Dust To Dust [Closed]

[Sounsyy]

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

[Ryanti]

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

 

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

 

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

 

Eighty-five was as still as a statue. She had that one arm over her head, and she was completely still right in the spot where Jada laid her out on her ass. Ah well, at least she was able to get in a few hits herself? Yes, that was right! Jada’s face didn’t look the same! Take that you! Still, it wasn’t enough to remove the rather exaggerated frown on her face. Her temperamental mentality of being the best bitch in the business had been overruled by a quartermaster. Sheesh.

 

But she didn’t hate her or anything. On the contrary, she thoroughly enjoyed the contest despite losing in the end. When Jada asked her the golden question, the frown turned into a devilish smirk. “Hmph! Of course I can!” She retorted, swinging the arm off of her face and rolling onto her knees, dusting off her shoulders and giving her a thumbs up. “Your hand-to-hand is like my mirror, like you’re a sister from another life or something! So I’ll declare right now: anytime, anyplace, rematch!” She exclaimed, balling that same hand up in a fist and smiling through the bit of blood on her lip towards the other woman. “And I’ll make sure to keep you alive until that time comes, sister!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Meanwhile, the young Veanysus tried to focus his vision until the blurriness went away. It was only the soothing touch of Cwaenlona’s care that finally made his heart rate go down. The blood stopped a minute or two after, and he closed his aquamarine eyes. There wasn’t much to dwell on what happened, as memories during times of strife was one of the more difficult ones to recall in vivid detail.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

[Sounsyy]

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"Brace!"

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

[align=center]~Day #4~[/align]

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

[align=center]~Day #5~[/align]

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

[align=center]~Day #7~[/align]

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

 

[align=center]...Day #8...[/align]

[Ryanti]

[align=center]Day 8: 0400 Hours

Garlean Exploratory Naval Vessel: The Ganesha

Simulation Room 004[/align]

 

 

“Advanced Gauntlet Simulation Procedure: Defense Course completed. Your current tally for today’s training session: One thousand, three hundred and twelve successful parries. Two hundred and fifty-six successful ripostes recorded in a total of… ten runs. Would you like to continue?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

--

 

[align=center]0500 Hours[/align]

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I am afraid that is for the Tribunal’s eyes only.” He said with a hoarse breath as he let go, causing her to stumble a step or two before losing her composure. She dusted off her military garb of pure black and saluted him. “My apologies sir.”

 

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

 

--

 

[align=center]The Roehmerl

0700 Hours

Indigo Deep[/align]

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Ryanti also had a section for private thoughts: a short diary of sorts. He wrote about his feelings, experiences… and the trip. He also wrote about others. Many words were written in there about Pamido’s stories. About Jada’s skills. There was a great bit about P’welro, and of course, about Sounsyy herself. Those were the hardest to look over after he had written down those words. They also were the two people Ryanti wrote about the most in his book. Now he was on his third section of the notebook, divided by tabs. This was where he doodled random sketches as he saw fit. But this time it wasn’t random. He was taking a lot of time with these sketches. He was being serious about them. All the while, through the hours that he stayed awake alone, he doodled, and thought about those people. He probably didn’t have time to do something for everyone. Actually, he knew he didn’t. But he at least wanted to do it for some.

 

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

 

“Why don’t we ask the Keeper.” Forty-three finally said after that long moment of silence. “Ryanti – what do you think that message meant?”

 

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

 

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

 

One hour…

 

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

 

She felt alone in this group. And it hurt.

 

 

 

(1): Terminus has a cape like this. Except it is on his left shoulder and extends to his feet:

 

(2): Similar to Lt. Hawkeye's hair:

 

[Sounsyy]

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

 

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

 

"Whatever comes, we'll be ready."

 

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

 

"Shift were changed early as yeh asked," she said, "we'll 'ave all men on deck fer when we arrive, ready n' rested. Marjanie gives us another three bells afore we're at the coordinates."

"Understood," Sounsyy said, nodding and handing the remainder of her bottle to P'welro, "Have everyone awake by nine. Gives us a bell to organize. The Sharlayan crew will dive, do what must needs be done, and when they resurface we're about ship and headed straight fer that rendezvous to be done with this."

 

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

 

"Something wrong, lass?"

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"I trust yeh all rested well?"

[Ryanti]

“Doesn’t mean you can’t ever spoil us.” The young man said back.

 

Ryanti remembered the first time they had stumbled into the mess hall all of those days ago. It was different back then. He remembered feeling the same feeling one would feel if they were on stage for the first time. It was frightening, and he remembered being so nervous. Nervous over being accepted, nervous over looking the part. Nervous over winning everyone’s trust. He wasn’t sure how far they have gone within this week of sailing, but it was nice to not feel those bad feelings anymore. He felt normal now. Comfortable. So did the rest of the crew. Jonathan was always walking around like he owned the place, though. Ryanti believed that man only had one mode; hard work and hard working.

 

Eighty-five tried to shake off her emotions with a light sigh, burying the thoughts by distracting herself with a sudden ambush hug. Her target (or victim) was none other than Susuroon. “Susu!” She shouted with excitement as she nearly caught the Qiqirin off balance with the sudden advancement. “Good morning!”

 

Young Seventy-Seven smiled lightly when Marjanie passed him. He really needed that acknowledgement, that assurance. Sometimes it was hard to face the situation that you were all alone in this waning and creaking vessel. He had felt terrible, absolutely terrible about P’welro, and the past few days had been quite heavy on him. In the back of his mind, he still wondered how he was able to partake in the vision that she experienced. Being a part of this Unit meant that Ryanti was incredibly used to being taken somewhere else, to witness a story or a memory, or something important. But this was not a dream induced by residual aether, no. This was different. He could not quite pinpoint the reason it happened, but it just made him concerned even more for P’welro and for everyone else.

 

He had grown close to these people. Already he was thinking about how he could possibly see them after everything was over. However he had already been chastised by Jonathan a night or two ago. Something about keeping his mind in the moment. That was what their entire crew was doing, actually. All of them wore incredibly heavy and focused faces when they were not solemnly distracted by something. They were all deep in thought about the mission they were about to perform. The aura about him foretold that their job was –very- serious and –very- sensitive work, perhaps sensitive unlike any other sensitive mission Sounsyy had been on to date.

 

It was nice, then. To have slept well for once. “We all received adequate rest.” Jonathan responded to her statement. The blunt man sat himself down on the bar’s end, and began to pick and choose from the food that was available. He was very specific in his choices, making sure to only ingest the healthiest of the mix. He even proportionalized it so that it would create the best situation for his digestive system to absorb. “We’re very thankful of the efforts of this crew to assist us. My men are ready. If all goes according to plan, we should be sailing north by evening’s bell today or tomorrow, with no further incidents. We need time today to focus on chores of our own, which including cleaning our equipment and getting it ready.”

 

“Does that mean we can party after we’re done?” Eighty-five mentioned, with a giggle. She had swiftly came back to the bar top and sat herself down. The hug from Susuroon brought a bit of her old self back.

 

Jonathan smirked a little bit and actually managed to snort. Holy crap, he was showing emotion! Then again, he had enjoyed himself quite a bit that last night. He had actually demonstrated to the crew that he knew how to play a lute. There were other reasons why his fingertips were calloused besides business and building boats. “Not exactly. We would still have ultra-sensitive information on board. We would have to be very vigilant until the cargo is transferred. Then once the Roehmerl returns to friendly water, then they can party.”

 

“But we’ll be gone by then...” She said, her words trailing off. She silently took a clean plate of her own and began to pile food on their randomly. While she had briefly became her old self, she was now once again despondent in her facial expression, seemingly consumed by thought as she quietly ate at nowhere near the pace that she used to.

 

“I see that you got some rest yourself.” Ryanti mentioned at the Captain, his glance examining where the dark bags under her eyes used to be. “You look better without those black lines.” Like he had before, Ryanti had taken a seat next to the Captain. He smiled a little awkwardly and paused for a moment, taking a little bite out of the food he had placed on his plate. He looked equally serious. His eyes were filled with determination, and preparation. It was the very familiar look, a look of someone about to go to work. He was mentally preparing himself from venturing into the darkness, with no idea of what to expect. But something pulled at him, the very same feeling that allowed him to sit next to her. There was a feeling, something that he could not explain. A feeling that their fates were tied together somehow. That there was something he didn’t know. It scared him.

 

“The only words that we could discern was ‘stand firm’. That was all that happened. I saw nothing else. It was just all black.” He mentioned, in a quiet and empathetic voice. He had no clue that Sounsyy had seen so much more. The will of the artifact did not speak to him anything more than was necessary. For him, he just had to know. For the Captain, however…

 

“Whatever happens… we’re ready. As ready as we will ever be. Don’t worry for us… we’re in this together. You got pulled into all this, so… the best thing I can do is make you happy you were.” He had nearly looked at her. Nearly smiled. But during Ryanti’s reassurance, something was happening a few seats down.

 

“There once was a woman I knew who would always sit in the corner of the room during lunch hour at my old school. When anyone approached her to try to talk to her, she would always say something about how she preferred to eat alone. Something about enjoying the flavor in silence being a better experience for her. Of course when you were in the kind of school I was in, you learned to deal with people that may or may share the same cust-“ It looked like Forty-three was rambling again with some story of his, like he always seemed to do. Some individuals loved hearing his tales, but Eighty-five wasn’t really feeling it that day. She had her fist resting on her cheek and her eyes glinted towards the Captain. It was obvious Forty-three was trying to help, but… “Thanks Forty-three. Really. You don’t have to. I know you care.”

 

The Lalafell looked at her with a bit of a frown, feeling a little helpless in aiding her. “Ah… I see. I’m sorry, young lady. My thoughts just wander sometimes.”

 

Eighty-five sighed a bit, shaking her head. No, it was true that she was suffering on the inside, but… there was something more pressing right now. Something more immediate that she was having a hard time dealing with. She was certainly struggling with it on the inside. “No. It’s okay. Just… just…”

 

And so, right when Ryanti finished his words, the entire mess hall stood still in sudden silence as Eighty-five suddenly groaned out loud with a booming “Ugggghhhhh!”. Ryanti immediately turned around with his hands up for some reason in some sort of protective posture, being caught completely off guard. Jonathan nearly choked on his food.

 

Eighty-five suddenly stood up, after banging her two fists upon the table in front of her. “I just can’t take it anymore!” She yelled out. Had she finally lost her mind? Was all of this too much for her? She was a new person to this after all. Still green and still a reasonable rookie. It would have been realistic to have thought that.

 

But no, it wasn’t for any reason any one could have guessed. If they didn’t know her. Within moments, she had stormed out of her seat, walking behind Forty-three… Jonathan… Ryanti… and finally, hitting the brakes when she approached right behind the Captain. “This… THIS.” She viciously commented. What could she possibly be angry about? Just then, her hand had reached out and grabbed the hair band that tied up the Captain’s brunette hair. Within moments, she had yanked it off! The hair had rather sloppily fallen behind the Captain’s head! “We’re gonna fix this!”

 

Jonathan just stood still, his food still in his mouth. Perhaps he had forgotten to chew. Ryanti raised his hands up a bit and shook them back and forth. “E-eighty-five, what are y-“ He tried to say, but then was silenced by her whipping out a comb from her pocket. “Sssshhh!” She harshly mentioned to Ryanti. “If she’s a friggin’ Captain then she’s gotta have the hair of one!”

 

Ryanti made a slight noise of surprise and leaned a little back from her with wide eyes and clenched teeth. Oh, there was nothing the crew could do about this. The shock had begun to turn into repressed laugher. Her scorn in a matter between two women and fashion issues was so high that one would get ripped to pieces if anyone even came near her. “Miqo’te sailor girls are all the same these days. They don’t give a whoop about ladies fashion!” She exclaimed, combing through Sounsyy’s hair to try to get all of those neglected knots and split ends out. If any time she had tried to look back or protest, she simply said “Just keep eating, ma’am! I’m in the middle of saving your womanhood!”

 

Her obscene comments about the state of her hair nearly drove the mess hall mad with laughter. “That perpetual wetness ain’t from water droplets from sailing the seas, honey. That’s from your hair weeping!” She had gripped the woman’s hair a bit and pointed her comb at the Qiririn. “Susuroon! Get the wine opener!”

 

She fully combed throughout Sounsyy’s locks a last few times. It had looked much more velvety now. Like a light brown blanket of hair. It had gone from fighting the Captain to serving her. “Twelve’s Graces I need to send you some things after this mission. Susuroon!” She called out again, the Qiririn arriving in time to hand her the wine opener. “Now stand still, -please- stand still.” She begged the Captain.

 

First, she grabbed a thick bit of hair from one side of her hair. She placed the churchkey of the wine opener through one half of that thick bit, and then layered the other half over the churchkey. With a twist of the wine opener, she had created a braid. Even Ryanti had grown red in the face and laughed under his muffled lips, covered by his hand. Eighty-five was created a thick braid on the side of Sounsyy’s scalp. “We’re halfway there.” She said with a sigh and a swear under her breath, pinning the end of that braid at the back of her head up with a bobby pin.

 

She repeated the same process on the other side. This labor was taking a lot out of her. Mentally more than physically. “I hope you remember what I’m doing ‘cause I ain’t gonna be around here for long.” She complained, forcing more laughter out of the group. It was a great distraction for her… at least she would be able to fix –this- problem. “This is a crash course girl, because you shoulda learned this at fourteen. No butts!”

 

A few twists, a few tugs later, and the young lady grabbed whatever hair remained, and squeezed it –tightly- together. Moments later, she snapped it up into a ponytail, and combed the hair down until she was satisfied. She snapped the comb down upon the table next to her, and unhooked the bobby pins. It stayed! “Clean dish, Susuroon! Get the cleanest one!” She ordered, pointing a finger at him to have him hurry.

 

Hurridly, the Qiririn went to go find one. He returned moments later, holding up the cleanest dish he could find. It was not as perfect of a reflection as a mirror, but it sufficed. She held it up to the Captain, showing her face by bending herself over her. “Now –that- is what a Captain looks like!” Amid the clapping and the whistling cheers, Ryanti still sat. The little smile on his face lingered, but the sparkle in his eyes were much more evident of a smile than his lips were.

[Sounsyy]

Sounsyy wasn't entirely sure how to respond to Ryanti's comment that she looked better without dark circles so she took another bite of food and listened instead to him speak of the dream. Theirs were different? A mild sense of dread filled the Captain at the thought - why was she different? She chewed the food well past when it was ready for swallowing. She noticed and swallowed the cud down. She had a rather blank look as she contemplated just what to tell them.

 

"There were mo-"

 

It was at that moment that Eighty-five let out her outburst. Sounsyy, along with a few others in the room, turned to look at the Miqo'te. Then the unthinkable. The Miqo'te got up and marched right over to the Captain and grabbed her hair tie. There was a stillness about the room, as if no one wanted to breath for fear it might trigger a nearby bomb to detonate. Sounsyy looked wide-eyed at the girl's first approach, then she passed a piercing look over her shoulder. Yet that didn't seem to phase Eighty-five and, against all expectations, the Captain allowed her to proceed. She returned to her plate and held it in one hand, close to her chest, so she didn't have to move her head much to eat.

 

Everyone was still staring in awe at the proceedings. Pamido Wolmido turned his gaze from Captain to Eighty-five and back again several times before finally clearing his throat. "Ahem, lass has brass. Fhruhsunn woulda like to 'ave fainted."

 

Sounsyy made a small hmm-ing noise after she had swallowed her food and washed it down with a bit of grog. "Still don't mean I won't keelhaul her if it look like shite," Sounsyy said flatly in reply to the Lalafell, who laughed. Susuroon still had his mouth slightly agape. His currencies trembled slightly at the thought of his favorite of the new crew members being drug under the bottom of the boat.

 

One of the crew still sitting in the Mess, a Midlander woman named Sloane, edged out of her seat and quietly made her exit up the steps. Returning but a few minutes later with several other crew members who all were trying to duck their heads down the stairs to get a good look at the proceedings. The more Eighty-five fussed, the more difficult it became to control their laughter. Pamido Wolmido was trying hard to maintain a straight face, especially as he was within arm's reach of the Captain. Eventually he found the urge too overpowering and he began to snicker aloud.

 

"Y'think after she done wit yeh Cap'n she could do meh hair up all pretty?" He said, but Sounsyy passed him a sidelong glare. "Afore she gets her beatin' that is!"

 

Raucous laughter emanated from the direction of the stairs. She was gonna shake her head, but Eighty-five had a firm hold of her hair, preventing such exaggerated motions. Eighty-five kept on, chastising the Captain for her lack of fashion sense. Sounsyy snorted some, "I learned, just weren't ever very good at it. Never found the need fer it." This, of course, wasn't the full truth, but it was close enough.

 

Sounsyy waited out the entire procedure, despite the show of it all. It was true that the Roehmerl's crew had never seen their Captain fancy up her hair or attire. It was always kept short or held up in a sloppy ponytail. To see her submitting to this kind of attention was quite foreign to them. Though perhaps it was because none of them had ever tried anything so brazen.

 

When it was finished, she heard the clapping and cheers from the gathering crew. She sent them a cross look and barked, "I'm sure I can find tasks suitable fer the lot of yeh!" This resulted in a few snickering Aye Captain!'s before most dispersed back the way they had come. Sounsyy turned back to Eighty-five and regarded her reflection in the plate.

 

"Ain't bad," she said finally, "Pamido Wolmido grows out his beard a bit more, could probably braid that too."

"I think it'd cut quite the impressive figure, mehself," the Lalafell retorted. Sounsyy wasn't sure if he was referring to a braided beard or her own hair. She shrugged and finished off her morning grog. "Pamido Wolmido, go make sure the crew's doin' what needs doin' if yeh will?" The Lalafell laughed and dropped off his stool and made his way across the Mess, bellowing a most cheery tune for the entire ship to hear.

 

"Cap'n needs things doin', so's her pretty hairs don't come undone!

Yeh should all get a head-start runnin', afore she comes an' ruins our fun!"

 

Sounsyy leapt off the barstool and started hopping on her right leg after the singing Lalafell. She managed to pull off her left boot and chuck it at him, but the man had disappeared up the stairs when he saw the boot come sailing towards him. Now it was just the six of them left in the room - Sounsyy, Susuroon, and the Sharlayan crew. Sounsyy made to go retrieve her boot while Susuroon clapped both his tiny paws over his mouth to keep himself from laughing.

 

"Susuroon thinks Miss Eighty-five made Captain look prettiest of pretties. Spare poor Susuroon Captain's other boot!"

 

Sounsyy snorted by the stairs, as she pulled her boot back on. "Twelve-damned thing's too hard to get on n' off," she muttered.

[Ryanti]

It was perhaps one of the most lighthearted and best moments on the ship for the Sharlayan crew in the midst of their eight day voyage. There was not a second in the entire ordeal where they could afford to keep their eyes off of the Captain and her crew leering at her experience.

 

Forty-three had resorted to burping out the same kinds of statements over and over again. The phrases of oh dear and goodness gracious were liberally used, as well as adjusting his glasses due to the contorts of his face as a result of the surprise he felt in witnessing the act.

 

Jonathan was the only crew member that continued to eat, but it could not stop him from smirking from one corner of his lips to another. Even a snort escaped him once or twice. He seemed to stare at his food about as much as he stared at the Captain, his mind winding back in time when he had a wife. He remembered the smell of roasted garlic and onions on a simple cooking pot laced with butter. He remembered her bickering about her looking good for the public’s eye. These women issues reminded him of her. His eyes simmered in a reflection of both happiness and sadness.

 

Ryanti had been silently rubbing his index finger and his thumb together as he witnessed the aftermath of what had happened. The feeling of witnessing the entire crew come down; to see them cheer and laugh and even sing implanted his gut with a warm feeling. There was a little bit of pain in that feeling, but it was only because he was not used to it. He had never felt like he belonged anywhere, shifting from place to place and bouncing back and forth in-between one situation after another. There had never been a sense that he was supposed to be part of the moment. He never felt that he fit in anywhere. Yet even though he was not the best at fitting in with sailors, he felt like he belonged in the moment, and to witness this happen made him feel like smiling. So he did.

 

Eighty-five had held her firm composure through it all. She was hell-bent on teaching the Captain a little lesson about looking her part. She did not give a marmot’s ass what rank the woman was. In her mind, issues about feminine upkeep transcended all races and creeds, and for Thal’s sake SOMEONE had to say SOMETHING about it eventually. Though she upheld this composure even with the pirate lord’s little tune, she finally lost it when Sounsyy decided to get up and take action. She covered her lips with a giggle and stomped her foot a few times upon the deck to shake off her fits.

 

“Looks good Eighty-five.” Jonathan mused, stuffing his mouth with a bit more bite before speaking through his chewing. His words were short, but honest and rather serious to die down the teasing a little bit. “Turned the ma’am into a madam, you did. Well at least one step of the way.”

 

“Well, she won’t be throwing a boot Susuroon’s way, that’s for sure. If she even makes an attempt to I’ll protect the poor creature.” Eighty-five mused, shifting her weight so that she leaned more towards and in front of the Qiqirin. She had her arms crossed, and her lips in a curled grin. “And don’t underestimate me, they called me the Champion Bootlegger in my last job, and that title involves the word ‘boot’ so don’t try it!”

 

Ryanti had been sitting there the whole time, playing with his food more so than taking any kind of bites. He had glanced a few times at her hair after Eighty-five had styled it up. He had never seen her hair like that before since he had introduced himself to her. Even when he had ran into her outside of Ul’Dah’s city limits she was sporting that same ponytail that he saw on her this morning.

 

He had grown rather timid and quiet since all of the commotion. It was a trait unlike him when he was in his normal spirits. Being there for the crew’s warm little moment was not the only emotion he was wrestling with. He felt that he couldn’t look at her while feeling them. Not for too long. Or else she would have the chance to look back. He was afraid of what she would see in him if she did look back during that moment. Afraid of whether or not she would see the expression a boy or a man.

 

He remembered times when she had hair like that… it was long ago, when she was in the Bloodsands. He didn’t know whether or not the times she did have her hair styled up in every which way were done by Sounsyy herself, or by someone else, but he could recall those images of her. Back then though, he was glancing from afar as part of a mob of individuals that he was sure she would have never picked him out from. Even if he would have screamed at the top of his lungs. Not now, though. Not anymore.

 

He wanted to complement her on the hair, but he had a feeling that Sounsyy disliked complements about her body or... anything about it, really. A trait that he felt he might share with her.

 

He wanted to bring up his memories of the times where she did have her hair like that, but he did not know whether or not it was a matter of his past that she intended to keep private. So what would be the right thing to say, then? What would be right?

 

“You know what she looks like, actually? With her hair like that?” Ryanti finally murmured, which temporarily distracted the Sharlayan crew from the Captain’s attention to him. He paused for a moment, shifting his posture a little bit so that he could glance at her from afar after those emotions subsided, in part because he found a solution of what to say. Eighty-five reacted with a little “Hm? What?” before Ryanti spoke again.

 

“She reminds me of one of those… warriors from the Bloodsands. The kind that you would put on flyers around town where I’m from. The type that would be as strong as a brown bear and tough as nails yet graceful besides. One that despite all that would never let anyone forget that she was a woman. Especially in the minds of star struck fools. I think she looks like one of those.”

 

So far, Ryanti and his unit displayed their ability to tie their dreams together with reality. Well now, Ryanti was tying reality into a dream. Telling her how he felt without making anyone else the wiser. A hidden smile was left on his lips after his judgement.

 

“A rather suiting description of her presence with that look.” Forty-three agreed. “A presence that a Captain would favor to have, I do say.”

 

“Ooo, you mean like a femme fatal?” Eighty-five suggested, placing a finger or two upon her chin as she pondered in thought. “Yeeeaahhh, Captain’s definitely that! One of those badass anti-heroes that you read in books and stuff. Shite yeah! Though she’s obviously more into water than sand y’loser!” She mentioned, making a sour face in jest at Ryanti, who just gave her a little shrug. “Alright you two.” Jonathan worded like an older brother would.

 

He cleared his throat to emphasize the point and stood up with a cleaned plate and a clean glass that had been drunk in full unlike the other two. “We will need some time to clean our equipment this morning. It’s very important that the salt from the air in these parts don’t contaminate the usefulness of our gadgets. They’re very prone to going back from a lack of maintenance. I trust you can let us have access to it. I do not wish the other eyes of this crew to look upon it.”

[Sounsyy]

Sounsyy had limped half booted back across the floor to her barstool, on which she sat just on the edge and tried to reapply her discarded boot. Her injured hand complicated matters, as it had begun shooting pain up her wrist whenever she applied pressure to it or tried to exercise its former dexterity. She was still grumbling to herself by the time she managed to slip the heel in and started re-lacing. Halfway through she stopped and looked up awkwardly at Ryanti and his subtle mention of the Bloodsands.

 

It was true that in those days she still wore her hair long. But it was only at the behest of her lanista that any upkeep of it was maintained. The damage had already been done. Sounsyy recalled telling the Lalafellin mentor, "Beauty won't save anyone." Though she kept this thought to herself in the presence of Eighty-five, she still held to that belief. There had been a time once, long ago, when primping had been a part of her daily ritual - her appearance tantamount to her self esteem - but now she had no one to impress and had little love for looking at herself in the mirror anyways.

 

"Hmph, femme fatale?" Sounsyy shook her head at the ground, returning her focus to her boot. She finished, stood, and flexed her foot around in its boot a moment before turning to Jonathan. "Yeh, as fun as all the banter is, I'm sure yer ready to get underway with what we're here fer. Jada has yer gear stowed away in the armory, if yeh talk to her she'll show yeh to it so yeh can get situated. Morning report estimated we'd arrive in another bell and some. So I suggest yeh get what must needs be done with some haste."

 

She turned towards Susuroon and gave him a look, which caused the tiny beastman to quiver some, as he had still been as yet unable to subdue his snickering over the whole affair.

 

"Susuroon..."

"A-aye captain!?"

"Need yeh in the Nest on lookout. I'll send Cwaenlona to finish yer duties here."

 

The Qiqirn nodded in relief and hopped away, skittering up the stairs into the armory above. Sounsyy shook her head as she watched him go. She turned to the rest of the group and beckoned for them to follow her out if they were done. Though whether they were or were not seemed irrelevant as the Captain made for the stairs herself without another moment's notice. She too had her duties to perform.

 

She crested the stairs and made her way over to Jada, who was in the process of rechecking their inventory on ropes and lines. Sounsyy whispered something in Jada's ear, to which the Keeper nodded, before the two separated. Sounsyy ascending to the main deck, passing Ryanti what might have been a quick smirk just before she disappeared from view, while Jada moved her way over to the makeshift, wrap-around counter stemming from the base of the bowsprit.

 

The agile Keeper ducked below the counter and a rustling noise could be heard from without. She popped back over the top holding a large metal key, which she held up to Jonathan. She gave a large, white-toothed smile at them all and pocketed the key.

 

"Much to my displeasure, per Captain's orders, your goods were not touched or tampered with. Is a large case though, so I had Fhruhsunn store it up on the half-deck," Jada said casually as she ascended the steps that led up to the Armory's half-deck. There, placed against one wall was the Sharlayan's coffer of goods they had brought with them their first night. Two lengths of heavy iron chains had been crisscrossed tightly over the top of the crate and bound with a padlock to prevent access. Jada knelt down and unlocked the chains and deposited them to either side. She stood and moved to one side to give them enough room to begin their own inspection, but the Quartermaster kept nearby, hopping up onto another crate and watched the group with her legs dangling idly off the side.

[Ryanti]

[align=center]The Roehmerl

0800 Hours...[/align]

 

Eighty-five had idly glanced back and forth, humming to herself as the Sharlayan crew were being escorted once again. She was in slightly better spirits it seemed. Both her glance and her humming betrayed her being in thought, though it seemed like she was playing more with those thoughts than thinking extremely deep about it. Who really knew when that woman could turn on her serious switch? It was a very back and forth thing with her. Though her calming down a tad was often the first symptom of that switch occurring.

 

Ryanti had not expected Sounsyy to smirk at him. Or did she? Was that little movement of her lips imaginary in his head, or did it actually happen? The young man was not necessarily keeping count but… he had always remembered the way the Captain would look at him and she had never done that before. Or did she do that? If she did, he felt kind of silly for not making a face back. So he watched her for a moment longer making her way up, his chance of finding out whether that smirk was real or fake long gone.

 

It was then that Eighty-five had slowed her pace down a bit to walk parallel to Ryanti. He brushed a white lock of his aside, her little motion not going unnoticed but he said nothing for now.

 

Jonathan bent his gaze towards the key, not at all being effected by Jada’s little smile. While Eighty-five had a smirk on her face and Forty-three was trying to understand the gestures of shady individuals younger than him would make, Jonathan had the look on him like a scornful older brother protecting his sheep, and the flock included this ship. “It is incredibly wise that they do not be touched or tampered with. They are very dangerous and have extreme potential to be mis-used, Quartermaster. They are not familiar to most who graze this realm, and ignorance is an extreme danger.”

 

Eighty-five let out a little bit of air from her swollen cheeks in the way one would take an awkward breath watching someone else say something a bit prickly. But Jonathan wasn’t really all that phased. Forty-three had quite the serious look on his face however, his spectacles reflecting the light bouncing off from the windowsill. The makeshift leader of the unit took himself to the crate, and the Sharlayan crew took all of the space that they had to work with their equipment.

 

Upon peeling open the crate, they got to work. The first thing that the group did was very carefully pull out the weapons. They were guns, that was for sure, but they were far from muskets, designed in a way that neither resembled Garlean gunblades or even revolving rifles. They were foreign in make as they were with their components. They possessed parts inside of their mechanical systems that moved. These moving parts adjusted themselves based on what the Sharlayan crew did.

 

Both Ryanti and Eighty-five took the rifles and walked over to their own side of the room while Jonathan and Forty-three settled to the other. Jonathan tasked himself with the responsibility of making sure that the Sharlayan operative suits were working. Some sounds of air compression were heard as he tested the gear upon the suit responsible for being able to dive underwater. It was a sophisticated set up of micro-fiber air tubes that covered the suit like skinny veins all over. As the suits were very form-fitting and designed for supreme athletic use, nothing could get in the way of comfort and durability. Which was why the scuba gear on the suits were highly advanced, as was the resin in the armor meant to block blades as well as bullets and even partially explosive-proof. Only to an extent, of course.

 

He tested a few diagnostics, and a couple of small lights turned on in several parts of the suit before he turned it off again. He did this for all four of the suits. Meanwhile, Forty-three was examining his staff, which seemed to be made of either pure silver or some kind of alloy similar to it. Attached in the lunar crescent-shaped tip of it was a crystal of aether, which laid dormant and unlit. It was rather plain from an outsider’s point of view, but in fact the staff was extremely efficient.

 

“These gadgets are not necessarily sensitive to being left alone. They are durable for a reason after all.” Jonathan murmured to Forty-three in private. “But I do not like the fact that we have not even tested this batch of equipment yet. It is something that I expected to do on this vessel. But the element of trust did not initially exist on this vessel and still doesn’t to a point.”

 

“Mmm.” Forty-three murmured in thought while listening to his conversation, then deciding to chime in his own input with a mild sigh. “Any group of individuals that appear strange and abnormal and simply not what anyone is used to are bound to be difficult to earn trust for. It is the nature of our line of work – we do what we do because it has to be done, but it is something that the common man would perhaps call… a little suspicious.”

 

Jonathan shrugged a little, handling the suits with the expertise of even a seamstress, checking for anything wrong with the threading. “When I was a lad the term normal was vastly different than what the simple Vlyibrand bumhead would call normal. My definition of normal was watching men in black march down the neighboring road of my community and drag away secrets. Nay, these people aboard this vessel are as abnormal as we are, just in a different way. Ain’t a damn one of us cosigning to simple lives any time soon. But the point that has to be driven home is that we cannot live divided if we ever hope to defend ourselves, and our homes. For all of us. ”

 

Ryanti overheard a few words from their conversation, but they didn’t exactly register. He was too deep within his own thoughts. Those thoughts were like a whirling torrent, and he kept himself busy by tending to the weapons in order to not be swept away by the current. Despite the incredibly complicated make of the rifle that he held with both of his hands, it was rather simple to take apart. Squeeze a pin here. Unlatch there. Snapping sounds were heard as the weapon opened up to him. Mechanical pieces bending to his will. Ryanti was a natural at adopting. It was one of the many reasons why he was brought into the covert program. There were other reasons, of course. He had dreamed of a better world, a world without croaky old wooden houses, tarnished ale in an unclean glass and chocobo stables stinking up yet another povery-rotten neighborhood. But at the heart of all that lied a simple calling. A desire to better society. To better people. To live to his full potential… and to be the hand to save lost souls from the storm.

 

It was at this time that Eighty-five had sat next to him, casually taking apart as small revolver as Ryanti took apart the larger weapon. At first, she hummed quietly, like a mother would while sewing or washing the clothes. But then the humming stopped, and Ryanti flicked his eyes towards her once or twice while doing his own thing. Suddenly, she spoke, and the words seem to come out of nowhere yet… Ryanti was expecting them.

 

“The stuff you said back there. About the Bloodsands, and the fool. That’s all true, isn’t it?” She finally said, the little smile on her face hiding from the fact that it was a difficult question for her to ask, as she was not sure how Seventy-seven would react to such a probe. But Ryanti didn’t really seem all that affected by her asking. Maybe he knew that it was inevitable that someone asked. He had always noticed that despite being the class clown, Eighty-five was always extremely observant of everything going on around her to an insane degree. It was part of the reason why she had made the cut too. Ryanti answered her with a slight smile back, the kind of smile that was impossible to hide. “Maybe.”

 

“Ahhhh..” The young lady said back, her voice trailing off near the end of her response as she tinkered a bit with the revolving component of the piece, spinning it back into place. She then wiped the gun with a microfiber cloth that also was from the crate before setting it back down inside of it. In its place, she picked up the second rifle as Ryanti placed the first rifle down and got himself a revolver to clean. As Eighty-five was scraping the sea salt off of the inner barrel of that rifle, she spoke again. “It makes so much sense now. Heheh. Everything.” She mentioned. Less was more in the case of her statement. Ryanti slowed down a little bit after hearing that, seemingly staring at nothing.

 

“It’s kind of simpler than you would think, actually. Y’know?” Eighty-five chimed in to wake the young man up, who found it hard to look at the woman now so he kept his focus on the weapon he held in his hands. He tilted the gun a few times in his soft grip, watching as the rays of sunlight danced off of his fingernails, his knuckles, and the metallic glean of the pistol. These were not hands of a sailor. At all.

