their own efforts. “The rendezvous point is a scheduled dive that needs to take place. The objective is situated at the bottom of the Indigo Deep. We are unsure if Garlemald has knowledge of what has been found by our sources. If they do, however, they will not hesitate to lay claim to what lies down there.”

 

The Midlander took a single step to the side, turning his gaze towards the two. “Go ahead and take the weapons out as well. You have my word Captain that they are not armed, please do not be alarmed.”

 

After nervously glancing at one another, the two did as complied. One by one, they pulled out what appeared to be two rifles of some kind by the rail top carry handles. However, they looked incredibly foreign from any kind of musket. They were made of steel, and other heavy metals. They averaged three fulms in length, and weighted a fair bit as what could be told by how loud of a sound they made when they were softly laid upon the floor. There was an opening on the sides of these rifles where a horizontal magazine could be inserted, and the next pieces of equipment they pulled out were those magazines; long strips of metal encasing metal cartilages neatly lined up. They placed those next to the rifles. They were also top of the line.

 

It was obvious by this point that this 'mission' was serious.

 

“We are also armed with standard short swords, and small-arm pistols, that are currently on our person. At any rate, that is what is in that crate, and that, plus what is on our person, is the firepower and technology provided for us to complete missions of the highest importance and greatest secrecy. They are more valuable than our lives, as our objectives are too.”

 

The Midlander turned around and notioned to Ryanti. “Hand me the VIA.” Ryanti stared at him for a brief moment, before shifting his glance to Mirke briefly, and then to the small, seemingly insignificant black lockbox that they were also carrying. Ryanti closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Are you… going to open this? In front o-”

 

“No. I am not.” Jonathan interrupted him, gently taking the box away from Ryanti’s hands, presenting it by facing the Captain. However, he did not inch the box towards her in a manner of acceptance. Instead, he kept it close to him, and made it very important to what he was about to say next.

 

“What lies in –here-, however, is what makes this mission severe, and what makes this mission extremely dangerous. Very powerful individuals would pay with blood and bottomless coffers to obtain this, and this is what we must protect. As long as we are in possession of what lies inside of this box, we are in the interests of the entire Empire, as well as anyone willing to utilize it for evil means against the forces of mankind.”

 

He gently placed a hand of his on top of the timid lock box. “We need this to get where we need to go. We need this crew to get where we need to be to use it. If you truly wish to know what is inside this box, it will have to be for the Captain’s eyes only. And I mean –only-. Whoever in your government believes they need to know, I will say that those in your government that need to know already know. I cannot emphasize enough that this is not a something to be taking lightly at all. This is why I will grant permission for the Captain to bear witness to it at a later time if she so chooses. Out of upholding the integrity of this unit, we will die before compromising any further on that matter. I place my faith in this crew's loyalty towards their Captain to keep what she may choose to witness to only within the walls of this ship.”

 

He handed the black lockbox back to Ryanti, who held onto it firmly, staring down at it with a measure of concern.

 

The Midlander crossed his arms, glancing back at the Captain. “That is your mission’s briefing in its entirety. We will arrive at the destination and do our job and you do yours; at the end of it, we hand over our discoveries to Sharlayan, which will be of interest to both the Alliance and Sharlayan and cripple the efforts of the Empire. Granted, I could only afford to brief you all once we got here. I did not plan on giving this briefing to this crew in such a manner, but I understand that unorthodox units face unorthodox situations. Still, I cannot force anyone on this ship to go through with it. Just know that if you go through with it, you cannot turn back. So, will you accept?”

[Sounsyy]

Sounsyy Mirke gave the Midlander, #16, a severe look as he offered his briefing. Two units of similar purpose, neither trusting the other, yet forced together for a common goal. What was yet unclear to Sounsyy was just which unit was in control of this situation. The Midlander's steely calm unnerved her. It took a well principled man to stare down the barrel of death without flinching. Sounsyy respected him more for that, but trusted him less. When the Midlander was done, the Captain moved forward completely into the light to stand just behind P'welro's flank.

 

The Miqo'te Captain looked rather haggard. Her light brown hair unkempt and tied up in a loose knot on her head. Her eyes were sunken into her head and though only Ryanti might note the difference, the ring finger of her left hand was missing. Perhaps recent? Perhaps it had been gone before, but Ryanti had not noted it? Though her gauntlets did well to obscure the actual injury from direct sight. She spoke slowly, and carefully picked her words, keeping her Lominsan accent from her speech as best as she could manage. All the while, her eyes were locked with the Midlander.

 

"We are not in a position to refuse the mission. We are the Thalassocratic Navy's 3rd Squadron, 8th Levy Tactical Unit. We do not refuse the Admiral's wishes. That said, my duty requires that I go beyond orders fer the safety of my crew and my nation. This may be yer mission, but it is my ship, and whilst on it, ye'll follow my orders or ye can sink into the Indigo brine without yer wet suits as far as I'm concerned."

 

Sounsyy folded her arms and gave a short whistle. The three lancers withdrew their spears almost in unison, putting away their weapons before cautiously approaching the two numbered Miqo'te and Lalafell. The three musketeers kept their guns trained on their respective targets, and Fhruhsunn remained immobile behind the group on the gangplank.

 

"Search them," the Captain said. The three lancers began patting down the two Miqo'te and Lalafell, invasively searching every possible nook or hiding place, relieving each of Sixteen's company of their weaponry. Though they left the black box in Ryanti's possession. The Sea Wolf lancer searching Ryanti knew better than to draw too near to the precious item, lest her actions be misinterpreted.

 

"Yeh will be disarmed," Sounsyy continued, "Any weapons on yer person will be stored in the armory with yer suits and odd rifles. This is non-negotiable. Yeh have my word yer equipment will not be touched nor tampered with by my crew. Apart from pistols, my crew is also unarmed while about their duties. Yeh may reclaim yer possessions when we reach the rendezvous point. Furthermore, yeh will be accompanied at all times by one of my crew. At no point are yeh to wander the vessel alone."

 

Sounsyy turned her attention to the female Miqo'te, #85, before continuing, "Crew quarters are on the gundeck, down this hall," she said, motioning in the direction P'welro had before, "The majority of my crew sleeps in the bunk bay, with private quarters fer First Mate and Helmsmen, but there is an extra room fer the four of yeh to sleep in. The door will be locked and guarded while yeh sleep. Lass, if ye prefer to sleep separate from yer male companions, yeh may take the room across the hall. It belongs to one of my helmsmen, Marjanie - she has the night watch and will not be needing it at that time."

 

Once the three lancers had finished their task of disarming the four and disposing of their armaments inside the crate, Fhruhsunn unfolded his arms and moved past the group. He took a knee at the foot of the crate, his knees making a small cracking noise. With some effort he lifted the crate and hoisted it, long ways over his shoulder, and made his way down the hallway to the armory without so much of a word, though his heavy breathing through his nose could be heard as he lugged the heavy crate to its new home. The lancers went about raising the gangplank behind the group and sealed the hull with a heavy iron beam.

 

Sounsyy gave another short whistle, and the three musketeers went at ease, retracting their pistols. The two beside P'welro moved off to light the lamps throughout the ship, creating a more well lit atmosphere for the group.

 

As if the illumination were a signal, the sound of a busy crew could suddenly be heard throughout the ship. Over a dozen sets of feet going about their business and making ready as if the last few minutes of silence had not happened at all. An Elezen woman with long, braided black hair appeared from the hallway Fhruhsunn had disappeared down. She was the very same Elezen who had been standing upon the gunwale, watching Fhruhsunn. The long barreled musket still held loosely in her hands as she padded across the wood towards her Captain. Her black, leather armor showed off her lithe figure and polished silverfish scales adorning her armor's shoulders and breast glimmered in the lamplight. She gave Sounsyy a sharp, Storm salute before speaking.

 

"Final preparations have been made, Captain."

"Good Marjanie," Sounsyy said to the Elezen - her 2nd Helmsmen - in a much softer voice, "Weigh anchor and take us north into the Merlthor. With any luck the Roehmerl can fly by night on the southerlies."

"Pray for fair winds and following seas," Marjanie replied with another quick salute, disappearing back the way she had come. The three lancers still present chanted, "Fair winds and following seas!" in reply before they too dispersed about their duties elsewhere.

 

The Midlander's unit was now alone in the gangway with Sounsyy and P'welro. There was a brief moment without words, the sounds of crewmen hard at work the only sound echoing about the wooden halls. Sounsyy moved closer to the Midlander, regarding each of his group severely in turn. Her eyes only briefly flashed towards Ryanti. At long last she spoke.

 

"P'welro will give yeh lot the grand tour and show yeh to yer accommodations. Midlander, Sixteen-was-it? Come with me and bring the box. I will not risk the lives of my crew over a mysterious sundry, no matter how important yeh say it is. I would know what my people are laying down their lives fer. Make no mistake, Midlander, we do not take this assignment lightly. Garlemald patrols Eorzea's coasts as far south as O'Ghomoro and the Merlthor. And once we pass into the Indigo Deep, Garlemald will be only one of many worries. The Sahagin and the Sea are just as formidable of enemies."

 

Sounsyy looked to P'welro, "Yeh have command until we are done."

P'welro nodded then turned to the other three numbered crew, "Alrigh, yeh three wit meh. As I were sayin' previous, this way is to the Mess n' Hold," she began as she started moving down the hallway which would open into a long, open room full of bunked cots, a few of which were occupied by sleeping crew members. P'welro continued her tour in a low voice, "This here's the bunk bay, where crew sleeps in shifts. Y'see the doors at the end of the hall? Thas the priv'it quarters. Yers will be that closest one," she said pointing, "Through this door's the armory, where yer essentials is bein' safekept. Yeh can see fer yerself if yeh like? Or I can tuck yeh in now iffin yeh rather?"

 

Sounsyy nodded to Sixteen and motioned for him to follow her down an opposite route to the Captain's cabin above deck. It was a short walk, and when they were both safely within her cabin, she locked the door behind her so that no one would enter by mistake, promising complete privacy for the Midlander and the Captain. Sounsyy reignited the solitary candle upon her desk, casting a flickering light about the room. Sounsyy then took the candle in hand and lit the two lanterns above either side of the door.

 

It was a rather small cabin, plainly decorated for the most part. At its center rested a large desk and comfortable enough looking chair. The fabric on the arms of the chair was worn as if the arms experienced more wear than the rest of the upholstery. Apart from the scented candle, the desk was occupied only by a damaged Kobold's helm - a trophy Sounsyy had claimed in the Kobold Wars. Behind the chair, at the back of the cabin was a wall of glass panes from floor to ceiling. Though at this time of night, and with the lanterns lit, naught could be seen from without except darkness. Both side walls were decorated with ornate drapes. Though most of the tapestries were made of less-than-fine cloth, they each appeared to be from varying origins about the world, keepsakes from distant lands.

 

On the port wall, below a section where the tapestries parted was a small vanity mirror and chest of drawers. If the chest contained any sundries at all, they were all tucked away from sight. The opposite, starboard wall possessed no additional furniture, adorned only by the tapestries. Finally, against the entrance on one side of the door sat a smallish armoire, its wood matching that of her desk and vanity. A wine rack occupied the opposite side of the door. Only a few bottles adorned the furnishing. There was no bed or cot to be seen inside the cabin. If Sounsyy slept here, it was not immediately evident where.

 

When Sounsyy had finished lighting the room, she returned the candle to its proper resting place on her desk. She slowly made her way over to her vanity and grabbed hold of the short tripod stool sitting in front of the chest of drawers and brought it around in front of her desk. She held the stool out for the Midlander to take should he desire to sit. She said nothing to him, just kept her eyes attentively upon the man and waited for him to reveal the contents of the box and of the mission.

 

 

 

Nautical terms used so far:

 

Gangway - An opening in the bulwark of a ship to allow passengers to board or leave a ship.

 

Gangplank - A movable bridge used in boarding/leaving a ship. Also called a "brow."

 

Gunwale - Upper edge of the hull.

 

Hold - Also called the Cargo Hull, it is the bottom deck of a ship.

 

Gundeck - Also called the Tween Deck, is the deck above the Hold and below the Main Deck.

 

Main Deck - The exposed top deck of a ship.

 

Mainmast - The tallest mast on a ship.

 

Mess - An eating place aboard ship.

 

Fly By Night - A large sail used for sailing downwind, requiring little attention.

 

Fair Winds and Following Seas - A blessing wishing the recipient a safe journey and good fortune.

 

 

[Ryanti]

This may be their mission, but it was her ship. Nothing reinforced that statement further than the actions that she decided to take towards Sixteen’s company. There was very little to be argued with that fact. It was as set in stone as the promise of the sun rising the next morning. Sixteen’s eyes, colored a light brown, did not leave the Captain’s gaze as she explained this matter to everyone involved.

 

His stare could be described as tired. There were in fact shades of dark blue huddling underneath his eyes. A sort of wear; a fatigue that would only plague men older than him or so it seemed. But while his expression was neutrally tired, the spark in his eyes was a burning flame of steel resolve that could endure many times the normal man’s hardship without much long term consequences. He was a stone pillar in the middle of a tempest’s wake.

 

Then the moment came. She had inquired that they be searched. This was not a statement that the unit wanted to hear, but Sixteen saw it coming. However, he was the only one that did.

Fortythree was the single individual that had virtually no emotion on his face once the procedure began. He did not need a petty staff, many alchemical tinytubes, or a rune prism to perform all of his techniques. Of course, all of them were confiscated now. They would have to cut his arms off for that to happen. He was the only one that did not have a revolver sidearm.

 

Eighty-five’s ears twitched and stiffened up for a moment or two after hearing Sounsyy. An audible sigh came from the back of her throat as she rested the palms of her hands behind her head and tilted her hip in a single direction, becoming tired of where she stood. She lightly tapped the balls of her feet against the wooden floor, turning impulsive when things were being invasive. She gave those that reached a little too far a skeleton-frying death glare of a thousand Thanalan suns.

 

But the one most affected by the invasiveness was Ryanti. Not so much with the actual process, but with the thoroughness of what he likened to a nudering of his unit. He did not bother to move when the order was given. The tips of his fingers tightened themselves upon the lockbox, as a hot rush spread amongst his body from his core diaphragm. He was ready to handle any attempt to take the box away from him. He glanced downward towards the shimmering polished surface of the lockbox, witnessing his own dim, melancholy reflection of a young man he half hated. He rubbed his thumb gently upon the box as he felt himself being searched. As easy as it would be for a man like him to enjoy being patted down by a toned woman, he felt no joy in this. He did not like this tension between the two groups. This was exactly why they told him over and over again, that the world is not ready.

 

Ryanti had the most equipment out of all them. There was a lot of what could be called spelunking tools in his tool belt. There was a grappling hook, a small pick, rope, several high tech pieces of climbing joints and pins and equipment designed to dust things off. He was obviously the one that took care of their findings.

 

Ryanti also had the most mementos; a total of two. One was a necklace with a Lion’s head and mane, plated in gold, with ruby red eyes. It was his Father’s, previously, though he did not feel worthy enough yet to wear it. The other was a single pedal of a white rose, plucked on the eve of his journey and slowly withering away on his person. A reminder of what the world could do to you if you take nothing in for a long time.

 

Their revolvers felt heavy and had a high caliber, roughly the same rounds a Garlean Legatus would use in their forearm-mounted guns if they chose to roll out with such a setup. This piece of equipment were like the rest in that they were made with premium quality in mind, and had no manufacturer’s label nor company name embellished upon it or otherwise. It was safe to say none of this equipment existed in any sort of inventory registry.