 

“I mean… “ Eighty-five continued on, with a little happy sigh as she inspected the firing pin, running a cloth about the stock of the rifle. “All you really have to do, is just… stay alive. Stay alive long enough.”

 

Ryanti lifted up the weapon and looked down the iron sights, pointing the end of the barrel outside of the window, and closing one eye to test how it felt in his hands. The last time he made a pose like that with the weapon, he had killed someone. But having committed that act did not make him lose his soul. Not in the least.

 

He glanced back at Eighty-five rather timidly. He knew what she was talking about, and there was enough gesture in his posture to suggest to her that he was listening, which made her smirk a little. “Stay alive long enough to show her that you won’t ever end up being just… like… taken away from this world in a blink of an eye, and if you were ever to be taken away from this world prematurely that.. you wouldn’t go down so easy. That you would always live. Y’know?”

 

Ryanti eyed her for a brief moment longer, setting the revolver down into the crate and slowly pulling out his own pair of Sharlayan goggles. He paced his thumbs along the metal of the device, glancing at his reflection in the lenses of the very special piece of equipment.

 

He heard the sound of Eighty-five placing the weapon back into the crate. “And stop trying to figure out what she bloody likes, yeah? I mean, you come up with P’welro’s little thing in like, what, an hour? Then you get on hers and it’s like you spend friggin’ days on it. ‘Cause you’re not trying to be yourself with it. I mean, that’s your best bet. To be yourself. So start over on the thing and just be you, yeah?”

 

Ryanti let out what sounded to be a mix of a sigh and a little chuckle. He was slightly embarrassed. But he had nothing to say to it. His eyes were a little heavy at this point though. His cleaning had become very slow with the lenses. Even now he glanced at those lenses and wondered how weird these damn things seemed. How weird he first looked in those sailor clothes. The thought came back to him, a thought he had on the first day: What the hell am I doing here? But then he recalled how much he felt like he belonged back in the mess hall. Maybe it wasn’t so weird… maybe he wasn’t.

 

“After all, you don’t want her to think of herself every time she looks at it after you give it to her, right?” Eighty-five had said just then.

 

Ryanti paused. His lips tightened, and he closed his eyes. His index finger and thumb pinched on both sides of his nose, where his eyes were. His ears moved, and Ryanti very rarely moved his ears. They had sunk down a little bit, but then sprung up softly, like a dandelion would in the early morning breeze.

 

To bend to the torrent, and then to rise again.

 

He eyed the reflection of himself in the right lense, slightly turning the goggles to capture Eighty-five’s image of herself in the left lense. It was the only way he could look at her at the moment. “Thank you, Eighty-five.” He murmured, with a renewed sparkle in his eye. She obliged him by staring into the lenses as well, leaning a little over and mused at the gadget. “Nah. It’s nothing. But hey, during –these- kinds of conversation, call me K’leura, okay?” She said in the quietest voice. “Sshh. Only Jada knows!”

 

Ryanti blinked his eyes a few times in momentary shock. It was absolutely against the rules to betray your name to your partner or to anyone that you work with on duty. It was a golden rule. THE rule. But… one thing the Sharlayan Government did not understand was the capacity for the operatives to be people. With feelings and emotions like everyone else. “And you can call me Ryanti, then.” He said back to her. “And only Sounsyy knows.”

 

_______

 

[align=center]Garlean Exploratory Naval Vessel: The Ganesha

Exploratory Coordinate 44-7C

0830 Hours[/align]

 

They had set a blistering pace and matched it with awe. Their Ceruleum engine had soared them through the defiant waters of the Indigo Deep, and despite the remarkable distance, they arrived to the target sight before the Lominsan Levy ever would have dreamed to sail in the amount of time they had been on the water.

 

The main deck of the vessel was bustling and alive. All men were on hand, standing in unison of two large rows that spanned the entire walkway from the fore to the aft. Their weapons were positioned in a parade rest, their gaze ever forward. A red quilted carpet had been laid down in a celebratory manner. This was done with the utmost behest, due in part to the moral of the Garleans. It was time to claim what was rightfully theirs.

 

The doors from the bridge parted open, revealing the Insidious Tribunus Terminus Sas Garvus, and his equally diabolical second-in-command Primus Cynthia Silverstien. The eyes of the Tribunus crawled their way from his left to his right, and then back again, thoroughly inspecting his awaiting Manipulus as they stood to honor his presence. Cynthia adjusted her glassed to the sun, carrying with her the all too subtle devilish smirk of a woman in power, and addicted to power as if it were her lover. The additional power she craved would come to her if this mission was a success, but her hunger would never be sated.

 

An optimal associate in the mind of Terminus, as they were all seeking a greater power that day. A power that would not only provide the Garlean Emperor with the means to rule the world with an iron fist, but also an opportunity to return to the world to the glorious, prosperous years it had once before, in a time so long ago that the populace had been completely and utterly daft of such an outcome for several millennia. No longer.

 

The duo slowly made their way out onto the deck, the Manipulus holding their posture until the Tribunal passed, where they would then hold their weapons up to safe port. Each of them were competing to see who could make the perfect posture, and position their weapon with such a snap that the man would notice. He took no head in turning his head to any of the men, however. The men as a result did not show any case of emotion in disappointment, for there was no reason to be with their results they were making so far.

 

They were making their way towards the foreside of the vessel where an Imperial probing machine had been sitting idle only for a few moments. A mere twenty minutes beforehand, it had emerged from the waters of the indigo after having completed a routine scan of the ocean floor. No anomaly was to hide from its ability to detect in the deep blue seas. The Garleans did not need a sixth sense to discover such things; they could do everything they set out for completely on their own.

 

The aether-dependant Tribunal paced towards the probe with heavy steps, completely disguising the sly ones made by the woman beside him. He narrowed his eyes at the machine that hovered above him, still dripping from it water of the ocean that sparkled in the early morning sunlight. The men on deck watched him as he issued a few input commands into the droid, which resulted in the machine booting an image on its screen that described a large portion of the ocean floor to the imposing man. As he dug through the information, he found what he was looking for. There was a massive unnatural shape near the bottom of the waters of where they were. Excellent. It must have been it. This must be it.

 

The man slowly spun around to address his people. His cape flowed like a dying curtain of the final act, his right arm raising in front of him in a method of addressing. A tiny blue light ignited upon his rebreather, a microphone function. His voice boomed across the deck as he spoke in the tone of a rough and commanding fashion. “The scouting venture has proven a success! Right at this moment we lie directly above our objective! Henceforth, starting today we will be committing all of our resources to mining those lost treasures that rest deep at the bottom of this ocean until we have explored and attained everything of interest! May the arms of man embrace its long lost treasure!”

 

The voices of the men on deck drowned out his last few syllables. His piercing eyes smiled for him as two staffers immediately began to roll the red carpet back, while the departing rows advanced back to their duties in single file one by one. Lights flickered. Machines booted. It was beginning of their conquest. *His* conquest.

 

Within the midst of his thoughts, he had pulled out his holographic piece once more. Upon activating it, the blurry image hovered above the contraption, and he looked down upon it with ambitious eyes. It was a holographic image of the Starship as it had been over five thousand years ago. It was a small vessel comparing it to other space-faring Allagan models, but it was still many times more massive than an average military naval vessel. The miniature blueprint spun around in a slow idle as the equally ambitious woman beside him glanced upon the contraption with an image of wonder in her eyes.

 

“That is it, then?” She said to him, briefly taking off her glasses to examine them with a more authentic perspective. “It’s wondrous... unbelievable.”

 

“Yes. This is what we will find underneath. Though it may have decomposed over thousands of years in a dark pit of salt water and grime, time and erosion was nothing to ancient Allag. Foes long vanquished.” He eyed the woman with what could be confused by others as an angry glare, but it was only the image of the Tribunal being… excited. “After our gambit, perhaps time will no longer be an enemy of Garlemald’s either.”

 

“Of course, your Excellency.” Miss Silverstein said in reply, bowing her head down to the man.

 

“Sir!” One of the watchers upon the ship suddenly cried out. The Tribunal did not flinch, a bit of aetherical dust emerging from his outfit as he took a large breath from his oxigenified mask. The young man of brunette hair and blue eyes ran up to the Commander, greeting him with a swift Garlean salute. “Foreign vessel spotted to the Southeast of us! Over the Horizon, coming into view now sir! Colors suggest an Eorzean vessel, Limsan Lominsian specifically sir!”

 

The Commander made a scoffing sound, which muffled underneath his rebreather as he tried to comprehend what he had just heard. A foreign vessel here? In the midst of territorial waters? Eorzea? With an annoying hmph, his words pierced through his mask. “Hand me your tool, watcher.” With that being an order, the watcher complied, allowing the Commander access to the augmented spying glass which was trapezoid in shape.

 

Terminus paced himself over to the side of the ship, equipping the goggles up to his face and activating them. With a light hum he was able to zoom in on the area in particular. He made a few horizontal swipes across the horizon, at first seeing nothing. But the man was patient and would not be so quickly to dismiss a threat. With a few more sweeps, he spotted it. It looked like a smaller vessel... a quick one. However, it had no banister, and possessed no flag. There was no obvious way of identifying the ship. “Tell me watcher. How did you surmise that this was an Eorzean vessel?”

 

“O-oh. Of course. I merely recognize the intricacies. The pattern of the wood work, sir. I was born in Vlyibrand, and I recognize the wood-make as a vessel from that area sir.” The watcher mentioned, with another salute.

 

“… Why is it by itself?” He asked out loud, moreso to himself than anyone. Cynthia could not see what he was seeing, but already her face had contorted into a suspicious pose. She was sick and tired of Eorzea, and the fact that there was a possibility of dealing with yet another bloody damn savage skirmish annoyed her deeply.

 

Terminus himself was equally suspicious of it being alone. “Regardless of its origin, it has sailed way beyond their petty little coastal waters. It has no business being out here. No excuse. Any behavior they exhibit is sure to be hostile to our cause.” He handed the goggles back to the watcher, pointing his finger at him sharply. “Notify the Artillerist to fire a warning shot in their direction!”

 

The watcher gave his yes sirs as he turned to the woman that accompanied him. “Round up the Easterling ships, instruct the Easterlings to circle about our flanks and make it clear to them that I do not want a foreign pair of eyes to even glimpse on our operations here!”

 

The woman scrunched her brow a bit in the man’s order, raising one eyebrow right after. “Do you... plan on engaging regardless of their response to our warning shot?”

 

Terminus stood still for a moment, and then turned his back to her. “Precisely. Their pity little fleet will not save them out here in these waters, neither will their nations have a right to plead a case of a lost vessel. No amount of foreign subterfuge will be allowed in this operation.” He murmured, before a waiting a tad as Cynthia organized her thoughts and wrapped her head around it. “Why are you still standing here!?!?”

 

“Yes sir. Right away sir!” Cynthia chimed in a firm response, letting out a little breath of stress in a moment of weakness before stealing her gaze, off to give orders to the Easterlings. Men two and fro began to yell across the deck, arming the ship and placing it into battle mode. Soon, the Easterling ships would be aggressively sailing as well.

 

“I need more aether…” The Commander rumbled to himself, finding his way back inside.

[Sounsyy]

Jada Moui sat on the edge of her crate and swung her feet back and forth below her. Her heels thudding quietly against the wood every so often when her foot would swing back too far. Normally, she would eavesdrop on quiet conversations, but she had come to afford Eighty-five some measure of trust in the week past. Eighty-five was unlike so many Miqo'te her age, from Jada's experience, were either too withdrawn or too rambunctious for their own good. It was rare to see a woman who was equal measures of both. Given the line of work Eighty-five had chosen, she admired the woman for maintaining some semblance of youthful innocence. She halfway wished she'd have lived to see P'welro or even Sounsyy when they still had that same vibrancy. But those days were long past.

 

What she really desired now was to get her hands on that equipment. To touch it, learn it, dismantle it, and put it back together. Her combative prowess had stemmed from necessity only. In truth, she took little pleasure in combat. At heart she was a smith, a tinkerer, a disciple of Byregot. Her forge deep in the Southern Isles had been a prosperous one, given the circumstances of its creation. She had been marooned, a captain mutinied against and left with nothing but a pistol and knife. But she had adapted, scraped together the carcasses of broken ships and other such flotsam and built herself an empire or metalworks. Over a decade she built a colony, a forge, a home. Though how she came to leave was another story entirely. One that deviated from the point of her reverie - she wanted a closer look at those guns.

 

So she hopped off her crate and slinked her way over to Forty-three. He was the one most likely to go into some verbose explanation and distract himself from whatever he was doing, allowing her time to steal a peak. But a sound from above distracted her approach. Her ears twitched and swiveled topside. High-pitched shouting could be heard from above. Then the bosun's whistle shrieked out across the morning.

 

"Make a path!" Jada shouted suddenly at the four Sharlayans. She turned and went into full gallop, hopping down the stairs two or three at a time, one hand on the banister as she descended from the half deck into the armory. She grabbed her ring of keys and with a flurry began unlocking the crates stacked against the bow. From above, Sounsyy's voice could be heard barking orders at the top of her lungs.

 

"Beat to Quarters! Beat to Quarters! All hands, beat! To! Quarters! Now!"

 

The Bosun's whistle still shrieking in long bursts. Then came the thunderous rush of feet as the crew filed quickly one by one down the stairs, past the Sharlayan crew, down into the armory where Jada was waiting. She directed with a finger and a shouted name to each one as they passed, indicating where their specific gear was housed.

 

"Swozkhan! T'laom! Simin! Berasaem! Sloane..." Jada's list continued as they each passed and ran to their crate. They stripped from their working attire into armor right there. There was no time or place for privacy or decency. The whistle cry was an urgent call to arms. Roehmerl's eight cannoneers donned suits of heavy armor, chainmails and plate, all of a similar motif to the 3rd Squadron's fish scale armor that Marjanie always seemed to be wearing. Dark cobalt plates or chainmail with golden fish scales adorning the shoulders and gorget or chest. Maelstrom red cloth sashes or embroidery to accent the armor. As each one finished prepping, they aided another in the gear that could not be attached by oneself, then ran back up the stairs where Jada was waiting. She handed them off their weapon as each one passed. Various battleaxes or billhooks each, barring Pamido Wolmido's gigas mammon, which he hefted with great pride before storming up the steps with a rousing battle cry.

 

The others just descending answered his cry with a cheer. Roehmerl's pikemen and musketeers followed after the cannoneers. Each dressing in their black leather and fish scalemail, like Marjanie. Jada handed them off their pikes as they ran back up. Once the crew, barring the Captain, had been armed Jada began stripping herself down. She too changed into the Roehmerl's scalemail and when she was done, moved over to the wall and hefted her own halberd. It was a vicious and beautiful tool. Short, easier to maneuver in close quarters, with a cobalt spearhead, blade, and hook. This was Jada's preferred armament, and she held it with pride.

 

She looked up at the group of Sharlayans and shouted, "Get topside when yer ready! Seventy-seven, get down below into the Mess now! Captain's orders! Yer safest below decks! No arguing, move yer arse!"

 

Jada grabbed the boy as he came near and all but shoved him down into the Mess. She grabbed the heavy iron hatch and tossed Ryanti the key when he was below. "Seal 'er up! Yeh don't come back up fer any reason, got it!? Below decks stay sealed during the fighting!" With that, she dropped the hatch down with a crash and rounded on the remaining Sharlayans. "Prep fer battle and get topside now! I'll seal up the rest of below decks!"

 

With that she ran off down the gun deck and began slamming doors as she went. Compartmentalization was everything in a naval battle. Damage to the hull was inevitable. But taking on excess water was avoidable if the necessary precautions were taken. So long as every hatch and door was sealed below decks, water could only fill one room. If there was a leak, one simple breach could spell doom for the entire ship.

 

 

Topside, the main deck was abuzz with activity. The eight cannoneers were prepping their cannons, loading the first shot and firesand. Until such a time as close range combat was necessary, the pikemen were tasked as powder monkeys for the cannoneers, running ordinance to the guns as needed. P'welro barked orders on deck at the three Sharlayans as they ascended the steps.

 

"Eighty-five! Show these two their duties wit' the firesand! Ye've got the for'ard cannons! Susuroon, status!"

 

The little Qiqirn was in his nest, spyglass extended to the north and west. His hairs were bristled beneath his armor. He too was wearing the Roehmerl's scalemail, but with full quiver and shortbow slung over his shoulder. His coined earrings jingled madly as he squeaked, "Susuroon spies three vessels on the horizon! Sees Garlean and Easterner-make! Susuroon does not think enemies have spied Roehmerl yet!"

 

"Distance to target?!"

"Susuroon estimates quarter bell! Though less if Imperial vessel engages."

 

It was then that a puff of smoke burst from the side of one of the Easterner battleships. A few seconds followed, then the distant sound of a cannon could be heard cracking from malms away. There was a splash still some distance away, but its intent was clear.

 

"Susuroon... Susuroon thinks Imperial vessel have spotted Susuroon."

 

P'welro swallowed hard. "P-prepare for engagement. All hands..." She was visibly dreading this encounter. Pamido Wolmido jumped up atop his chase cannon and raised his mammon over his head and let out a gruff cry, "We're gonna drag 'em into the briny depths afore they get a chance at the paradise o' a Seventh Hell! Let 'em 'ave our answer, lass!"

 

Pamido Wolmido jumped off the cannon onto the deck and raised his mammon again over his head, beckoning for the others to join in. He began stamping his tiny boots against the deck one after the other and started a low howl. One by one the others joined in, stomping and letting out a low, deep howl that seemed to emanate from the very depths below them. The howl steadily rose in volume as more joined in and grew louder the faster they stamped their feet until it rose into a crescendo of clanging weapons, stamping feet, and a deafening howl as the crew screamed at the top of their lungs. This was to be their answer to the Garleans. They would fight until sea swallowed them all!

 

It was then that the cabin doors opened and Sounsyy emerged. She was in full armor, wearing the Roehmerl leathers beneath her breastplate, gauntlets, and sabatons. Her large scutum shield was slung over her shoulder by its strap and her shortsword rested horizontal above her tail in its scabbard. Her captain's pistol, a plainly decorated revolver, was strapped to one thigh. Her hair was still done up in Eighty-five's braid, and she had applied war paint - gold paint smeared across her eyelids, which accented her green eyes.

 

Jada emerged finally from below, sealing off the last hatch behind her. "Below decks completely sealed off, Captain! Seventy-seven is below."

 

Sounsyy gave her a quick Storm salute and the Quartermaster took her place in the center of the main deck with the rest of the pikemen. Sounsyy turned and climbed the stairs to the helm where Marjanie and Fhruhsunn stood. Marjanie, looking regal and poised in her armor and long-barreled rifle. She held it loosely in both hands, her eyes flicking back and forth across the horizon. Fhruhsunn was as usual, cloth and pistol. His lips were pursed and his eyes unblinking. Sounsyy took her place beside them.

 

"Full sail," she said, "Fhruhsunn, engage them. Cannoneers at the ready!"

P'welro's whistle echoed out the command across ship.

 

Fhruhsunn nodded and spun the massive wheel, his expression unchanging. The Roehmerl's blood red sails billowed as the wind picked up and they cut through the Indigo's waves in course dead on towards the Garleans.

 

"Susuroon sees Garleans holding steady! The Easterner vessels move to intercept Roehmerl!" Susuroon squeaked out from his vantage point. Sounsyy had a disgusted look on her face, "Send the subjugated to their doom. Vile Garlean shite. Their deaths will be an undeservin' mercy," Sounsyy muttered, nearly spitting the bile that had risen in her throat. Her eyes were empty and cold.

 

"Seven-hundred yalms off bow!"

"Far Easterners comin' into range!"

 

Sounsyy looked to P'welro and growled coldly, "In three-hundred yalms, send a warning shot across the lead vessel's bow."

"Aye, Cap'n!"

"...And P'welro, by across it, I do mean through it."

 

A wide, toothy grin spread across P'welro's face before turning and relaying the orders with a few short bursts of her whistle, followed by verbal relay, "1st Cannon! Give 'em a Maelstrom warnin' shot!"

 

Pamido Wolmido howled with delight. "Five hundred yalms! Bearin' fifteen nautical malms East! Wind, East, five malms! Adjustin' nineteen degrees starboard!" He wheeled the chase-cannon wheel around madly so that the cannon moved starboard along its semi-circular track. When he had lined up the shot, he hopped back to his cannon and kept an eye on the shot.

 

Susuroon shouted, "Four hundred yalms!!"

P'welro screamed, "Fire!"

Pamido Wolmido's cannon barked in reply, echoing out across the sea. The force of the blast was felt throughout the ship as the cannon recoiled from the force. The cannon sailed in a deadly arch across the sea and with only a moment's baited breath, struck the first eastern ship full force across the bow. The enemy ship shuddered but pressed on.

 

"A hit! Reload!"

 

The damaged Eastern vessel came about and turned starboard into the Roehmerl's path, placing its side cannons in position to strike the Lominsan crew. While the second Eastern ship broke to port and moved about ship to flank the Roehmerl from the side. Sounsyy looked from ship to ship, but her attention was drawn away by the damaged ship's return fire.

 

"Brace!!"

 

Three cannons sounded from the Easterners, followed by another set of three. One cannon ripped through the Roehmerl's port-side gunwale, glancing off the side, but splintering the wooden framework. Another came up short, sending up a plume of water into the air just a few yalms off the Roehmerl's side. The third and fourth overshot. The fifth, a direct hit, striking the Roehmerl's steel frame. The ship lurched violently from the hit, but held. The sixth, another miss.

 

Sounsyy barked out her next orders, "2nd Cannon! Ball n' chain center mast! 1st Cannon! Gun deck! Fire!"

"Dead ahead! Wind speed five malms East! Adjust angle downwards, 300 yalms to target!"

"Fire!"

 

M'sizh and Pamido Wolmido's cannons crackled in sync, sending two shots into the already damaged Eastern vessel. M'sizh's cannon chain arched in a deadly wheel through the sky, crashing into the Far Eastern vessel's main mast with a loud crash and crackling of splintered wood. The mast quivered and fell over board, laying down hard across the starboard side of the deck. The sudden and additional weight caused the vessel to lean heavily to starboard, exposing more of the port hull, which Pamido Wolmido's cannon sunk readily into! The frame splintered and cracked, rending a massive tear mid-ship, disabling the vessel's center cannons.

 

Sounsyy voiced barked out again with ever increasing vehemence, "HIT IT AGAIN! MAKE US A HOLE! Fhruhsunn! RAM IT!"

 

Eighty-five and Sixteen raced to repowder the forward chase cannons as M'sizh and Pamido Wolmido aimed their next volley.

 

"Aiming center mass! Adjust angle downwards, 200 yalms to target! Firin'!"

 

The Far Eastern vessel attempted to retaliate, one of its cannons sending a cannon in return, but the vessel was so broached from the mast's weight, the cannon far overshot the Roehmerl, landing harmlessly in the waters to port. The Roehmerl answered again in kind, sending two cannons into the exposed hole. M'sizh cannon struck high and ricocheted up, over, and off the gunwale, while Pamido Wolmido's was true, sending another cannonball into the already gaping hull. With a deep groan, the ship nearly split in two, each side lifting up from the sea inwards as the bow and aft took on more water.

 

The Easterner vessel was crippled, but that was not enough for Sounsyy. She grabbed ahold of the poop deck's railing and the Roehmerl charged the wounded hull full speed.

 

"One hundred yalms! Eighty! Fifty!"

"BRACE!!"

 

Fhruhsunn drove the heavy steel keel of the Roehmerl right into the bleeding wound of the Eastern vessel. The force of the blow diverted outwards by the Roehmerl's angled woodwork, designed to take that sort of force. The Far Eastern ship did not fair so well. The wooden vessel was clean torn in two by the massive wedge. The ship groaned, crackled loudly, and broke apart. A painful scraping could be heard as the Roehmerl's steel keel sawed its way into the vessel's exposed belly.

 

"Pikemen! Eyes up!"

 

Roehmerl's five lancers knelt down and held their pikes skyward, ready to pluck any surviving Easterners should they try to jump down onto the Roehmerl. Though the damage inflicted to the ship was so severe, only a few tried to crawl towards the edge. These were quickly dispatched. No sooner did a foreign head expose itself over the broken rim of the Eastern vessel did one of the pikes jab up and drive a spike into their mouth or throat, spilling their lifeblood onto the Roehmerl's deck below.

 

"Eyes on the other Eastern vessel?!"

"No sight from bow!"

"No sighting from Nest!"

"Starboard! Starboard! Starboard! Incoming!"

 

A cannonball crashed through the remains of the Eastern vessel's aft, sending shrapnel and splintered wood across the main deck. The crew dived down for cover as the cannonball sailed overhead, crashing into the Easterner's bow-half. The shot had missed the Roehmerl completely.

 

Sounsyy had seen this tactic employed before by her first 'Cuda Captain, a woman who she truly hated. Use a broken vessel as cover. Additional enemies would be forced to fire on their own ship, and could not tell tangled vessels apart, obstructing a clean shot. It was a ruthless tactic.

 

"Heads down, pikes up! Heads down, pikes up!" Sounsyy shouted, but the memory those words jogged flashed before her eyes. She was taken back nearly twenty years to the Resistance. Explosions and artillery cracked all around. She was running. Running to keep up with... Then the cannon struck. Heads down, pikes up! Heads down, pikes...

 

"Cap'n get down!"

 

Another cannon crashed through the Eastern vessel, sending another explosion of debris across the Roehmerl's deck. Sounsyy dove down behind the gunwale as splintered wood rained overhead. She was breathing quickly and deeply, as if she could not catch her breath.

 

"Bow's clearin' the wreckage!" Pamido Wolmido shouted, "Anglin' starboard!"

"Do you have a shot?!"

"Not y- I see the ship! Firin'!"

"Fire!"

 

Pamido Wolmido let out a desperately early shot with the ball and chain. It whipped across the sea towards the second Eastern vessel and barely clipped its tail, sending out a plume of shattered glass and wood from its stern. The Lalafell cheered loudly!

 

"Clipped its rudder! Get a better angle and starboard cannons can get a shot as they clear!"

"Fhruhsunn! Angle starboard! Five degrees!"

 

Fhruhsunn leaned on the helm, causing the starboard gunwale to scrape against the stern of the first Eastern hull. It was a deafening sound.

 

"Starboard ready!" Sounsyy shouted above the screeching. The starboard cannoneers, Sloane, Berasaem, and Syhrelak prepped themselves, angling at Pamido Wolmido's orders. Distance three hundred, fifty yalms, wind ten yalms East. Sounsyy waited for the 3rd Cannon to clear the wreckage, "3rd Cannon! Fire!"

 

A boom! The ship shuddered. But the cannon only skimmed the second Easterner's ship, glancing off the main deck and ricocheting off into the sea. 5th Cannon! A loud crack! A hit! The distant sound of a crash and screams. 7th Cannon! A final bark as the last starboard cannon sounded and the Roehmerl cleared the wastes of the destroyed Eastern vessel. This cannon also struck the bow, crippling the eastern vessel as it lurched forward in the waves and began taking on water. Its foremast splintered and broke.

 

The crew of the Roehmerl gave a mighty cheer as their ship fully emerged from its protective covering in the Easterner's carcass. The Roehmerl's blood red sails seemed even more poignant a testament to the Garleans. This was a blooded ship. This was a crew not to be underestimated.

 

"Fhuhsunn! Bring us in line fer the firing squad. Let's send these bastards to the depths."

 

The Roehmerl leaned heavily to starboard as Fhruhsunn swung the ship around to realign the starboard cannons in striking range of the second Eastern vessel. Pamido Wolmido shouted out the trajectories and the cannoneers adjusted. Sounsyy barked her orders, P'welro echoed with her whistle, and the Lalafell growled the order. Three cannons delivered their payload across the sea and were rewarded with three hits. The Eastern vessel crackled and with a whimpering cry, splintered and sank into nothingness, scattering what few may have survived the beatings into the ice-cold drink.

 

The crew erupted into cheers. But their excitement was short lived. Sounsyy turned just in time to see a flash from the Garlean flagship. The morning sky brightened as if a bolt of lightning had struck the sea. Then came that harrowing sound of heavy Garlean artillery. The magitek cannon rippled into the sea mere yalms from the Roehmerl, sending up a surge of scalding water across the bow. The force of the blast was felt throughout the Lominsan warship nearly broaching the vessel port-side and knocking everyone off their feet, scattering them across deck. The hull seemed to groan and buckle some from the proximity, but held.

 

Sounsyy cried out as images of Carteneau now danced before her eyes. She gritted her teeth, shaking off the thoughts of fire and smoke and ash and pulled herself to her feet. Her left arm burned from the memory. The crew picked itself back up and held fast to whatever they could.

 

"Status?!" P'welro screamed. Simin yelled back in answer, "Magitek armaments! A miss, next shot might not be so fortunate!"

"What in the Seven Hells were the range on that?!"

"Eight hundred fifty yalms! No way we can return fire from that!"

 

Sounsyy bit her lip and weighed her options quickly. She rounded on Fhruhsunn, who looked back at her wide-eyed. He knew that crazed expression. He didn't even need to hear her order. He nodded in compliance and swung the wheel about so that the Roehmerl faced the Garlean warship.

 

"All hands! Prepare fer boarding! We can't outgun that! If we get in close they can't use their artillery, a direct hit so close would destroy their ship as well. Bring us aside ship and we can fight them there. Sharlayans! It's time to see what yer armaments can do! Starboard cannoneers stay at post! Port cannoneers form a wall. Pikemen behind! Ranged to elevation! We hold their waves and push them back! Understood?!"

 

"TIL SEA SWALLOWS ALL!"

 

The Roehmerl sped ahead full sail towards the Garlean warship. Those on the starboard cannons braced themselves, armaments at the ready. The spare cannoneers beside them on one knee. The five lancers held their pikes and halberds aloft over the cannoneer's shoulders. The musketeers spread out along the fore and aftcastles, crouching down behind the gunwale, training their firearms at the approaching Garlean vessel. Sounsyy stood defiantly on the starboard edge of the poop deck where she could be seen. She pulled her pistol from its holster and held it aloft in the air in a show of force to the Garleans. Her eyes bore holes at the enemy ship, silently challenging them to accept her duel. Nothing brought her greater pleasure than slaughtering Garlean whoresons.

[Ryanti]

Make a path. Three simple words. When spoken, the Sharlayan crew had no idea what kind of consequences and implementations those three words would be the beginning to. Yes, it was finally time. After eight days at sea waiting and anticipating, the worst fears of theirs were confirmed. It was written on their faces: Ryanti with a blank look and open eyes, Eighty-five with twisted glare and lips contorted in an image of mild fright, Forty-three with his stomach in his throat and Jonathan without a moment’s notice confirming their fears with a nod. “So it’s time.” Ryanti murmured to him. “Yes.” Jonathan responded back. “The black ones. They came here first.”

 

All of them immediately sprang up in action as soon as Jada started making her way downstairs like a madwoman. The Sharlayans, secretive as their equipment were, decided to claim the sides and the walls of the room they were in as their own little armory. Immediately they began stripping down. It was still something that Eighty-five wasn’t nearly used to, but she didn’t let it show as her fair skin became exposed to the sunlight beaming down from the windowsill. The sunlight was perhaps the only thing that never changed, even as the day brought tides of war.

 

“Put on your suits.” They had heard Jonathan say. Similar to how the crew of the Roehmerl suited up by calling names, Jonathan did the same. Except Jonathan called out numbers. “Forty-three!” He had shouted, tossing the shortest suit of them all to the Lalafell. “Eighty-five! Seventy-seven!” One by one they had caught their suits and stripped to their undergarments, slinking themselves inside of the highly technological outfits. Many moderate clicks and stretching noises were heard as they blackened their form and transformed out of their sailor’s clothing to something entirely else, their true faces beginning to emerge.

 

It was then that the Sharlayans began to reach for their weapons. “No, no!” Jonathan shouted out, causing them to glance up to him as Forty-three grabbed his staff. “Nothing but his staff for now! Those weapons are last resort ONLY! You know the rules if we use them! Besides we are needed to feed the others ammo! Take your lenses with you but hide them unless you absolutely need them! Leave the rifles here and only take your pistols!”

 

Right after his statement, they heard the pirate lord’s cry for war, and immediately after the echo from the crew that boomed the audio past their ears and bounced off of the walls. Even hearing it from a distance riled them up. “Yes sir!” They shouted to Jonathan during the ordeal. When Jada had issued her order for Ryanti to stay sealed up in the mess hall, the young man’s aquamarine eyes could have lit up the day with boiling fire despite their cool and calm color.

 

This was not what he wanted to hear. Despite his very normal initial fears and hesitations about emerging onto the deck and engaging the Garleans in battle, it was what he was destined to do. His father’s legacy bled him on for decades, serving as a Bloodsworn of the Sultan before he retired. He had took dangerous risks all of his life, and emerged from every countless battle he was in alive. That same blood boiled in fury to the idea of staying put. Even though part of him understood because he was the Keeper of the Artifact. That part of him kept his mouth shut, but it was a defiant silence. He did not speak up, nor question her. But he also did not confirm her orders with a yes ma’am either. When Jada had left him there in the mess hall and gave him the key, Ryanti’s eyes followed her until she threw down the latch behind her. Grudgingly, Ryanti used the key to seal himself shut. With a sigh, he tossed the keys upon the bartop and slowly sat himself upon one of the stools, resting his elbows on the table. “Are you kidding me… “

 

The other three Sharlayans began running up the decks with the utmost haste. Their pace and footing was almost completely matched up with one another, already displaying their intense training that despite being only ajoined for a mere week they have already learned to work as a unit. “Do you think we will need our fourth?” Eighty-five questioned the leader as she followed alongside him. “We’ll see. For now just follow the orders of the Levy.” He shot back. Forty-three was silent, a bit unlike him. But it was only because he was saying a prayer to Nyemia, as he had done a total of three times in the past where he had found himself in similar circumstances. He was also preparing for what he about to see, for he knew that extreme violence and the hells of war were ahead.

 

Eighty-five was damn nearly the star of the show when it came to the crew by the time they had reached topside. She raised her voice to a level no one had heard from her before, even during the times in which she was rowdy. But her voice was deadbeat serious as she crash-coursed the other two members of the Sharlayan crew. She could perhaps even double as an Artillerist herself, and it was no question that she had studied the way the cannons loaded and prepped immensely when she was alone, and it was all showing here.

 

She had become the leader. That was how the unit worked at times. Whatever skill or trade or knowledge that someone possessed the most on would take the lead without a word of command being said. It was a testament to their natural ability to improvise. Eighty-five was constantly communicating with both Jonathan and Forty-three, whom the former Ala Mhigan drill instructor found ironic that he was the one being drilled. But the hardened soldier was no stranger to loading munitions. The rugged man found no problem in learning quickly.

 

The hands of Eighty-five and Jonathan were all over the place, whether it be firesanding the barrels or loading the rounds inside. Forty-three quickly found out that using his ability in conjury to lift the rounds and sand all by themselves for the other two to easily grab proved invaluable. The Limsan crew did not have to worry about a single cannon not being loaded fast enough. They kept idle chatter out of their dialogue, their words only solely focused on communicating their tasks. “Starboard chase-canon! Reload reload!” Jonathan found his way to the forward chases and gave an order of his own. “Split up! Split up! Grab onto th-”

 

His order was interrupted by the sound of them ramming the point of the vessel straight into the Easterner ship. They all lurched onto the cannons as the force nearly made Eighty-five hurl. While the Sharlayan group were putting up a hell of an effort, they were not used to such open combat. They had been trained for withstanding small skirmished in covert locations while trying to emphasize stealth and quiet. The exact opposite of their training was engaging in open warfare like this. Their main skillsets on the physical end were sharply learned upon this vessel during the eight days of travel, but the mental challenge of the loud noises of artillery, shrapnel flying everywhere, everyone knowing where you were on open ocean… this was not what they were used to.

 

So as the Captain found herself sucking wind and being effected by her emotion, so was the Sharlayan crew. The shrapnel that flew overhead had them buckling to the floor. Eighty-five, bleeding from the lip, was the first one up, her eyes a bit empty and her trajectory dizzy. Without a word she had grabbed the ball and chain, and Forty-three literally shot the ball and chain from out of Eighty-five’s grasp and shoved it into the barrel using his own awesome demonstration of the wind element, having also recovered from the incident. The ball and chain were shot out nearly the moment it had been shoved in. They were lucky the cannon didn’t explode.

 

When Eighty-five’s moral began to weaken, Jonathan took over. “Come on girl!” He shouted in his rugged voice over to her. “Just don’t look! Don’t look at the ship!” He shouted out to her as Eighty-five winced at the sound of dying screams and body parts being ripped away from one another. She gritted her teeth, remembering what she told Ryanti.

 

Then the shot came.

 

-----

 

“Sir, the Easterners have taken the brunt of their ability to stay afloat!” The Garlean Artillerist informed Terminus through a comm unit.

 

The intimating man had been at work carefully conveying the layout of the skirmish with the Eorzean ship. He had immediately become suspicious when an entire Lominsian fleet did not bother to show up, and instead it was merely one meager vessel. If somehow the Lominsans figured out the location of this derelict star ship, then why did they not send more? If the Empire was not so spread thin, they would have an entire fleet themselves. But perhaps he had underestimated the resolve of these fighters. Perhaps it was not the case that they sent a fleet, but perhaps instead they had sent the best.

 

This was interesting, he surmised. He could care less for the Easterling vessels. They were relatively cheap to acquire and the crews could be replaced rather easily. It was the Garlean vessel that did not skimp, however. The munitions department had paid a pretty penny for the largest weapon in their arsenal, and now that Terminus had tested the crew and realized just exactly what he was dealing with, it was no longer time to play around. “Prepare the Magitek cannon.” He had told the Artillerist. “The Easterling vessels are not our concern. Aim to blow the Eorzean ship into fragments of dust as soon as they clear the rubble.”

 

He smiled a little underneath his mask. They had used an ambitious and ruthless tactic of clearing through the second Easterling vessel. It was clear, judging by their actions, that they valued their mission over lives. It was a shame, he admitted. They would have made fantastic Garleans. Oh well. There would always be more.

 

----

 

Why was he sitting here twiddling his thumbs, why? Why was he standing here in this silent room where friendly conversation and rowdy moments of livelihood were once lived? Now the room seemed so much darker, so much emptier. The echoes of the voices crying out from above deck rang past his ears. The young was pacing back and forth in the mess hall, occasionally holding onto the bar top when he could, getting tossed about the room when he couldn’t.

 

The stools up against the bar were knocked over, and Ryanti glanced at them. In his mind, they could easily be interpreted for comrades of his, dropping onto their sides in defeat because he wasn’t there. Why? Why did he have to stay here? It wasn’t right… he didn’t want to be the helpless lamb locked up in his cage while the wolves protected it from slaughter. Was his father, and his father’s father, and his great grandmother ever that way? No. “Damn it… “He cursed silently. It stung. It hurt. To be here.

 

It reminded him of his youth, before he had matured into the man he was now. He was a soft child, a nurtured one and a sheltered one at home. He was never one to back down and always threw his own punches, but ended up with a bloody nose in defeat most of the time. He had been taken advantage of; bullied, estranged, and provoked into feeling absolutely worthless as the half-blooded child of a noble family. No one ever had faith in him that he would amount to anything. ”Your blood is too dirty to carry that name.” They would tell him. ”You will never become the man you could have been had your father been the wiser.”

 

He saw the brief bright light that accompanied the incredibly powerful magitek cannon round that had fired from the Garlean vessel. It lit the whole entire lower deck up, despite how many places were latched and sealed up. He felt it hit the water even harder than those above deck. It knocked him right off of his feet, his body tangled in the fallen bar stools as the waves shook, roared and splashed up. If that round would have hit, then from eight hundred and fifty yalms away the Roehmerl would have been completely obliterated. Just like that.

 

His mind wrapped around the potency of such a weapon as he untangled his aching body from the stools, among other things in the mess that had fell. This was bad. Very very bad. Once again, the Garleans completely and utterly outmatched them in technology. It was a fable to believe that Eorzeans could ever match that kind of power. A power that deep down, he wanted. The power to change the world. The power Allag.

 

Allag… he mused in his mind what would have happened if this Garlean vessel had faced an Allagan one. Even imagination was a limit when it came to them. So much of their technology was still so mind boggling, so out of reach of the perceptions of what was possible in the present that was once possible five thousand years prior. They would not have even stood a chance. The Garlean ship would be effortlessly destroyed, its remnants scattered into the wind. There was a comfort in that. An urge to identify with something strong to forget about your dirty blood and the sorry opinions of others. That was when the artifact spoke to him. Come to me, it said, and I will guide you. Words that were in his thoughts, but not of them.

 

He unlocked and opened the door to the mess hall, closing it and locking it behind him as he walked through the halls of the lower deck, keeping his balance by placing a hand up to the wall, trying to find the cargo bay…

 

 

Jonathan knew what Sounsyy’s order was going to be before she had even said it. Not wanting to risk being blown to pieces by the prized armory of the Garlean vessel, she had decided to charge the thing head on and engage in a battle of boarding. He carried a grave look on his face as he peered over the rail to glance at the Garlean vessel that outsized the Roehmerl by almost five counts. Needless to say that without the Sharlayans being on board with their weapons, this would be paramount to suicide.

 

Even WITH their weapons, this was a hell of an order. The men that Jonathan could count upon the deck of that Garlean ship… was in the hundreds. There had to be some two hundred men on board there, compared to their... twenty something? A heavy, tense sigh escaped him. “Captain, need I warn you.” He said to Sounsyy before she came to stand upon the poop deck. “That if we are to pull our weapons out, we cannot allow a single Garlean to live. Not their soldiers, not any civilians if aboard, not anyone young or old. They all must die. No one can afford to divulge.”

 

He was silient for a moment. Of course the Sharlayans would not have chosen a crew to do this with that didn’t… that didn’t have the mind to survive, no matter what they had to do. But Jonathan knew it was their only choice. It was them, or the Garleans. “Very well, Captain. But if we are to use our weapons, then –I- will lead the hold.”

 

He immediately rushed to Eighty-five, giving her the salute of not Sounsyy’s unit, but his. “Get him out. We will need him. Code four.”

 

Eighty-five looked at him a bit startled before eyeing the group of sailors and realizing that they were actually going to try to engage the ship in a battle of boards. She knew what code four meant. Code four was used in their unit as a manner of informing them during desperate that they were allowed to use their classified technology in open warfare. It had rarely been used before. It also meant they had to kill… everyone.

 

“Y-yes sir.” She said with a quiet, solemn voice. “Bring the rifles. All three of us, move.” He said to the girl before she took off. He waved Forty-three over to his side. “I need you to create a diversion. Blind them.” Forty-three nodded darkly, and then placed his hood over his head that was woven into his gear per custom by him. Immediately the Lalafell ran to the fellow Lalafell pirate lord, shouting instructions. “Distract them with your cries! I need to cast a spell!” He immediately turned around and addressed P’welro. “Hold off all firing until we are ready! Play defensively!”

 

 

Cynthia was on the front deck of the Garlean vessel, eyeing the approaching Lominsan foe with her own pair of binoculars. Her face remained still and cold, but she was particularly in an emotional storm. Half of her was disturbingly angry at what she was seeing. The other half of her was… renewed with a bit of childish, diabolical excitement. This was rich. This was just too rich.

 

It was her. That little girl from her old life during the war. The Resistance, yeah… she remembered. Before she had seen the light and joined the winning side. It was that clumsy bitch, she recalled. The one that she liked to poke fun of and mess with by demonstrating her obviously superior skill in just about everything. What a delight it would be for her to kill that now brooding Captain personally. She scoffed at that thought. She had thought her dead long ago. It was not a good thing for people that knew her before her betrayal staying alive.

 

“Look at you… think you can just prod yourself all in here and wave your hands in the air… “ Cynthia said in a hushed voice. "Such passion you still have from waving off the arms of the Empire…” She murmured, eyeing the tool next to her. It was a magitek rifle that was outfitted and modded with a long barrel, and an equally efficient scope that hugged the top of the gun. She did not bother having to load it with a round, for she always kept the sniper rifle loaded on the front railing of the Commander’s porch.

 

She giggled a little bit to herself as she picked up the long rifle, and placed it atop of the railing that she was standing in front of where it angled around. Taking off her glasses, her concentrated eyes focused into the scope, adjusting the crosshairs until they were clear to her imperfect vision. She zoomed in on the Captain of the ship, the girl-now-turned-woman with the pretty little face paint who had exposed herself in a brave gesture with her pistol in the air. Yes… that was the little worm… her attempt to embolden her crew would be her downfall…

 

Her finger lightly rested on the trigger… and began to pull it.

 

-----

 

 

The door quietly opened to the cargo hold, and the silhouette of Ryanti’s body was in the doorway. Even now he was wondering. Wondering if it was wise to do it again. He could feel the pull now. The nerves on the tips of his hair felt warm, and the hair stood upon the back of his neck. He had been in this situation before. A desperate hour which had required him to take the residual aether that hovered around an artifact and allowed it to use his body as a vessel to dispose its wrath and power upon his foes. It was a kind of unity that he only used once in the past.

 

He remembered it, the orb that he held that destroys the minds of men that were out to kill him. He remembered the power, the unbelievable power that had saved his life that day and injected his body with aether that wasn’t his and memories that were not his own. It was the very act that caused him to take a month’s hiatus from the job. Despite the impact it had on his body by infecting him with memories and overloading himself with aether, it felt… good when he was using it. It was a danger, but he had faith that what he was doing was right.

 

He removed the boxes lying about, along with the panel that covered their most valuable piece of cargo. There it was… the object about the size of a sword’s hilt and the shape of it as well. The object made out of an unknown near-perfect composite of metal and synthetic carbon fiber. The object that pulsated with glowing blue lines that coursed the objects like veins in a body. The center was especially blue from illumination. It was not glowing like this the last time he saw it. It was active. The Allagans… they were here.

 

He felt his mood change a little bit. He had an idea in his head to use it. His imagination pictured the Garlean vessel contorting violently under an insanely-powerful aetherial force. The ship would bend and break like a simple twig that was rotting from the inside. Then bent again, and again, until the ship was completely warped into a ball of tangled flesh and metal, before drowning into the sea. Yes… that was what those people deserved. Those… those pretenders. They knew not the fury. They were but bumbling children with tinker toys compared to them.

 

But then he remembered. He recalled other memories. Memories of him kicking that orb as hard as he could off of a mountain top in the Dravanian Forelands. Memories of it falling into an impossible. The device was meant for no man to wield, ever, he had told himself that day. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment, softly opening them in the warm glow of the artifact that laid before him. “That is not how I will choose to use you…” He murmured to the object. “I will not destroy myself to rush for results. The quick and easy path has a price too steep to pay.”

 

With that, the tempting thoughts and feelings of harnessing a power beyond what the world could now comprehend faded away, replaced by the sensation of feeling safe, a wide protective arc that the benevolent energy inside of the artifact promoted. In choosing to reject the sinister residual energy inside, it allowed the benevolent energy to dominate the Allagan presence aboard the ship.

 

At the moment Ryanti had looked away from the artifact, Eighty-five had shot open the door, immediately eyeing him with a certain kind of look. “Ryanti, you can’t use it. You’ve just been cleared!”

 

Ryanti shook his softly. “I’m not going to use it.” He skipped his feet up to her quickly. “What do you need?”

 

“Your keys.” She barked. “We need to grab our weapons and grab them now! Code four!”

 

“Let’s go then, let’s go!” Ryanti shouted back, and the two young adults sprinted towards the area in which they had rested their crate for the time being. Ryanti franticly unlocked the door, but as he was doing so, he felt something hit him. It wasn’t anything physical, but a memory. A memory that played out in his head as Eighty-five ran past him to shove the top off of the crate and grab the rifles.

 

He gasped lightly, and grasped the side of the door with a hand of his, closing his eyes violently. He felt… blood. The warmth of blood and the scarring of his eyes. He felt a body in his arms, his voice shouting out into the air as he’s pulled off of her to continue the fight. Pulled off… a body… what was he seeing with his eyes? Who was it? It was horrifying... so horrifying that for a mere moment was all that he could take before his body reacted by rejecting the memory, causing it to fade away instantly.

 

Which told him the memory did not come from him. It was being injected to him. All he could recall else from what he saw and felt, was the sound of a hat falling to the floor. He had remembered the sound of that hat falling to the floor before. It was made out of a certain material. The Captain’s… the Captain’s hat… and then it clicked. In rejecting the dark path, Ryanti was gifted with a memory that had not happened yet. A memory he could change.

 

“Seventy-seven! I need help!” Eighty-five called out, holding two of the rifles behind her back by using the straps. “Seventy-seven! Seventy-seven what’s wrong!”

 

“They’re gonna kill her!” He suddenly shouted back. “They’re gonna kill her!” He screamed out again before bolting. His. Ass. Off. To the deck. “RYANTI!” He heard Eighty-five scream back awkwardly. She swore awkwardly and somehow found a way to carry all three rifles with her.

 

We value the concept of fate. Not only because we wish to believe that it is our fate to bring about a positive change to the world, our fate to live, or our fate to prosper, but also because we have the power to change fate if it isn’t to our liking.

 

Ryanti remembered this phrase from the man that had brought him into the force in the first place. The thought was omnipresent in his mind as he suddenly emerged himself out onto the battlefield at a sprint that could only be matched by someone running for his life. Or for someone else’s. No one could stop him at the pace he was setting.

 

“Captain! Sounsyy!” He tried to cry out, but the last veined attempt at the Garlean vessel to hit the Roehmerl before their ships side-wined together drowned out his voice with the sound of a cannonball hitting the water. Close, but no cigar. There she was, and the memory came back. This was where she fell. This was where she would die instantly.

 

Only she didn’t. Perhaps ironically because of Ryanti’s dirty blood, it gave him the leg strength he needed to make it just in time.

 

The only sound that made it to her ears was a deep, primal cry from Ryanti’s mouth that made his muscles stress to the limit. At an impossibly short moment later, he tackled her from the side, knocking both of them over at such a rough pace that it knocked the wind out of each. In the moment that he had knocked her over, a booming shot was heard whizzing from the top of the Garlean deck. The round aimed for her head instead grazed past Ryanti’s shoulder, straight through one of the masts, leaving a hole but not crippling the mast enough for it to fall, through the Captain’s door, through one of, if not the, last wine bottle on her shelf, causing it to shatter and the liquid to spill, ricocheting off the wall, and settling into a depression right on top of the Captain’s chair.

 

Cynthia glanced away from her scope with a face that betrayed her immense, hellfiring rage. “WHAT?!?”

 

In one single action, he changed fate, and the light from the artifact faded. “Sounsyy. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay.” Ryanti said to her in a painful whisper.

 

“Holy crap!” Eighty-five cried out from the stairs as she made her way up with the ingenius weapons Jada craved to disassemble so much.

 

“Seventy-seven!” Jonathan called out to Ryanti, holding a hand up to anyone that would protest. “He is my responsibility now!” He said while eyeing the Hyqo’te, whom was rocking a little back and forth, groaning deeply in pain. “Seventy-seven, are you alright?”

 

“Yeah-hhmnn!” Ryanti managed to growl out, his right shoulder grimacing a little. The round had cut open the threading to his armor, leaving a decent red gash across it. Green chemicals woven in the suit, designed to instantly medicate and clean the wound, was leaking all over again. “It’s! It got my skin but nothing else. Just burns a little!” He said before letting out an agitated scream, sitting straight and pulling out his Sharlayan pistol, aiming it at the deck and letting off a few rounds. The loud noise and recoil betrayed the high caliber of the refined weapon, which was much more accurate and powerful than any musket.

 

The small figure that had not been noticed by anyone prior retreated back into the ship once fired upon.

 

“You can get up, yeah?” Eighty-five notioned Ryanti as she offered him a hand. “Yeah, I can.” He murmured and circled his moderately injured arm before taking her hand with it. “I don’t need a bandage.” He found himself saying, and Eighty-five nodded a little with her signature smile. “Those suits kind of work, yeah?”

 

Ryanti replied with a nod, swallowing his dry mouth and taking a rifle from her. “Code four?” He asked Jonathan, and the older man nodded. “Code four. Line up. Due side!”

 

“Forty-four!” He shouted to the Lalafell, who had hidden himself behind the mast pole the entire time, even as the shot rang through the pole above his head. Even that did not distract him from chanting his spell. “Thirty seconds!” Jonathan heard back from him in-between his chanting, his staff’s aether crystal becoming bright, seemingly absorbing the solar light from around him, and creating a darker aura in retrospect. “You heard him! Thirty seconds!” Jonathan motioned as the boat finally bunched itself up against the Garlean vessel.

 

There were immediately one hundred men, half of the Manipuli, waiting for them. Their shields had formed a phalanx manner of defense from the front, intending to charge and overwhelm with the massive difference of numbers. “Twenty seconds!” Jonathan shouted out. “Prepare for open fire!” He ordered his men.

 

All three of them reached into their side belt, and pulled out a magazine, bashing it against the rifle before loading it into the input slot on the side, and closing the magazines with a click, cocking back the firing hammer with swift motions. “Ten seconds!” Jonathan shouted out, and the three individuals held up the rifle stocks against their shoulders, aiming straight for what had become a charging Garlean mob.

 

“From the tendrils of the sun’s might, may the holy rays of Azeyma’s warmth bake the eyes of my foes! FLASH!” Forty-three commanded, and the peak of the solar energy gathered in the crystal turned into a ball of light. “Close your eyes! Close them now!” Jonathan ordered everyone, as the three members of the Sharlayan crew placed the lenses upon their eyes and activated them to block out what was to come.

 

Just then, the Lalafell smacked the ball of light with his staff, and it was thrown over to the Garlean side of the bridge, which exploded in a blinding fury of light. “OPEN FIRE!” the sound of Jonathan’s voice was heard. Then the three Sharlayans operated pulled their triggers.

 

It sounded as if hundreds of musketmen had descended upon the Garlean line. Three weapons firing four rounds per second ripped into the line. The sound of mangled flesh and the flashes of the muzzle barrels illuminated the less bright area around the Sharlayan crew as the blinding light began to slowly, but surely, weaken. The rounds tore through the Garlean’s shields, armor, and flesh as if they were paper. The sound of rounds mangling the soldiers, and their screams of pain and anguish, were heard at a fever pitch. Blood splattered from one soldier’s body upon another’s face whom was already dead before the liquid even graced it. Hands were blown off. Shields were decimated. It had ceased to be a fight between two forces almost instantly, and had turned into a massacre. The light faded, but the shooting didn’t.

 

Those that survived the bullet hell found their eyes bleeding from being exposed to the blinding light, screaming in pain before inevitably getting one of the Sharlayan rounds ripped through their body. Some tried to run back in retreat. Some ran in random directions. Some stumbled off the ship and were shot in the water. Everyone in that initial group was shot. It was a massacre.

 

When the blinding light cleared, one hundred men laid dead at the hands of the three Sharlayans. The entire front portion of the Garlean ship was covered in bodies, and the coppery smell of blood mixed with the salty air of the sea. One would imagine that such a clear triumphant message would provoke a cry of war with a victorious accent, but… not for something like that. “Out.” Ryanti managed to croak, his brows bending in the act that he had done. “Out.” Eighty-five also stated, as her arms began to shake her rifle in her hands uncontrollably. Jonathan looked to her briefly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she tried to steel herself. “I got you. It’s alright.”

 

“We share the burdens together, Eighty-five.” Ryanti also said to her, but his eyes were red and teared up. It was a cold, cold act. Necessary sometimes in their line of work. But none of them enjoyed it. Not in the least. When Ryanti had placed an arm around Eighty-five as well, all three of them ducked. “Muskets!” They called out all in unison, and the last volley of rounds was shot out, which killed another nine Garleans in the second line that stood near the back of the ship. But as it were, the second line did not retreat, instead beginning to march forward to replace the first.

 

Jonathan pulled out his longsword from his holder, its silver hilt gleaming in the sun’s rays as the Garlean line split down the middle to expose the aether-bidden, staunching Tribunus and Sounsyy’s… old… ‘friend’.

 

“Sounsyy Mirke!” She heard her voice cry over the little microphone near her lips, wired to the loudspeakers on the Garlean vessel. She could make out the woman from the other side of the deck rather easily now, though she had never seen her in Garlean uniform before, nor did Cynthia believe she could imagine it. Or could she? “Ahhh Sounsyy, the incompetent little pipsqueak from the Resistance. How are you doing, darling? I see you’re still allowing others to clean up your own messes and take bullets for you. Or cannons. Or something. What was it, again? Ah it doesn’t matter.”

 

The light from the sun’s rays illuminated her glasses as she flicked her hair aside. “Maybe even allowing others to do your hair for you too? I do my own just fine. But I was always able to do everything just fine and you… weren’t. I admit, you managed to get this far by relying on unconventional tactics and your little friends, which by the way have just exposed themselves as well as your mission. But unlike you, I have always decided to walk the high road, which has always lied with this Empire. Silly girl… it has been so long since Ala Mhigo has become part of the Empire that the citizens who now grace the very roads you hold so dear know nothing of their meager, shameful past. How can you ‘save’ a populace whom simply don’t wish to be saved? Once a savage, always a savage I suppose.”

 

She glanced over and shut her microphone off, and issued a few order by word of mouth while Terminus crossed his arms and appeared to laugh a little. Even Jonathan was shocked at the appearance of that man. “I’ll tell you what, Captain. I propose that we settle this like civilized individuals and whoever comes out on top claims the prize. I’ll let you fight me one on one IF you can get past these special men here. Yes, very special men...”

 

Within moments, the unit of one hundred men broke off, and around thirty two of those men formed their own small square-like formation, pounding their shields into the floor and extended their swords forward. “I have just ordered every single Ala Mhigan soldier to confront you upon our battlefield and slay you and implore you a question of morality, Sounsyy dear. Would you cut down your own people in order to ‘save’ them and have a crack at lil’ old me? Make your decision now.”

 

With a wave of her hand, the unit composed of entirely Ala Mhigans began to march forward. "We used our equipment." Jonathan managed to say to the Captain. "Everyone has to die."

[Sounsyy]

Note: Contains depictions of graphic violence. You've been warned.

 

 

Sounsyy held her pistol high above her head as the Roehmerl sailed headlong towards the Garlean vessel. Her eyes were narrowed against the wind and spray of the cut waves, locked on her prey. This was the great burden of her life, one she had chosen to carry every day for twenty years. That hatred for Garlemard that she could never let go, never find it in what pitiful excuse of a heart to forgive. Her life had ended that day twenty years ago. What was left then? A lifeless mammet made of flesh and blood and fueled upon hatred. The blood of every Garlean would not be enough to sate the wrong that had been done to her nation- every nation under the heel of the Empire.

 

She almost sighed with relief when she saw a flash from the nearing vessel. That unmistakable flash of a rifle. A gust of wind whipped her hair around her and in her final moment she thought, Thank the gods. But a strong shoulder caught her lower ribs and sent her toppling off the gunwale and to the deck floor. The heavy caliber round crackled overhead. The wind was fully knocked from her, and her eyes which were once at peace, opened wide into the reality of Thal's deceit once more. But she had no air to curse, and the sight of Ryanti laying wounded over top of her brought her hatred for the Garleans back into focus.

 

She pulled herself to her knees and gripped Ryanti's arm, but he appeared well. Then he was moving, aligning himself alongside the starboard gunwale to meet the Garleans. Then she noticed the small figure of Forty-three hidden behind the mast muttering to himself. She looked back at the three, resolute against the tide. The countdown came closer, and Forty-threes chanting intensified. It was happening now.

 

"Shield yer eyes!" Sounsyy screamed out just before the ship went ablaze. Twenty figures hit the deck and threw their arms over their faces just in time. Just before the onslaught. They could hear the screams and cries and squelching over the never-ceasing fire of the Sharlayan weaponry.

 

When the world seemed dark again, Sounsyy and the rest of the Roehmerl's crew looked up from their crouched positions and witnessed the bloody massacre that the three had inflicted upon the Garleans. This violence... this was something Sounsyy had only seen Garleans capable of. For a moment, she wondered just what sort of people they were helping. Were they truly any better than the Garleans? Was her mistrust founded? But the moment passed. Were she able, she would've done the same to these Garleans or worse.

 

These thoughts were short-lived, for the next line of Garlean soldiers ascended onto the warship's deck and formed against them. There would be no ex machina intervention to save them again. It was down to the Lominsans.

 

Sounsyy moved to join Ryanti's side, her pistol drawn in case she had to cover their retreat. But the Tribunus and his first officer appeared, the Garleans holding their position, while this first officer spat her bile. Sounsyy watched the figure from her past, an annoying, wretched figure. Sounsyy replied to none of her taunts, as the very thought of such a betrayal made her stomach twist in on itself. Then a turn for the worst, conquered Ala Mhigans turned into Garlean fodder. She passed a glance to Jonathan, who simply confirmed that they all must die. Sounsyy said nothing, looking back at the slowly approaching Ala Mhigan phalanx.

 

She moved forwards, pistol still held aloft, and stood before the three Sharlayans, obscuring Eighty-five from view. P'welro, Simin, Cwaenlona, and Berasaem joined her in the line in front of the Sharlayans. P'welro cocked her head over her shoulder, speaking quietly to the three, "Recover, quickly, and 'member yer drills." Sounsyy cast her eyes towards Pamido Wolmido at the bow. The Lalafell was knelt down by the 3rd cannon. He nodded to her, and Sounsyy returned her gaze to Cynthia.

 

"My people are proud," Sounsyy shouted back, "Traitors are Ala Mhigan no more and by the laws of my people yer once-noble blood will be drained from yer worthless skins! I will make sure yeh die worse than a dog's death! ...NOW!!"

 

Pamido Wolmido screamed and the three starboard cannons fired into the Garlean warship. The 7th cannon struck into the Garlean warship's foremast, sending splinters and shrapnel in all directions, weakening the mast. The 5th cannon shot straight down the Ala Mhigan line, dismembering those in the center of the phalanx and scattering those to the outside. The 3rd cannon shot across the warship's aft hull, wreaking heavy damage along the warship's topside.

 

Immediately, Sounsyy and the other four Lominsans pushed back against the three Sharlayans, retreating to the Roehmerl's port side in a line. The three starboard cannoneers and Pamido Wolmido joining the defensive line. Sounsyy, P'welro, and Simin fired their pistols into the chaos their cannons had created, covering their retreat. Marjanie stood from her position of cover below the gunwale near the helm and eyed down the barrel of her long rifle. She squeezed the trigger and a Garlean's jaw was separated from his face in a brilliant spray. She pulled the bolt and shoved another round into the barrel, lining up another shot.

 

Then the charge came. The Garleans had risen from the chaos and charged across the deck to board the Roehmerl! Sounsyy shouted and six cannoneers broke the line and charged to meet the Garleans, swinging widely with their axes and cutting, ramming, or just plain running past the assault to get to the starboard three cannons. Two came hurtling to each, grabbing the back of the cannon and shoving it forwards on its track with all of their might. The five lancers followed, Jada out in center. They ran to mid ship and took a knee, raising their pikes forwards. Those who had charged past the marauders crashed upon the lancer line, many being run through before they got close. But the shifting weight caused by the cannons being rammed forwards on their recoil tracks shifted the weight of the vessel, shifting the balance so that the Garleans assault turned into an uphill battle. Many of the Garleans were thrown off balance, some losing footing or falling backwards. The lancer line pushed off from their knelt positions and with their spears sent the first wave stumbling back into the cannoneers who were waiting at their flanks.

 

But then the rest of the assault fell upon them, the Garleans fully recovered from the chaotic sequence. Their numbers were many, and lines, formations, and tactics fell into an uneven, shloshing battleground. The unmistakable crackle of gunblades sounded out in the melee and one of the Roehmerl's cannoneers fell below the surge.

 

To the forecastle, Jada ripped through any assailants that dared pass her to get to two of the Roehmerl's musketeers, Simin and Glazmhus, who were picking off Garleans from their vantage point. P'welro stood at mid-deck, quickdrawing and reloading her pistol with surprising dexterity. She fired a round into a nearby Garlean's skull, pivoted and placed two rounds in the back of one further. A fourth shot into the knee of a charging Garlean Eques, who fell to his knees with a scream and slid across the deck. She brought her knee up into his face with a crack while she reloaded and aimed again.

 

Sounsyy was in the midst of the fighting, her revolver now empty and holstered to her thigh once more. She now fought with her traditional shield and shortsword with tactics mirroring those she had used against Ryanti. Ram a Garlean with the shield to off balance, bring her shortsword up and around the shield, strike to cripple, maim, or to kill only. When one fell, she turned and bashed another. The closer an enemy tried to rush her, the better for her.

 

The captain turned to see P'welro only a few yalms from her side, using a dead Garlean as a shield while she gunned down others with her free arm. But she was quickly surrounded. Sounsyy rushed the nearest vulture and drove her sword through his spleen, spilling his lifeblood from his body. P'welro turned and shot the adjacent soldier through his throat, the splatter nearly missing Sounsyy, who brought her shield up, only to drive its butt edge into the chest of another Garlean and send him over the side of the gunwale with a powerful crack. P'welro nodded her thanks and made to reload her pistol. Sounsyy drew her own, and tossed it to P'welro so that the famed musketeer could have two. A wide grin split across P'welro's face as she reloaded the second and moved forwards to gun down two more Garleans in a single hellfire.

 

To the misfortune of many, Pamido Wolmido was often overlooked in the haze of battle due to his shorter stature. But he made himself known to these Garleans. From the side of the charge he emerged, swinging with the blunted hammer of the gigas' mammon pick. It cracked into the side of one Garlean's leg, caving his knee inwards and deforming the soldier's entire leg. His agony was short-lived, for before he had even fell, Pamido Wolmido had brought the pick in a wide arch overhead and brought the pick down into the falling soldier's chest. Man and mammon thudded onto the deck with a sickening crunch. But the Southern King was already onto the next, his target chosen for him by Susuroon.

 

The sweet Qiqirn whom Eighty-five adored was not the one and same as this Qiqirn in battle. Susuroon Shortsnout was a savage archer. He drew his shortbow from close range, ducking and weaving in between legs and over bodies, firing a barb only at point blank range, sending the arrow almost clean through limbs, or buried deeply into the recipients' torso or throat. The Qiqirn worked in tandem with Pamido Wolmido, the pair crippling an enemy and moving on to the next, while the other dealt the final blow.

 

Susuroon dove under the swinging blade of one such attack, drew an arrow, and fired it at close range into the back of the soldier's knee, dislodging the patella from its anatomical position and driving the man screaming in agony to his knees, when Pamido Wolmido emerged from the fray in time to drive the blunted hammer of his mammon into the Garlean's whimpering face. The Lalafell in turn drove his mammon into the hip of a passing Garlean, only for Susuroon to pounce upon the fallen soldier and descend upon his throat.

 

Efficiency and teamwork was how this crew operated on the battlefield, and the smallfolk were only one such example. Marjanie and Fhruhsunn were defending the helm from those who dared the climb. Marjanie stood upon the helm, in a rather gallant pose. Her legs shoulder-width apart, her back straight, her eye level with the barrel of her rifle. Her rifle echoed loudly, and a Garlean soldier was painted in his own red mist. She reloaded, aimed, fired again, bringing down a foe that had sought to attack a cannoneer from behind. She pivoted at her hips, taking aim at another target seeking to bridge the gap between the Roehmerl and the Garlean vessel. He fell with a spurt of blood from the hole through his heart.

 

Fhruhsunn, though armed only with a pistol, was no less deadly. With one hand on the helm to keep the Roehmerl steady, he used the other to gun down whoever drew near to his partner. More than one head snapping backwards with a look of shock after ascending the staircase leading to the helm. But a group of Garleans rushed the stairs and one managed to escape the firing squad and came at Fhruhsunn, knocking him away from the helm. The two Roegadyns tangled with each other before Fhruhsunn cracked the side of the man's head with his fist and full body tossed the howling Roegadyn into the icy brine off the back of the Roehmerl. He looked over the railing to admire the mighty splash from below.

 

He turned back towards Marjanie, only to catch a bullet from a Garlean marksman positioned on the other ship. He gasped in pain, letting out a gargled yell as he fell to the deck. Marjanie dove from the helm to his side, screaming in panic. She pressed both of her hands against the wound to the right side of his chest, trying to staunch the bleeding. The mute Roegadyn opened his mouth like a fish out of water, but no sound could be made out. He was trying to warn her, but he couldn't, so he pushed her away with his left hand, throwing her back away from him. She looked at him in shock, but only then did she see the soldier who had come to finish the task. She reached for her rifle, but before she could raise it in defense, Sounsyy had charged the length of the poop deck and drove her shield into the man's flank, sending him to the ground. Sounsyy was on top of him instantly, hacking madly with her shortsword.