 

Adding to the equipment they all carried were countless small tools for exploring, some survival rations, a compass, an aether counter, and of course the extraordinarily well-crafted Sharlayan goggles that they all possessed. This was their most valuable possession next to their guns. They were made of high quality steel with periodic gold trimmings to further augment the aetherial channels that the piece built up during its usage for more power efficiency. One searching them would notice that the goggles come with three modes on the switch that turns them on. Night vision, thermal vision, and a third mode that remained unmarked.

 

“I’m fine sleeping with the boys.” Eightyfive mentioned to Sounsyy’s polite or rather necessary request to separate herself from her male kin. “I fell asleep with these men on a rowboat no larger than that Roe in the back. A solitary room is good enough of an upgrade.”

 

Their eyes followed Fruhsunn lift the incredibly heavy crate with a bit of exertion on his own, showing that he in fact was a living being and not Titan himself shrunken down to a civilian size. There was a bit of anxiety for that unit, though they didn’t show it. They had always had moments of anxiety and high stress in situations that they have faced in the past. All four of them had worked separately in previous assignments, but these assignments all came with the same amount of stress.

 

“It’s more like we’re hostages rather than a co-op.” Fortythree whispered bitterly, in a voice only audible to the other three of Sixteen’s company.

 

Ryanti lightly bit his lower lip at the thought. There he was, witnessing with his own eyes his very means of being able to do what he could do disappearing into the hallway. It did not feel good to be pulled away from what was your job. There was a duty that their unit had too. Part of that duty involved never being separated from your equipment, for it can be regarded as greater than or equal to the value of your life.

 

It was bitter. Bitter as even the light around them illuminated Ryanti’s face in a calm golden glow. The twitching light of the wicker’s fire bounced off of his strong aquamarine eyes as he laid witness to Sounsyy’s injury for the first time. He did not remember that before, but he did not trust himself to rule out the possibility that he just didn’t notice. It made him feel a brief feeling of sadness, and guilt. So she couldn’t trust him? He could see that.

 

But it felt heavy to know that she might think he would try to do the same thing to her. To take another something away. He could not help but feel that he might accidently do so, and that bothered him. He had never been on a mission with someone he knew outside of this occupation before. He found himself watching her a little more. Trying to understand.

 

The arrival of Marjanie reminded Ryanti that he had seen two kinds of individuals on this ship so far. Grizzled, scruffy, salty seaborn-bred sailors like P’welro, and… graceful, elegant, toned individuals that had shape in the right places and presence that demanded a double take and perhaps a lingering eye. What was Marjanie? The latter. What was Sounsyy then? Both? That cheered Ryanti up a little bit. Though when he looked at Sounsyy again, her eyes seemed to leer him into his light smile fading away. He felt small in this room. Like he didn’t belong. It was a relief to him when P’welro continued the tour.

 

Eightyfive reached her hands behind her head to fix the knot of hair that she herself had. It took a captain to remind her that hers was getting loose. The three followed P’welro diligently, Fortythree was not really curious about his surroundings while Ryanti was. The Lalafell kept his stare straight while the Hyqo’te young man glanced up and around, admiring how the lanterns and the ropes and accessories that hung from the wooden walls of the place added an element of Limsan charm to the insides of the ship.

 

“How old would you say this ship is, P'welro?” Ryanti mentioned, gripping his hand softly upon one of the netted ropes that was hanging from the wall. “Did it always look like this from the inside?”

 

“Really?” Eightyfive coined with a smirk, loving to death to prey on one of Ryanti’s mannerisms. “Are you going to embark on one of your quests for knowledge again at the price of wasting valuable hours that could be spent sleeping?”

 

“You have plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead.” Fortythree coined with a Lalafellian accent straight out of the desert.

 

“You’re usually on my side!” Eightyfive shot back, feigning an exaggerated form of surprise with the Lalafell, although part of her actually was.

 

“I flip back and forth.” The Lalafell responded. Ryanti chimed in next, “Plus we have P’welro here to tuck us in.” It seemed like this unit did not forget how to have fun during their off time. The truth was they needed such. It helped keeped them sane in a job that worked very well at ripping it away.

 

“At any rate, perhaps one thing we need to look at is your wardrobes.” Fortythree mentioned after the joking died down. “He has a point.” Ryanti added, tapping his finger upon a shoulder of his, emphasizing and highlighting what they were wearing. “This ship needs to look like it is on the most normal and boring voyage – if you have any pieces of clothing to spare, we would rather look like part of your crew than who we really are. We would not want to tip off anyone that we are even here.” Ryanti’s accent was a bit posh, and his grammar was proper. A sharp contrast.

 

“I suppose that also means we can supplement your crew if anything. It does look like you could use some more hands.” Eightyfive said, crossing her arms. “We could assimilate, if temporarily. It’s obvious that there is a trust problem here, and –“ Ryanti spoke then. “We would like to try to fix that, right?” He placed a hand on his hip, smiling warmly at his female companion, although part of him realized he perhaps was not going to be the most comfortable crewmate, though maybe exploring something new such as that would be exciting?

 

___________________________

 

 

Sixteen quietly followed the captain to her quarters. All that could be heard from him were his calm footsteps, which barely even made an impression upon the wood. The man was naturally light on his feet, even after acquiring the lockbox from Ryanti.

 

His lips were illuminated by the soft candlelight, though any features that lied above the bridge of his nose were still obscured by the darkness. He kept a neutral, but very serious demeanor about himself. His facial features had not moved an inch since he was below deck. He did nod in acknowledgement when Sounsyy pulled up the stool for him to sit, but he did not take the offer.

He approached the desk in front of them, and then turned around in a military manner by swiftly kicking his heels to face the other way. This was done as a precaution, to make sure no one, not even the Captain, laid eyes on exactly how the box was unlocked. ”I’m sure I do not have to reiterate the level of classification regarding the discussion we are about to have. This conversation is regarded in the highest level of secrecy, and if disclosed, it will compromise the integrity of both Sharlayan, and the Eorzean Alliance. This conversation will never be allowed to be recorded on public record, nor will I acknowledge its existence after the fact.”

 

One of his hands manuveared to unbutton the first button of his uniform, located near his collar. It was unknown whether or not that movement was a movement required to unlock the box, or if it was meant as a distraction or a diversion. A small click was heard not sure after, and Sixteen shifted his feet back to face her. The lock was undone, but the box was still closed. If Sounsyy were to look where he had unbuttoned his collar, more of his skin was exposed. It was then disclosed that Sixteen’s body had an obscene amount of scarring on his body. From what could be seen, it was as if someone had taken a razor blade and had deliberately cut him in thousands of places on his body to torture him. This carnage of scars began at his collarbone level.

 

With another sound, a side compartment of the box opened, revealing a pair of specific black gloves that Sixteen proceeded to place on his hand. They looked like a jeweler’s gloves, although their purpose was not to keep the object from dust or fingerprints but rather keeping the excess aether from leaking into his body through his fingers. “I will now fully entail what we know.” Sixteen mentioned, glancing down at the now unlocked box. “And disclose enough information for you to be able to fulfill all of your potential duty as Captain of this vessel. You were selected by my higher-ups because of your track record and your history of handling sensitive material that may be classified military standard. This may be your most sensitive piece of material yet.”

 

Sixteen gathered his breathe, and released it via a sigh. A moment of silence followed, before he spoke again. “Our unit is part of a select group of individuals that are fighting an invisible war. It is no secret that Garlemald utilized a weapon of war capable of squashing the primal threat in the matter of moments. This report, this entire sequence of events was not because Garlemald dived headfirst into research and were able to develop such a maniacal device capable of complete obliteration of godly beings, no. That is not the truth.”

 

His eyes flickered up to meet Sounsyy’s, with a strong, piercing gaze, keeping his voice down anyway, despite the levels of privacy he was promised. “Hydealyn is a very old planet, with a very long and winding history. It would be arrogant for civilizations to believe that they know every chapter, every tale, of Hydealyn’s history. It is believed that this continent was settled by our ancestors who created such civilizations as Amdapor and Nym. While there is an element of truth to that, it is reality that the tale of Eorzea’s beginning is… told with a narrow mind, and partially falsified.”

 

His hands maneuvered near the lock of the box, ready to lift it up. “Even after millennia since Hydealyn’s last cycle of civilizations, we are nowhere close to understanding, to comprehending, those who came before. In the most present day, we are making discoveries that baffle even our top researchers and give us but merely a glimpse into a peephole of an entire reality that existed far, far before our ‘beginning’ as a people. Countless years in the past, our understanding of our world reached an unimaginable apex. Our war concerns a cycle extinct to the world’s witness for so long that for eons it remained a complete unknown to present peoples. Until now. Until the Empire. Ultima was a not a weapon of Garlemald’s. It was a weapon of… theirs.”

 

And with that, he slowly opened the box. Was first emerged from Sixteen’s side was that his face was illuminated by a soft cyan light that seemingly pulsated in phases where it shined brightly, then faded, then brightly again. Every time the phase shined brightly, it emitted a humming sound foreign to anyone that had not been around artifacts of this civilization before. To a learned man like Sixteen, it was a hum of machinery and technology woven in magical aether on a limitless scale that he had trouble comprehending until a decent amount of time under service.

 

“Garlemald reasoned that if they could uncover the deepest, darkest secrets of the most distant past, that they could reverse engineer their discoveries. If they succeed, they will absolutely dominate the rest of the known world and beyond without question. Ultima was only the beginning to them. In retaliation for Garlemald’s actions, the Eorzean Alliance and the city state of Sharlayan cooperated in a joint effort to form a top secret counterintelligence unit to prevent Garlemald from further discovery by intercepting their findings and beating them to the punch, so that whatever benefits may be had from mining the knowledge of eons past can be utilized in the right hands or destroyed alright if the world is not ready. Us four are part of that unit, and the reason why we are classified in the highest levels of secrecy is because the world is not ready.”

 

He paused for a moment, letting that sink in for a moment before he reached into the box, placing his fingertips upon the humming, pulsating object inside. “This is where you come in. A fisherman on Cinderfoot River came across this inactive object and tried to pawn it like a piece of jewelry in the Ul’Dahn markets. A merchant, suspicious of forgery, turned it into the authorities, specifically the Immortal Flames. Upon discover of its origin, it was immediately whisked away into the black label of the Eorzean Alliance, and transported to Sharlayan for study. That was when the object activated.”

 

With that, the moment finally came. Sixteen lifted the object from the box’s clutches, and presented it for Sounsyy to see. There was an element of strangeness when looking at it directly. It was as if one would feel lighter in weight, and it would cause a warm, tingling feeling the closer someone was to it, and the longer they would stare at it. It was mostly a square shape, though it was slotted at the top, as if I was a key of some sort. It was made out of an unknown composite metal forged in a completely unknown manner with a level of skill beyond anything the present day could even try to match. The red ‘veins’ within the device pulsated from a bright red to a cyan blue every few seconds, continuing to hum with that very same pulse.

 

 

 

 

“This anomaly has to pull to it, detectable if you place your bare hands upon it. After this anomaly activated, it provided the researchers with a location. A location that the anomaly seemed to pull them towards. One researcher in particular was compelled to write down nautical coordinates, which are those very same coordinates we have provided your crew, and which ultimately lead to the bottom of the Indigo Deep, far out to sea. This device is calling us there, and we need to investigate. We need to figure exactly what it is pulling us to find, and why. And we need to do this before Garlemald finds out. Twelve knows what they would do with what they find…”

 

He slowly maneuvered the anomaly back into the box, and closed it with a click. “So our intentions are to dive into the ocean and find out where it is leading us. The repercussions of this have the potential to affect the course of history for the entire planet – as do all of our missions. My men would die a million times over to enrich the world with this lost knowledge, and protect it from falling into the wrong hands. If you and your crew love their nation and this world, then I would expect the same of them. I know it is asking much, but...”

 

He slowly took his gloves off, and rested them upon the desk. They felt tingly, as if infected with static electricity. “I need them, Captain, and I need you. We need all the help we can get, and you may explain to your crew the importance behind this minus the details if you wish. I have the intention for everyone to understand the significance of this.”

[Sounsyy]

P'welro made long strides across the bunk bay, her boots clapping against the wooden floor one after the other. A figure or two raised their heads from their bunks as she passed with the group but quickly returned to rest. She seemed wholly at ease with her surroundings, this was after all, her home. But one of P'welro's jeweled ears flicked upright at Ryanti's sudden break in silence and the discourse which followed. The blond Miqo'te slowed to a halt near the far end of the bunk bay, near the private quarters. She turned to the group, casting a half smirk at the curious male.

 

"Couldn't tell yeh when she were first put ta sea. She were a pirate vessel though, repurposed by the 'Cuda. She's flown tha crimson standard fer near ten years. I've sailed her fer five," P'welro said. She then pointed to one of the nearby, empty bunks, or rather to the floor beneath it. "Y'see them smoothed out floorin' un'neath the bunks and the grooves to the sides? Cannons once went there. Brigands like outfittin' their ships wit an extra row o' firin' power. Why this is called the 'gun deck.' Most Maelstrom vessels don't 'ave the men or resources fer that sorta thin' anymore."

 

P'welro took a step backwards and knocked idly on the door to their intended private quarters. More of a gesture to reference the door than to see if anyone was shacking up inside the room. P'welro continued with her lecture anyways, "As ye can see, lots of shite gets to serve more than one purpose aboard. Like the 'bunk bay', like these quarters, like us really. Ye wanna act the part o' our crew an' put in tha work - ye'll soon figure we got a lot of different jobs aboard. Even Cap'n breaks her back wit us scrags. We're a small crew true, but each o' us 'ere cuz we earned it. 'Andpicked y'see. I'm assumin' like yerselves?"

 

The door at the end of the hall behind P'welro opened and a Sea Wolf woman stepped through the bulwark. She stood a good six fulms and wore a Storm Private's haubergeon. The bardiche she was walking with looked lovingly maintained. P'welro turned as the Sea Wolf approached and offered a smile and greeting.

 

"Ah, good, Berasaem, this be the cargo. Lads and lasses," she indicated to the three, "This is Berasaem Gybetsatzwyn, she'll be yer door guard tonight - should yeh choose to get some shuteye in now. This here's yer room."

 

P'welro opened the door, revealing a smallish cabin. It looked like it had been recently refurbished to accommodate the guests. Four thin mattresses had been laid out on the floor with a roll of blankets and a pillow set at the foot of each mattress. A mattress was laid adjacent to each of the three walls, with the fourth in the center of the room. An empty chest had been set near the door for them to place clothing, or other storage when or if it ever became applicable.

 

"As fer clothes, we'll see to it that a few fresh spares are laid out fer yeh. Yer lucky ye ain't the only smallfolk on this ship," she said, almost humorously to #43 before growing a bit more serious as she turned to Ryanti, "Yeh on the other hand. Yeh may end up in some lass's rags, unless can cull up some spares from our Midlanders what will fit yeh."

 

P'welro looked Ryanti up and down as if sizing him up. Her ears jingled a bit as she turned and started making her way to the door Berasaem had entered from. When she reached the handle she turned back to the group, saying, "I'll check wit Jada fer yeh seven, seventy, sevy - godsdamned numbers. 'Pologies lad. Yer free to turn in now as yeh wish and Berasaem will tuck yeh in, so to speak, or yeh can come wit me fer a spell afore I needs get above deck?" She offered, looking at Ryanti, but addressing the entire group. Berasaem took up her position against the wall adjacent to the open door and gave a short laugh. "I'll be sure no fishbacks get in to yer room while yer sleepin'," Berasaem teased as she held the door open with her free hand for the group, should they decide to pass up on the rest of the tour in favor of sleeping.

 

 

Sounsyy shrugged and replaced the stool to the side as she watched Jonathan intently. Her ears slowly flattened as the lecture prolonged, though she soaked up every detail. Most of the details were above her head, but what she understood was Garlemald seeking even greater power, and that was all Sounsyy truly needed to hear. She said nothing for the entirety of the display, honoring the Midlander's time.

 

Then he opened the lockbox and withdrew the ancient Allagan artifact. A sudden warmth filled Sounsyy, but the sensation made her the slightest bit queasy. The humming noise it made irritated her ears, but she tried to remain imperceptible. Her face remained grave and her ears remained in their lowered position. Sounsyy did not feel compelled to reach out and touch it. In fact, she moved opposite from its allure, sitting in her armchair across the desk from the artifact where she contented herself to stare at it for another moment before the Midlander returned it to its secure home and closed the box, cutting off the humming noise.

 

Truthfully, Sounsyy was relieved. The object gave her the most uneasy of sensations. When it seemed like the Midlander was done, Sounsyy folded her arms and reclined slightly in her armchair, using the silence to think before speaking.

 

"An explanation will not be necessary. They are loyal, all. If it matters to me, it becomes their priority. We will see yeh to yer destination. And this thing, this artifact will remain safeguarded. I do not know what it is calling yeh to in the Deep, if anythin', but I- nor Limsa Lominsa allow such an... unsettling... device into enemy hands. Fer years we have fed the Garlond Ironworks with spoils of Garlean galleons. This is no different. The risks, great. The rewards, a gamble. We understand better than most."

 

Sounsyy placed both palms on her desk and raised herself up from her chair to a standing position. She moved around the desk and made her way to the wine rack near the door. She examined a few bottles, finally selecting one deep red. She uncorked it and set the open bottle upon the desk. While it breathed, she rummaged through her desk drawer for two glasses. These were short, ovular shaped crystal glasses with a short stem.

 

With a half smile, she looked up from her evening ritual to the Midlander. It was her turn to lecture. "In Limsa Lominsa, it is customary fer officers to toast to the fortune of a voyage and offer solemn prayers to the Navigator. If y'would partake?" She asked casually, as she poured a thumb of wine into each glass. She offered him one of the glasses with her right hand, much in the same way she had offered him the stool earlier. Her four remaining fingers on her left hand gripped her own glass and raised it up to chin level.

 

"I am the waves that bear, I am the winds that guide.

I am the evening stars, I am the morning sky.

I am born of the sea," Sounsyy recited the ancient words and drank from her glass. The wine was earthy in flavor, a deep red holding only the most subtle of fruit notes. When Sounsyy had swallowed, she lowered the glass back to her chin and finished, "And there shall I die."

 

Sounsyy regarded the Midlander with the faintest upward curling of the ends of her lips into what might have been a smile. She cared not whether the Midlander had taken his drink or not. If not, it would mean more for her later. She picked up the bottle gently and recorked it, moving it like a babe over to her vanity. She set down the bottle and looked back to Jonathan to keep an eye on him. This was her amicable side, not necessarily her trusting side.

[Ryanti]

The three unit members minus their Superior continued to follow P’welro down the bunk bay. While Eightyfive had a look or two beyond the straightforward direction the First Mate was leading her, and Fortythree barely glanced at all, Ryanti on the other hand was seemingly fascinated by the internal bowels of the ship that he would make home for the duration of the mission. It was beginning to become apparent which role each group member played. Fortythree was not interested in virtually anything besides the point in every conversation he took a part in, which tended to be a trend among magi of his kind. Eightyfive was rather impulsive and quick-witted; every matter in which she paid attention to was but briefly a moment in time. She seemed more adept for being in direct support of the rest of the group. As the least experienced one, it was the quickest manner to learn. Ryanti seemed to be the cataloger, the one that would gather information and handle the resources in which would be employed by the unit and also those things procured by the unit. He had the longest attention span, and the most curious of the three.

 

Even now, when P’welro told the group about how the bunks she was highlighting used to be an extra row of cannons, Ryanti had a hand upon a supportive wooden pillar close to the space she was talking about. His eyes became distant in thought as the fading sound of cannon fire and pirates shouting orders in what would have taken place in the recent last decades on the ship entered his imagination. It always seemed that the older the object, the higher of a chance it had served the purpose of both good and evil. Once it was a pirate ship, now it was a vessel of the Barracuda. Ideas were formulated in the minds of men, and objects were constructed to serve their purposes. Unlike men, objects had no free will. They just followed the orders of their masters – the truest of servants. It was why he believed that their recovery of marvels of the past would serve a more just purpose if it was acquired by them.

 

Ryanti’s daydreaming was interrupted by Eightyfive’s sudden confirmation. “Handpicked we are, absolutely. Though I’m afraid only half of it is because of merit, it is probably entirely merit on your crew’s behalf I would assume. Everyone here seems competent.” She recalled, placing a hand on her hip and twisting her waist a tad. “At least the Captain puts in her weight as well.” Fortythree remarked with his Ul’Dahn accent really showing its shine at his sudden surprise at the six-fulm tall woman that had just shown herself. “Oh my – how far must I crane my neck to look this one in the eye?”

 

“Don’t be such a downer so quickly, Fortythree. She can always duck.” Ryanti remarked, one side of his lips curling into a smile. He was impressed by how well she had kept her weapon looking gorgeous. He was hoping to witness a sign in their night guard that would make him feel safe. Someone who gave a damn about their weapon was good enough re-enforcement. Ryanti gave a formal acknowledgement to Berasaem with a palm placed on his pectoral and a slight bow. It betrayed his knowledge of formality, but Ryanti did not care. Fortythree gave her a casual nod, moreso to her torso than her head. Eightfive gave her a little wave, with a laid back grin.

 

All three of them focused their attention upon the room when they were introduced to it.

The room was not much, especially compared to an average traveling inn. But besides that point, all of three of them sighed in what was apparently relief. They were happy to even have blankets. A mattress was a happy bonus. A pillow? Luxury. Both Fortythree and Eightyfive took one or two small steps into the room after being introduced to it. “Ah… this will procure much more efficient sleep than recently.” The Lalafell chirped happily.

 

“Ain’t that the truth..” Eightyfive said, and afterwords she briefly eyed the First Mate before continuing her statement. “.. We’ve been sleeping on a floating raft for two days. We had to arrive here anonymously so… no noise.”

 

The Lalafell hmph’d when P’welro mentioned that he wasn’t the only smallfolk upon the ship. He was one of those Lalafells that sometimes didn’t like to be a Lalafell one minute, and loved being Lalafell the next. His reaction was a bit realistic at the inconvenience of wardrobe, though out of everyone else he was the only one not wearing a standard issue uniform as he was magi and had his own set of clothing.

 

Ryanti raised an eyebrow in a bit of a confusing “Huh?” When P’welro told him there might only be women’s clothing available. It did look like there were more women on this ship than men. Ryanti’s body was relatively easy to examine because their uniforms were rather tight and form fitting. He was slender in shape, a feature common in male Miqo’te. His muscular structure was slim, not at all bulky. However, what muscle did exist was as hard as any that could be found on someone. He was taller than average for a Miqo’te male, and he had something in common with Eightyfive and Sixteen: Their bodies were all toned as if designed for endurance, speed, and survival above all else.

 

However, there were some off-putting things about Ryanti’s body if one looked close enough. His leg muscles were not as powerful as a normal Miqo’te male of his stature should be, though stronger than a Midlander’s. However, his upper body was more defined than a Miqo’te male of his stature, yet still more slender than a Midlander’s. He did not utilize his tail or ears for balance; in fact they hardly moved at all, and while his walk was graceful and sly, his standing posture had no hint of feline behavior. Neither did his canines: they were dull. Yet still, he was youthful and well fed and well grown throughout his life, and it showed. A Midlander’s garb would be equally fitting to him as a Miqo’te’s would. “I … would hope you could find something. I am not in the mood to crossdress.”

 

Ryanti snapped his attention afterwords in the other direction towards his two compatriots after hearing a laugh coming out from Eightyfive’s lips. “I think I will be turning in actually – I’d rather skip out on smelling like fish and the sight of –him- in women’s clothing.”

 

A humming noise came from the Lalafell as he retracted his hood and removed the viel from his lower jaw. What was interesting about his now-revealed face was that right below his Auburn hair on the left side was a metal plate that was shaped oddly, and covered his left temple. There was another metal plate that covered a section of his lower jaw, also on the left side of his face. It would appear that he had parts of his skull blown off of his very face yet it was repaired by technology a slight step up from what could be accessed publicly. “I would rather turn in than continue as well. We have been through much already – we will need the rest.”

 

Ryanti calmly placed both hands upon his hips, and nodded a few times in a slow, methodic manner at the both of them. “Alright. You both make sure you get some sleep then. I am going to remain with P’welro for a while longer – to see the rest of this place.” He turned around to face the First Mate, with a bit of a warm smile that sparkled his eyes to mimic the sun reflecting off of the water of the ocean. “I don’t ever sleep very well while on a mission. Besides, I need to acquire the case back from the Boss before we all retire. Oh, and… if numbers trouble you, you can just call me Sevy?”

 

Eightyfive had undone her hair rather swiftly and shook her locks free of her loose bun, her hair falling to about shoulder blade length. “Taking advantage of every chance to be alone with the ladies, Seventy-Seven?” She said with a mischievous laugh. She was the unit’s harshest teaser.

 

“Do come back relatively soon.” The Lalafell added, not reacting to her tease at all as he vanished into the room. Ryanti certainly reacted though, with a sigh and a fold of his arms, shaking his head yet not looking too pissed off. “Her mouth is a living hell…”

 

____________________________

 

 

We understand better than most. For some reason, Jonathan already knew she would say that. But perhaps his thoughts were not entirely found on intuition. This crew and this ship were chosen by the Overseers for a very good reason. Jonathan had no knowledge of whether this was the first joint operation in his unit’s short but turbulent history, as people of his position were not informed of other missions taking place for the sake of even further layers of secrecy. However, he did understand the Overseers were interested in having these joint operations run as smoothly as possible. The comparing to the Ironworks was a good enough comparison to make. The Ironworks was de-classified and everyone practically knew they were learning by reverse engineering Garlemald technology.

 

This was similar. Though they were not learning most of their knowledge from Garlemald, rather Amdapor, Nym… and the most secretive of all, ancient Allag.

 

Sixteen’s expression did not change as the Captain maneuvered herself from her desk to the wine cabinet. Though once he realized she was looking for fruity drink, his lips could not help but curl into a little smile. His lips corked a bit when she placed the bottle upon the desk. He could smell the aroma from where he stood.

 

“Of course.” He answered to her question of whether or not he would partake. Sixteen had a measure of respect for custom and ritual. His unit had some of their own, though they had not partaken in any yet. “You become a spiritual man after doing this long enough.”

 

With that, he clasped the wine glass under his own fingers with a bit more of a sophisticated flare than his rugged self would have been capable of if someone had judged him on looks alone. He listened to her words intently, silently making his own prayer to the very God his unit tended to make prayer to – Nyemia – as she was quoting those ancient words. He participated in drinking the wine with her, even going so far to down it all at the same pace she did, so that they would present an empty glass evenly. He was quick to adapt like that, as it was necessary for his job. Whether it be a simple ritual, or a life or death situation.

 

His stare was powerful. Piercing. He had a presence about him that hid any flaws in his demeanor extremely well.

 

While Sounsyy was putting away the bottle, Jonathan spoke while looking through the wine glass to see his distorted image, spinning the glass ever slowly to catch the reflection of the moonlight coming in. “If you do perish upon the sea, pray it not be in the Indigo.” He replied after a bit of silence. He formulated a slight smile of his own, a bit of a rough smile. “Else one of mine may be a little disappointed.”

 

Oh, he had known. He knew that one of his group knew her. They exchanged glances too often while they were in conversation. Jonathan was in the habit of reading everyone’s expression during conversation. He was almost always analyzing. He was watching her when she locked her eyes on Ryanti, and watching Ryanti keep his eyes on her as she turned her back to him.

 

“You should be proud that your crew is loyal beyond explanation. Having others place their faith in you is something many in the position of leadership take for granted. It has been a long time since I have had a courtesy sipping. We don’t get much of a chance to. Thank you.”

 

With that moment of reflection gone, Jonathan placed the glass upon the desk facing Sounsyy’s. “It would be logical for us to be awake nocturnally to avoid detection upon your vessel. But if there is anyone who operates by logic, it is Garlemald. Therefore it requires we operate irrationally by proving we have nothing to hide when we actually do. So, my unit will be invisible within yours for the time being. I have previously informed my men to expect to be assimilated within your crew. It would be realistic to assume they themselves have already proposed such a thing to your First Mate. It would include myself, of course. We could disguise our actual task by claiming to be catching seafood for the soldiers of the Maelstrom or delivering Military Mail... I'm sure you can come up with something.”

 

He calmly lifted the case that housed the ancient anomaly off of the desk, never tucking it within an arm or anything wreckless like that. Rather he kept his grip on both sides of the case, directly in front of him. "Seventy-Seven is the keeper of this artifact. However, I must also see to it that this case is stored in the most effective location you have on this ship in regards to carrying extremely important assets. If you may show Seventy-Seven this location before you retire, I would be grateful. Thus my duty comes to an end for the evening, and afterwards I will retire as soon as possible so that your crew can do their jobs, and we may set sail on schedule.”

[Sounsyy]

"Ye'll hear far worse," P'welro said in a half laugh.

 

P'welro gave Ryanti a broad smirk and beckoned him through the door into the next room. Berasaem nodded as the Miqo'te male passed by, saying something to the effect of, "Ye be careful alone with P'welro now." She held a smile for a few moments while Ryanti passed into the next room and then Berasaem pulled the door to the private quarters closed and locked it with a key.

 

P'welro marched on ahead through the door and into what at first seemed like a wider hallway. Once Ryanti had caught up, he would see the hallway actually opened up into a rather large room with a high ceiling through which the base of the bowsprit stretched across the top of the room at a fifty degree angle above the door they had just passed through. To the right, a counter separated a set of cabinets, lockboxes, and drawers built into the upwards staircase from the rest of the armory. To the left, another staircase lead down into the bowels of the vessel. Ahead, towards the bow, lay row upon row of gleaming metal weapons. Long, cobalt pikes lined the interior wall like metal ribs. Muskets sat on steeply angled rows against the bottom of the wall. Bardiches, halberds, pikes, and shortswords adorned the space - all very well kept, polished, and sharpened.

 

Large coffers occupied many of the free spaces along the base of the walls. Within these lay suits of armor, clothing, cannons balls, bags of firesand, extra rope, spare sails, and anything else of immediate importance in an emergent situation. Every coffer organized and categorized by the woman behind the counter. The Keeper of the Moon was leaning heavily on the countertop with her elbows, watching Ryanti as he followed behind the First Mate. P'welro didn't address the Keeper immediately, choosing to gesture first to the high-ceilinged room.

 

"This is the armory," P'welro said, almost proudly, "Mos' secure quarter in tha whole ship an' where we keep 'quipment of all sorts. Weapons, armor, cannonballs. Fhruhsunn put yer lot's crate in 'ere somewheres. But all this lot's lorded over by our Quartermasser."

 

P'welro turned and indicated the bored-looking Keeper, who just smiled when addressed. "Yeh, know I love it when yeh speak all fancy Welro," she cooed, "That large crate Fhruhsunn brought me all 'is?"

 

The Keeper stood upright and regarded Ryanti with a casual up and down glance. In the Armory's dimly lit setting, the Quartermaster blended into the room almost too well. Her dark skin and short black hair was given away only by her cold blue eyes. Even her armor was dark, matching that of Marjanie's leather and scaled breast.