 

Marjanie was at her side, pulling the Captain off the long dead soldier. "Buy me time!" Marjanie screamed at her, and Sounsyy found Marjanie's rifle being thrust into her arms. Sounsyy nodded, sheathed her shortsword and replaced her shield over her back. She hefted the rifle, and moved to the stairs. Garleans rushed her, recognizing the captain in the bloody fray. She steadied her rifle and fired at the first assailant, blasting the man's shoulder at close range. He yelled in agony, but Sounsyy had meant for the bullet to strike center mass. Guns were not her forte. She cursed and reloaded, while taking the next step down. She fired again at the next attacker, hitting him square in the chest at point blank. But the next was on top of her, swinging his blade. She parried the attack with the rifle and swung the butt of the rifle around to crack the attacker's face. She adjusted her footing and drove the bayonet forwards. She descended another step, and another, fending off the attackers in this way. Until she heard Marjanie's voice behind her yelling to make a path. Sounsyy charged with her rifle, ramming the barrel into the nearest soldier's chest with a resounding crack suggesting broken ribs.

 

Marjanie stumbled past, Fhruhsunn draped heavily across her shoulders. They made for Sounsyy's cabin, threw open the door, and once Fhruhsunn had collapsed inside Marjanie returned to the door. Sounsyy yelled something unintelligible and threw Marjanie's rifle back at the Elezen, who took it, reloaded, and fired another expert shot into a would-be attacker.

 

Sounsyy made to draw her shield and sword and rejoin the fight, but before she could, a deafening crackle sounded behind her and what felt like a buffalo ram into her side. She was thrown on her face to the ground, blood seeping from her right side from the wound. Sounsyy turned and saw Cynthia boarding the Roehmerl, rifle held loosely in both hands, with that annoying smirk plastered across her face.

 

"Well, that wasn't very sporting of me, was it?" The bitch cackled, bending down to lean the rifle against the gunwale for the time being. She knelt down over a fallen Eques, taking a hold of his spear. "Here," she said rising, "This should bring back fond memories."

 

Sounsyy picked herself up off the deck, taking in the scene around her. The Garleans were thinning on the Roehmerl, though enough still remained in reserve on the Garlean warship. With the Sharlayan's help, her crew were still mostly fit. This was their chance. And Cynthia had seen hers. The woman rushed Sounsyy with her spear and sent a flurry of stabs at the Captain, who dove to one side. Her side was in agony, a deep flesh wound lay exposed through her torn armor. She grabbed a discarded spear of her own and brought it up in a wide flailing swing at the former Ala Mhigan, putting space between the two and staving off Cynthia's next attack.

 

"Jada! Lead the charge!" Sounsyy shouted as she lunged at Cynthia, trying to force the woman to reconsider her positioning and place Sounsyy between Cynthia and her own warship, leaving her back to the Roehmerl. "Take the Garlean ship!" But Cynthia realized what she was doing and rushed Sounsyy. Sounsyy parried the spear and the two spearheads danced around each other point for point, neither gaining ground. This gave her crew enough time to rally themselves.

 

Jada gave a yell and rushed to board the Garlean vessel, her bloody halberd in front of her. There was no fear in her eyes as she rushed that line. Cwaenlona's spear joined Jada's and P'welro joined the charge not far behind. The other musketeers ran to whatever vantage point they could manage and rained death from afar on the far line. Soon all able bodied lancers had joined the charge and boarded the enemy vessel, entering the next battle. The musketeers lined the gunwale and peppered what shots they could into the line. Pamido Wolmido and the remaining cannoneers dealt with those Garleans still left aboard the Roehmerl. The battle on both ships still raged, though Jada had succeeded in bringing the focus of that fight to the enemy.

 

Cynthia came from the side and cracked Sounsyy's face with the butt of her spear. The Captain's lip was now bloody as she stood, spear still tightly gripped in hand. Cynthia looked as if she was about to say some other smug remark, her mouth half forming the words already. Sounsyy couldn't stomach any more filth. With a scream she threw her left leg out in front and made as if to charge, but her torso curled back and with great force she hurled her spear like a javelin at the woman. The woman screeched as it pierced her left arm, breaking the bone and weighing her left side down. She writhed and tried to separate the spear from her arm, but it was too painful an effort and Sounsyy was already on top of the woman.

 

Sounsyy tore at the woman's face with her good hand, swiping violently and repeatedly at it as she clung to Cynthia's throat with her injured hand. The Garlean suffered several heavy blows to the face before tripping backwards onto her back where Sounsyy took the woman's head in both hands and began slamming into the decking. But the other woman was strong and she shoved back, throwing the small Miqo'te off of her. Cynthia grabbed at her spear with her right hand and thrust it at Sounsyy as she returned, catching Sounsyy's breastplate. It pushed Sounsyy back, but only for a moment. Sounsyy drew her shortsword and swiped the spear out of Cynthia's hands. Then she was back on top, holding the woman's chest down with her injured hand. Sounsyy raised her shortsword up and brought it down across the woman's face, shattering her glasses, and leaving a wide gash down the woman's face.

 

But the sword did not break bone and the woman's pained screeches were now muddled in blood. Cynthia flailed in pain and rage, and the spear still lodged in Cynthia's arm caught Sounsyy in the throat, sending her reeling off of Cynthia. The injured woman started to drag herself away, back towards the starboard gunwale, back towards her Imperial vessel, back towards her magitek rifle. She could barely see through all of the blood and without her glasses. But she was smart enough to remember where she had left it. She had intended to use it once she had disabled that disgusting runt of a Miqo'te, but the circumstances had turned dire. This wasn't how she intended this to go at all, but she would still kill Sounsyy Mirke in any case.

 

Cynthia felt the rifle in her fingers when she reached out for it. Then she felt someone grab her ankle with a strong grip. She looked down to see the blurry form of Sounsyy at her feet. She tried to kick her away but couldn't. Cynthia stretched out and grabbed hold of the rifle, turned, saw Sounsyy raise her blade, and fired...

[Ryanti]

[align=center]Second Disclaimer: This post contains very graphic scenes of the hells of war. Viewer discretion is advised.[/align]

 

 

Recover quickly, and remember your drills. Such were the words that P’welro said to the group of Sharlayan warriors that now fell behind the Captain’s fighting force adjacent from the Garlean menace. They knew they didn’t have much time. It would not be long before the true action would begin, and the two opposing sides would meet in open conflict upon both of their sailing vessels.

 

This was not an ideal scenario for the Sharlayans. Their primary methods of engagement involved smaller skirmishes and quieter confrontations that were either off the record or too insignificant to matter. Yet here they were, facing close to an additional one hundred men in total. Two out of the four members of the team had never been in open war combat before, and one of those people included the Keeper of the Artifact. He glanced over at the other member of the team that hadn’t before – Eighty-five – before their gaze followed upon the leader of the group.

 

Jonathan had kept his gaze fixed on the towering, imposing man that appeared to be the head of this Garlean division. A distant place within his gut told him that his presence here was… unnatural. There was something heavy about him – something horrific and artificial – and the expression that was on his face was of great concern despite his complete calm and lack of uncertainly in both his posture, and his gestures. “We cannot spare any more ammunition for our rifles besides what we have just utilized.” Jonathan told P’welro. “The rest of these men must be disposed of by other means. Just concentrate on what your units do best – we will do our own thing and make sure to thin out the men you will eventually encounter – Seventy-seven, Eighty-five, dispose of your rifles and retrieve your grenadic armaments. Forty-three on me, keep those gunblades from doing too much damage.”

 

While the Captain was commencing her return speech, Ryanti and Eighty-five were very rapidly disposing of their rifles by ejecting the magazines from the weapons and slinging the guns upon their backs. They moved at a heightened pace, sprinting with a calm collecting precision that barely made any noise upon the ship. For the first time on this trip, they had fully abandoned their disguise as sailors. It was already useless to do so after they had to break their cover to eliminate half of that army.

 

They sprinted down into the place where they equipment laid, and swiftly placed the rifles back into their special crate. Their movements were smooth and calculated, but in reality their hearts were beating fast and hard. The tips of Ryanti’s fingers and toes were tingling in adrenaline, and Eighty-five felt tight and hot in her all-encompassing suit. They eyed each other for a brief moment and for that moment they believed they could have just a little bit of relief by relying on one another’s presence before having to step out onto the battlefield. That moment never came, for it was the cannons of the Roehmerl that ignited the beginning of the battle.

 

Eighty-five grabbed two smaller versions of the Sharlayan longsword Ryanti had on his belt. Unlike Ryanti’s three fulm blade, these shorter weapons made excellent daggers in the hands of a mischief maker’s daughter. She managed to get a hold of them just in time to juggle the objects Ryanti was tossing at her. They were dark cylinder shaped objects that were about the size of her hand. There was what looked like a circular pulling pin resting on the top. Another secret weapon of theirs. “Let’s leave our souls here. Then go back for them when this is over.” Eighty-five mentioned to Ryanti as the young man was furiously equipping himself.

 

“Yeah.” Was all that Ryanti could mention. He didn’t know what else to say. The sound of the Garlean charge came right after, and both of them knew that it was time to go. “Let’s.”

 

Meanwhile, Forty-three stood completely still in the center of the deck of the Roehmerl, blocking out the immediate sounds of war to prefer chanting within his own small world. The aura within his staff was a shining beacon, having spread a powerful white light where all eyes could see and fester on. However, it was a pitiful hope to try to take him out. When the gun blades started firing, and bullets whizzed past the squad aboard the Roehmerl, Forty-three was responsible for blocking a fair amount of them hitting their intended targets. His over-arching shell spell prevented the Garleans from preferring a long range assault, forcing them to get close to engage their targets with anything less than a high powered rifle. It was near impossible for them to try to get to the mage to deal such a killing blow as to render the spell null and void, for the Lalafell had boxed himself in with layer upon layer of defensive spells. One Garlean found this out the hard way by combusting into flames due to a fire trap.

 

Jonathan preferred to join the Marauders as they cleaved their way into the Garlean’s line. The man was a natural at fighting to the point of it being scary even to his allies. The emotions on his face were shut off, and he was an absolute killing machine. The difference between him and the others, though, was that Jonathan was fighting rather cleanly. His kills were very precise. A stab into the aorta, a slash of the throat, and a slashing of the calf arteries were his main methods of killing Garleans. His ability to counter outweighed even his offensive onslaught. Any Garlean that found themselves attacking him were choking for air that would not come through broken throats or bleeding out helplessly on the ground within moments of confronting him.

 

He was very specific in his directional movements. He was trying to get closer. The imposing man that he witnessed earlier had not yet joined the battle, and he had to be the one to eliminate him. There was something about him that told Jonathan that if he were to reach the ship, it would be an absolute maddening bloodbath. He didn’t know why, but his occupation had taught him not to question his instincts.

 

“I can’t hold this shield!” Forty-three exclaimed out loud. His voice was heard by both the Roehmerl’s squad on the ship, as well as the linkpearl stuffed in the ears of the Sharlayans. “Too much aether!” He growled again, his voice rather low and primal for such a sophisticated man as he. But there were many secrets about the older Lalafell and unfortunately some of the darker ones would probably have to surface today. The ungraduated mage did not allow the shield to disperse, however. When it was wearing thin, he decided instead to suck the shield further inward, absorbing the power that he had casted out back into his staff as the Garlean charge came. It would become ironic that perhaps the one mage on the battlefield would cause the most gore. For the moment all of that power focused on the tip of his staff, the mage slammed it down in front of a group of Garleans that had focused on taking him out by charging with their swords and swears. The power coned out in an arc of flashing light. The concentrated light was so powerful that a spurting red mist sprayed from the Garlean men, melted muscle and exposed skeletal bone all that remained of their faces as they collapsed, dead long before they hit the ground. The mage had a still, dark look as the boat shifted its weight and he stayed right where he was because he did indeed remember his drills, watching the dead mutilated bodies slide away from him.

 

The mage looked to his right, observing the two young soldiers sprinting back onto the deck with their weapons ready. “Forty-three!” Eighty-five called out from the mist of the chaos. “Join our charge!”

 

Forty-three eyed Jonathan and they both nodded. Within moments, the Sharlayans made themselves known with a dramatic shift of tactics and plans that would have them create their own mini-front aside from the main front that the Roehmerl’s crew was head deep in. “FOR THE FREE WORLD!” Was the statement that Ryanti, Eighty-five, and Forty-three heard in their linkpearls as Jonathan led this charge. Within moments, the four members of the team screamed out a war cry as they seemingly ran straight for the Garlean line. But upon the side of the Roehmerl the three non-magic users raised their right arms and a booming sound was heard as grappling hooks were launched out of those wrists from their Sharlayan suits.

 

These hooks penetrated various Garlean structures upon their own vessel, and once they did the wire immediately lifted the three Sharlayans into the air, their forms blotted out by the sun as they covered immense distance in the air in little time. Forty-three did not grapple, but instead chose to smack the ground behind him with a wind spell, launching him to immense heights to match the pace of the other three.

 

Of the two grenades latched onto Eighty-five’s belt, she clicked the safety off of one of them, and the blue idle light on the device shifted to red. During this majestic flight, she ripped it off of her belt and pulled the pin off with her teeth, letting it fall from her. Several Garleans in the rear lines glanced up in moderate confusion, and this caused a lack of pacing in the back of the line when it came to the charge. They were already sabotaging their efforts before they even touched the ground.

While the Roehmerl’s crew were dealing with the Ala Mhigan soldiers, the Sharlayans landed in between the other Garlean men about halfway through the line. As soon as they touched the ground, the grenade exploded. A ravaging bang was heard as the consuming fire of the explosion blew limbs off and severed heads from their bodies. Severed ears, eyes and intestines littered the spot in which before was healthy men. A brief rain of blood littered the ground zero of the explosion, and gave the Sharlayans enough space in which to create their own defensive perimeter in which their backs all faced one another.

 

Half of the rows that were charging against the row of lancers along with Jada and P’welro paused in their assaulting advance to look back at the carnage that had invaded their ranks. Startled at the sudden presence of the Sharlayans, these rows turned around to face them. A silent form of understanding between those Garlean rows and the Garlean rows that stood in front of the Sharlayans occurred and both lines rushed them at the same time, pointing their spears and raising their swords in their rapid advance.

 

“Men.” Jonathan addressed as he flanked his back to both Ryanti and Eighty-five, facing in the opposite direction of the Roehmerl. “I would like you guys to cut your way back to the crew. When that happens, then all of you must charge the rest.”

 

“What are you going to be doing?” Eighty-five mentioned, looking over her shoulder as the Garlean line ran ever closer.

 

“I must face him. Alone.” Jonathan muttered, half to himself and half to Eighty-five. There was something about Jonathan that he knew and understood – only he had a chance to take him. “Forty-three?” He addressed. “Yes sir?” The proper Lalafell responded, the only one besides Jonathan to possess a calm demeanor. “Use it.”

 

“John.” Ryanti murmured with an emotion tone, sighing vividly as he turned his head halfway in a half-glance towards his commanding officer in an emotional appeal. “Don’t worry about me. Go! And do not look back at me.” Ryanti heard Jonathan say, followed by a little wisp of wind – the effect of the older man rushing ahead to charge the second Garlean line all by himself. The younger man felt a cold chill creep up to his spine.

 

“Ah.. o-oh dear.” The lalafell mentioned to himself in a rather somber tone, pointing the tip of his staff towards the ground where the corpses from the grenade laid. “Oh deary dear..”

 

“What’s the matter, Forty-three?” Eighty-five said hushly.

 

“This is what kept me from graduating…” The lalafell murmured, closing his eyes and quietly whispering to himself. Curiously, the blood from the fallen soldiers began to reverse in their drying process and quietly creeped back into a liquefied form, and slithering into the pure crystal that the lalafell had embellished in his staff, tainting it and turning it into a deep red color. Eighty-five glanced away rather sickly, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Ryanti as the mob grew ever closer.

 

This was a hell of a scene in Ryanti’s eyes as time seemed to slow down for a moment or two. It was his first time out in open war like this. He had never seen so many men rushing him with the intent to kill him. Is this what his father felt through all of the battles he raged through… especially Cartenaeu. Was this what his great grandfather felt on the eve of the Autumn War? When Ala Mhigo itself charged the lines in the Black Shroud? Was this what every soldier felt as they confronted the aspect of death itself?

 

He unsheathed his standard issue sword, a sword made out of many layers of forged mithral steel. A sword that he was familiar with nowadays. A sword carved out to be the same length as the family sword Ryanti carried with him outside of this occupation. He could see the men and women fighting on the Roehmerl. Fighting on the other side of the line. He could hear the screams and shouts of soldiers falling by the truckload behind him. He could feel the nervousness get to him; an insane urge to suddenly curl up and rock back and forth as the sight of blood and the smell of death.

 

“Ready?” Eighty-five could hear him say, as he brought his sword up next to him with two hands. She cleverly spun her daggers forward, and waited for the Garleans to reach them. “Yeah.” Was all she could mention. She didn’t know what else to say.

 

Eighty-five made the first move as the lines met. She immediately strafed, and turned her shoulder to the side to dodge a thrusting spear. She was a screamer when she fought. Her shout penetrated the air as her dagger penetrated the throat of the soldier that had attacked her. The blade popped out of the back of the now dead Garlean’s throat as she pivoted her foot and shoved her blade into another spearman’s throat. The two corpses stood tall because of Eighty-five’s blades for a moment before she swiped the blades out of their necks. It was the first two corpses of her killing spree. She ducked a horizontal overhand swing and stabbed one of her blades so hard into a Garlean’s knee that the bone popped out of his leg, and silenced him with a beheading, creating a giant X wound in another soldier’s neck right after. A quick spin gutted two more soldiers of their intestines, and she left them to die slowly as her short blades parried two shoulder strikes, countering with two strikes of her own: one cutting off the man’s hands, the other piercing right through his temple, brain matter leaking out of the other side of his head by the time she pulled her blades out. She kicked another man in the groin that had come behind her, whom dropped his axe and gripped his sensitive spot once he got on his knees, his face frozen in his scream when a blade pierced his skull from straight above and finding a temporary new home in his brain, after slicing it in half of course. The blood decorated her features as she pulled it out. She immediately pivoted again and swiped blindly at another man’s face, and it paid off by slicing his eyes and making him blind, when then was an easy kill by sliding the blade right through his mouth and pushing the tip of the blade right between another man’s eyes – two heads in one stone if you will.

 

Ryanti’s style was slightly less speedy than Eighty-five’s, but a much more vicious and aggressive style that he had demonstrated with Sounsyy, though relying on the same principles. When the line reached him, he ducked low, and swiped out two different legs from two different men at once, causing them to keel over and grab at their legs as they slowly died by blood loss. He glanced straight, the crew far, far away from him. But he would do what he would have to and call upon his noble blood to protect him. He would carve through all of these men to reach them again. To see them alive and safe. P’welro. Fruhsuun. Marj. Susu.

 

Sounsyy.

 

He called upon his father’s blood and leapt up into the air, thrusting his sword into the skull of a charging Garlean. Using his chest as a springboard, he kept off of him and swung his longsword diagonally, carving a deep red line into the chest of another that had maneuvered behind him, crushing his diaphragm. He immediately swung in a wide horizontal arc back at the frontline, beheading two Garleans at the same time, their limb bodies tumbling over in fountains of blood as he bent his knees in a defensive stance, his sword pointed outstretch where the tip of the blade faced the throat of his enemies. His halfblooded ears sensed a strike incoming from his rear left, and he shifted his blade behind him as the blades locked. Ryanti shifted his eyes at the soldier and held the block, shifting his stance to stone him to the ground and keep him from moving. He blinked and looked in front of him, eyeing another blade coming straight for him with the intention of beheading. The young man bent his head backwards to dodge it, briefly seeing the reflection of himself in the glistening steel that could have been the reflection of his father.

 

He saw the blade pass him and smash into the Garlean soldier that he had parried. He brought his sword back up front with a horizontal swing, slicing the belly of the other man and dropping him in an instant. He spun to his side just as a Garlean with a shield tried to use a technique Sounsyy might have used on Ryanti in the past. But during that fight, Ryanti had not desired to go lethal. This time he did. Ryanti gripped the blade end of his sword with his other hand and crashed it against the shield hard. His two handed shunt had superior strength to the Garlean’s one handed shunt, which caused the shield to bend back. Immediately after, Ryanti stabbed the tip of his sword straight down the Garlean’s leg, severing arteries and shattering bone before piercing the deck of the ship itself. It was enough to kill him right there. He used it at a balancing pole, the Garlean screaming in agony as he fought off another one briefly with a jump kick to his face while using his sword and the Garlean’s leg as leverage.

 

He ripped the sword out of the Garlean’s leg, and the screams of death followed him with another huge swing, cutting down three men that had surrounded him. His style was focusing on giving himself space with his long blade, and anyone that violated that space would be cut down. He looked up as a Garlean spearman made a wild decision to try to leap over this line of space and cut him down with his superior reach. But Ryanti moved himself forward, and before the Garlean had a chance to adjust, he was cut down in mid-air, a slice of blood spurting from his massive chest wound. A move like that would have done wonders to cut morale, and Ryanti figured so as he utilized his current adrenaline rush to immediately charge after the men. But these men were hardened Garleans, loyal to their cause. So immediately after charging, Ryanti was on the defense, holding his long sword in a reverse grip and sifting it from side to side as he parried each blade and spearpoint that came close to him. He gritted his teeth and cried out as a Garlean in front tried to break his defense with a massive overhead strike, but the blade of his chipped from the defense of Ryanti’s sword, which had superior steel. Fueled by adrenaline, Ryanti cried out in an almost feral roar as he lifted his sword from a defensive stance into an offensive one, the notched Garlean blade stuck on Ryanti’s sword as he lifted it up and cut into the Garlean’s neck, shattering the sword completely and severing the Garlean’s spinal cord, his head fruitfully falling off balance of his shoulders as he crumpled down to his knees, dying with the blade notched into his flesh. Ryanti kicked him and ripped the blade out of him, holding it back in front with dark, embedding eyes of a long lost innocence that betrayed the polar-layer of ice that rested on top of his warm, mountainous heart.

 

But perhaps the one that truly betrayed what his image to others were was Forty-three. Indeed, he had to reveal the secret of why he did not exactly graduate from his magical studies at the first offensive maneuver he pulled. As Eighty-five and Seventy-seven took out the enemies that stood before them in the row that they were in, it was no question that they would be immediately overwhelmed if not for Forty-three. Out of all of the Sharlayan’s group, he would end up being the one that caused the most bloodshed.

 

And the reason was because of his blood magic.

 

“Twelve forgive me.” He muttered in a moment of weakness. That was before his pupils glowed a dim, dark red. “For unleashing the sins of Amdapor.”

 

Immediately when the line was upon him, the Lalafell beat the crystal upon the floor in a forward concussive blast that turned the brains of the Garleans charging him into complete mush, blood spilling out of every orifice as their bodies fell in heaps. The immense blood from the shocking sight flew into his staff’s crystal, for every death made it more powerful. He swung his staff to flank his right side with an unnaturally powerful gust of wind so harsh that it ripped the limbs off of the bodies as they flung helplessly into the air and far out to sea. He spun his staff around his body to gather momentum, shoving the tip of his staff into the skull of another, gusting wind into his head until his head exploded. The Lalafell exhaled harshly, staying in control of his senses somehow as his bloodlust increased. He extended a hand to a few men that had charged him and forced them to the floor, extending another hand with his staff in his grip to a few others who had retreated at the abomination sight of his magic, also being pulled down to the ground. The lalafell lifted both arms up into the air and slammed them down over and over again, the bodies helplessly crushing themselves against the floor until nothing was left but mangled, broken, dead bodies that he then propelled telepathically towards other troops.

 

He reached out his staff and yanked it back, pulling another group of soldiers towards him belly-first and kept them telepathically bound to the floor. He held up his staff as individual blood-red beams from the crystal struck the bodies of the Garleans. Nothing could match the horror and pain in the screams of the young men as the beams began to leech from their life force, further empowering his staff. The unnatural and downright evil spell mangled their cries of pain and terror as they began to age rapidly, their bones, muscles, minds and souls being absorbed into pure, raw, unadulterated power. He continued to walk towards the line of men, and the line retreated out of pure fear, deciding their best course of action was to charge Jada and P’welro’s side of the battle. But then again, perhaps it was the Lalafell’s goal all along to feed the Roehmerl’s crew soldiers. Scared, demoralized, and shaking soldiers.

 

When he was done with those Garleans his staff had absorbed… there was nothing left but their clothing.

 

Eighty-five and Ryanti touched shoulders after their initial sprees, watching as the men began to retreat from their lines. He heard Eighty-five sighed in almost euphoric manner, sliding her bloody daggers horizontally across the cheeks of her rear, decorating the shape of them with the blood of her enemies. Her success on the battlefield made her feel a little sexy, and upon witnessing this Ryanti raised his eyebrows, not really knowing how to respond to that.

 

Perhaps the look of a greatly pained Forty-three was enough to distract him from strange thoughts. But his actions were ever strange as well. His face appeared to be in great pain and remorse, and as he walked up to the group, he held his staff out. Blood was leaking from it in droves as the deeply red crystal began to shed its tainted color and the power of his aura grew weaker and weaker, gradually returning to its normal state, which was powerful in its own right. “My… tainted curiosity led to the demise of my academic career, as well as my dreams.” He said, though it seemed like he had a very hard time breathing, like it took a lot out of him just to stay sane, and purge himself. To let go of that power that dared to corrupt him. “And of course, the demise of Amdapor herself.”

 

Ryanti felt that it was kind of strange that nobody was coming from the rear anymore. Upon finally glancing back, he noticed that the last division of the Garlean force was stationed around the main door that led to the inside of the ship. “I did not expect the two fronts to become one – why are they not attacking us?”

 

Eighty-five momentarily turned to look at what Ryanti was looking at, uncertainly showing on her expression. “I don’t see the big guy either. Is that bad?”

 

The lalafell grimly lifted his staff back upright. The crystal had been removed of the taint, and the glowing red irises of his had faded as he spoke for the first time in his normal voice since his sinister trance took hold. “They are dueling in private.”

 

 

 

-----

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There he stood.

 

A man of imposing height. Of unnatural means of staying alive. The sound of his rebreather penetrated the still air in front of him in the dimly lit, quiet hallway. He was eerily still, and his magnificent gunblade rested in the palm of his hand, the blade pointed down. His half-cape rested and cloaked half of his figure, disguising him as a shadow, a half ghost of a man already half dead.

 

There he walked. A man with a dead expression on his face, but a spark of determination and grit in his eyes. A man that had grown a beard since beginning his mission. A man with messy medium hair and a swimmer’s body, but with literally thousands of tiny scars decorating his body. Scars that held deeply imbedded secrets. A man that held his own blade to the side and brought it up slowly in front of him once the man had confronted the other.

 

“I know who you are.” Terminus boomed in a dark, quiet voice. Neither man moved. Jonathan’s eyes only squinted but a little, but he kept quiet, not spilling a single word to the imposing man before him. “Your petty little Sharlayan games will not last forever in the ears of learned men.”

 

Jonathan lowered his sword but a moment after he said that. “Neither will your efforts to stay alive. With what state your body is in now. With what abuse you have sacrificed to it in your childish pursuit of knowledge you are not worthy of.”

 

The tall man began walking. His footsteps were solid and his atmosphere was heavy. Jonathan, for all of his talk, could not deny that this man reeked of power. He found himself back up half a step every time Terminus took a full one. The dim light passed him over, shading all of his face but his lips and his beard.

 

“You are unwise to insult me.” Terminus responded, his eyes growing serious as he raised his sword up into the air, his half-cape whirling in the wind as he went to strike Jonathan’s shoulder. It was a basic hit, a basic strike. But Terminus’s augmented body made it extremely powerful, and half the time it was all Terminus needed to defeat someone. But not Jonathan. Jonathan swiped at the strike with his own swing, parrying it in a very loud clang, and taking two steps back. Terminus’s cheek bent a little, simulating a calculating smile and following him.

 

Jonathan parried another swing to his legs. A loud clang. He went to block overhead, and dodged to the side a little to shrug the enormous blow off. His strength was incredible, as was his precision. He knew he couldn’t back up forever. “Enough playing.” He heard the imposing man say.

 

So when Terminus lined him up for another basic overhead strike, Jonathan yelled out and swung with his own blow that rammed horizontally into the armor of the man. Which did nothing but back him up a little. Terminus let out a little grunt of annoyance as Jonathan attempted to quicken the pace, and quicken the pace he did.

 

Left shoulder, left leg, overhand to the right shoulder, chest, left leg, chest. In that instant, Jonathan was all over him. This was the same strategy that he had used against Sounsyy: Complete mastery of the basics of swordplay. Striking at all locations with breakneck speed and precision. Not allowing them a chance to attack, forcing them to defend until they eventually made a mistake and got ran over by the onslaught. The majestic Captain of the Roehmerl was one of many that fell victim to this technique, but Terminus was a whole different kind of ball game. He was a man augmented. He had no problem matching the speed and precision in his defense. He had no issue doing it over and over again. But Jonathan just kept going.

 

The Garlean doors opened side by side as they broke through the hallway and into a boiler room. Terminus’s sword waved back and forth as he matched the offense with defense, though his heavy feet had to keep backing up. A moment was interrupted when Terminus kicked out one of Jonathan’s legs, causing him to trip and stumble his back against the guardrail of the catwalk, moving his head just in time before Terminus’s blade damn well cleaved the guardrail completely in half.

 

Jonathan immediately got up to his feet and dodged a thrust by the Garlean lord, jamming the back of his hilt into the side of his face, breaking one of the tiny liquefied painkiller capsules on his face, the liquid splashing out as his face twitched back before he retaliated with a haymaker that knocked Jonathan off the catwalk and onto the stairs below, causing him to drop his sword.

 

He managed to pick it up and get back on his feet as the powerful legs of Terminus clanged onto the stairwell. Jonathan managed to block his blow, but it was powerful enough to send him tumbling down the stairs.

 

He winced in pain and glanced up at the man approaching him, calmly and collectively down the stairs. He reached his hand up and tugged on a steam wheel, causing the steam pouring out of a canister to erupt in front of Terminus. “Gah!” The man gasped as he raised his hands up and reacted to the sudden burst of boiling hot steam. It was enough for Jonathan to regain his composure as he witnessed the man leap over the steam in an effort to cut in Jonathan in half, which he dodged and tried to parry with a swipe of the legs, but was forced into a blade lock by Terminus, who then maneuvered the blade upwards into an X lock. “I told you to stop playing games.” Terminus mentioned to Jonathan, who responded by spitting blood into the man’s face and reacting with yet another swing…

 

 

 

-----

 

 

 

 

“Come on, let’s go let’s go!” Ryanti shouted as the three Sharlayans charged the retreating Garlean line. They were becoming easier to cut down, disorganized and confused since their leader on the battlefield, Cynthia, had entuffled herself in a cat fight with the Captain. Ryanti could see that from where he was. He whispered a silent prayer for Nyemia, and the Allagans even, to watch over her. Until… just until he could get there.

 

Ryanti swung his sword up and down, side to side like a madman, but it was an organized madness. He was swiping at every direction of space, cutting down immediately those who had their backs turned to him and swiftly knocking the ones threatening him off their feet and finishing them off. Eighty-five took care of the leftovers while Forty-three made sure they weren’t flanked. With a slash to the left, right and front, Ryanti continued. When he reached a frontal wall of opposition, Ryanti’s advanced was so determined that he placed a brilliant kick to the vertical line, putting all of his weight on it, which caused all of the soldiers behind him to fall on their backs. Ryanti had took form, and there was no denying that anyone that was watching could make the claim that after year upon year of growing into the man he was now, Ryanti was finally beginning to live up to his name and his father. One could mistake him for his father as he carved his own line in the opposing force, and fear seemed to leave him as his confidence grew and his immersion intensified. It seemed that he would find his way after all.

 

Until one enemy that he leapt at was carrying something that he was not expecting – a gun.

 

A shot rang out that knocked the bird out of the sky, connecting right with his stomach and knocking him flat on his back. He screamed in pain – the bullet had smashed against his abdomen but not penetrated because of his armor. But it had knocked the wind out of him entirely and robbed him of his weapon. He could hear the faint cries of his name being called out from a woman’s voice far behind him, but it went in through on ear and out the other. His dim, watery eyes beheld the shadow of the Garlean gunman shove the rifle he was carrying horizontally across his neck with such veracity that he could not breathe. He felt his body squirm and suffocate, and a great pain in his stomach and heart. He was dying.

 

His fists struggled wildly to move. To swing at anything. He hit his ribcage rather softly, just to see if he could hit something. He felt his larynx tighten, and his eyes began to black out, his hands wildly still reaching for something. He was growing desperate; he had extended himself ahead of the group, and it might have been the mistake to lead to his death.

 

He tried in vain to take a breath, his hands finally gripping something soft... a part of the body he was familiar with as a man. War was not a time for shame. With all of his remaining might, Ryanti gripped the man’s groin, putting all of the strength on his nails. The Garlean above him screamed in unimaginable pain as Ryanti’s nails pierced blood vessels and crushed his testes, soaking his trousers in the blood among other fluids of his own de-genderizing at the hands of a desperate, dying man. That pain caused him to ease up just a little bit, enough for Ryanti to move his head enough to bite the man’s hand. In that moment, he was thankful for his mother’s blood. His slightly sharpened canines dug into the man’s veins, filling Ryanti’s senses with the taste of mangled dead skin and blood. He pressed further. He felt bones crack. Now was not the time to show mercy. It was either him or Ryanti. Further. He had to get to them. Further.

 

He felt the bone separate, and ripped his teeth away, coughing up the enemy’s blood, along with a finger. The agonizing Garlean grabbed the rifle with his other hand, trying to smash Ryanti’s face with the butt stock while crying relentlessly in pain. He managed one direct hit, knocking Ryanti for a loop and busting his nose, but the half Hyur, half Miqo’te leapt upon him like an animal, knocking him onto his back and swinging at him through a blood-fury rage. The normally civilized and rationalized young man who took pride in a Hyur heritage was now viciously clawing at the man, slashing his cheeks and forehead up before grabbing his neck and slamming his head against the back of the deck until blood had pooled in the wood behind him. But he was still not dead.