 

"It is Quartermasser," P'welro said flatly, seemingly ignoring the Keepers prior quip. "Where yeh fin' room fer hidin' that thin'?"

"Is up on the half. Fhruhsunn woulda been cursin' the Seven Hells if he were able, havin' to go up all them stairs." The Quartermaster shook her head at P'welro before addressing Ryanti directly. She held her left palm up in greeting, saying, "Name's Jada Moui. Everyone juss calls me Quartermaster though. I'm assumin' Welro brought yeh by so yeh can see yer gear's shipshape? Mussn't worry, everythin' 'ere's under my lock n' key. Crew needs somethin', I get it fer them. Y'need somethin', I'll get it fer yeh. Thas the arrangement."

 

P'welro looked at Ryanti, then to Jada, then back before laughing suddenly. "Not 'xactly what we came 'ere fer. They wanna dress like us," she said with a shrug. Jada looked at Ryanti for several moments before she made the connection that there were no other male Miqo'te aboard. "Oh. Ohhh. Hmm, I can russle up some o' Aric's old wares. Should fit 'im, even if he'll hav'ta snip the rear some."

"Good, make it happen," P'welro said cheerfully, "There's also a Seeker, 'bout Lohp's size. Lalafell. And a Midlander. Should be easy enough."

 

The Quartermaster nodded and turned around to face the cabinets behind her. She began opening drawers and withdrawing articles of clothing and setting them to one side. These cabinets and adjacent lockboxes seemed to be for the crew's personal affects. Spare clothing, intimates, things that would normally be stored in private quarters if private quarters were available for each crew member instead of the existing arrangement in the bunk bay. The lockboxes seemed to hold the more valuable trinkets, money, or keepsakes belonging to the crew.

 

P'welro was about to say something to Ryanti when her linkpearl activating directed her attention away. She placed a finger to her bejeweled ear and nodded once to the apparent question. She replaced the crimson pearl in a small pouch on her belt opposite her pistol and shrugged at Ryanti.

 

"Ye'll 'ave to wait to get acclimated with the rest of yer lot tomorrow. Cap'n wants yeh in her cabin. Quartermasser, if yeh could, get those articles over to Berasaem in the bay," P'welro said flatly, then motioned for Ryanti to follow her once again as she began to ascend the steps upward. The first flight moved about halfway up the room, to a sort of half deck in the armory, referred to as the 'Half.' Here rested an assortment of additional crates, coffers, and ammunition that could not fit below. The crate Fhruhsunn had relieved the black label group of earlier rested here with a few similar-looking crates.

 

P'welro continued past this to the next flight of stairs, which led up to the Main Deck. A crimson-dyed cotton cloth lay over the staircase like a small pavilion as the two Miqo'te reached the top of the stairs. Immediately behind them was the foremast, which was hollowed out just below deck to accommodate the passage of the stairway just below it. Once out from beneath the pavilion, Ryanti would be able to get a good view of the main deck of the Roehmerl.

 

The Roehmerl's two masts were at full sail, each mast sporting two large, square-rigged cotton sails dyed a deep crimson. Staysails between the masts rippled overhead. On the deck, three or four crew members were moving about, running lines and stays as the vessel made north for open waters. The deck from bow to aft ran 60 yalms, and about 10 yalms wide. The keel and forward hull were steel, while the bulwark and planks were a sturdy oak, treated and dyed a rich, dark brown. The planks and gunwale looked clean, recently mopped and polished.

 

P'welro led Ryanti abaft from the foremast across the main deck. There, on either side of the ship sat three fixed cannons, mounted upon a raised turret-like area in the gunwale. One was placed fore, middle, and aft of the main deck on port and starboard. Just as they passed the third of these cannons, a short set of stairs put them level with the main mast and a wide, ornately decorated door to the rear cabin. Two staircases flanked either side of the door, leading up to the poop deck and helm. Marjanie, the Elezen who had caught Ryanti's eye earlier, stood behind the helm with rifle strapped across her shoulder, both hands upon the massive wheel, guiding the vessel through the dangerous shallows near Vesper. The horizontal boom mast hovered only a fulm or two above her head, supporting the spanker sail, trailing out behind the main mast like a massive fish's tailfin. Marjanie's gaze did not drift upwards towards the rear mast or downwards towards Ryanti or P'welro as they drew near beneath her.

 

P'welro approached the cabin doors and knocked once before waiting.

 

 

--

 

 

Sounsyy did not smile as the reference was made to her death and the emotions such an event would cause Ryanti. She met the Midlander's eye and shook her head. After having placed the wine bottle on her vanity, she returned to her desk and took her seat in her armchair, crossing her legs one over the other.

 

"I do not know him - Seventy-seven - not truly. We met briefly some weeks ago. He recognized me from my time on the Bloodsands in Ul'dah, challenged me to a duel, and left in some amount of pain shortly thereafter. If the boy has grown fond of me, I can only assume as to the motives he took this assignment and suspect the duel were a test?"

 

She made a short hmph noise in her throat and looked away from the Midlander for a moment, regarding one of the tapestries on the wall while she attempted to fix her messy hair. The effort was largely wasted, her hair simply unwilling to comply at its current length. She finally gave up when the Midlander began to speak again.

 

"I am proud," she said after a moment, "But I am also a captain what understands loyalty is earned, paid fer, and maintenanced always - never freely given. I push my crew to their limit, and I sweat wit them. They know I'd never ask of them anything I wouldn't of mehself. Respect and equality go a long ways towards fostering that loyalty."

 

She paused, biting her lower lip absentmindedly as Sixteen began to speak of possible covers. From her desk she drew out a nautical map of the seas surrounding Vylbrand and laid it flat on her desk. She indicated the Straight of Merlthor on the map with her left middle finger. From this location, she traced a route northwest into open waters. On the map, purple ink had been used to draw an area along Eorzea's coasts and northern seas, and just below this area, a scarlet red ink had been used to draw a similar region in the middle of the Indigo Deep.

 

"Forgive me, Midlander, but yeh sound like yer expectin' a peaciful run-in with the Garleans," she almost laughed aloud at the thought. She didn't miss a moment to indicate the purple and red marked areas on the map with her finger.

 

"This here," she said indicating the purple, "Is Garlean controlled waters. They sometimes patrol lower, but risk attacks from the 4th Squadron and even the Sahagin." This time she indicated the scarlet marks representing Sahagin territory, which covered most of the Indigo Deep and western coast of Vylbrand. She then dragged her finger across the map to an area in the Indigo Deep several malms northwest of Vylbrand. She tapped the location three times before speaking.

 

"This is the location Maelstrom Command was given. As ye can see, it's right in the middle of the Sahagin and the Garleans. A Lominsan vessel in that region, we will be shown no quarter. Without other Maelstrom patrols in the area, spying another vessel on the horizon means we prepare fer a fight, cuz a fight's what's coming. As fer the Sahagin, we can only pray they leave us be. Their attacks come from the Deep without warning. Entire crews can be dragged beneath the brine in a matter of moments. Let us not also forget the Navigator and her wrath. Storms and Rogue waves could spell our death just as easily. That said, if there's trouble, I want one of yer people below deck. Safe. Which one is yer choice. If all of yer group perish in a skirmish, this mission will have all been fer naught. Perhaps... the keeper of the artifact? In any case, I shall call him anon so that yeh may retire. Yeh and yer crew have a short sleep and a long day tomorrow. I can only hope the accommodations are satisfactory."

 

Sounsyy leaned back in her armchair and rummaged in her pack for a small, crimson pearl. She placed this in her ear and tapped it to activate the call. A brief command was given to her First Mate, and she returned the pearl to its home. A few minutes later, P'welro's single knock sounded on her cabin door. Sounsyy moved to unlock the door and P'welro and Ryanti entered. Sounsyy gave P'welro a glance, and the latter nodded in understanding and bowed out of the cabin, closing the door behind her without a word. Seconds later, P'welro's muffled voice could be heard shouting orders to the crew on deck.

 

Sounsyy gave Ryanti a moment to absorb the details of her cabin without saying a word as she made her way back behind her desk, standing next to her armchair. When she reached it, she cleared her throat. "Under normal circumstances, I would insist on locking such an important item away within my desk. However, I'd rather be as far away from the Twelves-damned thing as possible. Our Quartermaster may have room fer it in the personnel locks. Otherwise, there are hidden compartments in the cargo hold below which yeh can use. So long as I and yer artifact-keeper know of the final location, I will be satisfied with wherever yeh see fit to store it."

 

 

Bowsprit - A pole, spar, or psuedo-mast extending horizontally from a sailing ship's bow. It is used to provide an anchoring point for the fore-stays.

 

Stay - Ropes that keep a mast in place.

 

Staysail - A sail attached on one or two sides to a stay. Staysails are named for the mast to which the stay is attached. For example, a Fore-stay is a sail attached to the stay running between the bowsprit and the foremast.

 

Bow - The front of a vessel.

 

Fore - Towards the front of a vessel.

 

Foremast - The front mast of a ship.

 

Main Mast - The second, and largest, mast of a ship.

 

Aft - 1) The rear of a vessel. 2) Towards the stern of a vessel.

 

Keel - The central structural basis of the hull.

 

Abaft - (direction) Towards the stern, usually relative to an object. (ie. Abaft the main mast.)

 

Rogue Waves - An unexpectedly large wave for a given sea state. Or any wave of significant wave height, a wave more than 4x the standard deviation of surface elevation.

 

 

[Ryanti]

Ryanti had placed his hand behind his neck to unkink some of the muscles there. After hearing P’welro’s response, the young man figured that yes, perhaps this entire crew was far from the most virtuous of vocabulary? He had a brief thought going back to how much his entire life had changed over the past few years. Everything still felt so new, breathtaking and exciting. He could label these people he was meeting as such. It caused him to smile authentically. It was a very warm one.

 

After taking a few steps towards the door, a bit of his Halfling blood rushed to his cheeks after Berasaem made her little comment. He handled it well however, choosing to respond to it with a passing wink of his eye towards her. “I’m sure I can handle that ‘scenario’, and I have faith you can handle yours.”

 

Ryanti placed his hands behind his back, speeding up his walking a slight tad in order to catch up quickly. When he cleared the thin hallway, he let out a large breath and pinned his head upwards to witness the majestic display of the bowsprit. In the back of his mind, he marveled at what engineering went into what appeared to be a simple scouting vessel from the outside. His gaze started above him, and then followed the shape of the vessel downward, focusing his attention at the gadgetry and marvels that laid out before him.

 

This was a very impressive arsenal of weaponry for a vessel this size. He had expected less. It pleased him, for he knew that this kind of mission required a good amount of versatility when it came to arms. It was paramount that they could counter any threat should the last resort of direct conflict be necessary. Ryanti had no interest in perishing and if that was inevitable, he would have wanted this crew to take as many down with them as possible. Though he knew that what they possessed on this ship was worth any amount of lives to Garlemald.

 

He hoped that this crew would understand that.

 

He smiled a little at the realization that there was life in this room beyond him and P’welro. He resisted the urge to recite some fancy words of his own at the Keeper’s comment. From where he came from, fanciness was not in lack. He could not really pick out her features from the darkness of her surroundings, but he could tell by her eyes that she was a woman. “A room full of maniacal firepower, accompanied by two women. P’welro, are you meaning to please my inner masculine tapwell?” He murmured in a cheerful mood.

 

Ryanti nodded in acknowledgement of her name. Jada could tell because her eyes were not the only ones that seemed to glow in the dark. Ryanti’s aquamarine eyes were no stranger to absorbing moonlight. “Pleasure to meet you, Jada.” He said, with a tone of grammar and an accent that definitely did not belong to a sailor of the seas. He almost burst out into a laugh before P’welro did at her assumption, knowing his true request for being here was a little odder than that.

 

Ryanti took a moment to place his own elbows on the very desk that Jada had moments prior, watching her turn back to rummage through all of the storage that laid behind her. It was one of the few moments that Ryanti’s tail moved. It stretched a bit with a single fluid motion from one side to another, before once again resting behind him idly. The young man hardly moved his tail unless it was to stretch the muscles that laid stiff after being still long enough. The same could be said of his ears. Was it a posture he chose? Or was it something he could not change?

 

Nonetheless, Ryanti was definitely a people person. He took good pleasure in meeting these people, and observing how their daily lives were. His curious eyes glanced over at what her hands were rummaging through, but he could not pick out anything specific. What he could have done was place on his Sharlayan goggles, which had the ability to allow him to see in the dark. But they were confiscated along with everything else he had on him. He was still nervous about being on this mission without his equipment on him, but he understood that they needed to play the part of the crew. That was right, there –was- no such unit as his aboard. Just the squadron.

 

“The Captain?” Ryanti questioned P’welro as she tended to her linkpearl. For a moment, he was a little taken off guard. But then he remembered that his Superior was still in the Cabin discussing business. As the Keeper of the Artifact, it was his duty to see safe that object until the task was completed. He had to retrieve that object before they all retired, and so he proceeded after the First Mate. He could not help but smile here as he tasted his first breath of the outside air of what would become the water’s domain.

 

This ship was on one of Limsa’s darlings, and it was a new experience for him as well. He gave those aboard what he understood as a casual salute, witnessing Marjanie guiding the ship through its trial, of which it had just only begun. This was the kind of life he wanted. A life of adventure and purpose. He thought about that a little bit longer as his pose resumed that of a professional operative. He waited in anticipation for the door to open.

 

--

 

Jonathan was late in taking a seat from the conversation they had before, but when Sounsyy began mentioning the extent of her knowledge of one of his men in his unit, he finally pulled the stood beside himself and sat himself down upon it. The rugged man stifled a short smirking laugh at the idea of Ryanti dueling her, and Sounsyy’s assumption. “Ah, do you did time in the Bloodsands, did you? There are a few among us who have as well, though none on this voyage.”

He crossed his arms and leaned himself back on his stool. Since there was no backrest, it was merely a gesture to correct his posture. He proceeded to watch her trying in vain to fix her hair.

 

“Though, we do not choose who we work with. We do not know whom we are working with until we see each other in person.” He did manage to comment as she was doing so, but dropped the subject when he brought up her crew. He was not really interested in discussing how his unit worked beyond defending the integrity of his men.

 

He enjoyed her dialogue of understanding what leadership truly takes in order to deserve consistent loyalty from her crew. She was preaching to the choir. Her responsibility was also Jonathan’s.

 

The older man smirked at the idea of a peaceful run-in. Perhaps in an ideal world. With that thought gone, he focused intently on the map, analyzing everything on it. It was becoming a bit of a hint that Sixteen’s ability to analyze and recall information with pinpoint efficiency was a talent that the Overseers valued in him. He placed an index finger and a thumb on his chin in thought as he listened to the Captain lay out the map for him. The hostile possibilities were very plentiful, and the odds were very much stacked against them.

 

“Of course I must consult to you that my Unit’s priorities during this voyage are to stay under cover, and that we desire to avoid conflict if at all possible. Our wishes include slipping under the gaze of every passing vessel out to sea, though we are as fully capable of utilizing your equipment as we are of ours.” Sixteen covered his nose with the inner folds of his elbow as he passed a sneeze. “The weapons that were provided to us are meant to be used at the objective site and are classified technology. To use them on board this ship would greatly increase the capability of our firepower – however, if our Unit is to expose ourselves, every hostile witness of our presence would have to be eliminated. We cannot afford a Garlean witness, or even a bumbling Sahagin, to spread the word about what they may see.”

 

“I will grant you the retreat of our Keeper to below deck if trouble occurs. Each member of my unit is incredibly capable as per my endorsement – as an extension of your crew, myself and my team will follow your orders in battle. If we must bring out our equipment, their orders will fall under my umbrella.”

 

He sat up from his stool and moved it aside as Sounsyy addressed Ryanti and P’welro to come to her cabin. “I assure you Captain that we have slept like babies in much worse – a simple pillow and blanket we are gracious of. Any kind of mattress is a bonus.”

 

Once he placed the stool back where it was before, he maneuvered himself to flank the door leading to her cabin with his hands behind his back and his feet space out in a very specific distance. The case remained on Sounsyy’s desk, silent and nonchalant. Yet perhaps it did not appear to be such anymore after witnessing what was inside it.

 

--

 

Ryanti calmly observed Sounsyy opening the door. He understood that this environment was professional right now, so all of the thoughts he had about addressing her in a more personal manner would just have to wait. This was still unusual to him though. The very person whom was the Captain of this crew was… her? Of all people, the very same person Ryanti met to test both his and her skill against one another? The very same person he looked up to as a child?

He felt unsure of the future. Unsure of what would happen. Was this Nyemia’s doing or a pure coincidence?

 

“Sir Sixteen.” Ryanti addressed his superior with a shift of his feet to face him in a tight and formal military pose, with the palm of his right hand shielding his frontal-right cheek, eye, and forehead. Sixteen responded. It was their formal salute. It was meant to symbolize secrecy. If two individuals were to do it to each other in address, neither would be able to glance upon the other’s face.

 

“At ease, Seventy-Seven. I am dismissing myself for the evening. Return to our lodging when your task is complete.” Sixteen commanded, and Ryanti finished his salute by slicing the air by the gesture of returning his right hand to his side and spun on his heels to face the Captain, easing up after and absorbing the environment of her cabin. He leaned a little more on his right leg and placed the elbow of his right arm on top of the back of his left hand to support it as an idle index finger graced the white locks on the side of his face. “Wow.” He murmured, with a very brief set of chuckles afterwords.

 

His strong aquamarine eyes returned to Sounsyy as she gave him her suggestion of where to place the object of importance. His gaze grew in seriousness as she ended her dialogue. The young man slowly but methodically approached the black lockbox resting upon Sounsyy’s desk. He gently placed his hands upon either side of it. He displayed great care of handling it by lifting it off the desk without shuffling a single thing or making a single noise.

 

“I would elect to use one of your hidden compartments. I need to spare mentioning which specific one I place the VIA in to whoever accompanies me. Therefore I personally request that it is you yourself who takes me there, Captain. If not, I would require whoever accompanies me to stand outside the room while I place it away. I will inform you and only you, and you may choose who to disclose it to as it is your right but… I hope you do only to people you trust with your life. Oh, and VIA stands for Very Important Anomaly, by the way. It is code we use.”

[Sounsyy]

"I had guessed 'artifact', but is close enough to its meaning. Very well," Sounsyy said as she moved out from behind her desk and once again made her way to the door, "Gentlemen."

 

The Captain opened the large cabin door. The ornate wood swung inward with a groan. Sounsyy walked out onto the deck in time to catch a warm gust from the west. It blew her hair across her face and freed it from its tie. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep the salt and sea foam drifting in the air and relaxed her shoulders. Tonight was a beautiful gift from the Navigator.

 

Sounsyy slowly opened her eyes. Her eyelids flickering slightly against the intense winds. She waited for Sixteen and Seventy-seven to file out of her cabin with the artifact before pulling the cabin door closed behind the two. Afterwards she headed down onto the main deck, towards a second set of stairs leading down to the gundeck. Like the forward set Ryanti and P'welro had ascending from, these also were covered by a small cotton pavilion and descended through the base of a mast. Only these were beneath the main mast and descended in an aft direction, opposite those beneath the foremast.

 

Sounsyy took stock of her crew's progress as she walked. Making mental notes of the conditions of the stays and jute ropes which held the sails at full. She turned to the helm and called out to Marjanie, "Stand off, lass."

 

"Aye, Captain! With the Navigator's blessing we'll be well into the Straight by morning," she called back. Sounsyy then looked to P'welro, who was tying up the loose ends of the foremast with another crew member. "P'welro, get some rest when yer able!" The blond Miqo'te said nothing, but nodded towards her Captain to show she understood. Her task of keeping the ropes taut in the full wind required much of her energies. Even from across the main deck, her body seemed to glisten in the moonlight and her strong arm muscles were bulging from the strain.

 

Satisfied that above deck was in order, she descended down the aft stairs with her guests beneath the main mast. Like the fore stairs, these stairs descended to a half deck situated above a larger room. Unlike the fore-half, the aft-half deck was currently empty, but very well lit. To the wall-side of the stairs, a closed door led to a storage room. This room was filled with medical supplies, bandages, herbs, and instruments. To the other side, the Half overlooked what appeared to be an infirmary. Several medical cots were lined with their heads against the wall. Drawsheets hung from the ceiling to give each cot privacy when it was inhabited. The rear wall, much like Sounsyy's cabin, was lined with tall glass panes to allow sunlight into the room during the daylight hours. At the far aft, a small raised garden had been planted in between where the port and starboard rows of cots ended. This planter housed several small green buds and foliage of various herbs and medicinal plants. In the center of the room, a large, metal water-basin sat empty on a long, sturdy wooden table.

 

The Aft-Half wrapped around the back wall of the room, separating the glass-paned wall with large panes above and below the flooring. As the trio moved down to the infirmary's floor level, it became apparent that the room was in use. A Sea Wolf woman had her back turned to the group and was watering the garden at the rear of the room. She turned when she heard footsteps descend the last flight of steps and she gave Sounsyy a Storm salute. When she came to face the group, it would become apparent that this was the same Sea Wolf lancer who had searched Ryanti when he first boarded, though now she was without her spear. She was short for a Roegadyn and of only medium build. She looked to be in her late thirties or early forties. Her pale skin was the slightest shade of green, and she had long white hair that was combed over to one side while the other side was shaved close to her head.

 

"Captain, if I may?" She began. Sounsyy nodded and deviated away from the infirmary door towards the woman. On her way over, she began to undo the latches which secured her left gauntlet in place. The Sea Wolf pulled the gauntlet gently from Sounsyy's arm and placed it on the sturdy wooden table adjacent to the water-basin. Though somewhat difficult to make out details with Sounsyy's back to the group, her left hand was tightly bandaged. The woman began unwrapping the bandage to reveal massive bruising across Sounsyy's left hand and knuckles. Her ring finger was severed just proximal to the second knuckle. It did not look like a clean amputation, as if something had torn her finger off.

 

The Sea Wolf moved over to the garden, inspecting the various leaves before settling on one of the plants. She plucked one of smaller leaves and dropped it with a few droplets of water into a stone mortar and began to grind the leaf into paste with her pestle. She returned to her Captain and applied an amount of the paste to the end of the finger. Sounsyy flinched slightly, but made no noise to indicate she was in any pain. The Sea Wolf quickly re-wrapped the hand and nub in fresh bandages, but the poultice bled slightly through the gauze. Sounsyy returned her hand into her gauntlet and nodded her thanks to the woman. Within her gauntlet, the wound was more difficult to notice. The metal ring finger of the gauntlet had been removed, but the first plate over where the finger should have been remained, mostly obscuring the shortened nub.

 

"It's not infected, Captain, just you're a slow one to heal. The healing given at the time did not properly reset your metacarpal bones fully back in place. You're going to keep having these pains for a time until your hand can mend, I'm afraid."

"Thank you, Cwaenlona, as always."

 

The Sea Wolf medic, Cwaenlona Eifagohtawyn, nodded to Sounsyy and began pouring the remainder of the plant water into the middle basin, which she then dipped her hands into to wash them. She looked to Ryanti and Jonathan standing in wait near the door and motioned with her head towards the couple. "Short of making light at your expense Mirke, but do you need an extra pair of hands?"

 

Sounsyy snorted and began moving back over to the two. "There's little need. I'll be taking Sixteen back to the private quarters just down the hall."

"Understood."

 

The Sea Wolf went back about her work with the garden and Sounsyy motioned for the two to follow her through the infirmary door. This led into a short hallway that soon returned to the gangway, with the main mast base at its center - where the group had first entered the ship. Sounsyy moved around the wooden column and continued down the hall to the bunk bay, where P'welro had originally taken the group. At the far end of the room, Berasaem stood vigilant, resting her right hand on top of her bardiche like it was a cane. She gave a practiced salute when the group approached, but said nothing. She simply pulled out a key from her satchel belt and slid it into the room's lock.

 

Sounsyy stopped next to Berasaem and bowed her head to Jonathan. "A pleasure, Sixteen," she said quietly, so as not to wake anyone, "Rest well. Yer company will not be disturbed this first morn. Yeh all will need the sleep while yeh can get it."

 

With that said, she lent her attention to Ryanti, "Follow me, Seventy-seven, we'll make this quick so yeh can also rest with yer company."

 

Sounsyy moved through the door and into the armory as Ryanti had with P'welro. This time Berasaem made no comment as the Miqo'te passed. She simply sealed the room behind Jonathan. Sounsyy made quick strides across the armory floor, turning left this time towards a set of stairs descending deeper into the Roehmerl. The area behind the Armory counter was empty this time and Jada was nowhere to be seen.

 

The long staircase descended into a cavernous room. Standing almost twenty fulm from floor to ceiling, Sounsyy looked very small in this room. The room ran nearly the full length of the vessel. To Ryanti's left, a sealed door separated a room at the bow from the rest of the ship's belly. A full kitchen was adjacent to this room, separated by a long counter which ran ten yalms down midship. It wrapped off and back into the side of the vessel to provide additional seating at the end. Stools bolted into the floor had been situated every few fulm down the counter. This was the crew's galley and mess area. Across from the counter, several crates of varying sizes and weights had been placed against the opposite wall to be dragged out by the crew to use as tables if the bar counter didn't suit their needs.

 

The galley area behind the counter seemed deserted, the stove having long been cooled since the dinner hours. However, a soft snoring noise could be heard from somewhere in the kitchen. Sounsyy disregarded the noise and continued down the room, passed the bar counter. Her boots clacking against the smoothly polished wooden floors, the sound reverberating about the room. A few yalms passed the end of the counter, large mesh nets acted as dividing walls separating cargo from crew areas. These nets were bolted at floor, walls, and ceiling with steel hooks, which could be undone and adjusted to any place in the Hold as necessary.

 

The Cargo Hold was filled with crates of varying sizes, shapes, and purposes. The closest sectioned off area to the galley was devoted to large barrels. One side of the hull contained barrels of fresh water. The other was devoted entirely to wine, grog, and other alcoholic fluids that would not spoil after a few weeks of sea travel. The next divider contained crates of non-perishable foodstuffs. Salted meat and other perishable items were stored in the ice locker in the galley. Several other dividers and storerooms of supplies existed further beyond this, but Sounsyy turned off early before reaching the stern of the vessel.

 

She was making as if for the wall, but a large grouping of crates blocked her access. She climbed over the first of these and with some effort, shoved the crate to the side. Instead of moving to clear the next crate, she knelt down to the plain oak flooring where the first crate had been. With her gauntleted fingers, she pulled up a loose plank and set it on top of the displaced crate. She then placed the palms of her two hands against a section of flooring perpendicular to the removed plank and slid the larger section down into the empty space the removed plank had provided. From there, she was able to remove the large wooden hatch, revealing a hidden compartment below.

 

"There's a good bit of space between the flooring and the keel below," Sounsyy spoke finally after her long stent of silence since parting with Sixteen. "Brigands thought this were a good place to smuggle valuables, people, contraband. We still ain't sure we've found all this ship's ol' hiding places. Yeh can place the artifact in here and I'll seal 'er up."

 

Sounsyy stood to one side and watched as Ryanti did whatever it was he needed to do. Her arms were crossed against her chest and she leaned her butt against a nearby crate. Her tail flicked in an almost annoyed manner, as if there was something on her mind she wanted to say but hadn't yet. When Ryanti was done placing the artifact inside the hull, she replaced the final plank and slid the crate back over the area, rendering the loose boards all but invisible. She watched Ryanti intently as she worked. She didn't trust any of the black label group, least of all the male Miqo'te.

 

"Our duel," she said finally as they began moving back across the cargo hold in the direction of the stairs. She knew it was now or never to ask. This would likely be their only time alone together. She had half a mind to grab him by the throat and crush the male against the hull until he choked out the answers she wanted, but she restrained the impulse. This was as much a diplomatic mission as it was anything else. Still, her fingers clenched some in her gauntlets as she led Ryanti back to the private quarters to sleep with the rest of his company, "Was it a test - fer this assignment? Do not tell meh yeh were ignorant."

 

 

 

"Stand Off" - Maintain a course away from shore.

 

Tying Up Loose Ends - Securing all Lines and Stays to the vessel.

 

Galley - Kitchen

 

 

[Ryanti]

Sixteen and Seventy-Seven both locked eyes with one another at the mention of gentlemen, nodding as they turned to face the doorway. They flanked Sounsyy from either side as she opened the barrier between the cozy insides of her cabin, and the wild open sky.

 

The stars were out tonight. There was not a cloud to be seen. The dark evening sky was like a warm blanket that coated the horizon in a velvet sheet of silver moonlight. The slight scent of salt from the waves below them enveloped Ryanti’s senses; his aquamarine eyes blinked once at the sudden gust that came right after.

 

The shroud of the evening coated him and Jonathan also. While Jonathan’s features faded into obscurity, Ryanti’s platinum white hair and light skin felt right at home in the evening’s shroud. His keeper genes from his mother perhaps contributed to that. The young man’s snowy locks twirled and braved around his facial features and scalp as a response to the wind.

 

Before Sounsyy had turned around, Ryanti had leaned himself against the corner of the doorway. He could not help but pause for a moment to observe the tie escape the Captain’s hair. Her brunette hair followed the shape of the wind, and so did his gaze fall upon her. It was the first time he ever saw Sounsyy relaxed. He felt himself hold his breath, for but a moment he asked this beautiful moon tonight to stop moving long enough for him to be able to lose track of time. As there was something else right now more pleasant to his senses than the evening sky.

 

He felt a light tap on his shoulder by Jonathan’s palm, followed by two quiet chuckles from his superior officer. It only took that much to snap him back into the here and now. Ryanti immediately took a step back from the doorway, now outside and holding the artifact close at hand.

 

The two men followed her flank, allowing her space and ample time to continue her duties of keeping supervision over her crew. One that was ignorant of the situation would have thought the two men were bodyguards of Sounsyy’s based on how orderly their paces were. They always kept an equal distance from the captain, no matter how quickly or slowly she walked. Jonathan kept his attention on the Captain at all times, but Ryanti found himself eyeing everyone she addressed.

 

Through the straight by morning? That was an excellent sign. It meant that they would be manuvearing out into the open ocean by daybreak. There was an exciting thought that came from Ryanti; he had never been out in open sea before in this life, and this would be the first time. It will be an adventurous indeed, if the schedule was kept.

 

But there was no question that tonight was unbelievably beautiful from the decks of the Roehmerl. He could not ask for more than this, and he made a mental note to store the memory.

 

P’welro looked straight out of a picture book again, Ryanti thought. She would probably smack him upside his head if he told her that. Or smirk. The moonlight’s shroud over her was like that of the Captain’s; a sight that could very well be a gift from the Navigator. Luckily, both men did not miss the image of the moon as it shone through the windows of the next room they arrived at. At once, they followed the Captain down the aft stairs. Both men were quick to pick up on the nature of the room, but why were they stopping here?