 

The crazed young man slid out the loader from the Garlean’s gun and aimed straight for the neck, but was stopped by the Garlean’s good hand, pinned in-between the rifle and the skin of his neck. Ryanti dropped the loader for a moment and ripped the rifle away from the man’s hands, swinging the top-heavy object upon his face with no technique or rhythm whatsoever, screaming out with every blow until the rifle broke into pieces and Ryanti was holding nothing but a stick; a part of the gun itself. He tossed the stick aside and picked up the loader again, the tears of his eyes mixing with the blood of his nose as he edged the tip of the loader towards the neck of the dying man. He was whispering something, something Ryanti could not understand at the moment. Perhaps it was a message of forgiveness, or a begging to Ryanti’s ears that he didn’t truly want to die. Maybe they had many things in common. Maybe outside of this war, outside of these governments and outside of points of view, they could have been great friends.

 

But Ryanti kept pushing, his teeth shivering and chattering against each other as the loader pierced the man’s skin, and lodged into his throat, finally ending his life.

 

Ryanti collapsed alongside the man, taking a few breaths as he felt a cold, numbing feeling in his chest. He wiped the blood and the tears off of his face with a few wipes. He couldn’t think about it. He had to get… there.

 

He saw a few more heading towards him, distracting by him laying down. With shaky hands, he slowly removed his Sharlayan pistol from his holster. He fired twice at the two approaching him, two spurts of blood from each as they fell. With blurry eyes, he looked back and forth, and saw a Garlean struggling to pick his target. He shot him and watched his head cave in. His eyes saw another – a Garlean trying to carry another injured man that he seemed to care about deeply. He took aim… and shot the well one dead, leaving the injured man to die as he… could not waste a round on that. How many… rounds was that now?

 

He found another target… and aimed straight down the barrel, and pulled down the trigger. But no bullet came. He still heard a shot though. He looked at his gun, and no smoke was emitting from the barrel. It wasn’t him who shot this time. He squeezed the trigger again. Again. Click. Click. Click. In anxiety and panic, the young man stumbled up, looking frantically for the source of that shot…

 

But he had to turn the pistol around for a pistol whip to another Garlean that had approached him, clocking him in the face and dislocating his jaw as he fell to the ground, Ryanti following him and beating the life out of him with his gun until there was nothing left of his face. “P’welro!” He cried out with a powerful voice. Wanting to know if she was near. Wanting her to … help him. To hug him right now… he felt so cold right now… His adrenaline was wearing off, and he was so exhausted… “P’WELRO!”

 

He solemnly grabbed his sword after gaining his senses, glancing over at Eighty-five, who was still making her way to the crew. Ryanti frantically tried to reload his pistol, but got the gun knocked out of his hands by a Garlean spearman who thrusted downward. Ryanti quickly rolled out of the way, grabbing his sword and swinging for a leg, connecting and bringing the man down, swinging vertically upon his torso.

 

“Jada! JADA!” Eighty-five screamed for her, unlike Ryanti who was floored she was able to make them out from where she was. This was bad. The third wave had not even joined the fight yet. “WHERE IS SHE!” Ryanti called out, and Eighty-five pointed a finger and murmured about her being over there or wherever her hand was. He swallowed his dry mouth as Forty-three utilized a water spell, causing a mini-rogue wave to wash and drown the remaining Garleans that stood in-between them.

 

It was a moment of elation for them. Eighty-five and Ryanti practically shouted in glee as Eighty-five embraced Jada and Ryanti did the same to P’welro as the remaining lancers ran to form a line of their own behind them. They smelt of corpses, gunpowder and blood but they didn’t care right now. “YAHOO!” Eighty-five yelled out, giving Jada a surprise kiss on the cheek. Ryanti was inspired by that, and did the same to the first mate of the Roehmerl. But the battle was not done, and the three immediately focused their attention on the remaining Garlean line during this tiny lull in the battle, though the Roehmerl itself was still very much alive…

 

 

 

-----

 

 

 

 

There he stood. Silent against the storm, hiding in the shadows of the captain’s quarters in which they have dueled their way into and where Jonathan ran to hide. There he stood, the fresh smell of blood in his nose, his eyebrows weeping from cuts and slashes, his body covered in bruises. There he stood, trying to slow his heart down, his hair drenched in sweat. There he was, debating whether or not to engage with all of his potential. With his hidden power.

 

There the other man was. Walking with his signature heavy steps amongst his dark personal room. The massive windows with a full view of the battle provided the only natural light in the room, but his opponent had learned the methods of blending in with the shadow that contrasted the line. The shiny steel from his blade glinted in the sunlight as he proceeded to patrol and look for his prey. “You cannot hide forever.” He murmured, his voice echoing the room and reaching Jonathan’s ears. After a momentary pause, he spoke again. “The Allagans understood that only the strongest survive. Only the strongest live to inherit their gifts. That does include you. Neither does it include your friends.”

 

The man continue to pace, slowly glancing around for him. “You believe the Empire does not know of men like you that seek to undermine our eternal quest for knowledge lost to the ages? We are not so different after all... we strive for the same end goal. To produce the same results. As different as you believe your cause is, you are the same as us.”

 

Jonathan kept a quiet breath as Terminus continued. “I know about your scars…” When he said that, Jonathan’s eyes widened in the darkness. “I know they were not inflicted because of torturous mutilation. You cannot deceive me by losing on purpose so easily. Not when you have that power. Yes…. That power. The power the Allagans gave you indirectly through the hands of our Empire... those scars were a small price to pay for being one of the survivors… wasn’t it? Yes… you will use those powers to try to defeat me now. It is the only reason why you cannot afford me to join this pointless fray on the deck of my ship…”

 

“Enough talk.” Jonathan’s voice was heard from a certain corner of the room. Terminus glanced over there with his dead eyes but saw nothing in the shadows. He curiously aimed himself and his blade towards that corner of the room. “You cannot deny what you are. Just like I cannot deny who I am. So show me. Show me the only ace in your hole that you believe will defeat me… show me your little secret, Jonathan Briggims.”

 

A gasp was heard… and then the space of darkness in which Jonathan receded in suddenly lit up! Every single one of the man’s scars shined with blue aether through his suit and through the features of his face, causing his eyes to turn blue as well. He let out an eternal cry and rushed Terminus. However, this time his speed and power were much, much more powerful and quick than any natural man of his stature could afford to throw. Terminus’s eyes widened with the ability of this man under his ‘full potential’, and the swords began deflecting each other in a fray so fast that the blade turned slightly red from the heat of the friction. “Such power! Unbelievable!” Terminus shouted, the whining noises of his augmentations squeaking to keep up with him.

 

But in his defense, Terminus realized that Jonathan’s form was not as refined in this enhanced state. So he was able to find an opening. He punched the man’s sword out of his hand and grabbed him by the collar of his Sharlayan suit. “But not enough, prototype!” He exclaimed, and threw him with amazing force out of the window.

 

 

“Jonathan!” Eighty-five exclaimed as she saw the body of her squad leader crack through the glass of the upper deck with an insane amount of velocity, his body crumpling and tumbling onto the deck’s surface with a full force that would kill a normal person, but not him. Though it made him worse for wear, and the man was moaning in pain on the ground, trying to get himself up. Right behind him was the Garlean Tribunal, and he seemingly flew for a brief moment out of the window but in reality it was just his insane augmented leg strength that provided him a fantastic jump.

 

His feet clanged onto the surface of the deck, denting the wood in with the soles of his feet. He calmly lifted up his gunblade and changed the mode on the device to activate the gun attachment. Musketeers fired a few rounds at him, but they did absolutely nothing to his armor. It even caused his cheeks to tighten up again – the hint of a smile.

 

With one swift motion, he maneuvered the gun blade to Jonathan’s left thigh. “I need you alive.” He said, and then fired. The round went into his leg, through his bone, out of the other side and into the deck. Jonathan screamed out in pain as a hot mix of blood and lead crept up into both sides of his wound, and he squirmed around on the floor like an injured animal. “JONATHAN!” Forty-three shouted out. Only to get the attention of Terminus.

 

With another swift motion, he pointed the barrel at the Lalafell’s chest, and ruthlessly fired. He only had a brief moment to defend himself. The fraction of the shield he had put up shattered with the power of this armor-piercing tank of a bullet, and took him off of his feet, knocking him off of the ship’s deck and into the water.

 

“YOU PIECE OF SHITE!” Eighty-five cried out, now at this point consumed by anger and grief at what she was seeing. He… how could have won the duel?!? How was their moment of happiness suddenly just interrupted by the sudden … the… just that quickly... in a moment of rage, she ripped the pin off of one of her grenades and threw the device at the Garlean Tribunal, which tapped its way towards him and exploded with concussion and hellfire consuming his position. Sharlayan technology at work. Eighty-five’s face was firmly stuck in a signature smirk. That oughta show the idiot.

 

But her smirk slowly turned into absolute child-like horror as the man walked through the ghostly flames, his half-cape burned off and the paint on his armor melted and greyed out by the blast. But the one thing that got her was those eyes. Those deadly-focused, horrible, horrible eyes. The eyes that she had dreamed of… while everyone else dreamed of ships that sailed the sky.

 

With one swift motion, the Garlean commander lifted his gun blade right at her face, and fired.

 

The round fired. The sound of it hitting flesh rang through. It had penetrated the side of her neck, an open spot where her armor could not protect her. Her entire body twitched in reaction as blood spurted from the side of her neck. The round that hit her had missed Jada by an ilm, and lodged itself into one of the spires on the Garlean vessel.

 

Her pupils narrowed. Her feet grew weak. She dropped her daggers, and stumbled into the quartermaster behind her causing them both to fall against the spire, beginning to seize from the initial shock of the trauma, her breath growing erratic and her body twitching uncontrollably. “K’LEURA!” Ryanti shouted, immediately dropping his weapon and running over to her, glancing back at the Garlean Commander with fear and anger.

 

Terminus’s gut began to reveal in a hungry perpetuating laugher that rang through the Garlean vessel. “I apologize for joining the party late. But I made sure to make a good impression! Revel in the deaths of your men, for this pointless incursion is about to come to an end!” He waved the tip of the gun around to the landers, and the crew. “You’re making quite a mess on your own ship there, but while your only backup is playing around on that wooden bath toy, why don’t we play a game of ‘Who is going to die next?’ BAHAHAHA!”

[Sounsyy]

Note: Contains depictions of graphic violence and torture.

 

 

Jada winced as the bullet whistled past her face. Her eyes widened in reaction to the spray of blood she saw just before her. Her heart sank as Eighty-five fell backwards into her. The dark Keeper was motionless for her own personal eternity, as if that bullet had struck her and not Eighty-five, as if she were some ghost left here to observe the natural world. But what seemed like an eternity was no more than a hairs-breadth of time. Jada staggered back under Eighty-five's deadweight and eased her fall to the deck. The Keeper drew a long breath, and suddenly the world returned to its speed - Eighty-five's lifeblood running like a river from her neck.

 

Jada discarded her bloody halberd and clamped one hand over Eighty-five's open neck and wrapped her free arm around the young woman's chest, pulling her into the Keeper's lap, the back of her head resting against Jada's armored belly.

 

"No, Leura, no, no, no, no," the Keeper woman's voice was soft but desperate as she watched Eighty-five's blood spill out between her fingers. "It's not t-time to-to sleep. Not here. Leura?"

 

The Keeper sniffed loudly, trying to force back the water running in her eyes and nose. A part of her didn't want to see Eighty-five's skin growing ashen as the young Miqo'te's blood drained through her steady fingers, but Jada had seen many dead and dying.

 

P'welro had to draw her gaze away. She had been standing there in stunned silence watching the scene play out beside her. Seventy-seven had abandoned his weapon. Sixteen lay defeated upon the deck. Forty-three had been thrown overboard with no indication that his spell had saved him from Eighty-five's own fate. The blond seawife saw no other course of action. She took one step towards Terminus and raised her pistol and the Captain's revolver and fired. One-two. One-two.

 

"Coverin'!" She shouted, both guns raised though her own pistol was empty and only the Captain's revolver kept firing its last three bullets. Then both her pistols hissed the dead man's click. Terminus turned upon her, as the blond had placed herself between the Garlean and Eighty-five's body. He raised his gunblade in reply as P'welro raced to reload.

 

 

 

The heavy shot rang out. Cynthia's blind, last resort foiled as a strong forearm found its way around Sounsyy's neck and pulled her off of the bloody Garlean just in time. Sounsyy struggled against her assailant only to realize it was Fhruhsunn she was fighting against. The muted Roegadyn had pulled himself out of her cabin and back into the fray. His shirt was stained dark with blood and he was heavily favoring his left side. The short, labored breaths he drew did not seem to extend the right side of his chest fully.

 

When Sounsyy again tried to break free, Fhruhsunn hurled her to one side, uncoiling his strong arm from around her neck. The Captain rolled across the deck and the Roegadyn turned his attention to Cynthia who was now frantically trying to reload. Fhruhsunn smacked the gun away from the injured woman's grasp with the back of his hand, leaving the woman defenseless. She tried to get up and run, but Fhruhsunn's hand grabbed the woman by her face, pulled the woman towards him slightly, then sent her head crashing back into the edge of the gunwale with a crack.

 

The Garlean slumped against the edge of the gunwale in a daze, blood streaming down her face, her eyes gazing ahead blankly. This was the end, she may have thought in that moment. The Roegadyn's face went dark and he reeled back with a fist and began pummeling the woman's face once, twice, three times before Sounsyy barked at him.

 

"Fhruhsunn!" She shouted, slowly picking herself up onto her unsteady feet. The Roegadyn froze in mid swing and looked over his shoulder with a tired expression at his captain. She was about to shake her head and call him off when the sound of shattering glass brought her attention to the other vessel. A Hyuran form was thrown from a window onto the deck below. Screams and gunshots began ringing out on the other ship. The Captain took a short breath, looking between Fhruhsunn and Cynthia.

 

"Gimme yer pistol!" She ordered Fhruhsunn, who complied wordlessly, "Now go! Get them off that ship!"

 

Fhruhsunn nodded, lifting his hands from Cynthia's crumpled form, and made his way as quickly as he could onto the enemy's deck. His hand clutched his right side tightly as he lumbered away.

 

"FOLLOW HIM!" Sounsyy barked to anyone within earshot. There was a rush of feet along the planks, but Sounsyy's hearing was distorted and ringing. She felt dizzy as she turned back to face Cynthia. The deck around her spun slightly. With one hand loosely gripping her shortsword and the other fingering the trigger of Fhruhsunn's pistol, Sounsyy approached the crippled traitor. Slowly, she eased herself down onto one knee before the woman. Their eyes met, both pair empty and unfeeling. Until Sounsyy drove her shortsword down into Cynthia's knee. The traitor's eyes came alight with anguish and tears.

 

Sounsyy gripped the shortsword's handle firmly in her hand and tried to wiggle the blade, but it was lodged firmly into the Roehmerl's deck. Sounsyy shifted her weight from left leg to right, easing herself forward so she now knelt on her right leg. Her right boot crushed Cynthia's left hand under-toe. Cynthia winced as the pain climbed up her body but she was thoroughly pinned.

 

Cynthia made to speak, to utter out her last words, her last quip, some haunting confession, or rehearsed monologue - but Sounsyy clamped her now-free hand over the woman's mouth before she could whisper a syllable. Sounsyy's three fingers and thumb left deep depressions in her cheeks. Sounsyy said nothing, just kept her eyes glowering down at Cynthia's. Sounsyy withdrew her hand from Cynthia's mouth and for a brief moment the woman thought she was going to be allowed to say her last. But Sounsyy hand only moved up to her forehead, firmly shoving it back so her neck craned backwards. Cynthia's mouth gaped open like a fish out of water but before she could let out her last defiant noise, Sounsyy brought up Fhruhsunn's pistol and held it at a downward angle against Cynthia's jaw and fired.

 

The traitor let out a high-pitched, gurgling screech. The bullet had shattered the left side of her jaw, dislocating the distal portion of the bone from where it connected to the rest of her skull. Blood began seeping from the wound and the deep graze the bullet had left across the underside of her chin. Her jaw hung loose and every quick, panicked breath Cynthia took she felt the broken bone shifting painfully in her mouth.

 

Sounsyy set the pistol aside and brought both hands to caress the sides of Cynthia's face, like one might cradle a lover. But Cynthia was anything but. She had betrayed the Resistance. She had betrayed her nation, her people, her pride. To Sounsyy, there was no greater dishonor. It had been nearly seven years since she last tortured a man. Sounsyy did not believe in prolonging one's death. Thal had been prolonging her own for twenty years and it was a fate she did not wish upon others. But Cynthia had forsaken her people's struggle for comfort, pleasure, and power. Sounsyy had twenty years of penance to inflict while the traitor still clung to life, still clung to that glimmer of hope that she might survive this. Sounsyy was going to relish watching this glimmer fade from her eyes.

 

Sounsyy shifted her hands slowly across Cynthia's face. Her right palm rested against the traitor's forehead. Sounsyy's left, injured hand slid slowly down the woman's cheek until the tips of her fingers rested against the part in Cynthia's lips. Then she slid her fingers inside Cynthia's mouth, and pulled down savagely against the top of her teeth until the traitor's jaw began to unhinge and extend beyond what her anatomy would normally allow. Cynthia began to writhe and shriek pitifully as Sounsyy continued to slowly separate her lower jaw from the rest of her face. Her tongue flopped uselessly as the muscle began to tear and detach. Blood welled up in her mouth and her shrieks began to bubble.

 

Cynthia began to writhe more violently, but Sounsyy was now straddling the woman. Her left knee dug into her right hip. Her right boot still crushing her left hand. The sword still secured the one knee that might have been able to dislodge the Captain from her position. Even Cynthia's free hand was powerless to do anything but slap weakly at her torturer's thigh. Sounsyy's process was calculated and methodical. She felt no remorse for this, this time. There might have even been the faintest moment of erotic pleasure in the act when Cynthia's jaw finally came free with a loud pop. Cynthia's free hand gripped the Miqo'te's thigh tightly since she could no longer grit her teeth against the pain. Sounsyy withdrew her hands and watched as the woman wailed with her lopsided jaw. It hung too low on her face now, the skin of her cheeks was stretched and bruising.

 

"Yeh called us savages," Sounsyy said in a hoarse voice, "Savages ain't even the half of what we've been reduced to."

 

Cynthia just wept quietly. Sounsyy slapped her jaw, which snapped her focus back to attention with a sharp moan. Sounsyy grabbed her chin and directed her gaze back up to meet her own. Only the jaw now moved independently, and when she pulled up the teeth met unevenly with a painful-sounding grating. She held Cynthia in that position for another moment as she searched those treacherous eyes for any glimmer of hope. Seeing none, Sounsyy moved in for the kill.

 

 

 

P'welro had only managed to reload three shots into the revolver by the time Terminus had trained his gunblade on her. She gave a cry and in a flurry she drew the semi-loaded revolver against him, but before either one could fire, another loud shot echoed over the den. A heavy caliber round ricocheted off the outstretched gunblade, sending its aim off mark.

 

Marjanie strode defiantly across the Garlean deck, her long barrel rifle trained on Terminus. Her left hand held the barrel's aim steady while her right pulled the bolt and inserted another round. All the while she placed one foot in front of the other, marching and firing again, this time striking his armored shoulder, sending him back. P'welro fired upon him as well, exhausting what little she had managed to reload.

 

"Pull back t' the Roehmerl! We can't kill 'im, we'll sink 'is arse!"

"Pull back!" Marjanie echoed P'welro as she fired off another heavy round. A Garlean rushed her from the side as she continued her steady approach, but one of the remaining lancers aboard the vessel intercepted the assailant and gutted him before he could reach her. The Lominsan crew had formed a clear line of retreat for the Sharlayans, though their attention could not yet be torn from Eighty-five.

 

Fhruhsunn brushed past Marjanie to where P'welro was defending Jada, Ryanti, and K'leura. He grabbed Ryanti by the shoulder roughly and tried to pull him away from Eighty-five's body, but the Roegadyn was too drained. Ryanti seemed in shock. Fhruhsunn looked to Terminus, who had rounded on Marjanie. He knew that more lives were at stake if they stayed there. So he grabbed Ryanti again by the shoulder and pulled him around to face him. Fhruhsunn wanted to yell at the boy, tell him that they had to go, tell him that he would take the girl. But Fhruhsunn's yelling only came out as garbled nonsense. His gaping mouth revealing to Ryanti that Fhruhsunn no longer possessed a tongue - that only a torn stub of one remained, as if it had been violently removed sometime long ago. It was not like him to expose his shame so visibly, but they had to move and maybe screaming would do the trick, even if no sense could be made of his words.

 

Jada sensed the urgency in Fhruhsunn's actions and snapped back from her dark place of seclusion. P'welro was also now in danger, Marjanie, Fhruhsunn. So the Keeper called upon the last of her strength and began to heave Eighty-five's body back across the deck, sliding away from Terminus's approach. Fhruhsunn pushed Ryanti in the direction of the Roehmerl and moved to aid the Quartermaster. He hooked his good arm underneath Eighty-five's arm and began to drag her as best he could across deck with Jada's help.

 

A shout nearby caused Fhruhsunn to look up in alarm. A Garlean soldier ran at them with his battleaxe drawn. But Fhruhsunn's legs felt like lead and he could barely pick himself up to get to the marauder before he reached Jada. An arrow cut the Garlean down as he neared. Susuroon stood upon the Garlean gunwale, bow still drawn. His big, sad eyes fell upon Eighty-five but the Qiqirn could find nothing to say. His little chest just heaved and he pulled another arrow.

 

Fhruhsunn and Jada were so close now. Only a couple yalms lay between them and the safety of the Roehmerl. But Fhruhsunn's strength was spent and he collapsed from exhaustion. Susuroon looked down at the bloody Roegadyn and gave a worried squeak, and as if to answer, Pamido Wolmido and Berasaem were there to pull them to safety.

 

Marjanie and P'welro were falling back now as well. Terminus had rounded upon the pair and was closing the distant, his amused laugh carrying across the ship as he imagined their demise. His back was now turned to Sixteen. His attention fully on the retreating musketeers. Terminus raised his gunblade once more, finally done toying with the Lominsans. That was when Susuroon saw them - dark shapes moving in the water. That's when Susuroon's long ears heard their call to battle - that bubbly Bloodcant that made his hairs stand on end.

 

"HIT THE DECK!" The panicked Qiqirn squeaked at the top of his lungs before throwing himself flat on his face onto the deck below. Every member of the Roehmerl's crew who were still on their feet quickly abandoned whatever they were doing and threw themselves down to lay flat on the deck, some leaving bewildered Garleans mid-fight.

 

A moment of silence seemed to hang in the air as the noise of the Sea was suddenly absent. Then all sounds returned as the very sea came alive to attack the two vessels. Suddenly, a dozen elbsts bearing Sahagin riders propelled themselves from the waters surrounding both ships and onto the boats. The Sahagin dismounted in mid flight and dove down ontop of the still-standing Garleans with their spears extended. Some crashed bodily into the imperials and grappled with them tooth and claw across the deck until they tumbled off the other side into the brine below. The elbsts snatched whole soldiers in their jaws and ripped them back and forth before throwing them into the waters and slipping off the deck after them, only to emerge from the bloody waters to hunt anew. The sound of the Sahagin's gurgling clicks and hissing seafoam fueled the battle now between Sahagin and Garlean while the Roehmerl's crew lay flat or fetal against the deck and either played dead or pressed themselves back against the gunwales while the Sahagin propelled themselves overhead.

 

But even the Roehmerl's crew knew that soon the Sahagin would turn on them.

[Ryanti]

She felt… so cold.

 

It was an empty feeling. Like her chest was caving in and all of the air, muscle, bone and matter inside of her body was being crushed underneath what felt like gravity. Like a black invisible hand crushing her heart to try to stop it from beating. That’s what it felt like. Her ears were ringing, and her vision became immensely blurry as she lost all sense of awareness of what was going on around her. Everything except for Jada’s face.

 

She was breathing incredibly fast. In, out. In, out. “Hu-hh-h-h-hu-h-h-rr—r-e-e-“ She tried to speak, but words left her. She hiccuped, and vomited out a sloppy puddle of thick, warm internal blood from her throat, the moist liquid dripping from her lips. She was trying to think, but she couldn’t. What was she hearing? The sound of more gunfire... a woman shouting... and Jada was talking to her. “Ja….da..” She croaked out, her eyes scrunching up as a well of tears poured from her eyes and salted her cheeks, turning them red with irritation. Her voice sounded like a plea. A beg. Her breathing sped up even further. She was in shock.

 

“NO!” Ryanti shouted out, adding two of his hands to Jada’s one, and pushing it down hard, trying as hard as he could to keep more blood from leaking. It already looked bad. Her skin was pale as ever. She was trying as hard as she could to just keep looking at Jada’s eyes. To not close them. “You said to live, remember! You said it was as easy as that! To not let people believe that you are just going to leave this world in an instant! You told me that!”

 

Ryanti yelled out in protest as he felt a violent arm try to tug him away. He didn’t care at that point if that was a Garlean. He was willing to gamble. So what if it was a Garlean? He was so tired of playing this game; he wanted it to end now that the tables had turned. But such was the game of war. Ryanti hated the rules. But then the shoulder tugged at him a second time, and Ryanti finally turned around, his broken expression further saddening at the sight he saw.

 

Fruhsuun was screaming at him. Trying to speak to him. When Ryanti saw that his tongue had been cut out of his mouth, he finally understood why the man couldn't. That understanding snapped him out of his panic, and he rapidly looked back towards Jada, and then back towards Fruhsuun. "Fruhsuun... I understand."

 

Leura felt herself being pulled. For a moment, she thought it was her body ascending to the lifestream. It was an almost welcoming possibility, for she was in unimaginable pain and the idea of forever being lifted up into the lifestream and flowing into her dreams to become part of Hydealyn again was… a lovely one. But… it was at too much of a cost for the young woman. It wasn’t her style. Death was something she feared horribly. Especially a young death. “I-I – I – I dun-udu-duunt—“ She swallowed a mouthful of blood as she tried to force her words and will to be heard by Jada. “Wan-a-an nen-nen- anna die, I du-u-d-nt wanna die!!” She was full on crying by that point, her tears like twin waterfall that joined her blood trails on the way down.

 

“She needs help!” Ryanti screamed at Fruhsuun, pointing at her desperately before being shoved aside and towards the familiar vessel he had spent eight days traveling on. “SHE NEEDS HELP! MAKE WAY! MAKE WAY!” Ryanti shouted out as he stumbled back from the frontline, crying out in panic as he heard the sound of Fruhsuun collapsing. “We need help! She’s dying! He’s hurt!” Ryanti called out, trying as hard as he damn well could to let anyone that didn’t know already grasp the entire situation. He kept gesturing rapidly towards the stairs as he found his way aboard the Roehmerl again. “INFIRMERY INFIRMERY!”

 

It was the Sharlayan’s duty to value their mission over their lives and the lives of whoever they worked with. Nothing mattered but the objective. But these people, people like Ryanti, were sentient beings. With feelings. People who broke that code.

 

Leura tried as hard as she could to walk, but her strength was rapidly fading, and she became nothing better than dead weight. Her feet pathetically kept trying to balance themselves only to bend forward and stumble over and over again. She kept repeating her statement from earlier in a horse and almost insane manner. Her heart rate was beating ever quicker because of her shock, and she looked as pale at the moonlight. “I d-ud-udn wannadieIdunwannadie I du—d” She continued to ramble and cry mercilessly, coughing and vomiting up blood and mucus upon the floor of the ship.

 

She needed a serious intervention right now. It was unsure still whether or not the bullet had severed one of her arteries, or other less important veins. She was still bleeding. Not spurting blood, but bleeding badly. She needed something surgical. She needed to be clamped. Or else she was going to die.

 

Ryanti saw Bereseam and Pamido, along with Jada, drag Leura and Fruhsuun’s bodies below deck. He looked like an absolute mess. The blood from his nose had dried up against his now chapped lips, bloodied as well from a very nervous bite he had given to it during a stressful moment on the battlefield. The shot he took in his stomach has formed a nastly blue bruise on his skin that made every movement of his torso painful. He turned his gaze weakly towards the battlefield, watching Terminus approach.

 

What was he going to do now?

 

He turned his head a little more… and saw the Captain. He witnessed the sight of her actions, kneeled down. Straddled over what remained of the woman named Cynthia. He saw what had become of her. Another jolt hit his stomach. A jolt that attempt to send his morning’s breakfast right back up out of his mouth. He placed a hand over his lips and tried to swallow his dry mouth.

 

But the look in his eyes didn’t die down like they probably would if he had seen something horrific. it instead felt strangely… rectifying. It was rectifying to see who had won that fight. It was rectifying to see Sounsyy do something like that after he had worried so much about her being in Cynthia’s place. There was a warped fascination in his eyes. His gut that had jolted him a moment ago now felt like it was burning. But it was a different burn than one which caused pain. It was a good burn. He let that heat escape with a breath through a slightly gaping smirk.

 

But then the sea stopped.

 

-----

 

 

Jonathan scooted a few ilms away from Terminus, clenching his teeth in anger. His left leg was useless now, and his femur was broken. His left leg hung limp in such an odd unnatural shape that he could immediately tell it was messed up. Though he could feel no pain. He grabbed one side of his wound that was bleeding the most: a fair amount but nothing too serious. Yet he couldn’t walk, and he was stranded where he was. Yet he didn’t fear what was going to happen. He had heard the rumble, felt the pressure. When Terminus knew something was off, and glanced the way of Jonathan, the leader of the squad flipped him the twin birds and buried his head to the floor.

 

Terminus narrowed his eyes, and took a glance to the right of him. Something was wrong, but what occurred happened so fast that there was no way even a man like him could react to it. The Sagahin had signaled him out, and he was the first victim.

 

An elbst, one of the largest in the dozen that came over the ship like a rocket out of the water, slammed its jaws shut upon the face of the Garlean commander, shrieking in pain as blood and electricity shattered its teeth while at the same time, crushing the life support of the breathalyzer as well as giving him nasty wounds to his scalp. The half-man, half-machine shouted in a muffled pain, firing a round through the beast that split its stomach open and left it dead on the deck, the man stumbling and suffocating as he could no longer breath, dropping his gunblade and bringing his hands up to his throat as he choked.

 

Another elbst leapt from the ocean’s depths and scored their teeth right into his abdomen, knocking both itself and Terminus overboard to the sound of him screaming in pain. They splashed into the water, and moments later an underwater bang was heard as his Cereleum deposited exploded. He was gone. Just like that.

 

Both leaders were gone, the ranks were scattered, and the entry of a third faction begged for chaos. From then on, the remaining Garleans fought for the sake of their own lives. As the cries and howls of the beastmen decimated what Garlean forced remained, it was noticeable to see that the Garleans were their top priority. Ryanti stumbled to the railing of the Roehmerl, his legs giving out at the last moment. He saved himself from falling by grabbing onto the rail, powering his head over it to witness the carnage as everyone on the crew ducked and covered before the onslaught.

 

He solemnly lowered his head as the audio as the massacring, the death, and the suffering filled his ears. He pressed his back against the support of the railing and sat there with eyes closed, breathing heavily, covered in perspiration. He saw Sounsyy, down next to Cynthia’s fractured remains. So this was it, was it? This was how they were going to die. Not by Garleans, but by beast men. Ryanti found it ironic… he was the one that supported Ul’Dah exiling the beast men when he was younger. When he thought of them as lesser races compared to civilized man.

 

He was very tired. Tired of the fighting. He knew that eventually the beast men would turn on them, and he was running out of ideas. Soon people would be dropping left and right: P’welro, Susuroon, Marjanie… all of them. Think Ryanti… think.

 

Wait a minute. They were targeting the Garleans, and came from the ocean. They did not make a move until now… when all of the commotion began. The Sagahin were known to viciously protect certain parts of the oceans around here… that means they weren’t attacking. They were defending.

 

That was it! That had to be it!

 

With all of his remaining strength, Ryanti got himself back up and broke into a sloppy jog, covering his head just in case he was attacked by one of the Sagahin. He was the only one up from the crew, trying to make his way below deck. Sounsyy heard the sound of his boots sprint past her as he made his way down.

 

He could hear the sounds of his breathing as he made his way down the halls. He could make out the shouting voices from the infirmary… the sounds of panic from the soldiers outside. Suddenly, the dark and abandoned section of the ship he was making his way to suddenly went quiet. As if the sounds from outside were being blocked. All Ryanti could hear was a very tiny, very distinct whistling sound that was consistent without end and changed tone every so often as if shining light was being transcribed into sound. Ryanti didn’t have to think. He already knew.

 

He opened the wooden plank and heard no noise. The artifact was there. In its perfect T-shaped form. The key to a civilization very long gone. He promised himself that he wouldn’t have to use it. He remembered that promise to himself as his hands grabbed a hold of the object.

 

He immediately felt the familiar warmth of the foreign residual aether scream through his bloodstream. His facial features became soft, and he lifted his head upwards a bit with a sigh, feeling something connect. Feeling the bands tie together in his mind. His irises formed soft blue lines across them as if their shape and form was akin to computer ships.

 

He shut his eyes and felt the immense potency and millenniums of raw willpower enshroud him. It would be a moment longer that memories, dialogue and moods would invade his mind. Personalities that were hyper ancient, and not his own. “No.” Ryanti calmly told the object in a harsh whisper. “All I need from you is to allow them to know.”

 

He took in a strong breath through his nose, and the patterns on his irises left him, along with the mild blue glow in the veins of his neck. “Take your power back. I only need your light.”

 

 

The young man’s white hair blew back and forth on his scalp and danced to the artificial wind that the artifact was creating. The blue LED stripes and the sensationally bright circular light at the crossroads of the artifact’s shape glowed in a very bright and encompassing aura. The artificial wind twirled about him and around him as he made his way back up to the main deck of the Roehmerl. His pace was a slow, casual walk, with strong steps. He had a look in his eye, a look that told him that he was safe within the borders of this artificial wind; a barrier of aether that appeared to be visible gusts of air swirled around his form. His facial expression was calm and easy, a look of strength about him as a motivational boost from the residual aether inside of the Allagan Empire’s lost key.

 

As he manuveared closer to where the Roehmerl met the Ganesha, he placed the sides of his fists against the railing, and pulled himself on top of the railing where he could observe everything that was going on. But no beast man could touch him. He was safe.