 

Ryanti was the first to find out why, although Jonathan crossed his arms after finding out not too long after Ryanti did. The young Hyqo’te’s memory flashed backwards to the mental image of the Sea Wolf stripping him of his weapons. She had displayed a degree of hesitation in her methods. He knew he was not in a position to try to assume why. He was more occupied with observing Sounsyy’s bare hand that the bandage and gauntlets had kept well hidden. So it was true, her left hand had lost its ring finger.

 

It stung him. He was unsure whether or not her injury had occurred before or after they met the first time in person. He could not imagine sustaining an injury like losing a finger without it causing a certain degree of emotional toil. Yet here she was, proceeding as if nothing important had happened at all but an infected bruise. At least she flinched, enough to tell Ryanti that she was not invincible. He found himself glancing at all five of his fingers on his left hand. It stung again.

 

Jonathan did not bother himself with thoughts like these. He had enough to worry about with his own men. He could not afford to worry about the other side of the fence for now. She did not say anything to him about it, so he returned the favor. Though a smile did escape him when Sounsyy dismissed the idea of an extra pair of hands.

 

Upon following her once more, Ryanti kept his gaze a little longer at the garden the Sea Wolf was watering, mentally noting the kinds of flowers and plants that laid there. It was a better thing to think about than once again witnessing the area in which they first came in and walked themselves right into an ambush by their own allies. Yet the sight of Berasaem cheered him up a bit. He smiled at their approach. Looks like she was doing a good job so far, just like he thought. No fishbacks in sight!

 

So this was when his Superior left him. Jonathan placed one arm upon his breast and bowed politely to Sounsyy’s statements. “I heavily appreciate your pardon from morning’s bell, Captain. Rest assured that when we wake, my men will be fully rested and ready to work.”

 

“Sir.” Ryanti mentioned with a whisper, offering him a parting salute. Jonathan responded with a casual version of their salute – foregoing the leg positions and simply raising his hand affront of his right side and lowering it. Jonathan was almost unnaturally quiet in opening the door – this company was immensely trained in stealth entry after all.

 

“Yes ma’am.” Ryanti replied to Sounsyy’s wordings, with a quieter and calmer tone. He proceeded to follow her. He was quiet at they reached the galley and mess hall, though Ryanti’s working eyes were as observant as ever. He was impressed at the size, for he did not expect one could create such a large room inside of a ship, especially one that was deemed to be smaller than most warships. Ryanti looked slightly less small in this room, being taller than Sounsyy. He found the snoring noise odd but did not question, choosing to just be quiet and follow the Captain. It seemed to be the wise thing to do.

 

He waited patiently for Sounsyy to work her way through wherever she needed to go in order to get to a place where this object could be rested. He was pleased at the technique it took to find it. It would take someone unknowledgeable of the whereabouts to go through a rather long and annoying trial to obtain it, and they would still have to open the damn thing. He felt like he should ask to help her, but… he did not figure that was wise either.

 

“I wouldn’t doubt that their smuggling efforts at least saw some success. This is a good enough spot to place this construct.” He muttered in approval. He got down upon his knees and began to maneuver himself in the semi-awkward realm of positions that could afford him to rest the object down into the hatch without doing any method of harm towards it. A few muffled sounds of stress accompanied this, for it was not exactly the easiest job. But Ryanti did not complain, and he was standing up and dusting off his operative’s suit in no time.

 

Seventy-Seven crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, crossing his feet as well, so that he was able to tap his toes against the floor of the place as Sounsyy placed them away. While Sounsyy worked, the only time she saw Ryanti glance back at her was once. His expression was neutral, though his ears ever so slightly sunk.

 

He was beginning to feel rather oppressed at the idea of not being trusted, even though he understood the logic behind it and the reality he was currently facing at the hands of fate that he had been dealt. Still, he was not prepared for her to directly bring up the course of events that happened when they met for the first time. He still remembered that day very keenly.

 

He blinked and his ears tightened back up to where they normally rested, taking a few steps away from leaning against the wall in order to trail her. His eyes trailed his intuition, and found her gauntlets bending towards the palm of her hand in a slight clenching motion. She was not relaxed anymore, not like she was on the deck of the ship when the sea’s breeze enveloped her. Was he responsible? It seemed that he always was. He had told her before that he would never bring her pain. But he always seemed to bring pain to anyone he knew.

 

“Sounsyy..” He quietly said to himself. Her question hit him in a soft spot, and Ryanti’s demeanor became rather melancholy and lethargic. He had been thinking about that since he had arrived. How bad it looked. How him approaching her on Thanalan’s sands that day and answering his heart’s calling to challenge someone he looked up to fifteen years ago… might have bit him in the ass. In the most unlikely way possible.

 

“I fear that you may only accept one kind of answer, a kind I cannot indulge you with.” Ryanti murmured in response to her question, contemplating his words in his mind as they proceeded towards the chambers. He was beginning to feel rather horrible now. He didn’t know how she would take this. “The duel was no test, or obligation of mine. One thing you need to understand is that our unit’s responsibility is to handle extremely sensitive situations that are kept away from the public and even some of the inner layers of our governments. We are the bogey men. We are faced with certain unalienable truths that are sometimes passed off as legend or myth spoken by mother to child at bed time. That keeps us from being able to afford things like, being able to know who we are going to be working with prior to a mission.”

 

He audibly sighed, and wiped a hair through his platinum white locks. “You did not know who you were working with until you met us, yeah? We can’t just, know. Not in our world. Someone might find out that we know, or you know. They could sell you out, or kill you. They could go after your family, or whatever and whoever you love and cherish the most. While simultaneously comprising the safety and security of the well-being of Hydealyn’s people. We don’t even know our own Fireteam Leader until we all arrive at the location and time specified. We are expected to just organize and get along. It can unusual, fast, and rough, but we have no choice. It is how we have to do things.”

 

He was silent for a moment, before speaking again. The melancholy in his voice was more evident this time. “There are so many big and important factors behind the scenes. My superiors and Sixteen’s superiors. I’m… I’m just an Operative, Sounsyy. Someone who has this as some kind of double life. Someone who chose to accept a proposition brought forth to me because of what I was willing to risk in order to pursue something that I believe in. I don’t… know a lot of the inner workings. I don’t know why people get picked, get chosen for these kinds of assignments. I don’t know where any of my compatriots on this vessel came from, what their stories are or why they got chosen to be on this ship with me. I don’t know why –you- are here either. It was not us that selected you, but your government.”

 

He stopped in front of the door leading to his company’s lodgings. But this time, he took a few quick steps to zip in front of Sounsyy and turned around to face her after doing so. He frowned a bit at her for a moment or so, before solemnly reaching into a small pocket that was sewn onto his pectoral. “I am not supposed to show you this, but…” He murmured with the faintest of whispers. “There is nothing on here that you would not already know.”

 

What he pulled out appeared to be a small document that had been folded tightly into a square shape and stuffed into his pocket. He glimpsed at it for but a moment, before handing it to her. “This is my dead drop document that explains my orders. This is what we acquire if we choose to accept a mission offered to us by our superiors. We have a slang for them: our ‘manifests’. It is a necessity that we burn them prior to reaching hostile territory. Some of us have formulated the act of burning our manifests as a ritual of good luck. However, we have not burned ours yet. If you do not believe that I had no prior knowledge of you being a part of this mission, see for yourself.”

 

With that, Ryanti handed her the manifest.

 

[align=center]The Manifest is divided into minor sections with flat black lines. These sections have letter imprints that, to a trained eye, seemed to have been implanted onto the paper via magic. It is dated a mere two days prior to the present day. It reads as follows:

 

7 7

 

ON THE TWENTY-NINTH SUN, PROCURE BEGINNINGS AND VENTURE FORTH 59002856803 TO 09890029984 T.H.

 

THREE OTHERS SHALL CONVENE. WAIT FOR HALF MIDNIGHT. LEAST NUMBER OBTAINS RIGHT OF GUIDANCE.

 

THE LIMSA LOMINSIAN GOVERNMENT HAS SELECTED ITS BEARERS AND HAS PROVIDED YOUR ESCORT. CONVENE AT TWO REVOLUTIONS POST OF TWENTY-NINTH SUN.

 

INVESTIGATE NAUTICAL COORDINATES OF ANOMALY SOURCE - RETURN YOUR FINDINGS TO OUR SOURCE.

 

MAY YOU FIND WHAT YOU ARE LOOKING FOR.[/align]

 

 

After doing so, the young man called Seventy-Seven leaned his back against the door of his company’s lodgings, resting his left elbow upon the back side of his right hand, and squeezing his index finger and thumb between his naval cavity where his eyes were, trying to massage the stress away. “Y’know… I said double life. I have a life beyond this, and many people in our unit do. That’s another reason why we use numbers.”

 

He sniffed in a harsh breath of air and exhaled it through his mouth, his eyes bloodshot and rather tired as he let out a stifling yawn. “I was not even supposed to fight anyone. I was… sick. Not fully recovered from an ailment unknown to me caused by this very job. It is just yet another factor that we have to face while doing a thankless job for the betterment of the future. You were able to pick up on that, but, I tried not to let that happen.”

 

He scratched his shoulder a bit. “I just wanted to face someone I admired fifteen years ago. Now we meet each other again, one a Captain of a Limsan Squadron and one an Operative of a hidden Black Label. I did not want it to be this way. To meet again like this. To meet me as Seventy-Seven before you even got to know me. Perhaps you will have better luck with asking Nymeia why it must be so. She has been silent to me.”

 

He placed his hands behind his back and up against the surface of the door, bringing a foot up as well to support himself against it, turning to face her. “.. But it looks like she has been cruel to you too. I’m sorry about your hand. I hope it wasn't my fault.”

[Sounsyy]

Sounsyy wore a hard expression throughout Ryanti's explanation. Her eyes were narrowed and ears lowered. It was not what she wanted to hear - excuses, she believed. An organization built in secrecy would not be strangers to lies. An operative who made no noise in his passing could only be trusted to speak when necessary to save his hide. Despite this, Sounsyy found that her gut believed him, even if her head had not come around entirely.

 

Ryanti handed her the small note, which she took and examined. Her reading was painfully slow, having only struggled to become literate later in life. But the words Limsa Lominsan caught her eye, and she started from there. After several moments, she handed the note back to the young Miqo'te having only read a few lines, but acted as if she had read the entire thing. His explanation was... logical.

 

"Forgive me," she said, in reference to her accusations against Ryanti's motives, as the man leaned against the door to the private quarters, "But Nymeia is always silent. Her lips move without sound, speaking words spelling inevitability, regardless of yer action or inaction. It is only too late that one hears what Her voice had said moons before."

 

Her words sounded harsh against the Goddess of Fate. She looked away from Ryanti, down the hallway to the bunk bay where her crew slept soundly. Though she looked in that direction, her gaze seemed far off, removed, as if a memory had whisked her away upon the sea breeze. Berasaem passed a brief glance at the two Miqo'te, then returned her eyes forwards. Her hands perched upon her axe and she shifted her weight to a new leg.

 

Sounsyy looked back, returning from her far off dreamscape, a few moments after Ryanti mentioned her hand. She looked at him blankly, then held up her hand as if to help recall the finger was severed now. She shook her head in what might have been an embarrassed fashion. She sounded much calmer now as she spoke, "What happened to my hand is no fault of yers. Sister Fate's perhaps. Trusting to easily. Carelessness. But not yeh. Like all things, it will heal in time and with rest. Go. Yeh should get some shuteye while the Seas are calm. Tomorrow we shall see which of yeh brought yer sea legs aboard."

 

Sounsyy's serious expression curled upwards into the barest motion passable for a smile. Sounsyy wore a well worn face. The kind of machine that was worked constantly until its performance slowly began to falter and then one day stopped altogether. So it appeared to be with the Captain. Her marble face worn so that expressions seemed a shadow of what they may have once been. She nodded to Berasaem, who moved between the two Miqo'te to get to the door's lock. She placed the key inside, giving Ryanti enough time to stand upon his own two feet before opening the door to the dark room beyond.

 

"You may not know why yer team were chosen, but I know why I were. My crew will do what must needs be done, but we will see yer mission through. I have already told Sixteen this, but I thought yeh should know."

 

Sounsyy turned and began making long strides across the bunk bay to the hallway beyond. The steady clack of her boots against the oak floors drifted off until the darkened hallways obscured her retreating form from view. Berasaem motioned wordlessly to Ryanti that he should retire, after which, she closed and locked the door and took a seat against the wall opposite that room. Her bardiche hung across her lap like a faithful, old dog. Much of the earlier bustle of launching the Roehmerl had now died down, leaving the gundeck in gentle quiet, disturbed only by the ambient noises of the Merlthor. A woman snored softly in the bay. The oak creaked from no discernible direction or location. The sea breeze exhaling against the portholes in the ship, covered by wooden shutters. It was as if the Navigator whispered in the night - something that separated this Goddess from Nymeia.

 

 

Sounsyy made her way back through the ship to the aft stairs closest to her cabin. Cwaenlona had pulled the drawsheet closed around one of the infirmary cots after her gardening duties had been completed. All was silent at the stern, apart from the clack of Sounsyy's boots as she made her way up the stairs. When she reached the main deck, she found the sea breeze was gentler than before, though strong enough to keep the Roehmerl's crimson sails full. A quick glance revealed four hands on the main and fore decks. A Midlander woman in leather balanced upon the bowsprit, folding the jib into the forestay. A shirtless Roegadyn male leaned against the gunwale. His eyes closed, but his hand rested on a deep-sea fishing pole at his side. The tip was still, only bobbing occasionally in the waters below.

 

P'welro had since retired and was nowhere to be seen on deck, so Sounsyy made her way up the curled staircase to the helm. The Elezen helmswoman, Marjanie, handled the massive wheel with the kind of grace that attested to her experience. Her shoulders were relaxed, her feet shoulder-width apart, both hands gripping the spokes loosely - allowing the pull of the current to inform her movements. She turned her head towards Sounsyy as she crested the steps and nodded in acknowledgement.

 

Sounsyy said nothing, so Marjanie spoke for her, "The tide goes out from Vylbrand at this hour. There will be choppy waters as we move north through the Merlthor."

The captain nodded, "They always are. Keep Her steady, Marjanie. We don't want to be cleaning our guest's vomit tomorrow."

 

Marjanie chuckled, but made no promises as Sounsyy knew she couldn't. The captain patted her arm and made her way across the poop deck to the stern. Here she folded her arms upon the gunwale and leaned her head out over the side. Down below the water churned with foam around the rudder, leaving a grand wake behind the ship. The bubbling water and waves slapping against the outer hull drowned out Sounsyy's senses, allowing her some measure of peace. The long journey had only just begun and already the captain felt wearied by the politics of it.

 

Having no other recourse, she resigned herself to sleep. She tore herself away from the roiling waves and down the stairs to her cabin. She made her way inside, the scented candle on her desk burned low. She knew the artifact was gone, but she couldn't help but eye the place where Jonathan had revealed it. It was as if its presence lingered in the room. So Sounsyy made her way to her vanity, to the opened wine bottle that had been their toast. She uncorked it again and tipped the bottle into her mouth, her lips around the bottles head. She dragged on the contents, slow and savoring, like one might inhale smoke or a fish might take in water. Several more pulls and she began to feel her mind saturating with drink, her fingers and lips tingled, and the pain across her body ebbed ever so slightly away like the foam drifting lazily past the rudder.

 

Sounsyy extinguished the candles in her cabin and undressed in the dark. Her armor fell away until nothing covered her but a pair of black leggings and her bandages. She pulled her bandaged hand across her bare chest, where three other square bandages decorated her right clavicle. These wounds were the freshest of the canvas of injuries that painted Sounsyy's pale skin in the moonlight. Another sup of the wine from her right hand, and the warmth washed across her core, sizzling away the dull ache of another day.

 

With a groan, Sounsyy settled into her armchair. She placed the half-empty wine bottle cautiously on her desk, then curled her bare feet up into the armchair. She laid her head upon the left arm, closing her eyes, and burying her nose into the worn cushioning. Her toes curled around the opposite arm and in only a few minutes, the captain had eased into a shallow, troubled sleep.

[Ryanti]

Ryanti had lied before. He had told fabrications in his line of work. It was no matter of question that his job often blurred one’s morals and ethics. There was no doubt that he had done things to people, things that would keep a man up at night in order to complete his mission. At least in this line of work. There were indeed words that came out of his mouth during the most critical of times that saved his ass while condemning another. But despite this, Ryanti held onto his values. Despite the additional pain and lack of sleep this gave him, Ryanti did not budge. He could still very well be an honest man to his allies. He could still tell the truth more often than falsehood. He could still be sincere. His heart could still be pure.

 

He did not want to change because of his job. He wanted the world to change because of his job. For the better.

 

The aspiring young man listened intently to her words. There was a large part of him that could believe that Nyemia never spoke. He had become so frustrated with her silence, though he blamed it on his lack of understanding. He had always hoped that her silence was just because Nyemia was watching out for him. That he was not ready to know or understand his fate. That she was holding back because she loved him. She was the only god he ever had faith in. The only one he could depend upon. He invested much of his sentimentality in his fate, believing that he was put on this planet for a very good reason and that he would die satisfied with what he accomplished while he was alive.

 

Ryanti glanced over with tired eyes as Sounsyy shook her head at her situation, and explained to him the reasoning behind what had happened to her. Even though his eyes were tired, they held onto a warm sparkle that reminded anyone bold enough to stare directly at them that they were indeed full of life. Trusting too easily… carelessness. What unfortunate realities of this world! It made Ryanti think about how hard it was to show others his sincerity. He still believed in such things as trust. That any wound, no matter how deep, could still heal.

 

When Sounsyy tried to smile, Ryanti smiled wide enough to show his teeth. His canines were unusually dull for anyone believing him to be a pureblood. He had picked up on the curl of her lips, and it made him feel better. Even in the dampened shade of the quiet moonlight, he could see that curl. It was because he was looking for it. For any trace or clue that she could still smile, or at least try to. Ryanti was an empathetic man; he could almost feel the sensation of Sounsyy’s gears grinding and grinding away. The machine starved of oil and never able to shut down for maintenance or refurbishment. Grinding and grinding away until the cogs and the gears wore out so significantly that they had might as well collapse onto the pool of its own blood, sweat, and tears.

 

He was going to say something, wanted to reach out to her somehow… but then he found himself blocked from her by the Sea Wolf that had been guarding the door. He stroked a bit of his locks away from one of his ears, a little embarrassed that he had been leaning so much on the door, slowly shifting to stand on his own two feet again.

Though he did get a word in, as she told him those words that made a wave of reassurance course through his stomach.

 

As she disappeared into the hallway beyond, Ryanti said “Thank you for telling me.”

His words faded away as he observed her form fading equally so. His thoughts lingered on her for a moment longer, and Ryanti had to swallow in order to parch his dry throat. It had grown very quiet around him, and he felt like the eyes of the fellow Sea Wolf were beaming down on him at that very moment. Though, because she was the only one around him still awake, Ryanti felt compelled to say one last thing.

 

“Sometimes wounds cannot be healed by time alone.” He mentioned quietly to her, rubbing the back of his neck once or twice with a hand of his, letting out a bit of a sigh right after. “I wish that I could do something.”

 

He decided to say no more, not wanting to become a verbal burden to someone that probably did not desire such a thing in the current moment of peace and quiet she was having before all of this occurred. “Good night.” Was all else he said, and he paced himself into the room he was given, hearing the door close behind him softly after he had made his way in.

 

It was so quiet. The silence was deafening. Ryanti could hear each individual breath from his body exhale and inhale in an uneven pace befitting someone under a spell of heavy thought. His aquamarine gaze bounced off of the rays of the tender moonlight shining through the only small window that provided them light. He walked with the grace of his mother’s blood and the discipline of his training, the result allowing him to be completely silent in a room full of his sleeping compatriots.

 

He placed a hand upon the bottom of the windowsill, his eyes meeting the wondrous moon. For century upon century, his family had all turned themselves in for the night underneath the same heavenly body. Looking up on his own, it was as if he could connect to all of his ancestors that ever looked up to the night sky.

 

It was amazing how he was able to end up here in the first place. Born into privilege, he had made the decision to put his life and well-being into danger, for the sake of following his passion, following his dream.

 

As he experienced that connection to the past, he closed his eyes to the moon, and thought of the distant future. He thought of how people like him, in the far away future, would glance at the moon. Would they view it from a place like this? Inside of a naval vessel sailing the open seas? Would they view it from an inn? From the grassy meadow of a Gridanian riverbank? Or would they view it from an enormous construct of untold height and beauty? And would they be able to do that because of what their ancestors contributed to the world? Because of what Ryanti did?

 

He took three silent steps back, eyeing each of his sleeping compatriots on the floor of the room. The silver moonlight shined down upon them. They slept in different positions. They each wore different amounts of clothing to sleep. They had their blankets wrapped around in different ways. But they were all breathing in the same peaceful rhythm of slumber.

 

It was quiet. Peaceful. Yet Ryanti’s mind was so alive. He had thought of the past. He had thought of the future. Now, as he solemnly began to strip himself of his Sharlayan-issued Black Label uniform, he began to think of the present.

 

After a few quiet snaps and some unbuttoned buttons, the uniform slid off of his body like a veil curtain. He hadn’t a scar on him. His skin was radiant and well-received by the light of the moon. He had been lucky, only sustaining wounds that could heal completely so far in his career. At least on the outside. Where his outside body showed no signs of wear or tear, it was the element of transition that Ryanti was suffering from. A transition from a body drowned in the consequences of handling objects with ancient connections to the world that yet still lingered into the present, to a normal body once more.

 

It was then that he touched his left cheek softly with the tip of his fingers, sliding them down onto the flowing shape of his neck and to his clavicle, remembering a time when it tingled and ached, and when the veins inhabiting that area became saturated with blue, and when he remembered those memories that wasn’t his own.

 

But there were no foreign memories tonight. He had achieved balance once more, and as he became nude to the moon’s gaze and gently pressed himself against the opposite wall of the room, the only memories that he explored were his. Memories of the crew he had just met, feelings of what lied in the not so distant future, anxiety of his mission, an overload of emotion that made him more tired than ever, and of course, the Captain’s smile.

 

His butt gently graced the floor of his spot in the room, and he solemnly tilted his body upon its side. His head rested against the pillow provided for him and he curled underneath the blanket as if desiring to disappear from the reality around him. To enter his own private sanctuary. It was not too soon afterward that he drifted off to sleep.

 

--

 

[align=center]*End of Day 1*[/align]

[Sounsyy]

Sounsyy woke late the next morning, roused from slumber by dreams of deep, dark seas and haunting voices. She was sweating some as she pulled her head away from the armchair's cushy surface. She felt a slight chill, despite the air in her cabin being quite warm. The sun had risen no more than an hour before, and outside, Sounsyy could hear some of her crew were awake and taking over to the daylight shift.

 

She pulled her hair up into a lazy bun while she still sat in her chair. She stretched quietly before moving over to her vanity. She recalled the stool had been moved, so she retrieved it and sat before the mirror and looked herself over. Her bare skin looked paler than normal in the soft morning light. With a cautious hand, she probed one of the three bandages around her right clavicle only to wince some and withdraw. The wound may not have been so tender if it hadn't been inflicted to a previous spear wound, Sounsyy reasoned to herself.

 

Satisfied, she returned to her desk and began retrieving the bits of her armor that she had left where they lay the night before. The half-empty bottle still sat near the edge of her desk. She took a quick swig of wine before moving to deposit the armor into her armoire. Once her armor was hung, she withdrew a set of plainclothes to wear for the day. A light brown forager's vest, her black tights she had slept in, and a pair of short leather boots. With her hair affixed in some manner and now fully clothed, she made her way out of her cabin, locking the door behind her.

 

"Cap'n on deck!"

"At ease," she answered naturally, "Status?"

 

P'welro and Marjanie approached while the rest of the crew returned to their morning tasks. Marjanie began, "Fhruhsunn has the helm. We made good time - we will be past Bloodshore within the hour, Yafaem by mid-afternoon."

"Good, get some grub and shuteye. Ye've earned it. P'welro, what news from the Coral Tower?"

"'Mander 'stablished communication wit patrols north on our route. Word is all clear northwards. Buh we'll be on our own once we reach open sea."

 

Sounsyy nodded and both women saluted and returned to their tasks. Marjanie gave Fhruhsunn, who was standing stoically at the helm, a short wave before going below decks. P'welro made her way to the bow to assist with the sails, where two other sailors were coaxing lines from their earlier positions. Two others were checking off the cannons, ensuring the cannon's motions were fluid and unhindered by fixation. A large crate of cannonballs was strapped to the planks at the foot of each cannon. These were also inventoried.

 

"Keep course, Fhruhsunn," Sounsyy called up to the silent Roegadyn. The man replied with a short nod, keeping both hands upon Roehmerl's wheel. It looked almost small in his hands. Fhruhsunn returned his gaze ahead and started humming some old sea shanty only he knew. This brought a short smile to Sounsyy's lips, driving the dream from her mind for a time. She descended below deck and into the infirmary.

 

The infirmary was empty at this hour, so Sounsyy moved forwards through the gun deck. Most of the cots in the bunk bay were empty, owing to a shift change still being in progress. Many were down in the mess, getting in a quick meal before the day's work or rest. Sounsyy would head there too, after checking in on the private quarters. Berasaem stood beside the door as she had the night before, though now a Lalafellin marauder stood at attention on the opposite side of the door. The Lalafell was dressed much in the same manner as Berasaem, though in place of the Roegadyn's bardiche, the Lalafell possessed a mammon pickaxe, in the style of the hecatoncheires'.

 

"Morning Berasaem, Pamido Wolmido."

"Mornin' Cap'n!" The two answered softly together, so as not to rouse those inside. Berasaem then gave her report, "All quiet this morning from our cargo. Quartermaster brought around some clothes, so I set them just inside the door fer them."

"Yer dismissed then, lass. Go get some rest," Sounsyy said, "Pamido Wolmido, see to it that they're fed when they get up."

 

Berasaem gave up the key to the Plainsfolk and made her way through to the armory to change out of her armor. Sounsyy followed close behind through the door then turned to descend into the Mess. A savory aroma drifted up the stairs and Sounsyy inhaled deep. The Mess was quite busy at this hour, servicing eight others of the crew at the moment. The empty crates that had occupied the stair-side wall the night before had been pulled into the middle of the room to form various tables. A group of three, of which Marjanie was one of, sat at one of these. While three others sat at the long bar counter that ran the length of the starboard mid-ship wall. Behind the counter, the kindly figure of the ship's medic, Cwaenlona Eifagohtawyn stood talking to the group sitting at the counter.

 

Sounsyy took the first seat at the bar, closest to the stairs and the galley. Cwaenlona broke off her chatter and moved to stand in front of her Captain. She looked Sounsyy up and down but said nothing.

 

"Must I even needs ask what's fer breakfast?" Sounsyy said, giving a short laugh. Cwaenlona shook her head, saying with some measure of exasperation, "He's gotten all excited at the notion of guests aboard. He's been preparing a veritable feast since the early hours. A moment, Captain, and I'll let him know you're up."

 

"Just so long as he doesn't run through all of our food stores," Sounsyy retorted with a mix of seriousness and amusement. Cwaenlona laughed and disappeared into the galley, returning a moment later with a plate piled high with scrambled apkallu eggs. Thin strips of dodo breast had been breaded and baked, as well, and mixed into the eggs. A biscuit crowned the pile of eggs. Sounsyy didn't waste a moment to dive into the meal, pausing only to make conversation with the Roegadyn medic in between mouthfuls.

[Ryanti]

The entrancing silver moonlight that accompanied the group when they slept and watched over them when they had dreamed had faded away to the bright, all-encompassing shroud of the sun. The white light illuminated the room, yet did nothing in rousing the four until a little bit later. They had slept peacefully it seemed. But even though their sleep was deep and solid, their dreams were not.

 

Ryanti suddenly parted his lips wide open with a harsh inhale of the air around him, his eyes shooting open with dilated pupils. He appeared to shake a little bit before letting out an exhale, his blurry vision clearing itself up in moments to witness the others shuffling around upon exiting their slumber. Ryanti’s diaphragm expanded and contracted as a drop of cold sweat traveled down the path of his forehead before he finally calmed himself.

 

He placed his hands upon the floor and sat himself up, as did the rest of the group. They quietly looked around, and then upon one another. Their glances changed into a solemn expression of understanding. It did not take much for them to speak without words; that they had all experienced something that night. It was to be expected. They were much more in the know than the captain, and this was far from their first experience.

 

“You all had those dreams again.” Eightyfive finally mentioned, tiredly reaching for her long hair and banding it up into a ponytail that seemed to jut straight out of the back of her head instead of settle down below it. Ryanti stroked a hand through some of his locks on the side of his head with tired eyes as Fortythree responded. “Trapped in water you cannot feel, in a reality you cannot comprehend with words said to you that you do not understand?”

 

“Yes…” Ryanti trailed off for a moment as he made his own input. “I could almost feel it. Like if I was one of them. Way back when. I saw the door again.”

 

He scratched his shoulder as a melancholy silence fell over the group for a moment before Jonathan spoke up. “This is no coincidence. I believe we all understand what we are to do, and what we are to look for when we get there. We’re getting help from unlikely sources this mission, not just from Limsa. We should be grateful for all the help we can get. Now let’s tell this ship’s crew that we are not lethargic nor lazy, even when offered grace. Get your wits about you and take the clothing that has been given to you. Leave your suits here.”

 

“Yes sir!” They all said in unison, and Jonathan then went to the clothing. Having still had his suit on, he was probably the only person that could get up and do it anyhow. Eightyfive had slept in her underwear, and Ryanti nude. Not to mention the Lalafell. As Jonathan quietly muttered the name of whom the clothing had been given for and tossed them to each individual, Eightyfive felt like she should say something, but she didn’t. She was wide awake because she had slept very well.

 

And she had slept very well because she did not have that dream.

 

That same enticing aurora of the smell coming from the mess hall finally managed to leak into the door and caught the attention of practically everyone. It only served to motivate them to wake up further. It was funny in retrospect that it did not matter whether someone was a simple farmer or a highly specialized Black Label Operative. Everyone needed food, and everyone loved that smell in the morning.

 

When they were ready, they had knocked on the door to let it open. Needless to say, Fortythree was pleased to finally meet the other Lalafell on board. Fortythree was Plainsfolk as well, after all. “Oh, what a lovely morning!” The Lalafell chirped in reaction to seeing him. With Pamido’s own clothing, he could be mistaken for one of them any day at a distance. It was only up close, at viewing his metal plates that had to serve to repair intense injuries to spots on his face, that perhaps it could be surmised that he did not look so Limsa-like. “I do apologize for having to acquire your wears. I do so hope it is not too inconvenient. If I could merely set my eyes on an additional veil, I could hide these... uhh… clumsy metal workings.” He rambled on, almost like a Doctor with too much time on his hands. Eightyfive stifled a giggle. “What he means is that we would like to chow down. Could you lead us to where that smell is coming from?”