 

The light from the artifact began to glow brighter and brighter, shining with an immensely powerful blue light that bright and magnificently gorgeous, almost holy in essence that lit up the tired battlefield with blistering rays. “Stand firm! Allow these beast kin to witness our righteous purpose!” Ryanti yelled out in a voice that sounded… louder than any natural voice a man could shout. It also came from Ryanti’s lips and had Ryanti’s pattern, vocal range, even his normal accent but… a part of that statement, his demeanor… felt a little different.

 

Upon saying that, he raised the artifact up into the air, gripping it with both hands. With a short, but loud and furious buzzing noise, the artifact shot a beam of Allagan light up into the sky, the blue stripes on the artifact straining with energy. “As you vanquish these pretenders, know that we walk alongside you!” Ryanti shouted out once more. But this booming voice was all Ryanti this time.

[Sounsyy]

The door to the infirmary crashed open as Berasaem rammed it with her shoulder. Both of her hands were straining to support Fhruhsunn, who was barely able to place one foot in front of the other even with her support. Jada and Pamido Wolmido carrying Eighty-five's limp form came after, with Cwaenlona and Simin guarding their retreat. As soon as Cwaenlona crossed the threshold she raced to the waterbasin in the center of the room and began to cleanse her hands and arms. Simin set about barricading the door before doing the same.

 

Berasaem had managed to guide Fhruhsunn to one of the medical cots where he sat on his own, his legs draped off the side. He refused to lean back or that the curtain be drawn. He wanted to see if it had all been for naught. Jada and Pamido Wolmido hoisted Eighty-five onto an adjacent cot and set about to unfastening her Sharlayan suit to expose the grievous wound to her neck. The suit was pulled back to Eighty-five's naval, leaving her top half bare, except for the watercolor painting of blood and sputum across the woman's torso. Simin was first to reach Eighty-five's side, waving her hands at the Plainsfolk and Keeper. "Clear out, mates!"

 

The Thavnairian stood at Eighty-five's head, one hand upon her forehead the other hovering over the wound. "She's freezing," Simin muttered, her fingers twitching slightly as she began to siphon her aether into the wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding until Cwaenlona was ready with the clamps. When the Roegadyn chirurgeon appeared by Simin's side with several pairs of forceps in hand, she immediately set to work sponging the area around the wound so she could observe the damage - which was extensive. Simin looked at the Roegadyn apprehensively, "I-I do not have the skills for this."

 

Cwaenlona shook her head and began working mechanically, going through the steps in her head one after the other. "It's a Zone II injury, severed jugular, and judging by the emphysema beneath the skin, her carotid was damaged. Simin, I need you to stabilize her with your magic for as long as you can."

 

The Near Easterner nodded and began funneling her lifeforce into Eighty-five's body. But bearing the full weight of the Miqo'te's damage was incredibly taxing and it immediately began to show. Cwaenlona took forceps in hand and moved slowly into the wound, clamping off the jugular above and searching for the tear in the carotid deeper within the neck.

 

"She's going to need more blood," Cwaenlona muttered. Jada held out her arm readily, but the chirurgeon shook her head. "No Jada, I need blood of her kind. Quickly."

 

"The Captain," Pamido Wolmido said, almost phrasing it as a question.

"Yes, go, this poor girl's nearly dry."

 

The three tore off across the infirmary, pulling down the barricade to throw open the wounded door and get to top deck. On the stairs, they passed Ryanti heading down with determination in his eyes. When the three crested the stairs, the bloody scene played itself out before them. The decks were now swamped with Sahagin ripping the remaining Garleans apart. In defense, the Roehmerl were fighting two enemies against whatever barricades they had managed.

 

"Fishbacks!" Pamido Wolmido spat and raced into the fray, "Find the captain! Get 'er below!" The small Plainsfolk barreled into a Sahagin as he raced towards his mark - a Sahagin that was pinning a small Qiqirn, trying to snap off his already-to-short snout. With one swing of his mammon, the Sahagin's skull shattered and sprayed the deck.

 

In the chaos of the scene, Jada found the Captain still crouched near the lifeless form of Cynthia, who had slumped over onto the deck, her lifeless maw stretched too wide against the planks. Ligatures about the neck were already appearing where Sounsyy had strangled the woman until she croaked her last traitorous breath. Jada rushed to where they were, knocking down a Sahagin with her spear that obstructed her path.

 

"Captain! Captain! Yer urgently needed in the infirmary!"

"I'm urgently needed 'ere too, lass!"

 

Sounsyy rose to her feet as she said this, pulling her shortsword out of Cynthia's knee and plunging it into the side of an unwary Sahagin who had passed the gunwale without taking notice of them. But there were too many, Sounsyy knew, and to fight them here was futile. Heaving her shortsword free, she reached her free hand up to her mouth and blew out a long whistle between her fingers. Somewhere in the fray, P'welro's bosun whistle answered in reply, signalling a retreat below decks.

 

So the crew pulled back to the aft stairs below, forming a small semi-circle ready to face any assault. But the Sahagin for now seemed more keen on slaughtering the Garleans first. The semi-circle had almost closed the distance to the staircase when Ryanti emerged back onto deck with a flurry of wind and energy, knocking past the Roehmerl's crew and heading for the nearest high ground. Sounsyy screamed at him, but he did not hear. Instead, his voice spoke, and the very ship seemed to shudder.

 

The Captain stared at him in shock, but Jada gripped her shoulder and pulled her back towards the stairs. P'welro looked sadly at Jada before turning to Sounsyy and shouting, "Go! We'll get him!"

 

So Sounsyy and Jada plunged down into the infirmary, leaving the some dozen of Roehmerl's uninjured crew to hold the ship. But an uneasy calm had settled over the Sahagin, even as the mangled corpses of the Garleans were strewn all about them. Their eyes were all transfixed upon the object. P'welro gave a shout and she, Juselmont, and Berasaem raced to put themselves between the fool and the Sahagin. Marjanie broke off from the group to retake the helm that had long been abandoned after Fhruhsunn was injured. Those remaining guarded the door to the infirmary below, the only open path between top decks and below now.

 

To their surprise, no assault came. At least not from the Sahagin. A sudden burst of light shot out of the artifact Ryanti held and pierced the sky above them, dazzling them all in brilliant Allagan light. The Sahagin bowed their heads, either in reverence, or fear, or pain from the bright light it was unclear. But Ryanti's words, strange as they were, struck P'welro. Righteous cause? She assumed the Captain knew, even if the rest of them were in the dark.

 

P'welro growled, "Can't believe I'm sayin' this. Ignore the fishbacks, help 'em slaughter the Garleans!" She gave several blasts with her whistle and the crew hesitantly began to fan out across the deck towards the Garlean's, Ganesha. One by one they passed by where Ryanti stood as they met the Garlean's last attempt at an assault. They were all but finished, but the Roehmerl showed them no quarter. Their deaths came quick, even more so when the Sahagin catapulted into action, fighting alongside the Lominsans.

 

In a matter of minutes, the unlikely alliance had purged both ships of Garleans, leaving only an awkward silence as they both returned to decks. This was a most uncomfortable partnership, for both Sahagin and Lominsan - enemies for nigh fifteen years since the first summoning of Leviathan and the atrocities of the Scarlet Sea Devil and Chief Admiral both. Both groups gripped their weapons tightly, nervously. Then with a suddenly splash of water, a giant red elbst rose out of the water and crawled its way up the side of the Ganesha and slid onto the deck. The massive creature eased its way past onlookers in Ryanti's direction. A low hissing, clicking noise issued from its rider - a Sahagin bathed in gold and armored in Allagan cermet chunks found on the ocean floor. He bore a massive headdress of fish fins and jellyfish tentacles, all painted with flecks of gold.

 

"Pshhh... Pssshh... Ssshorewalkersss who possssessss the Key. I am... Psshhh... Juhh, father of thisss Clutch. My clutchfather and his clutchfather and his own clutchfather have sssought the Key for a thousssand sssunsss. Pshhh... Sssince before the Whorl wassshed away my kin, when the Coelacanthus ssstill reigned under the Deep. And now... Pssshhh... ssshorewalkersss would ssseek the door."

 

Juhh shivered violently, his gils dilating and his headdress bristling madly. P'welro moved her hand slightly towards her musket.

 

"Tell usss ssshorewalker, bearer of the Key, do you ssseek the sssacred sssite to ssshare in itsss ancient knowledge. Or... Psshhh... would you take it by force."

 

There was a round of hissing and clicking from the Sahagin. The Roehmerl's crew were growing increasingly more nervous. But the Clutchfather continued, "Psshh... you ssspeak of righteousssnesss, but you have not... Pssshhh... ssssseen!"

 

The Sahagin dismounted his elbst, who called out a coarse textured song that would undoubtedly sound better submerged in the Deep. Even off his mount, Juhh was impressive in stature. Seven fulms tall and the musculature of a born swimmer. His upper body bulged and his scales rippled with each step he took towards Ryanti. His webbed feet slapped the deck loudly. Unlike his kin, he bore no weapons. His weapon was his presence. He stopped, not more than a couple yalms before Ryanti. P'welro stood in front of him, blocking a direct path, but Juhh seemed to see straight past her. The Sahagin had deep red eyes that stared into Ryanti's own.

 

"Psshhh... You have walked far, Ssshorewalker," he said calmly, "I can ssseee it in your eyesss. Psshhh... but you cannot walk upon thessse wavesss. You mussst ssswim now."

 

 

Below Sounsyy let out a short yelp of pain as Cwaenlona plunged a needle deep into the soft skin of her elbow. The chirurgeon had explained that she needed to hit an artery for there to be enough pressure to push into Eighty-five's neck. A slender tube, made from crushed reed pipes, connected the Captain to the wounded Miqo'te by another needle plunged downwards into the uninjured side of Eighty-five's neck. The Miqo'te girl was grey, her skin seemed so thin and oddly translucent.

 

Simin's normally clean and neat appearance was replaced with one that looked disheveled and exhausted. Her fingers were cramping as she tried to maintain Eighty-five's lifeforce with her own. Sounsyy was perched atop the cot's headboard, her feet to one side of Eighty-five's head. She had to remain above the level of her patient in order for the blood to drain more freely. But no matter how much blood Sounsyy bled into Eighty-five, the glaring wound still remained. And Cwaenlona was losing time. She knew that she could not clamp off such a large vein as the jugular for long. Eventually, the pressure in Eighty-five's head would build up and she would stroke. She needed a stent, but did not have the materials to make a proper one.

 

Cwaenlona crashed through her shelves and salves searching for some suitable replacement, while Eighty-five continued to slip in and out of consciousness. Jada and Fhruhsunn looked on from the next cot. Fhruhsunn too was looking pale, but had refused care until Eighty-five was stabilized... or passed. He had an arm around Jada's shoulder in comfort. Jada, in turn, held on to him to keep him upright. Above them, the sounds of hissing and clicking only grew more agitated. Jada began to wonder that even if they saved Eighty-five's life, would it all have been worth it if the Sahagin breached the infirmary?

 

Jada's thoughts were interrupted at the sound of a loud crash and a thump. Simin had fainted.

[Ryanti]

The last thing she remembered was trying to tell Jada that she didn’t want to die. She could not recall off the top of her head how many times she had relayed those words. Maybe it was once or twice. Maybe it was many more times than that. She was unsure when her pleas to Jada began to deviate from coherent into a rambling mess brought on by the nasty side effects of being in shock, of being forced to live the same five second memory over and over again, constantly trying to communicate how she felt to anyone around her that would listen: I don’t want to die.

 

She felt a light come onto her eventually, long after her awareness of being dragged into the infirmary ceased to exist. She felt weightless, like there was no ground underneath her to stand on or sun to squint her eyes against. There was no light and there was no sensation other than a warm, tingling feeling deep within her chest, past her breasts and skin and beyond her rib cage.

 

It was as if she had been here forever.

 

Suddenly, there was light. Not the kind of light that was obvious, but the kind of light one would sense behind their eyelids of they had them shut tight when the light made itself known. It was when she realized that her eyes were indeed closed. With a little bit of moment, and a timid bit of effort, she opened them.

 

 

 

 

Her hair, long and free of the usual stylish binds she would place it in, sprawled out amongst the blades of grass that she was resting upon. The rays of sunlight from up above danced along the autumn leaves of the trees that gave her shade before glancing off of the sides of her cheeks and neck, basking her in a comfortable warmth. The skies were seldom filled with cumulus clouds that ever so gently galloped across the lush blue sky. She was in her Sharlayan suit that felt fully cleaned and pressed and ready for duty as it hugged her skin. It was a far cry from the blood-soaked state of her outfit that she recalled from her most recent memories.

 

It was so beautiful, where she was now. She had not laid her back down upon such pristine nature and underneath such generous shade complemented by the sound of a quiet waterfall in at least ten years. It reminded her of home… in the most sweet and sour way.

 

Leura was not a tough girl. She didn’t think she was, anyhow. She used humor and sarcasm to hide her demons. If she was the raunchiest bitch in the room, no one would ever remember her from those small-lived moments of insecurity and self-doubtfulness that leeched onto her in methods similar to a parasite. In reality, she yearned for a mother she never knew. She missed her father and missed him hard. That was the only thing that felt off about all this. She was a big girl now. Her father wasn’t here either.

 

Was she dead, then? It didn’t seem like it. Her father would be here if she was dead, right? He would have ran up to her and embraced her and told her how much he loved her and how sorry he was about leaving her alone… how sorry he was about mom…

 

She slowly sat herself up. For a dream, the sun’s rays sure felt so very real. So did the pain in her stomach and the pain in her neck. It hurt enough for her to cringe and for the features in her eyebrows and lips to curl in dissatisfaction. That had to be the pull of death, she thought. The temptation to give into the warmth and paradise of an afterlife that Hydaelyn apparently promised for those that willed to weave their souls back into the life stream and be forever at peace. But she didn’t want it though…

 

That was when she saw them. They were very far away, but… she could see them at the peak’s end of the horizon. They were like needles of the most perfect shape that extended to reach out and touch the sky. The glint of the sun’s rays off of their towers created a reflective beauty of light and polished metal that acted as a beacon of mankind as far as the eye could see. It was a type of landscape completely and utterly unfamiliar to her time along with legions of generations before her, a type of landscape that existed in a time before time.

 

It was a blend of her memory’s and another’s. The other presence within this dream had kept her from reaching death’s door. It was at her realization of the towers in the distance that it made itself known.

 

She saw within the corner of her eye, a hand extend. It was palm up, and the skin was as pale as the rays that reflected off of the creek to the side. Ornamenting it were extremely refined pieces of jewelry that sent a rush of heat through her body as her brain tried to rationalize how ornaments so beautiful could possibly exist outside of divinity.

 

 

 

 

Her tired eyes glanced upon the figure the hand belonged to. It was a Hyuran male for certain. His medium blonde hair was thick and wavy and decorated his scalp like a sculptor could only dream to place upon a work of art. He appeared to be dressed in some sort of … elaborate coat made out such finely woven material that stilled in his motions yet danced in the wind. He carried on his forehead a circlet of silver that dangled crimson jewels that complemented his form. He moved with such grace and precision that signified an aura of total control. Yet she almost feel his humanity concentrated on the tips of his fingers.

 

She felt her rough fingertips rest upon his palm, before closing it into his hand. His skin was as smooth as silk and she felt like she was dirtying his hand just by coming near it. The mysterious young man helped her up upon Leura taking his hand. Her feet awkwardly found their ways to standing up all normal-like again. A tiny smile graced the young man’s lips, and he lifted her hand to nose level, skipping twice on the balls of his feet and keeping his stare upon her as he turned his shoulder to face her, holding her hand out parallel to his face, as if he was opening a bit of a dance.

 

But he stopped, and the young woman kept her stare upon him, unable to truly understand what she was seeing, being in this place with this person… as suddenly as she had those thoughts, the man spoke. His voice was a like a drop of liquid silver in a fresh river’s water. “What are you going to do?”

 

What was she going to do? What did he mean?

 

He made another movement, returning his torso to face her once more, bringing her hand outwards in a sweeping motion. His movements were pharie-like, and very overtaking for someone like Leura. “We have not yet talked to you. Unlike the others. So what are you going to do?”

 

Her eyes shot up in hearing those words. They sunk in and burned, bringing out her sour moments from the brief past in which she had experienced what he had described. The others had dreams, the others had signs, the others felt what they needed to feel… but she, the greenest of them all, never did… was this the kind of vision that the others would have seen? Was this the ‘Allag’ they speak of?

 

“Faith is a tool, but it is not a necessity. When faith refuses to serve you, create your own. That is the majesty that separates man. So what will you do?”

 

“I…” Leura was beginning to mention, before the man in question suddenly let go of her hand, curled his lips in, and gently blew air from them. The wind suddenly picked her up, and her body went limp, falling into the water and sinking underneath the surface as the image of his form from the water’s bottom faded, along with the reality around her.

 

 

-----

 

 

Ryanti had some height on him for his features. He did in fact have Hyuran blood from his father in him after all. He, like Juhh, also had a toned body that one might identify with a swimmer heavy on endurance, as per his job required him to have. Still, it was absolutely nothing compared to the massive Sagahin Clutchfather that stood before him on his powerful and fear-inducing Elbst that seemed to eat other Elbsts for breakfast.

 

Ryanti’s aquamarine eyes were weary and etched with fatigue along with the sights he had seen that day. The blood that had solemnly dripped out of his nostrils had long since dried. His pearly white hair, brilliant in the sun when clean, was a bit darkened due to perspiration which clumped tiny bits of his hair together to form an oily chain of locks that easily gave into the gusts of wind that tossed them all about. His Sharlayan suit, while undamaged, was laden with dried blood and grime that would need to be cleaned and cleaned soon.

 

It was a far cry from the Clutchfather. Ryanti’s eyes lit up at the sight of his armor, as if life had been brought back into them, even after all of that fighting and all of that violence. In that moment, it clicked. He was right. The Sagahin must have inhabited this area of the ocean a near-impossible amount of moons ago. This was their land now, and this battle had been taking place right in the middle of it.

 

A wave of calm washed over Ryanti. His chapped lips pursed slightly at the image of the Clutchfather shaking violently in his mannerisms, the sight of the gallant beastman dismounting from his Elbst and making a statement with his sheer height and steps alone. Yet, he was calm. Ryanti was calm. There was something about his armor and about that gold that kept him calm. Perhaps it was because this was Ryanti’s element. Hearing the Clutchfather speak of his party and addressing him directly allowed his inner strength to show.

 

Perhaps it was because of his passion for his line of work, or perhaps it was out of an instinct to protect the others which had now become dear to him. In any case, when the Clutchfather finished his statements for the time being, the aquamarine eyes that glanced back to Juhh’s were no longer tired or fatigued, but the eyes of a noble mixblood with a family lineage that traced back nigh nine centuries. The artifact rested firmly within his right hand, and felt warm to the touch, but the aetheric signs of life within the device were at a minimal level for now.

 

“It’s okay.” Were the first words he said to P’welro. Words of reassurance, of care, of empathy in such a tone that begged to convey a spear that would pierce through old grudges and open up the uncongenial. It was not too long after that a warm hand rested upon P’welro’s own, the same hand that had been inching ever closer to the musket holstered upon her hip. Ryanti was next to her now, with a warm smile, gently squeezing her hand and filing it away, back to the Miqote’s side. “It’s going to be okay, Welro. I’ll explain all of this later.” It was the first time he had dropped her prefix. “Just trust me.”

 

With a little nod, Ryanti’s focus was back on Juhh. A solemn gust of wind blew his white hair in several directions as the young man stepped out of P’welro’s shadow, taking slow and careful steps, not removing his gaze off of the Clutchfather’s yet for a moment. His steps were heavier than normal, and carried more of a presence with him, especially with the artifact in hand. He stopped after a few steps, when he was face to face with the Sagahin leader. For a moment he stared idly at the armor the Sagahin wore, recognizing it as Allagan and feeling a pull within his gut – within his very soul – a connection that Ryanti realized might never go away. Yet he somehow felt like … the connection was there even before he began this line of work. A connection of passion, perhaps.

 

Upon glancing at Juhh’s eyes one more time, Ryanti brought the artifact up horizontally across both of his palms. Slowly he began to bow, not rushing the gesture and closing his eyes for the duration of it. When he had fully bent himself over he addressed him. “Honorable Clutchfather Juhh.”

 

He solemnly completed the bow, yet still kept the artifact on display in his hands for the Clutchfather to see, admitting his name for the first time in the presence of the crew. “My name is Ryanti Veanysus. Fate has decreed that I am to be the bearer of The High Key of the Forebearers that ruled in a time before time in the eyes of my people. Of course the age of our culture dwarves the age of your own – and if this is where you call home, then please accept my most sincere apologies for spilling blood upon your land, and simultaneously understand that we did not have a choice.”

 

He allowed the display of the artifact to end, with him once again returning the artifact to his side. He took a few steps towards Juhh, an act that made everyone around him, Sagahin and Limsan, croak in nervousness for sure, but he made no movement of hostility. Instead, his features softened, and an element of sadness decorated his expression – though it was not a showing of weakness as an ignorant mind would think – but rather a showing of humility. “I must afford to drop certain aspects of formality, for it grants me a greater ability of honesty.”

 

He turned his head to briefly glance at the beast men and crew that were around him, his hair frolicking about itself in the wind, at times hiding one of his eyes. He found some solace in briefly eyeing the afternoon sky, taking in a breather from his lips instead of his nose to try to drown out the smell of death and give his mind some clarity as he returned his focus to the Clutchfather. “I was born into a world of suffering and war. Not a day goes by in my life where I do not see the after effects of men fighting men. Where I do not feel the pain of helplessness as I see the look on children’s faces when they’ve lost their parents, or men and women whom have lost their homes because of war, prejudice, or some other injustice. Everyone around me always seems to be suffering, and while I cannot comprehend the depths your people have suffered, I know that I want to stop it. Mankind stumble upon power or create their own, and then dive into the madness of their childish wars with nothing but petty, temporary gains that others pay with their blood, including the beast men, who then endlessly summon primals that threaten to devour the world, nevertheless devour the very people that summoned them. It is an endless cycle that leads to no way out for anyone.”

 

He lifted his hand to watch the artifact humbly rest in the grasp of his fingers. “You are right. I might not have seen it yet with my own eyes. But I have seen it through my visions. I know that there was once a time in this world where the planet had reached a pinnacle. Where mankind rose to its full potential. Where their deeds and accomplishments outweighed the element of suffering. The divine ones, in whose armor you wear, existed long ago. While they are no longer with us, that does not mean that it can’t happen again.”

 

He paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes a little at the object, though not in an irritated manner, more like a reflective one. “I... know that there are individuals out there that would do everything in their power to obtain that hyper ancient knowledge for power’s sake. Like the ones that ride in black steel. But that is not my will. My will is to learn from those whom this world has long forgotten in order to better the lives of the ones who live upon this world in our own time. To raise the world up again. To share this knowledge for the betterment of –everyone-. To return –both- of our kin to a better, brighter reality that we once had. That the work of these long forgotten people shant go in vain. That is what I want to do, and I refuse to believe that I cannot accomplish this goal within a single generation.”

 

He slid his thumb across the top part of the artifact. “And, of course… to return these souls to the lifestream, after eternity upon eternity of unrest… the ones that belong to the structure down below, the structure that you have so solemnly watched over all of these years.”

 

His artifact seemed to respond to his words right there, the lights on the artifact glowing in a brief, dim display. “But… our crew is ever suffering. We have traveled long and hard to arrive here.” He glanced up at the Clutchfather with a sincere expression. “We are running low on food and water. We have injured. I am the only walking one out of my entire brethren right now. If you have been seeking this key for so many suns and moons, then please choose to help its bearer do what is right. Granted, you have the power to finish us off and claim the key yourself if you wish, as I have the power to utilize the key to destroy you. But… this is not about Limsans and Sagahin. This is not about factions and war. This is about us. About the planet. About something bigger than that. Please…”

 

He placed the artifact and all of its glory in front of him upon the deck of the Ganesha, and crouched upon his knees, bending his head forward with clenched eyes and clenched teeth. “If our mission fails… thousands of years of dreams to better the world we live in will die with us.”

 

 

-----

 

 

He felt his heart rip at him in protest, as if what he was doing was against nature. If only he could lie to himself and tell himself that it was completely natural to do what he was doing. But it wasn’t. He wasn’t young anymore. He couldn’t convince himself of those things now. Yet there was still a tiny mentality behind all of the fluff one eventually picks up when they’re nearing their middle ages. A mentality that told him the same thing he used to tell himself when he was a youth: that this sort of thing could do good just as well as it could do evil, and that it all depended on who was using it, and for what purpose.

 

So when Razia had feinted, and the infirmary was in chaos, Forty-three flung the door to the place wide open with a swipe of his hand, the wind spell whooshing the barricade open and flinging the damn thing almost off of its hinges if it was possible to do so.

 

It was Forty-three alright, but it was not his usual self. His skin was ashen grey, even more grey than Eighty-five’s critical complexion. His eyes were a serious shade of bloodshot, and his irises were a sickly purple. It was as if he had drowned in the seawater, rose himself back to life, then walked into the room right after. That did not even explain the gaping wound he had in his stomach cavity – where the round had penetrated into his gut and sliced up his insides, the barrier only preventing him from being killed instantly. He looked like a living nightmare incarnate. Just to make things even worse, he was dragging with him the corpse of a Miqo’te Garlean, freshly slain. It was a sick sight. Completely unlike the gentle, caring man.

 

But he still had with him his spectacles, and they were coated with skinny stripes of blood that rendered a horrific image in the lenses. Though as he began to walk, something strange started to happen. He began emitted rugged moaning sounds from deep inside of his gut, as if he was growling at his own body. His entire posture tightened and loosened, and he was jagged as he walked, as if his own body was getting shocked by electricity and setting off random reflexes. “Do not look at me. You do not want to do that.” He said with a very, very baritone voice. “Focus on your patient at hand.” He finished, his voice sounding almost demonic in nature, but carried with it the words and phrases that belonged to his personality.

 

In reality, those that looked were in for a dark treat. The magi was using blood magic to rejuvenate himself. Through the consequence of shortening his overall lifespan, he was calling upon his own cursed body to rejuvenate itself through the dark magic. New veins sprouted to replace old ones. The round was forced out of his stomach cavity and the trail of blood was nearly sealed up immediately, covered by a new patch of skin that grew within moments. His chest fidgeted as his drowned lungs shook itself dry and his skin swiftly began morphing from a deathly grey to a healthy peach again. Even if they did not look, they could hear the sounds.

 

“It seems that what you require is a stinting operation, Misses Cwaenlona, am I correct in that assumption? It had crossed my mind as I was pondering over the possible injuries that might have occurred to the young lady when I was in the middle of, bleeding out and drowning, ah… wasn’t the first time though.” He asked her, his voice turning to normal as he did so. Still, it was an unnatural strength for a Lalafell to be able to drag such a body. Forty-three’s potency as a mage was being showcased here; he was still using his abilities even as he made small talk and deviled in thoughts about surgery. “I have been fully schooled and certified in performing such delicate operations, at least unofficially nowadays. But, unfortunately it appears that I will be needed to sustain Eighty-five’s stability. Rest easy Razia, you did very well.”

 

He flatly dropped the corpse in the center of the room. One eye was still open and the mouth was slightly agape. Those with dark senses of humor might have gotten a kick out of it. “I have… found an organ donor willing to lend a part of his vein. Now then. I require a stool. A STOOL NOW!”

 

He immediately ascended one that was provided for him, muttering a few words to himself before taking Razia’s place in insuring her stability. It was quite apparent after not too long of a time that the Lalafell had absorbed the life force of … multiple individuals that were still drowning in the water at the time he got knocked off of the Ganesha. He was going to expend them first before focusing on his own. “Now, I understand that this is a complex procedure, as we are talking about a bit of a transplant, but I am here with you Misses Cwaenlona! Just consider this as a course and me your professor!” He glared towards everyone in the room besides the Captain, Jada, and Fruhsuun. “And the rest of you will be our assistants! Now organize this mess and hand us tools! Prop up the body so Misses Cwaenlona can make an incision and extract what she needs!”

 

He glanced over at her and nodded with healthy eyes. “I know you can do it, girl.”

[Sounsyy]

"S-Simin," Sounsyy breathed unsteadily. Her face, too, was becoming stricken with pallor. In essence, Sounsyy was bleeding for the injured Miqo'te, near a pint of the Captain's lifeforce had been given already. Sounsyy felt unsteadily perched on the headboard. Her head began to ache. But Simin had been first to give, the Thavnairian lay sprawled across the floor, her eyelids flickering in a daze. Fhruhsunn tried to rise from his cot, but he had lost too much strength. All the mute could do was moan painfully, not for his own pain, but for worry of his fellow crew.

 

Then the door burst clean open, swinging free of all but one of its hinges. A cry of alarm came from Cwaenlona and Sounsyy who had turned quickly to catch sight of the man- if he could still be called that. He looked like one of Siren's thralls! Some long-drowned sailor dredged up from the floor by some song that encouraged his muscles to move long after his mind had passed. He stood in the doorway, dragging some dead Garlean, draining that man's lifeforce into his own as he walked. It was truly horrific to watch, but Sounsyy could not tear her eyes away. Cwaenlona did not dare look, however.

 

"Forty-three, I need you!" The chirurgeon choked out. "Yer magicks, quickly, she's all but gone."

 

In response, the Lalafell clamored upon the stool and began his work, setting others to their tasks. Jada moved in Fhruhsunn's stead. Her unsteady gait was that of a drunkard, or of someone whose leg had suddenly taken to sleep. She propped up the body and Cwaenlona moved towards it, craning the soldier's neck. She cringed at the thought of what she was about to be forced to do. The scalpel quivered in her hand. Then she plunged it into the soldier's throat.

 

 

The mighty Sahagin father looked upon Ryanti's display impassively. He regarded the Shorewalker with an expression that almost seemed like pity, as if Ryanti was one of his own children, just stepping into the waters of home for the first time. When Ryanti approached, a wave of dissent erupted from the Sahagin. There was a wave of aggravated clicking and bubbling.

 

Juhh held up a webbed hand to silence his children. There was a sudden pressure in the air. They could all feel it. The Lominsans held their breath, feeling their lungs stinging in their chest. As if even a subtle exhalation would set off a chain reaction. When the moment held for an impossible length of time, Juhh lowered his hand and - to everyone's surprise - replied to Ryanti with a deep bow.

 

He bent in half at the waist, his legs perfectly straight while the top of his headdress fell to the planks before him. The jellyfish tentacles fell loosely about the deck, splaying out like locks of hair. Juhh's strong arms were lifted out behind him in his bow, forming a tall 'V' as if he was preparing to dive from a tall board. That's what his bow looked like, a diver. When Juhh drew his first long breath, it sounded as if he was drawing upon the aether of the sea. The low grumble of his words were like the crashing of waves upon the shore.

 

"Pshhhh... Ssshorewalker," he hissed, standing back to his full height slowly, showing off the pure strength of his core muscles. "Ssspilling blood into the ssseasss isssh your kinsss' way. My kind, we beassstsss, we have wept the ssseasss for your peoplesss lossssesss. It isss clear to me, ssshorewalker, you are but a ssspawnling with much ssstill to learn. Do not missstake me... pssshhhh... I have eyesss that sssee kindnessss in your heart. Nobility in your lifeblood. Purpossshe in your veinsss."

 

Juhh approached Ryanti's kneeling form. His red eyes fixated upon the Allagan key laid before his feet. He lingered there a moment, towering over the suplicated Miqo'te, before he kicked the key aside with a powerful sweep of his foot. The key tumbled across deck, coming to rest several fulms away. Without warning, Juhh bent down and pressed both webbed hands to either side of Ryanti's head and lifted him from his kneeling position upwards.

 

P'welro gave a startled cry and raised her gun, but a Sahagin came from her side and struck her hard across the face. She crashed to the deck, her musket sliding away from her. The Sahagin held her down against the deck and before the rest of the crew could move into action, the Sahagin took them to the floor by force. A longspear held both Pamido Wolmido and Susuroon down upon their backs. A Sahagin had sprung from the waters and tackled Berasaem to the floor before she could draw. Marjanie was being held down by her own gun. What few still stood made to charge, but Juhh's fearsome red elbst puffed up its chest behind the impressive figure of the Clutchfather and gave a haunting bark into the sky. The Lominsans fell back in fear. This was it. They had survived the Garleans to be dispatched by fishbacks.

 

Juhh's strong arms lifted Ryanti clear off his feet so that their eyes met level. The Sahagins gils whistled as air rushed through them. "Psshhh... SSSEEKETH TO RESSSHTORE THE DREAMSSS OF A THOUSSSAND DEAD, FIVE THOUSSSHANDSSS YEARSSS BEFORE. YET KNOWETH NOT THISSS SSSAME MISSSSION HASSS FAILED A THOUSSSAND TIMESSS. SSSPAWNLING THINKSSS THISSS THE SSSKYSSSAILORSSS FIRSSST CALL?"

 

Juhh's words seemed ancient, almost prophetic. His voice boomed with the very rumble of the Sea, but he did not seem angry, nor did he yell. He could've killed Ryanti between his hands if he desired. Thrown him to the sea to see for himself, or worse, crushed the life from him. But he had no such intention. The Sahagin drew a deep breath and slowly lowered the Miqo'te so that his feet once again touched the ground. But he did not yet withdraw his hands.

 

"You think... pssshhhhh... that we do not know. It isss not for ignorance that we protect the ssskysssailorsss tomb. Once your ancestorsss. Ssshorewalkersss... psshhhh... once sssailed the ssskiesss. But the Heavensss were not enough for the Ssspawnlingsss of Man, no. Thisss cycle of death, of ssshpawnlingsss without clutchfathersss, of pain and war - it beginsss with them! A thousssand thousssand yearsss the ssspawnlingsss of Man have revered thisss cycle! They worssship it. The ssskysssailorsss were no different."

 

He paused, and Juhh finally released his hold on Ryanti.

 

"Except thessse here. Ssskysssailorsss who dreamed like ssspawnling dreamsss. Of peace. Of good that could be forged by the ssskysssailorsss craftsss and magicksss. I have eyesss that ssseee... pssshhhh... ssshorewalker. You and they, are not ssso different. ...Psshhh... But you have not ssseen with your eyesss. Dreamsss are only dreamsss. And before you ssseek the Deep, you ssshould know... know the ssskysssailorsss dreamsss were never realized. Thisss isss why we ssshtay. To protect the dreamersss. Go below, ssshpawnling of great and noble heart, but know, you are not the firssst who hasss failed to wake the dreamersss dream."