 

The pattern of four men and an additional Lalafell’s pacing could be heard from quite a ways away. It was apparent that these Operatives chose to be stealthy when they were and it was not always a natural instinct to hide their steps. Especially when it was early in the morning in the middle of friendly waters. But another reason could be because there –were- no operatives. No, it was merely just another four of Sounsyy’s crew had showed up for breakfast.

 

Jonathan was comfortable in his Shepard’s tunic, which was a dark blue and loam brown in color. He had on him a brown Hempen bandana that he had tied up with rather skilled precision. His grizzled face and look made him fit right in. Eightyfive had on a black vintage doublet vest, her peachy skin on her arms possessing a scar or two of her own, not nearly as much as Jonathan’s insane level of scarring. It was worth noting that Jonathan had chosen to wear the long sleeve. Eightyfive had no hat, still possessing a vanity of keeping her hair looking nice and neat. It was almost if she was made to taunt Sounsyy, though she had no clue about her battle with her hair.

 

Fortythree looked like a splitting image of Pamido. Almost like a cousin. It was normal to think that every Lalafell knew one another anyhow.

 

Ryanti was more comfortable than he expected in his simple Hempen short-sleeved tunic that was a tan in color with a white undershirt. He shared cotton slops of a little darker brown color with Jonathan, and Forager Shoes that were black and a little dusty from being used. Ryanti had not a scar on him, though there was a light blue bruise on his arm. His form fit the Midlander’s clothing very well for a Miqo’te. He was unsure how much of a seabearer he looked. It was amusing to think a Veanysus being a simple sailor. Ryanti wearing this was like if Sounsyy had dressed up for a ball.

 

But still, it felt different. Comfortable. Liberating even. He too had not bothered with a hat. His hair was in a bit of a loose mess. Morning syndrome among other things. He had waved his hand through his hair a few times trying to get it to settle down.

 

Ryanti managed a wave at Cwaenlona, Marjanie, and the Captain, his voice booming through the room. “So!… How do we look?”

[Sounsyy]

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?"

 

 

 

Swab - Sailor who mops the deck and cleans the gunwales.

 

Powder Monkey (Opo-opo) - Sailor who runs gunpowder (firesand) and cannonballs to the Cannoneers during battle. Also responsible for sifting powder to keep it dry and keeping cannons free of rust under the supervision of the Master Gunner.

 

Rigger - Sailors assigned to work the running rigging and furl/release sails. Requires climbing the masts and going out onto the spars.

 

Carpenter - Sailor responsible for the maintenance and repair of the wooden hull and masts of a ship. Carpenters also usually doubled up as the ship's surgeons, using their saws for amputations. Don't worry, Cwaenlona has that bit covered for Jonathan.

 

Quartermaster - (Roehmerl's Quartermaster = Jada Moui.) Traditionally the ship's authority when not in battle. The Quartermaster represents the crews interests, settles quarrels, and is responsible for distributing food, supplies, and equipment. The Quartermaster also keeps inventory and records of everything on the ship, as well as deciding what goods were worth plundering and how they should be divided among the crew. If another vessel was captured, the Quartermaster often took over as Captain of that ship until it could be disposed of.

 

Master Gunner - (Roehmerl's Master Gunner = Pamido Wolmido.) Responsible for the ship's guns and ammunition. Maintained the ship's cannons and ordinance and made sure all weapons are kept in good repair.

 

Sailing Master / Helmsman - (Roehmerl's Helmsmen = Fhruhsunn Wakkrammsyn and Marjanie Deimaux.) Officers in charge of navigation and sailing the ship. They direct the ship's course and look after maps and instruments necessary for navigation.

 

Boatswain (Bosun) - (Roehmerl's Boatswain = P'welro Rela.) In charge of all deck activities, including rigging, sails, and anchor - as well as their upkeep. P'welro also doubles as the Roehmerl's First Mate, whose duty is to be familiar with the duties of the Captain, Bosun, Carpenter, Sailing Master, and Master Gunner and take over if necessary.

 

 

[Ryanti]

Ryanti was able to differentiate Pamido’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 Ul’Dah’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 Pamido’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. “O-of course. Of course we will, yes!” 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 with… 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 ‘outsider’ 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 so… 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 wasn’t. Still though, it wasn’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.

 

“Oh… “ 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 family’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 Captain’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. “Heyheyeheyheyheyheyhe-!! .. oh. Thank you.” 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!

 

“Holy crap it’s a Qiqi- Qique-.... yeah!” 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 ha’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 –anything- and be just fine. Although all of them generously accepted the water and had themselves all of what was in the bottles. “Thank you so much, Cwaenlona. You’re a lifesaver.” 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 Susuroon’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 Sounsyy’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.

 

“So who is going to be the one to talk to her about it?” 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. “Do you think she saw it too?”

 

“She chose to see. So she –will- have seen.” Jonathan simply said. “She 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.”

 

“Well… “ Ryanti thought for a moment, keeping to himself in a moment of thought as he took a nice healthy swig from his waterskin. “She will probably approach you. After all, you are her equivalent in this joint operation.”

 

“Hmm.” Jonathan mused to himself, taking a small bite out of a single piece of his dodo meat. “Perhaps.” 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 Miqo’te returned that statement with a contorted face. Though spotting the Qiqirin checking on them did take his mind off of the subject. “Hey Susuroon! Where are those foreign currencies from! On your ears?” Few things would take Ryanti’s mind off of something besides wanting to know something else. So there was that question he had wanted to ask him.

 

“Oh. My. GOODNESS! This is SO GOOD!” 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. “I’m in heaven!” Of course she had spent the last three days eating cold rations, but to the other three, it actually –was- a nice meal.

 

“You make well of what you have here. This is a loving meal for the circumstance.” 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 … whatever it could be while her tight eyes glanced in Sounsyy’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 ‘meal’ out of sampling every piece of everything on the cart. “Suddenly, I don’t think I have an appetite… “ Fortythree said solemnly after hearing what he would be doing. A diligent magi having to… sweep the floors?

 

Meanwhile, Eightyfive’s feistiness once again came out over the mentioning of her role. “Helpin’ Sir Noble Grape manage the shite that helps him to blow shite up? Hell yeah!”

 

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 P’welro too. He hoped she wouldn’t mind him starting conversation while working. So he would get to know what it was like to becoming a sailor after all? “I’m excited. I can’t wait to see how it w-“

 

“-ill be like to spend another day with P’welro?~” Eightyfive chimed while downing the last bits of crust from her quiche.

 

“Will you stop shoving words into my mouth!” Ryanti shouted at her, partially annoyed and a little embarrassed at her making all of these damn rib jokes at him. “Nope.” Eightyfive deadpanned, drinking the last of her waterskin with a complimentary “T-aaahhh!”

 

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. “No ma’aaaam.” He drawed out. “My men are ready to work!”

[Sounsyy]

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.

 

 

 

Port - When facing forwards, the left side of a boat. Also called "Larboard."

 

Starboard - When facing forwards, the right side of a boat.

 

Running Rigging - Rigging used to manipulate sails, spars, etc in order to control the movements of a ship.

 

Sheet - A rope used to control the setting of a sail in relation to the direction of the wind.

 

Spar - A pole used to support various pieces of rigging and sails.

 

Yard - The horizontal spar from which a square sail is suspended.

 

Broaching - When a sailboat turns into a strong wind through which the rudder cannot compensate, causing the masts to lay horizontal and risk capsizing.

 

Masthead - More commonly known as the Crow's Nest. Specifically a masthead with guard rails or roof to shelter a lookout.

 

Jibs, Trysails, Spankers, Topsails, Topgallants, oh my! I found a pretty useful diagram to use in place of me trying to describe what each of these sails is!

 

 

[Ryanti]

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 either… something different or something more between each dream they had. They were all linked to that object’s wish, and were set out to fulfill it. Four of them knew what they were getting into, but there was a fifth that didn’t.

 

“So you’re going up there?” The white haired Hyqo’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? “I am going up there. I have nothing to do here. I enjoy being out there.” 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 people’s lives. In fact, enriching people’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 – 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 ‘accident’ 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.

 

“Though I do have a feeling that I have caused more death than prevented, I am afraid.” 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 P’welro’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 except… more like a picturebook.

 

He hadn’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 P’welro something of his own: proper speech. “So if you want to say something like... Vineyard, it is just all about being patient and waiting for the word to say itself. Because you’re rushing to the end of the word, y’know?” He had said to her.

 

It was a good memory to him. How did those exchanges go? Vineyard, V’eyard. No, Vin, like Fin but with a V! Vi- Don’t just give up so easily now! How am I going to ever take you to a ball, P’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 P’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 P’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 was… 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 Ryanti’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.

 

“I am going with you too.” Ryanti said to Jonathan as he too started to dress himself in his meek sailor’s wears that he had become best friends with over the course of days. “It’s not like I am going to ilm myself any more sleep.”

 

“Hmm.” 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. “Something tells me it is not because you are aching to get back to work.”

 

“Perhaps not.” Ryanti admitted, standing up on one tied boot while tying the other. “But… 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 don’t want to miss something like that when I have the chance to see it.”

 

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. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go, go! Get out!”

 

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. “Yes sir, heh.” 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? Azeyma’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. Ryanti’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. “It’s so nice out here, when it’s quiet and the stars are out as they are. It’s so different too. Beautiful. Endless.”

 

He smiled warmly at who he was talking to – the First Mate whom Ryanti was observing from a fair distance as he walked from the mainmast, to the middle of the deck. “Do you need someone to help you with anything, P’welro? I … didn’t want to miss the sunrise. So I’m up early.”

[Sounsyy]

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]

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 didn’t want to feel guilty just standing still when he had gotten himself up upon the main deck that dawn’s eve. As always, his ears were open to P’welro’s explanations. He had learned so much about the ship’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 P’welro for all she was doing. When she mentioned how the sight of the sunrise would be better seen from the Crow’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 Crow’s Nest itself. “I’ll take warning though, I promise.” 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 Crow’s Nest and observed the Navigator’s fiery awakening shade upon the fabric of the horizon’s peak. He did not squint his eyes but barely. The sun’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 sun’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 Captain’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 Captain’s cabin. He had looked that way briefly before focusing on where he was. As Sounsyy gave her quiet orders to P’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 morning’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 was… 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. “Have you ever heard of a man by the name od Saint Coinach?”

 

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. “He 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.”

 

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. “Before him, historians believed that the rise of the Fifth Astral Era saw civilization reach a high point, and that was –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 Hydealyn’s history where civilizations reached a pinnacle the world has never seen again.”

 

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. “Saint 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 ‘Allagan Empire’ that spanned over most of the land in the three great continents. It was said during Coinach’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 just… vanished.”

 

He solemnly rested his gesturing hand onto the wooden pole that he sat upon, tightening up his shoulders in a bit of a stretch. “That is common knowledge to anyone interesting in looking it up. But… what the world doesn’t know is just how small we are compared to what they were. How their technology would make the Garleans look like bronze-age cavemen… 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.”

 

He paused for a moment, allowing himself a moment to moisten his parched throat with a swallow. “The 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.”

 

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. “That 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 it… ‘came to life’. 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.”

 

He rested his hands back onto the pole and relaxed himself a bit, locking glances with her once more. “So… 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 ago… there were other souls that lived and worked around that object. That key. Those souls either… 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.”

 

His feet rocked back and forth for a moment longer. “And 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. Y’know, by the Allagans.” He smiled a little. “I may not be the most experienced on this ship, but... I’ve done this job enough times to know that they have picked us. That they are.”

 

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. “May I?”

[Sounsyy]

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]

Ryanti had seen eyes like those before. The blank stare. He was no stranger to that emotion. He had lived in Ul’Dah after all. He had witnessed the dim, hopeless refugee. The financially broke merchant. The lowest slaves of the low cleaning after people’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 didn’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 Sounsyy’s expression, Ryanti’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.

 

Ryanti’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. Sounsyy’s eyes may have followed her hand, but Ryanti’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 ship’s bow echoed off of his ears. “It’s very familiar.” 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. “I have those dreams too. As if I am someone else. Swimming in darkness one moment… and falling from the sky in the next. The lights you see – 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 – 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 moon’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 them… and their story. That is what I think it means, at least.”

 

He fell silent as he continued to examine her bruised and battered hand. “We all get those dreams. Me, my partners. Now you. But you’re not alone. I see the difference, y’know. I see the lack of rest in your eyes. I can tell these dreams trouble you so. Don’t let it. They are not malicious if you don’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, you’ll sleep well. Besides… there are no words to describe how breathtaking it can be to see it. To see that world.”

 

He exhaled one long, slow breath through his nose. His right hand inched ever closer to that injured left hand. He said nothing, he just… didn’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.

 

“It’s suffocating. It needs air. At least for a little while.” 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. “The bone – I would maybe see Forty-three. He mentioned pursuing a physician career. He could probably… help straighten it out. It would hurt, yes, but the bone would need to be straightened out to heal properly… or… “

 

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. “… something.”

[Sounsyy]

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.

 

 

 

Athwartship - Direction laterally across a ship. In a port to starboard or starboard to port direction.

 

 

[Ryanti]

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 insanity…

 

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 now… 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 didn’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.

 

“What about new memories?” He said, as if she was still next to him but she of course wasn’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. “If 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?” 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, Ryanti’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.

 

Sounsyy’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 Sounsyy’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 here…

 

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 Quartermaster’s strong blue eyes coming from below deck, he blinked. He had never seen her before in such bright sunlight. Based on Sounsyy’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 didn’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 Captain’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 Sounsyy’s elbow. However, it was intercepted by the elbow of another; Jonathan’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. “Eight!” Jonathan called out with a harsh voice. Eighty-five didn’t even respond as she had already broke out in a vicious sprint towards Jada.

 

 

Ryanti had come in from the Captain’s flank and swung in an overhead blow, only to be swatted away. Jonathan flanked from her other side and his blade found Sounsyy’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 Sounsyy’s sweep. It sent him flipping errantly and landing hard on the wooden deck back first.

 

Before the Lalafell’s back hit the floor, Eighty-five had tackled Jada in a wreckless fashion to the ground as she was about to fire. The ship’s tilt during their grappling had caused the gun to jump from Jada’s hand and onto the floor. Eighty-five had Jada on her back, straddling her. She threw a flurry of closed fists to Jada’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 – 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.

 

Sounsyy’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, Sounsyy’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 Ryanti’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 wasn’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 Lancer’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-five’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 other’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-five’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 wielder’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 Lancer’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 Captain’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, Jonathan’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 friggin’ 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.

 

Ryanti’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 spear’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 didn’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 Jada’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 Jada’s grip and she viciously slammed the girl on her back. She was done. But her hand was on the gun.

 

Eighty-five’s demise happened at the time of the Captain’s desperate yell. Forty-three had been legitimately hurt by the spear’s clubbing hit, as his head was already not what it used to be because of his previous injuries to his skull. But Jonathan’s eyes quickly flashed over because of the Lalafell’s painful moan. It was this that saved Sounsyy’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 ship’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 Ryanti’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 other’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 Sounsyy’s arm and forcing her on defense.

 

This was becoming more than a ‘little’ 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. “Seven!” He called out to him. He knew he didn’t have to give the order. Ryanti’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 Sounsyy’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 couldn’t run anymore. He had to stand his ground.

 

Ryanti’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 hadn’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 Ul’Dah’s barracks, Sentinal’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 hadn’t belonged. Like he wasn’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 protect… 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 Jada’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 family’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 family’s lineage –probably-, -maybe-, -might- have done what he was doing, it didn’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 wasn’t his, cutting Jada’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 spear’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 Ryanti’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 Crow’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 – 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. “It is… so much harder… to do this… without my staff… “He 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 didn’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 wasn’t stopping, he placed two fingers up against his nose and let out a cough. He needed some help.