 

Juhh's words hung in the air. His deep red eyes watched Ryanti Veanysus as he retreated several steps away until his spined back came to rest against his red elbst. The beast gave a soft noise, hoarse from the length of time it had stayed out of water.

 

"Ssshorewalkersss are sssafe... psshhh... we will guide you below and watch over your dessshcent. Ssseek the knowledge of your ancessstorsss. Do with it what you will. But do not ssset your heart upon impossssible goalsss. The Cycle of Ssshorewalkersss' grief cannot be broken. Ssseven disssassstersss have done their worsssht, yet the cycle persssissstsss."

 

Juhh gave a loud series of clicks and gurgles and his Sahagin children released the Roehmerl's crew and slithered back into the Deep. Juhh turned and climbed upon his elbst, which gave a few short cough-like sounds, before plunging over the gunwale into the Deep. Juhh had not given Ryanti another look after his warning. As soon as it all had begun, it was now over. The sea was quiet and still. Flames crackled almost peacefully upon the Ganesha and the Far Eastern wrecks in the Roehmerl's wake.

 

Was this the cycle of death Juhh had spoken of. Were the races of Man incapable of escaping this cycle. If so, why then, had the Allagans sought them out in their dreams. The Key lay still upon the deck, pulsing gently for all to see.

 

P'welro clamored to her feet, her cheek raw from where the Sahagin's scaly hand had slapped her soft skin. She held up a hand to stop Ryanti before he could even turn and begin to explain. "Iffin' the Cap'n hid this from us, it's not our place t'know," she said simply. Her short, bloodstained blond hair looked a mess. She broke off her gaze from Ryanti and bent over to retrieve her musket from the ground. She holstered it and looked around at the battered crew.

 

"Sloane, Swozkhan, Hound search the Garlean ship. Cull it fer anythin' of use. Shortsnout, Pamido Wolmido take stock of our damages. Rest o' yeh lot! Search fer wounded or dead. Those not our own, throw o'erboard."

 

The crew broke off and set about to their tasks. P'welro seemed strained, hurting, like that near defeat had cost her something dear, even though she appeared unharmed. This was a victory no one was celebrating. Her thoughts kept coming back to Jada and Eighty-five. How she hoped they would be alright. Was this what Jada thought when P'welro had been stricken by grief? One of the main mast's sails had been torn in the fighting and the First Mate moved mechanically to fix it. Her path sent her past Ryanti. She gave him a pitying glance and spoke softly to him, "Go see to yer friend. And... return that 'key' to where it were. If the Cap'n were 'ere, that's what she'd say."

 

 

The Captain leaned heavily against the infirmary wall. Her brow was pale and sweaty, her skin cooling after the battle's exhaustion. She had now given nearly two pints of blood to Eighty-five, who was still loosing as much or more of her own. Sounsyy began to shiver as visions of old nightmares began to dance across her glassy eyes. She had almost died many times in her life. Most of the visions she could not remember. Some... some fever dreams she remembered vividly. She wondered what Eighty-five was dreaming right now.

 

She struggled to lift her head to get a better look at the ongoing operation below her, but her head had become too heavy to manipulate so she settled for looking down the bridge of her nose at the bloody scene below.

 

Cwaenlona had carefully incised a long section of the sacrificial soldier's jugular vein and was in the process of transplanting it into its new host. The marred and bloody corpse of the Garlean soldier had been left splayed and bleeding on the infirmary floor. Jada had taken to vomiting in a corner, having had to witness the postmortem surgery first hand.

 

By this time, Simin had recovered enough to pull herself over to Jada and hold her hair back as the Miqo'te vomited bile, her stomach having nothing else to expel.

 

"Fhruhsunn," Sounsyy heard Cwaenlona's voice say calmly from somewhere in the room - right below her, but Sounsyy had to close her eyes as she was feeling dizzy. "Fhruhsunn, I need you to let Simin help you. I'm doing everything I can for the lass. If I lose her, I don't want you to die too. Please," she said, then lowered her voice to a whisper, "Please don't die on me now child."

 

Cwaenlona brought her eyes up to look at Eighty-five's pale face before lowering them again to her neck. With steady hands, she guided the cutting of vein over the torn end of Eighty-five's own jugular with a pair of forceps in each hand. Disposing of the left pair of forceps, she took hold of the clamp and released it enough to slide it over where the new vein overlapped the old. Blood ran freely out the vein and began to pool and spill out of the wound in Eighty-five's neck.

 

"Have to relieve... some of the pressure..." Cwaenlona muttered to herself before re-clamping the two veins together. The Roegadyn moved her forceps down Eighty-five's neck to the bottom of the wound. She carefully brought the two veins together and looked desperately at Forty-three who seemed deeply in concentration.

 

"Can you use aether to join the vessels together? Stitches, in her condition, are too risky. And I cannot cauterize the veins without causing sclerosis. I know... even saving her life now will be a miracle from Nophica... but I have to hope for how she will potentially live her life after. What quality of life is there for a young girl who would not be able to stand without feeling faint?"

 

These were the last words Sounsyy heard echo through her ears as the darkness took her. What quality of life is there for a young girl... The words repeated as she grew more distant, falling into the darkness with a muffled splash. Sounsyy felt the cold dark water flood over her skin as she plunged into the Deep below. She opened her eyes and found no difference in the texture of her dreamscape. She was alone, floating in darkness. She could feel bubbles rush past her skin as they raced for the surface of the sea she had just been plunged into.

 

From the darkness she could just make out the motion of some deep sea monster - some long forgotten serpent of ancient times. Its long, scaly body slithering through the water towards its prey. How long it must have been since its last meal! Sounsyy thought she had had this dream before. It seemed familiar to her? Yes, the serpent had the torso and head of a Hyuran woman. But instead of legs, her form blurred into the serpentine coil which spanned beyond the depth of Sounsyy's vision. There was no screaming in her ears this time, like there had been before. The siren seemed almost at peace, terrifying though she was. A light glowed upon her form, illuminating her Hyuran abdomen and breasts, dancing shadows against her face. Sounsyy looked down and saw a massive vessel, glowing pale blue from the Deep's floor. Was this what they were searching for? Was this always here? All of a sudden, Sounsyy could hold her breath no longer and water filled her mouth.

 

 

Sounsyy awoke in one of the infirmary cots. A warm, orange glow colored her sheets and the curtains which hid her from the view of the rest of the infirmary. It was almost evening now. The sun was but a bell's length from descending beneath the horizon and becoming extinguished by the sea. She wondered if it was still the same day as the battle.

 

With a groan she pulled back the sheets to find herself nude beneath. Clean dressings had been applied to her older wound on her right shoulder and then to the fresh wound at her hip where Cynthia's bullet had grazed. A wave of nausea struck the Captain as she tried to sit upright in the cot. She clamped her eyes shut and held her forehead in her hands. She felt something foreign rubbing against the soft skin of her elbow. She looked down to find a thick bandage wrapped around her arm. The bandage over her severed finger had also been changed, she noticed. All in all, small injuries, nothing she couldn't survive.

 

This line of thought reminded her of Eighty-five and the Captain threw the sheets aside and scrambled off the bed. Her limbs were weaker than she thought and she collapsed painfully on the wooden floor a fulm below. She rubbed her knee and found her clothes folded to one side of the bed. But before she could reach them, her curtain was drawn back and Cwaenlona stood in the opening. Sounsyy was hardly perturbed - she knew Cwaenlona had seen her breasts before - but a part of her was grateful she still wore underwear over her lower half.

 

"Good to see you up, Captain," Cwaenlona said hoarsely. Sounsyy pulled on a thin undershirt off the top of the pile so that she was covered before she stood. Fortunately, the shirt fell over her hips low enough to hide her boyshorts from view. Sounsyy looked up at the woman and found the pain in her eyes.

 

"Status?" Sounsyy asked cautiously, unsure of whether or not she wanted to really hear the answer, "Eighty-five?"

 

Cwaenlona did not answer, her lips pursing slightly. She pulled aside the Captain's curtain completely and Sounsyy slowly followed the woman into the center of the main room. Of all the medical cots, only a few were empty. Though not all of the curtains were drawn. Fhruhsunn was sitting upright in one across the room, his arm in a sling. He looked weakly at Sounsyy and nodded. Marjanie had a tender hand on his shoulder.

 

Cwaenlona moved in front of Sounsyy and held out her arm to point at the cot where Eighty-five had laid hours before. Only now the curtain was drawn and there were no sounds from within. Sounsyy approached the curtain, took the linen in her hands, taking a moment to truly feel the texture against her palms, before pulling back the curtain. Within lay the pale form of Eighty-five.

[Ryanti]

You are not the first to who has failed to wake the dreamer’s dream.

 

The shorewalker’s grief cannot be broken. Seven disasters have done their worst, yet the cycle persists.

 

It hit Ryanti hard as he thought about this. The culmination of memories from the past flooded his mind when he took those steps back away from the Sahagin Clutchfather. Mere moments before, his legs have struggled and his skull felt like it was going to implode due to the force that the Clutchfather had placed on the sides of his head, lifting him up like he was nothing, capturing him within his grasp like a helpless lamb and delivered him a lecture that ultimately proved him the ignorant one.

 

Ever since Ryanti was a child, he had borne witness to the suffering of others. In his youth days, he would watch outside of his window, lucky to be spared of any real hardship. Yet it was all he was ever able to witness within the city it seemed. It were those memories of witnessing refugees coughing up blood from some terminal disease they didn’t even know they had, or a grieving young lady burying an infant within the desert sun. Those memories were the hardest to forget. Ryanti was touched by these moments in life, and had grown up with a fire in his heart to try to fix this world. As naïve and ignorant as that seemed.

 

But he didn’t know there were seven. Seven. He didn’t know that the people he had painted within his mind to be nearly omnipotent in knowledge and wisdom, the once great people of the mighty Allagan Empire, had never realized their dream as a whole. As a people. That even they could not do what Ryanti had strived out to do. That even they fell victim to this seemingly inevitable cycle of chaos and destruction that mankind were just seemingly so inclined to do to themselves.

 

His heavy eyes glanced over at the Allagan key, still alive in a sense. Still operational and still coated with the presence of that residual aether that had clung to the device for countless millennia. He had wanted to tell their story to P’welro, because he felt like he owed not just her an explanation, but the entire crew. Yet… yet P’welro didn’t want to know, and despite Ryanti’s wishes, what she said was true. The world was not ready to know and accept that part of history, a forever that happened forever ago. They were not ready to, as the Clutchfather said, do good with it.

 

And it killed Ryanti on the inside. It killed him that he couldn’t tell her. It killed him that he could not explain to the rest of the crew just why they were doing what they were doing. Why it mattered so much. Why it could change the course of history for not just the nation of Eorzea, but the entire planet. He wanted to tell them why he had passion, and why they should have passion for it too. He wanted to be understood, and he wanted everyone to just understand. Just understand…

 

Ryanti placed the palm of his hand over his mouth, his eyes lowering to a half lidded position of grief, pain, and self-doubt. What the Clutchfather had said to him was a powerful message that would haunt him for a time coming. When P’welro had addressed him about the things the Captain would say, his mind briefly returned to Leura, and the idea of witnessing her corpse on a deathbed horrified him further. He took a little sniff through his nose as he tried to keep his composure. “Yeah… she would, wouldn’t she? I guess she would find my sight right now rather pathetic. Maybe she was right.”

 

It was meant as a joke, but maybe it wasn’t conveyed like that. But Ryanti didn’t want that to keep him from supporting P’welro’s current state of mind. So despite his emotions, he placed a hand upon the woman’s shoulder, rubbed it back and forth a little, and held her briefly in a half embrace, speaking quietly to her. “I’m sorry, Welro. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you, can’t tell everyone, when I want to –so badly-.” He let go of her, taking a heavy breath and turning his attention to the key. “Clean yourself up. I want you to look lovely again.”

 

With that, he slowly made his way over to the key, picking it up with the palm of his hand. It was still warm to the touch, and facing that feeling caused the train of thought in his head combined with his physical mood to go over the edge. P’welro could faintly hear Ryanti’s pained exhales. The young Hyqo’te clutched the key to his chest, shaking his head once or twice in a violent manner, feeling his soul was being ripped to shreds due to the realization the Clutchfather had given. “I don’t understand…” He murmured with a tearful, painful voice. “If the men of all eras… if even the mighty Allagans... could not even do it... w-what can I do? .., What can I ever do…”

 

He had leaned himself against the guardrail of the Ganesha, clenching his teeth and losing his composure, hiccupping and closing his eyes in tears, the sunlight from the day not being able to reach him in his heart now as the young Veanysus gave into despair, clutching onto what had become the physical embodiment of his dreams for all people…

 

Now the burden of thousands was all on him, and he couldn’t even confide in others about it.

 

 

---

 

 

What quality of life is there for a young girl…

 

The Lalafell in question frowned a little bit. He had bared witness to her makeshift surgery. Vivid memories of his experiences as a battlefield were coming back to him. Despite having regained his healthy glow with his body and despite him being full of energy, the middle-aged man’s face was so contorted with a frown that one could easily spot every single wrinkle on his face, and his eyes looked as they were to break. The blood was still on his spectacles, along with the salt of the seawater stanching his complexion. He could hear the sounds of Jada vomiting bile, and blood was… everywhere.

 

This was one of the many reasons why he had taken up blood magic. He was tired, exhausted of seeing what would happen to the quality of young people’s lives after the trials and tribulations of war. He was sick and tired of witnessing men and women of all ages scream out at him in the middle of his work, screaming out that they had wanted to live, which ended up becoming their last dying breath, their last dying wish. He was sick and tired of witnessing mothers and husbands become widows, or to outlive their children. He had come to hate his own life. To hate the fact that he was chosen to stay behind the front lines and be spared from the carnage and these people weren’t. He had wanted to make more of a difference than any natural man could.

 

So in secret, he practiced blood magic. In secret, he numbed his brain from draining the life out of his enemies in horrific ways to empower his ability to save the men on his own side. All while sacrificing years of his life due to the toll it took on his body: his soul. He would certainly not live as long now if he hadn’t practiced it. Of course, one could not forget either that it killed his dreams to become a Doctor. A graduate of Sharlayan’s elite schools.

 

It was ironic then, that the last remaining thing he could do to keep Leura alive with a chance to recover, did not involve blood magic. “My staff.” He replied to Cwaenlona’s message about using aether to join the vessels together. “My staff. I need my staff. Anyone in here that can get me my staff – please do so. It is at the corner of the door.”

 

The Lalafell looked on as several figured raced for the door. Leura looked deathly. Her breaths were weak, and her body was already preparing the final stages of death. She was ready to drown in that water she was tossed into.

 

“After I do this, this will make me practically useless.” Forty-three mentioned. “As I have to use the source of the power I have utilized as a Magi in order to save her. Please leave the incision open.”

 

Upon taking the staff, the Lalafell marveled at its construction very briefly, a look of sadness and despondency upon his staff. “Oh, my dear friend. However many years have we traveled together and shared experiences with one another? Alas, we are both old, and unfortunately your life expectancy is shorter than mine. Alas, with you dies one of my only companions that could bare witness to telling my life’s tale, but perhaps that is for the best, as the things I have seen I do not wish on my worst enemy. So please, your life for hers. Give one that hasn’t a chance to truly live yet an opportunity to do so.”

 

With that, he plucked the aetheric crystal out of the staff. Within moments, the staff began to dematerialize. From the bottom up little white lights emerged from the cane, as if a thousand phaeries were beginning their exodus towards the heavens, rendering the staff nonexistent as the tool faded away, leaving only the shining crystal of aether, imbued with the life force of making miracles, the kind that one would whisper to be the deeds of the great white healers of the long-passed Fifth Astral Era. “I need total silence please.” The lalafell requested.

 

He closed his eyes, and managed the palms of his small hands around the crystal. He began to rub his hands back and forth, as it figuratively crushing the pieces of crystal in his hands. A great light shone within, and the crystal began to simmer and boil down into bits of diamond dust that glowed with a powerful blue hue. The failed Doctor then sprinkled the powder of life into the wound of Leura’s.

 

The area itself began to glow a bright blue hue, illuminating the faces that were looking down upon it, including Forty-three’s own. His twitching hand removed his spectacles softly, lowering them to his side before dropping them onto the floor, preferring to glance at this work with his own eyes. The dust had sprinkled over her wound and melted inside of the very fabric of it, joining the end tips of the two veins and securing a bridge. Afterwords, Forty-three disengaged the clamps, and witnessed the blood from her head flow down that piece of vein and downward towards the rest of her body. Following on that, he also pulled Sounsyy’s donation tube out of her system as well. He held Leura’s cheeks with both hands softly. She was unmoving, but still breathing.

 

“Stitch her up. That is all we can do for now… if she survives the first hour it’ll… look better for her. Let’s… move her over to a better place. And I do –not- mean the lifestream. I just mean one of those cots.”

 

 

---

 

 

When the Captain’s curtain was pulled, Jonathan and Forty-three were together in a corner of the room. Jonathan’s legs was all bandaged up, and two pieces of plank wood were tied to each side of his leg. His leg was broken, so it was apparent that he would be crippled for at least a few months. But to a man like Jonathan, his wounds were considered minor in his eye. He was already standing up, albeit with a crutch huddled underneath his armpit. He was engaging in a rapid conversation with Forty-three, and the Lalafell had a punch of papers on him, fiddling through them with expertise and writing things down rapidly as Jonathan was speaking.

 

The Captain could pick out a few bits of conversation. “He is going to have to go through with this alone, so it is important that we make sure that h-“ Jonathan was mumbling to Forty-threes yes’s and yes sir’s. It was apparent that they were talking about Seventy-seven: Ryanti. Forty-three’s power had left him with his staff, and he was only useful now as a helpful aide to Cwaenlona. Jonathan had been shot in the leg, and could barely walk without a crutch. Eighty-five was…

 

 

---

 

 

He too, was floating. But he was in no ocean. He could see the brilliant ceiling, and the familiar deep blue diamond-shaped lights that decorated it, along with the majestic and divine paintings of the sky itself littered with all of the glowing stars that were sometimes difficult to see at night… especially in the enormous towering cities...

 

He could see the water droplets sparkle in the light as he turned around. The perspective around him was unintelligible to him besides the ceiling. The rest of it was… blurry, and the doorway leading out of the room he was in shined with a blinding white light. A white light so blinding that is silhouetted the figure standing near the pool he was in, a figure that was sitting on the edge of the pool with feet in the water but nothing else. “I can’t…” He heard the figure say. It was a woman’s voice. A thought ran past his head, a thought that Ryanti believed wasn’t his, couldn’t be his. Could it?

 

It felt so wonderful here. So soothing. He raised up a hand to the dark figure… a beckoning, inviting hand that was palm up. Droplets of water slowly fell from his arm. He extended his fingers towards the dark figure. The voice that came out of his mouth were a combination of his voice and… someone else’s. “Come in. The water is fine… and if you were to fall underneath the water… I will pull you right back up. I promise.”

 

I promise.

 

The aquamarine eyes of Ryanti Veanysus slowly but surely opened. His vision was a blur at first, and he didn’t remember when he had fallen asleep. He was seated on a small stool, having rested his upper body upon an infirmary cot. His hair was sprawled about his scalp in a fluffy, clean sheen, having taken a bath as soon as he was allowed do during the process of sterilizing the deck.

 

He was wearing nothing now but a pair of tan trousers that were tied to his waist by a leather strand and ran down to his knees. He had his Sharlayan undershirt on him as well. The sleeves stopped at his shoulders and covered the center of his chest in a thin see-through fabric. Papers of scribbled down information were cluttered all around the bedside that he fell asleep on, and the pen he was using had escaped his hand in his slumber. He had been trying to be by Leura’s side as much as he could, all the while juggling all of the information the other two were feeding him and trying to comprehend everything. It all just shut down on him. His body shut down.

 

He still felt very tired as he eyed the two individuals that had walked into the room. His eyes focused on Sounsyy shortly afterwords, realizing that the arm that he had extended in the dream was extended upon the bed, lightly gripping the sheets. For a moment, he believed that Sounsyy was also part of the dream. With the manner of her dress and...

 

“Captain!” He quietly exclaimed, sitting himself up. His locks, which had been greased down before, were once again their pearly white selves. “Oh… “ He murmured to himself, a little taken aback by being caught in the middle of a paper clutter and… everything else. He turned his face away from her and stroked a bit of his locks back, feeling his cheeks were a bit hot.

 

Eighty-five was laying down back first in the infirmary cot. The side of her neck that contained the injury was heavily bandaged, and the disinfectant was liberally applied underneath her bandage, where her wound had been stitched up. She still looked very pale, and there were bags under her eyes of a slight crimson. A wet rag was resting upon her forehead. She looked very still, and for a moment it could have been believed that what Sounsyy was looking at was a corpse.

 

Until it took a breath. One very rough, tad unstable breath that had a bit of a wheezing sound to it. Her diaphragm slowly settled down, and forced itself to breathe once more. “She’s… she’s alive. Messed up and hasn’t woken up yet but … she’s alive.” Ryanti said with happiness and relief, turning to look at the Captain again. Ryanti himself had reddened cheeks, and it was impossible to tell if it was a blush from earlier, a result of his crying, or both as the afternoon wore on and forced him to shut down and sleep some.

 

He quietly stood himself up, noticeably allowing the papers around him to scatter, completely and utterly losing the willpower to keep track of them. He started to walk out of the room, but stopped when he was shoulder to shoulder with the Captain. “Hey... umm... when you’re done, I’ll be out on the deck.” He murmured, eyeing the bandage on the Miqo’te elbow as he glanced downward at her. A gentle warm feeling passed through his stomach. She had donated blood.

 

“Please see me when you can.” And with that, the Sharlayan agent passed through the curtain.

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

The deck outside was tainted with the orange sky of dusk. The Roehmerl had pulled away from the Ganesha and the wreckage of the two Easterner ships, enough to give themselves a fair distance to be safe from the impending blast. They were to destroy whatever remained to make sure that the Garleans would never find out what became of the little scouting vessel they had sent to investigate the unknown. Ryanti had his back against the Mast that was still standing. He witnessed the gunshot fired at the cereleaum tanks that had been lined up on the deck of the ship. With an explosion of its own resources, the ship bent in half in a brilliant, fiery light to the cheers and claps of an exhausted crew. It was the glosest they got to a happy victory – seeing the enemy go up in smoke. But still, they were but one small ship far in the midst of the ocean blue, and the cleaning… the cleaning was to never end it seemed. Everyone was contributing to the cleaning. To try to break through the smell of war.

 

There was much repairing for the Roehmerl to be done. Everyone was so tired though. It was difficult. They may have to push the dive back even further. No one expected a fight of this caliber out here, and it was just hard. But at least they were not fighting anymore. At least they were not killing anymore. Leura had managed to live. Everyone moving around had managed to live. Ryanti had lived, but his thoughts were claimed by the inevitable encounter he was to have underneath the deep blue sea.

 

He heard the steps of the Captain approach him after long enough. Now she was in a bit more clothing, as if she was… ready to step outside. Ready to hear whatever Ryanti had to say. He was silent for a moment as the ambient noises of some of the crew around him allowed him a temporary peace of mind. For the thousandth time, he had wished that he was sailing with her for other reasons than business. Other reasons than war.

 

“I like the dust out at sea. It’s without the glare of the sun, and you still have enough light to see the horizon. The sky is also so beautiful, so orange.” He murmured to her, smiling a little bit through his soft expression as he allowed a salty breeze to wisp his locks around as they danced to it. He glanced to the side of him, taking a deep breath.

 

“We were supposed to dive today. It was supposed to be the four of us. Jonathan was supposed to lead the unit, and Forty-three was to support us with his magic. I was supposed to bring the knowledge of handling what we find, and Eighty-five was supposed to help everyone out with their duties.” He crossed his arms slowly, a melancholy sigh escaping his lips. “But that didn’t happen. We ran into an open war. Jonathan’s leg is broken. He can’t walk. Forty-three’s magic is gone because he destroyed his crystal. Eighty-five is clinging to life right now…”

 

He took a few more breaths before finally glancing at her, his hair bending to the wind once more, blocking the features of his face at times. But Ryanti’s aquamarine eyes always shined through, locking onto the Captain’s after a long enough while. “I was briefed by my commanding officer this afternoon after everything settled down. We had agreed prior to boarding your ship that, with all intents and purposes, shall one of us still be standing right now then we would still green light the mission. So that means I will have to dive down to what lies underneath and… do it on my own. All by myself.”

 

He seemed melancholy. There was a lot on his mind. The burden was very heavy. It was as if at any moment he could collapse under the weight that everything from today had placed on his heart. “The Clutchfather of the Sahagin told me that we are not the first to dream those dreams. That we are not the first who has tried to do this. Men and women from ages past, from all eras of time that we know about tried, and failed. Even they failed. I know I don’t have to explain. You can feel it. Feel it like I feel it. Feel what they dreamed and… what this mission means.” He solemnly placed his hand over a section of his trousers. It was the one suggestion he did not follow from P’welro. “I know I don’t have to explain what else the Clutchfather said to me.”

 

His folded arms shifted a bit. His palms were on his elbows. He looked longing, as if he was trying to glance at the sea beyond its horizon. Beyond time. To try to see where his place was in this world, and what his purpose was. “I don’t want to do this alone. I don’t want to dive down into the belly of uncertainty… not knowing what I am going to face. I don’t want to find myself all alone. All alone in a deep, dark place all the way down there where no one can reach me. I don’t want to have to survive in the most forgotten corner of the realm in a place that I try so hard to understand all by myself.”

 

“Sounsyy…” Ryanti said softly, his words filled with the emotion that had grown up along with him from the time he had met her on the bloodsands. That he tried so hard to keep bottled. “I want you to come with me.” He allowed it a moment to sink but he had a feeling that he was always supposed to have asked her to go. “I want you to come. You’re the only one besides my unit that has shared these dreams with me. I know they’re calling you along with me. I don’t know why it has to be us, and I never thought this would happen, but… if there is anyone on this planet that I would like to be there with me down there, it’s you. I know how strong you are, and how strong you make me when I’m around you. Not only that, but… I feel like you would be the only one that would understand right now.”

 

He swallowed a welt in his throat. It was hard for him to ask her to do something like that. But it was what he wanted, what he needed. How it was meant to be. Another salty gust of wind lifted the young man’s hair as he extended a hand out to her, the sun setting underneath the horizon right behind him, the rays passing through his locks and bouncing off of his extended hand, palm up. “So will you come with me? … Can we do this together?”

[Sounsyy]

Sounsyy breathed a slow sigh of relief out her nostrils. She still held her firm grip on the curtain fabric almost as if it was holding her steady. She heard Ryanti's voice to one side but she wasn't really making out what he said. She felt muddled, weak. Cwaenlona put her hand on Sounsyy's shoulder and the Captain came back to her senses. She looked at Ryanti who had left a scattered mess of papers on his cot.

 

"Please see me when you can," he said as he left. He had been blushing or crying. Sounsyy wondered for a moment if it was due to her lack of dress, but the thought was gone before Ryanti had left the room. Marjanie was approaching her to give her report and Sounsyy had to focus her thoughts. She slid Eighty-five's curtain closed and the two women retreated back to the Captain's cot. Sounsyy took up a seat on the edge of the cot, bringing her feet up under her to sit cross-legged. Marjanie, for once, seemed too fatigued for formalities and went into the report without her customary salute.

 

"The Roehmerl sustained minimal hull damage. For that, we are fortunate. But our crew has all but been exhausted Sounsyy. Syhrelak and Eighty-five remain in critical condition. Five more of our crew are injured to be unfit for duty, Fhruhsunn included, though he's putting on a strong face," Marjanie said quickly in a hushed voice. She didn't want Fhruhsunn to overhear that she thought he was unfit. They were close and the Elezen worried greatly for him. Sounsyy just nodded, spinning over the message within the report.

 

"Yer worried that the Garleans were not alone," the Captain stated matter-of-factly. Marjanie shifted uncomfortably, saying, "We are ill equipped for a second encounter. I cannot recommend we linger here over long. Even with the fishbacks protection."

 

A look of confusion spread across the Captain's face before Marjanie clarified, "The Clutch that attacked us protect the Sharlayan's prize. Some Allagan relic, which explains the Garlean involvement."

"We stay fer as long as Seventy-seven needs to complete his mission," Sounsyy said after a moment, "Otherwise, this'll all have been fer nothing. I share yer concerns, but this is the way it must be."

 

Marjanie nodded respectfully, though her face clearly expressed her disagreement with their orders. Sounsyy regarded her for a moment before asking if there was anything else. Marjanie shook her head, "Nothing of great import. Food and medical supplies were culled from the 'Ganesha' as well as the usual salvage for our engineers in the Ironworks. We're destroying the vessel and its Far Eastern escorts to disguise any evidence of the ships' passing. P'welro is at the helm so I can keep Fhruhsunn in his bed. Stubborn bastard. Will that be all, Captain?"

 

"Relieved," Sounsyy replied. She had grown distracted again. How close the battle had come. The Sharlayans were all injured, her own crew did not fare much better. And Marjanie's concerns were well founded. Garlean vessels rarely traveled so far south alone. How long could they afford to linger here before more came looking for their lost ship? A day? A week? There was their rendezvous with the Sharlayan vessel to consider as well. This mission was far from over yet.

 

Sounsyy watched Marjanie return to Fhruhsunn's side. The Elezen walked with a slight limp and Sounsyy found her right ankle and shin was tightly bandaged under her boot. The woman must have bathed and changed into more comfortable clothes when Fhruhsunn hadn't needed her constant tending to. Marjanie was a diligent worker, perhaps the Roehmerl's most, and Sounsyy couldn't help a smile seeing the woman take a breath, even if the Roehmerl needed her full dedication now more than ever.

 

Sounsyy slipped her legs back over the side of the cot and tested their strength gingerly before standing. She was still feeling rather dizzy after the amount of blood she had donated. Finding herself to be steady, she knelt down to pick up the bundle of clothes laid at the foot of her bed and carried them with her out of the infirmary. She climbed up the stairwell back to her cabin barefoot, keeping an eye on the activity below. So many of those cots filled...

 

The sea breeze greeted the Captain like an old friend when she crested the deck. She closed her eyes and felt the cool breeze swish the small hairs on her arms and neck. It was her moment alone on the sea - the sounds of her crew at work soon returning her to their situation. Repairs and cleaning were well underway by those few of Sounsyy's crew who had escaped the bloodbath unscathed. She wondered for a moment if P'welro had given them the order or if they had acted on their own, knowing that it was what needed to be done. Either way, a sense of pride filled her lungs, mixing with the salty air. She spotted Ryanti towards the bow, gazing off across the sea. Sounsyy considered going to him then, but he had not yet noticed her, so she retreated into her cabin to change into more suitable clothing.

 

The first sight she encountered upon entering was the shattered wine bottle littering her floor. She cursed under her breath at the senseless violence of Garlean scrags before gingerly tiptoeing through the debris. The deep red wine was already soaking into the cabin's wooden floorboards, giving one the impression that a murder had occurred here and the Captain had simply moved her wine rack over the site in some poor attempt to obscure the violence.

 

Fortunately, the wine had not traveled so far as to reach the area rug beneath Sounsyy's desk, and after taking a few tottering steps through the glassy debris, she hopped to the edge of the rug like it was a safe spot. She rubbed her bare feet against the rug a few times each to make sure she had not picked up any glass shards with her feet and hopped over the desk to examine the discrepancy she noticed in her armchair. A hole had appeared in the back cushion. Sounsyy dug her fingers into the hole and with some effort dislodged the slug buried within. Cynthia's.

 

What had become of the woman's body hadn't even crossed Sounsyy's mind. She scowled at the bullet and set it down on her desk next to the old kobold's helm. Another trophy? Or something to be discarded along with the shattered glass once that had been swept outside?

 

Once she was satisfied nothing else had been damaged or disturbed from the assault, she moved to her armoire and changed. Tights, thighboots, the same long tanktop she had been wearing. The effort to find a suitable top had been lost on her. Her hair still loosely held Eighty-five's braid from that morning. Sounsyy didn't have the heart to undo it, yet. So without further fuss, she exited the cabin, her boot crunching through the broken glass.

 

"Yeh wanted to see meh?" She said quietly as she approached. She wasn't sure how deep in his reverie the boy was and didn't wish to startle him. He didn't reply for several seconds, so Sounsyy moved to stand beside him, casting her gaze out in the same direction as he did. The sunset was beautiful. Sounsyy crossed her arms over her chest. She could feel her skin prickling from the cool air.

 

All by myself.

"...Sometimes Llymlaen takes us unexpected ways, down narrow paths..."

You can feel it. Feel it like I feel it. Feel what they dreamed and… what this mission means.

"...I don't know. I dream because I saw, that's what you said? I don't know that I believe in them - the Allagans..."

I want you to come with me.

 

Sounsyy turned to look at him in bewilderment. She knew that he was deadly serious, but the thought of her plunging into the deep dark brine petrified her. Color began to drain from her face as she stumbled over her words, her mind racing... for what? She didn't know. An excuse?

 

"Yeh what?!"

"“I want you to come. You’re the only one besides my unit that has shared these dreams with me. I know they’re calling you along with me. I don’t know why it has to be us, and I never thought this would happen, but… if there is anyone on this planet that I would like to be there with me down there, it’s you. I know how strong you are, and how strong you make me when I’m around you. Not only that, but… I feel like you would be the only one that would understand right now.”

 

Sounsyy shook her head vigorously, but could say nothing. She did think she understood. The dreams had featured two... people... Allagans? A man and woman. She began to wonder if Ryanti thought these two were representative of them. A man and woman on a starship to save the world. True, the similarities were uncanny, but that's what dreams were. Dreams, odd fantasies of reality twisted into your worst fears or greatest desires. Sounsyy wanted to tell him - no, she didn't understand - or that he was crazy, but the look on Seventy-seven's face kept Sounsyy quiet.

 

Will you come with me? He pleaded, his hand outstretched. Sounsyy looked at it, then back up at him. She uncrossed her arms but did not take his hand.

 

"Yer out yer Twelve-damned mind," she said flatly, her green eyes burrowing into his, "But someone's got to keep yeh on schedule down there. I guess dying at the bottom of the Deep still counts as a death at sea. What do you need me to do?"

 

Sounsyy sighed and ran her finger-short hand through her hair, messing everything up. Her hair was swept up in the next breeze with Ryanti's and she gave him another hard look before laying her injured hand in his. She opened her fingers and withdrew her hand shortly after, leaving a few bobbypins and hair ties in his outstretched palm. Sounsyy gave him a quizzical look.

 

"What? Yeh ever tried keepin' a braid underwater?"

[Ryanti]

Will you come with me?

 

It had taken more strength to ask that question that it did for him to murder those Garlean soldiers. It had more taken more guts to ask that question than to face the Clutchfather himself and to witness him lift Ryanti up like he was nothing and place the young man’s life in those hands of his. It was a silly thing to confront that reality and accept it as truth. There were some things about life in this world that Ryanti scoffed at or gazed upon with amusion in his brow. This was one of those moments. Why had it been so hard to ask…

 

When she had called him being out of his Twelve-damned mind, there was a look in his eye that he gave back to her when she burrowed her gaze into his own. What she saw beyond Ryanti’s warm, aquamarine eyes that would remind any seagoers of Costa Del Sol’s ocean waves in the gleaming summer mornings, was an element of acceptance. He knew this was all just crazy… it was not even remotely sane. Both of them had already gotten much more out of what they bargained for.

 

He had gotten used to that hard look. For some reason, that gaze had never pierced into his chest and stung or hurt the young man. What he saw in her eyes was the color of the Dravanian pines that he was fortunate enough to bare witness to in his last mission up North, where the rivers were crystal clear and the sun was always bright. Those trees were evergreen. They did not waiver in weakness to the coming fall, and retained their color throughout the long, lonely winter. Her answer gave him the same kind of feeling that he experienced back then: a feeling of peace. Of relief.

 

He witnessed her running her hand through her hair – undoing what was left of Leura’s handiwork back during a time where she was well, which already seemed like such a long time ago when it barely was. When he felt something warm and moving upon the palm of his hand, Ryanti was reminded that he still had it out, and looked down to see a hair tie and a bobby pin or two. He glanced down upon the tools as the sea’s wind picked up once more.

 

The cold breeze was welcoming to him. It seeped below the surface of his undershirt and made him feel a little bit more alive. The items in his palm began to vibrate, as if at any moment they were to be kidnapped, and swept away by the wind. Ryanti couldn’t help but smile when she asked him if he had ever kept a braid underwater. It was the first time he had smiled all day.

 

“Can’t say I have… It must be a real pain.” He told her with a soft and calm voice. Right when the objects were about to be stolen from him by the wind, the young man closed his fist before it could happen and lifted his gaze from his hand to Sounsyy with a single blink. He had never seen her with her hair down. The brunette strands danced all along the wind with much more grace than Ryanti’s shorter hair ever could. Her image before him caused time to slow down just a little bit, and for but a moment Ryanti found time frozen.

 

After that moment had passed, he maneuvered his closed fist over one of the loose pockets in his trousers, and allowed the objects to fall inside of it. Just in case. “The first thing…” Ryanti murmured, trying to jumpstart his memory back again after so much information caused it to overload. Oh how he wanted to just continue to get lost in this sunset though. “The first thing I need you to do is to rest.”

 

It was apparently obvious that Ryanti had not gotten enough sleep when he passed out in Eighty-five’s cot. He didn’t seem like he was fully energetic and ready for anything like he usually was. He tried to get the codwebs out of his mind by running a hand through his whitewashed locks. “Welro and I can handle things up here right now.” It was curious to see that Ryanti had mentioned himself and not Jonathan.

 

“Drink some of that juice we confiscated from the Garleans. Take a nap. Rest.” He rested his shoulder against the Mast, biting his lip a little bit before continuing. “Rest in that place where you can lay down fully. Not in your chair. And… try not to do it with wine. That’s the last thing your body needs right now after… all of that blood you gave.”

 

He solemnly turned his back to her, placing his hands on his hips and sighing, looking left and right but no longer able to see the sun. Despite the evening still retaining its light, the sun had already fell below the horizon. “Rest until everyone else is, when it is darkest. Then come out again… I’ll be here. I’ll light up a part of the deck… then I can get you ready. Just be prepared to learn.”

 

He gave a few cricks to his neck, then glanced back at her with a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re coming.”

 

Just when he was about to walk away, after the first step he stopped in his tracks. “Oh, and… “he said to her, trailing for a moment as he gathered his breath. “I know a good amount of people contributed to saving Eighty-five’s… Leura’s… life. But so did you.” And with that, the determined Sharlayan agent walked away again. Even though he really, really didn’t want to.

 

 

---

 

 

As the dusk slowly began to turn to night, it had become very difficult for what remained of the healthy crew to keep up with their tasks. They were beginning to complete most of their initial duties in order to keep the ship afloat and livable in. But it would become apparent they would have to spend a while on repairing the ship enough to be able to sail again reliably. Their postures were drenched with fatigue and they were drudging on. The looks on their faces told the entire story.

 

But no one had it as hard as Ryanti. Since he had put the Captain to rest, his face wore a look as if he had just been rescued from a war zone. It was contorted and stressed enough to make him look like he been right along besides Sounsyy in Carteneau. He wasn’t beside her then, but he had been beside her and all the others in this naval battle, and it was horrid enough to live through. Jonathan and Forty-three were busy discussing with themselves the best way Ryanti should approach this task now that he was alone in his duties. It was a constant see-saw of cleaning, stopping to read more and talk more, cleaning, stopping, cleaning, stopping… until Forty-three had backed off with a sad, pity look in his eye. But Jonathan knew so such thing as slowing down.

 

Ryanti placed the mop down upon the wine spill in the Captain’s quarters. He must have looked like a machine from the outside. But inside, swiping all of the wine off of the floor and squeezing it out into a pale was the only kind of outlet that kept him sane right now. He gripped the mop pedals as if they were the throat of his worst enemy. P’welro had taken the young man with her to clean the Captain’s place out. Being by the person he could confide into the most was something he needed right now and she knew it.

 

Ryanti had seen Cynthia’s slug that the Captain had pulled out of the chair. It was sitting on her next right next to the Kobold’s helm. Was it to be a future memento for her? Something else to remind her of what she had survived? What she had survived… that had to have been the same very slug that had grazed Ryanti’s shoulder when he had tackled her to the floor on the eve of the battle. That was the first time he acknowledged the red bruise that was healing on his left shoulder. He graced two fingertips slowly across the wound to P’welro’s witness. “I took a bullet for her. Am I lost cause?” He had asked her then. She had laughed a little bit. It was funny. He laughed a little bit too. He needed that.

 

But as he wringed out the mop again and saw the crimson liquid that could be mistaken for blood drip into the pot, a thought raced his mind.

 

I don’t want her to feel like she deserves a bullet.

 

He glanced over at the woman four years his senior, then got back to cleaning. All the while, he knew he was going to eventually have to tell the acting Captain what was going to happen. He knew that it probably wasn’t for the best if the news was just broken out in front of an entire crowd. It had to be broken out first to the highest acting role on the ship right now.

 

“She’s going with me, Welro. Sounsyy is going to dive down with me.” He mentioned out of the blue, but the tone in his voice told the first mate that he had always been meaning to tell her all day. “I have to take her. She has to go. I’ll keep her safe.” He glanced at the young woman once more, and his resolve was written all over his face. It was a strength beyond strength – a faith that he had to grasp onto in order to survive the storm.

 

Just then, a crippled Jonathan had called for his name. Ryanti shifted his attention to the open door with a bit of a startled look on his face. His breathing was still as the air he was exhaling froze in his lungs. Jonathan nudged his head to beckon to talk to him, with papers still in his hand. He did not look happy.

 

Perhaps from Sounsyy’s cot, she might have heard the argument. Shouting and yelling near the entrance to her cot between the leader of the Sharlayan unit and its keeper. “She had no business in this, Seventy-seven! You are not going to defy the will of our superiors by exposing non-sanctioned Eorzeans to this kind of exposure!” Jonathan had boomed with the voice of his old drill instructor roots.

 

“We have no choice! There’s no one left! I can’t do this on my own or else I’ll just be sent down there to die! You –know- this and yet you –STILL- lecture me about doing what is paramount to suicide!” Ryanti had yelled back, the frustration of this entire evening catching up with him. “I’m lecturing about doing what is –PROPER- of you as a Keeper!” Jonathan had shouted back, hopping about on his one foot as his voice continued to boom. Forty-three was rubbing his eyes underneath his spectacles, shaking his head at what this had gotten to.

 

“What is –PROPER- of –US- is to –HELP- people! To give them a better –LIFE-! Something has to give! Something has to give eventually, Jonathan! I’m tired of this bureaucracy all of the time! We’re out here in the middle of Twelves-damn nowhere and no one has –ZERO- idea of what I am getting into and I need her!”

 

“That gods-damned artifact has twisted your mind!” Jonathan shouted at Ryanti and the young man had enough after that. With a fire in his heart as well as in his eyes, he stood up to his commanding officer, catching the attention of everyone around him that had wondered what the commotion was all about.

 

“You think so? You don’t have any faith in me, Sixteen?” He questioned him with a tight, angry voice. “You don’t have any faith in what we do? How we are supposed to bring about change? To end suffering? You don’t have any faith in what we carry with us on this ship? We –NEED- faith! We –NEED- faith, Sixteen! Without faith… without faith we might as well be dragging our corpses under the bow of this ship because –WE HAVE ALREADY LOST-!”

 

He grabbed the commanding officer’s crutch firmly in his hands, which caused Jonathan to grab at it with anger in his expression but helpless at ripping it away from the young man’s grasp. Ryanti had the ability to embarrass him, to knock him over right where he stood. “I believe the red tape and the immortality associated with this line of work has twisted your mind, Jonathan. Because of this, I deem you currently unfit to continue your service as commanding officer of this unit.”

 

A knife went through the gaze of Jonathan’s. “You wouldn’t d-“

 

“-I- -just- -did-.”

 

He let go of the crutch and Jonathan hopped backwards once or twice before resting his shoulder upon the side of the railing, his normally impenetrable expression showing a slight hint of surprise and bewilderment. “I don’t need to make a formal statement about taking over.” Ryanti murmured, glancing over at Forty-three, who was just looking on with a grizzled look about him. “I already have.”

 

He swallowed his dry mouth and took calm, slow steps away from the man and looked two and fro at everyone around him with dizzy eyes, not even sure what he had just done. “I need to see my equipment.” He had told P’welro eventually. “I need to get myself ready for tomorrow. Just… tell the crew one at a time what is going on with the Captain. So that once morning comes, well... it wouldn’t be so hard.”

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

Ryanti had gotten some sleep. A little bit. Maybe an hour or two. Hell, the entire crew almost was. Sent back down to rest, all of them were. Everyone was just too exhausted.

 

After he had the argument with Jonathan, he had quickly ended up in the same little storage room that they had been in prior to the battle, that they had slept in together. Eighty-five’s blanket was still partially open when she had slid out of bed that morning when she thought she was going to dive with the rest of the crew. Just to think, they could have already been on the mission right now… all four of them. Now that wasn’t meant to be. But was it always never meant to be?

 

He wondered that to himself as he laid out the Sharlayan equipment across the center of the ship’s deck, in which he had decided would be the best place to do this. They still had the intact mast, which was an easy place to hang torches. As he lit the fires and the warm yellow light simmered off of his skin, he thought of a man and a woman on a starship to save the world. He gave the flames a soft blow of his breath, catching the shadow of the Captain within the aura of the torch’s light. He had turned his head to her and said “Ready to get started?”

 

Under the gaze of Menphina’s moon, I began to teach Sounsyy all about the equipment that would be taking down there. It was a very surreal thing to teach the basics about equipment that was claimed to be more valuable than our lives to her.

 

The first thing I did was lay out all of our gadgets. I taught her how the grappling hook that she saw that we had in our naval battle worked. I showed her the cable. It was a kind of imitation Garlean fiber that the Ironworks had made. I showed her to pick it off of the belt we had and how to shoot it. She shot it up around the mast’s arms and climbed a bit of it while I watched.

 

I showed her how our explosives worked, which was something else we used in the fight. I didn’t pull any pins, but I explained to her what would happen. You pulled it, threw it and it would explode in a flash of powder and shrapnel. We both knew that it was easier to explain everything if you just… left the science out. So that’s what I did. It’s not like I knew any better about how it was designed either.

 

I let her see the wound on my suit. I let her see how it had patched itself up over time so that the only way you can tell it had ever been pierced was its discoloration compared to the rest of the outfit. I explained to her when it’s teared open, it will release a medical gel that’ll seep over your wound and sterilize it while working on healing it. Then the threading would re-sauterize itself. Some kind of magical charm, I told her. Honestly, I didn’t know how it worked.

 

I explained to her how our canteens could scoop up dirty water and filter it. I told her about the little square patch on the side of it and how it would change from red to green once you shook it enough and the filter did its work. By this point, I couldn’t hide my liking to these kinds of things. It was amazing technology and… there was a part of me that was having fun showing her all of this in the dead of night at an ungodly hour with barely any sleep and the warmth of the torch’s fire over us. I joked about how you could probably drink your own piss in one of these. Am I sailor now? Probably not. But dirtier, yeah... probably.

 

Then I let her see how the rations worked. I showed her what amounted to a bag. That same kind of bag one would get from packaged treats in Garlemald. I didn’t want to waste any of them, but I explained to her how you could pour water into one of the pockets, and the alchemical powder inside would react to the water and boil up, ‘cooking’ the nutritional meals inside so that maybe we wouldn’t have to vomit our meals out while… while diving down there.

 

Then we tried putting on the suit. I told her how to buckle the straps in. I explained to her how not to worry about clipping the water-tight seals together, that it would come later. I taught her how to latch on the boots, what gauges to check on her suit to make sure she was doing alright, and I even explained to her a little bit of the science behind how aether was embedded into the weaving, and how air was vented through micro-tubing in-between the threading to give us breathable air for a while with the help of a mouthpiece that would hang from her collarbone when attached. It looked like it was made for her… her form was as black as the night sky in front of me. This was actually happening, I thought.

 

The most fun I had was showing her how the goggles worked. It had three different modes, I had explained to her. Night vision, thermals vision, and aetherial vision. She just looked at me, confused. Heh, well, I guess there was no other choice but to just put them on her and let her see for herself. I remember the first time I hit the switch. Suddenly, the pitch darkness of the ocean blue and the reality around her became a slight shade of green, but she could see. See any better than a torch would provide her. Seeing her reaction to that was priceless. Even better when I switched it to thermal and stepped in front of her, moving an arm up and down like a fool. We had to turn it off after that, though. It only had a limited time of running. I guess that’s why we had flashlights.

 

The weapons were the worst though. She held that pistol as if she was allergic to it. It was the first moment that I realized how strange it was that I was the teacher and… her the student. I had tossed a pierce of a broke barrel out to sea, and turned on one of my torch-less flashlights so that she could see it floating in the water. I spent a long time showing her how to grip it right. How to spread her legs out right. How to look down the sights. We couldn’t really use live rounds with the pistol. There was just too little of them left. So we decided to move onto the rifle because, well with two other of my unit injured… we had a ton of ammunition to spare now.

 

 

“Come on, Sounsyy. I know you can do it.” A gun shot fired out. A single round from the Sharlayan rifle. A fountain of water plopped up next to the piece of the broken barrel. “Loosen your shoulders up. Don’t let the recoil take you back. Imagine like it’s someone ramming your shield and stand your ground against it. Try again.”

 

A few slower, hesitant shots rang out. A few more fountains of water. They were slightly closer, but they were not hitting the target. The shots slowly began to ring out more rapidly, but they kept on missing. When the Captain had lowered the rifle a bit in seething frustration, she suddenly felt a hand grip onto the stock of the rifle. Ryanti was there, with his head a bit down and glancing over her shoulders, his height looming over her back, as if to shield her embarrassment from the ship she owned.

 

“Hold on… take a few deep breaths. No one’s watching you but me.” He advised her. Normally he would be a little timid and hesitant to be this hands-on with her training, but had found it… necessarily, and probably the best way to teach her. He adjusted the stock of the rifle to rest in the perfect spot on her shoulder. “Just like that.” He voice came from behind her ears, and he softly gripped the forearm of her trigger arm, adjusting it to properly circumvent along the stock and keep a fine place to rest the rifle on.

 

His palms were very warm, and ever so slightly having a shake to them when he rose her arm. There was a deep, deep fear behind every single he made. A fear that was only apparent to Sounsyy now, when he was this close to her, this hands-on with her position to make sure everything was right. He was scared. Just as scared as what was going to happen as Sounsyy was. How could someone even possibly have a rational mind about themselves on the eve of… diving into the unknown? But Ryanti’s voice was calm, collected, and soothing. He was trying as hard as he can to not scare her any further by his own fear. “Don’t use your fingers.” He murmured to her, his fingertips finding themselves on the Captain’s hand that held the end of the rifle aloft. “Rest your palm upon the barrel…” He murmured, shifting her hand to where the weight rested upon her palm.

 

He glanced over to look at her legs, which were a little too close to one another. “Spread your legs out a little more.” He told her, after a moment nodding his head. “That’s good enough.”

 

A moment passed, and Sounsyy’s tunnel vision of the barrel, and the rifle she held in her hands, was interrupted by Ryanti’s arms. They slowly extended outwards, shadowing where her limbs were. He parted his legs a little bit, and stood behind her, shadowing her posture and looking slightly over her head at the target. “You need to grip it hard.” He had said, once again allowing his hand to envelop Sounsyy’s own that held the barrel, squeezing it a bit to emulate the kind of firmness for her. “Like this. Now look down the sights and adjust for distance…” Her trigger finger felt Ryanti’s finger slide in below it. “Ready… ?” He had whispered to her, and pulled the trigger back, a shot ringing out.

 

It might have been amusing if anyone was out to watch this. But of course, the Roehmerl was anchored, and there was no need for someone to steer the course during those ungodly hours. But maybe one or two of the crew had peaked from the stairs? The Allagan relic, which had been resting in the compartment box where the equipment was stored upon the deck they were on began to glow again, in a warm, encompassing blue light.

 

The barrel floated in the water, with a gaping hole in the middle of it. “Again. Ready… ?” He squeezed the trigger again, letting her deal with the ricochet, knocking Ryanti back a tiny bit before he took another step forward, just to do it all over again. The piece of wood flipped about the ocean’s waves as their shots began to pick it apart. With every hit, Ryanti’s smile got a little wider. “Alright…” He murmured to her, finally letting go of her barrel hand and sliding his finger off of the trigger. He backed up a few spaces, yet for some reason… he felt the same feeling he felt earlier that dusk when he had walked away from before.

 

“This time do it without me.” He said to her, his arms still a little outstretched, but now he was a few ilms away. “And remember: have faith. That is how we operate. Now… go.”

[Sounsyy]

Sounsyy gave Ryanti a cross look when he dictated the manner in which she should sleep. While it was true it was the Sharlayan's mission now more than hers, they were still aboard the Roehmerl and above the waters Sounsyy had the final say in things. But the boy looked stressed enough so Sounsyy toned her dissent down for his sake.

 

"Alright, mother cockatrice, yer not Captain yet, but I'll go back to the infirmary. Let meh crew handle things up here, yeh should be getting sleep as well if yer gonna be up late. We're divin' at first light, no matter how much sleep yeh get."

 

Sounsyy shook her head slightly at him, knowing full well that he wasn't going to sleep. He had determination in his eyes, or was that horror? Sounsyy knew the best way to put something from the mind was to keep finding an activity for the mind to focus on. Busy work.

 

She was about to leave when Ryanti stopped her. Leura. She shook her head at him, saying, "If that's a thank you, yer welcome, but ain't needed. I look after me n' mine... regardless what the rumors say."

 

Sounsyy watched him as he walked off and she turned to return back below decks. But not before returning to her cabin. The glass and wine still marred the floor, and the culprit stood resolutely on her desk. She gave it a brief pause before reaching out and pulling a bottle of wine from the rack and tucking it under her arm as she made her way back downstairs.

 

She had as much intention of sleeping while her crew was hard at work as Ryanti did and resolved to make her rounds about the ship before the headstrong Miqo'te could catch her out of bed and reprimand her. She laughed aloud at the thought and pulled the cork on her bottle and took a quick swig. She was going to need this.

 

 

She passed through the gundeck towards the armory at the ship's bow. A few of the bunks had fallen from their hangings and crewmembers' belongings had been strewn haphazardly about as a result of the jarring force of the Roehmerl ramming the Far Eastern vessel. Juselmont and T'laom were busying themselves righting the mess. Sounsyy took a minute to talk with both of them and make sure they were faring well. She let the elderly Elezen have a few sips from her bottle to help him calm the tremors in his hands before moving on.

 

She paused outside the private quarters. Marjanie's door was open but the Elezen was not within. A cursory glance showed her room had been straightened already, likely when the young girl had changed into civilian clothes. The interior was darkened but Sounsyy could see it was ornately decorated with tapestries of wonderfully colorful silks, maps and charts of far off places, and in the back corner, a bookshelf full of tomes. A few books had been taken down from the shelves or had fallen leaving odd missing patches in the series. One such book sat on the reading desk, many of its pages folded inwards to mark her place over time or to remember this page. The spine read in brilliant gold lettering: Ichthyological Folklore, Vol. 7 - The Indigo Deep.

 

Sounsyy smirked and her gaze fell upon Marjanie's long rifle which rested horizontally above her bed on pegs. The blood had been cleaned off of the rifle already, Sounsyy noted. Below the rifle was another tapestry, this one bearing a crest that the Captain could only assume was a family heirloom. She heard a voice coming from the adjacent room and Sounsyy moved nimbly towards the next door - Fhruhsunn's quarters. Sounsyy's ears flicked as she made out Marjanie's voice from within. It sounded as if she was chastising the mute Roegadyn for not resting. The Roegadyn only grumbled in reply. From outside, the sound of his heavy footsteps and eventual flump of him dropping onto his mattress were the only noises that could be heard. Though as Sounsyy smiled and moved away from the door and moved into the armory, she could almost swear she heard him start to hum his old sailor shanties.

 

The inside of the armory was as dimly lit as Marjanie's room. A single lantern had been strung up from the hook on the underside of the bowsprit that split the room diagonally in two. Beneath it, the Quartermaster sat cross-legged, a column of blades laid out before her. Jada would pick up the nearest in line and begin cleaning and sharpening the tool before setting it down to one side and picking up the next in sequence.

 

Sounsyy approached quietly, but Jada's keen ears missed nothing in her domain. Her bright blue eyes met Sounsyy's as the Captain moved to sit opposite her stash of weapons. Sounsyy said nothing to her and Jada returned her gaze to the work at hand, finishing up polishing a large battleaxe before setting it in the clean pile.

 

"Used to be my job, y'know," Sounsyy said calmly. Jada stopped mid-stroke of her whetstone, looking up at her Captain. Sounsyy took a swig.

 

"When you joined the 'Cuda? Or before?" Jada spoke with a forced evenness. Her voice still held a hoarse quality about it. Sounsyy passed the bottle across the gleaming row of weapons to the Quartermaster, who took it and drank deep.

 

"When I joined the 'Cuda, aye. Sterransa used to make me polish that cutlass o' hers thrice before she were satisfied. Juss outta spite. Old bitch." Jada snickered into the bottle, her teeth shining in the lamplight. "So'z that why yeh won't let me clean your blade, Sounsyy? It's gotta be cleaned three times and yeh know I'd tell yeh to shove yer sword up yer arse?"

"Somethin' like that. Old habits die hard is the saying."

"Thank you, Captain," Jada said after a long laugh. Her voice trailing off as she brought the bottle back up to her lips and took another large portion down her throat, "...fer the wine." Sounsyy nodded, though she knew it wasn't for the wine, "Been told I'm not supposed to have it anyroad."

 

Sounsyy stood, and before Jada could return the bottle, made her way down the stairs into the Mess. At first Sounsyy thought the stalwart Qiqirn had been released early from the infirmary, judging by the commotion below, but it was only Pamido Wolmido shifting crates back into their regular positions. Given the size difference between some of the crates and his own stature, the Plainsfolk king seemed to be having some difficulty on his own.

 

"Iffin'... yeh don't... mind!" He grumbled as he spotted Sounsyy dropping down from the last step into the Mess. Sounsyy looked at the bare-chested pirate and gave a short shrug before hopping over the counter in search of something in one of the cabinets. Pamido Wolmido made a cry of dismay, "Oy! Wee smallfolk 'ave to stick together! Movin' mountains n' all that! Cap? Cap'n!? Yeh ain't payin' meh back fer that whole hair thin' are yeh?"

 

Sounsyy straightened behind the counter, shrugging her shoulders at him. She was trying hard to hide the smirk that threatened to spread across her lips. She pulled up a plate of left over dinner from the underside of the counter - salted cod puffs - and set it on the counter. She began munching on one of the bits of cod while she watched Pamido Wolmido sweat.

 

"Thas just mean spirited, lass."

"Wha? I didn't get dinner," Sounsyy huffed, shoving another cod puff into her mouth. Pamido Wolmido sagged against his crate, looking quite defeated. Sounsyy chuckled mirthfully and hopped back over the counter, tossing a cod puff in the Lalafell's direction. When he was distracted nibbling, Sounsyy put her hands on either side of the crate and began dragging it down the belly towards the cargo bay. The pirate finished off his snack and raced to push to the crate along.

 

It took the combined effort of the two to move the crate back into place. Sounsyy gave a relieved sigh and moved back to her plate of cod puffs on the counter. All the stools had already been righted and the cabinets were in order thanks to Pamido Wolmido's efforts. The two met eyes after Sounsyy popped another puff and there was a moment of suspended silence, which was finally broken by Pamido Wolmido, "Makin' the rounds, eh?"

 

"You know how it is," Sounsyy replied absently, not looking Pamido Wolmido in the eye, finishing off the last cod puff.

"I do. And I know yeh care, unlike most."

 

 

Sounsyy retreated to the infirmary not long after. She moved to her assigned cot and drew the curtain for privacy, though she did not or could not sleep. Something about lying down surrounded on all sides by curtains bothered her. So she propped the pillow against the cot's headboard and leaned against it. For a while she listened to the ambient noises of the infirmary - Cwaenlona's incessant washing of her hands, the occasional moan from one of her patients, Susuroon's tiny snores, the pitter-patter of Simin's boots - and eventually fell into a light slumber.

 

The Captain was roused by the sounds of raised voices a couple hours later. She rubbed out the crick in her neck and listened to the exchange between the two shouts, which she recognized as Jonathan's and Ryanti's. Apparently Jonathan had not taken to the knowledge of her helping Ryanti well. Under normal circumstances, Sounsyy would've agreed with him, but these were not normal circumstances and Marjanie's warning of additional inbound Garlean vessels weighed heavily upon her decision. Whatever mission the Sharlayans had sought to complete below, it could only be expedited by additional aid. The sooner they could leave this place and reach the Sharlayan rendezvous, the better. But Ryanti's sudden shift in personality - this wave of control he felt the need to exercise to further his goals - troubled Sounsyy. Jonathan was wounded, but he was still the senior voice of that team and a man that Sounsyy found herself respecting. The Captain sat listening to the two fight, propped up in her bed. Then she heard Ryanti's footsteps retreating from the room. There was an awkward silence that settled in the room.

 

Sounsyy got up from her bed and drew back the curtain that separated her cot from the rest of the room. She cast a look towards Jonathan and Forty-three, who still seemed to be fuming. Cwaenlona, Simin, and P'welro were standing in the room in struck silence. They all turned to look as the Captain drew herself up after she exited the divider.

 

"I'll... talk to him tonight," she said calmly to the room before focusing on Jonathan, "But I do mean to dive with him, Sixteen. He would gladly do the work of four men on his own, but we cannot afford to linger here. The quicker yer mission is done, the sooner we can see yeh safely to Sharlayan. Yeh showed me the artifact, yeh brought me in on this. I will finish what yeh started, as much as I'd rather I weren't going - believe me."

 

 

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully until most aboard the Roehmerl were asleep. Sounsyy had given the order that only a handful of the crew were to stay up to service the ship's most vital functions for the night. There were simply not enough active crew members for much else, and after the day's exertion, they all could use the rest. News of the new mission plan had been spread throughout the evening hours as Ryanti was locked away in his room. No one liked the plan, but their options were limited. No one wanted to die far out where no one would find their bodies either, and so the decision had been made. The dive would take place that morning at dawn and the Roehmerl would wait for a limited time should communication be severed. If the two divers were lost, the mission would be abandoned and the Sharlayan rendezvous met. Should the Sharlayans object, Sounsyy confided with P'welro that she had permission to break Jonathan's other leg.

 

It had eased past midnight when Sounsyy finally met Ryanti on the deck. Most of the crew were asleep by now in preparation for the long day ahead. As Sounsyy made her way across the deck, she looked from side to side off to the port and starboard of her ship. How dark everything looked. As if they were floating on nothing, as if they were alone in the Void or the stars above... like her dream aboard the Allagan starship. How terrifying.

 

Their greeting was short, for there was much work to be done. First, Ryanti had laid out the equipment. Propelled grappling hooks with carbontwine cables, improvised grenades, air and water filtration devices. Sounsyy fingered through all the equipment while Ryanti tried to explain it in the simplest of terms. Some things that the excited young Miqo'te explained were incredibly obvious to her, while others went completely over her head, with little rhyme or reasoning behind which went where. But every time Ryanti tried to explain something simplistic to her, she gave him a look.

 

Sounsyy bent down to examine the suit when he got around to explaining it. She stared at it a long while, guessing that this had been Eighty-five's gear. Sounsyy caught herself wishing it was the Miqo'te girl going down into the abyss instead of her, but it was too late now. She had to pull off her boots and strip down to her smallclothes to fit into the skin-tight body suit. Sounsyy kept her eyes focused on the task, but she could've sworn she felt Ryanti's eyes sneak a glance or two in her direction. She didn't mind particularly much, but the scars and blanched white skin along her left arm, shoulder, and between her shoulder blades made her self conscious.

 

The suit was tight around her shoulders, hips, and thighs as it was obviously tailored to fit Eighty-five who possessed a more lithe frame than the current wearer. When she had finished buckling the suit, she began examining the various guages as Ryanti explained them. "So this is what the Ironworks does wit' the shite we bring them," she muttered to herself as she fiddled with the suit's mouthpiece. She looked up awkwardly when the boy approached with an odd pair of goggles. Sounsyy turned them over in her hands a few times before pulling them over her head and tightening the strap which held them in place. Though they looked like normal lenses at first glance, Ryanti explained that they also could swap to Night Vision, Thermal, or Aetherial. She gave him a puzzled look behind her goggles.

 

"Night vision seems pretty self explanatory, but- ohh!" Sounsyy gasped as the Miqo'te turned the goggles to night vision and suddenly the Roehmerl turned a bright green before her eyes. She had to turn away from the lighted portion of the ship and gaze out where there was only darkness, which to her surprise, was not so dark as to be featureless. Then thermal, and the world turned from green to varying shades of red. Ryanti waved his arm about in front of her, and she could see the heat radiating from it. She gave a short hm, seemingly pleased with the technology.

 

After a few moments of exploring the world in this new light, the Miqo'te told her that the equipment had a limited duration and the fun was over. Sounsyy turned off the goggles and pulled them off and handed them to the Miqo'te. She took one last look at her suit to make sure she remembered how exactly it was supposed to look when worn before unstrapping it and stripping back down. She found releasing the latches to be a considerably awkward process as her left hand was missing a finger, but the suit still had a full set of digits. The extra fabric for the missing appendage kept getting in the way of her unbuttoning. Despite her cursing under her breath, she managed to free herself from the Sharlayan contraption without Ryanti's aid.

 

She handed the warmed suit back to Ryanti to fold and stow away while she changed back into her own clothing from before. When she looked up from buckling her boots, Ryanti was hovering over her with rifle in hand. He mentioned something about needing to teach her how to shoot after her earlier display, which earned him another vexed glare. She stood and snatched the rifle out of his hands and made her way over to one side of the ship.

 

"I know how to shoot well enough," Sounsyy simmered, "Couldn't have become a 'Cuda otherwise, y'know."

 

In truth, Sounsyy was a terrible shot and she knew it. She had only barely passed the marksmanship portion of her trials to become a Knight of the Barracuda. But her pride would not allow her to admit this fact to anyone. But she knew she was in trouble the moment she took the gun from his hands. It was a wholly foreign firearm to her - larger, heavier, and more powerful than anything Sounsyy had fired in her lifetime. The basics were still the same, but as predicted, the Captain performed abysmally, which frustrated her greatly.

 

Ryanti could probably make out the low growl Sounsyy made as the boy stepped in behind her and shadowed her body positioning with his own. His hands were shaking, she noticed, and his body was tense. He was such a timid creature. Sounsyy wondered if he had slept any after his shouting match with his commander. She doubted it. But the thought reminded her of what she needed to confront him about. She was about to open her mouth and tell him, but the words came out wrong and she ended up growling, "I'm going to shoot yeh in yer leg," when his hand squeezed hers tightly against the rifle's barrel. She felt his finger around the trigger and she pulled just as he did, sending a bullet whizzing through the broken barrel target with a loud plop.

 

Ryanti broke out into a huge smile and they repeated the process a few more times before he pulled away to let her fire on her own. Her back felt cold suddenly without him standing there behind her. Sounsyy could feel goosebumps forming along her body. Ryanti almost seemed excited as he counted down for her to shoot the target on her own, but when he finished, Sounsyy just turned around to face him, rifle cradled against her body with the barrel pointed off to one side.

 

"Listen," she said slowly, "I don't care to know why yeh removed Sixteen from command, but what's done is done. Juss like that skirmish today is done. But I can look in yer eyes and see yer still carrying all that weight. Yeh look stressed. Yeh don't look like yeh got any sleep. And yeh want me to dive malms under the sea into a fishback cesspool with yeh. I am petrified at the thought of going down there, so I need to be able to trust yeh to have meh back, understand?"

 

Sounsyy took a breath, shifting the weight of the rifle in her hands. Her eyes were fixed on Ryanti's, as if she was trying to read his thoughts from behind his eyes.

[Ryanti]

Ryanti’s ears lifted a tad when Sounsyy ended up turning around to face him instead of take a few shots on her own. It was obvious from the moment that she began to speak that Ryanti realized that she had something on her mind and had for a while now. As she spoke to him and explained her thoughts to him, Ryanti took a small breath and listened.

 

He hadn’t paid much attention to how he appeared from the outside. He had chosen to focus more on the tasks at hand, and training Sounsyy, and… busy work. He had neglected to realize the emotions from the inside were leaking out into his expression. He understood that he was new to acting under such an unorthodox and abnormal situation. His experience in open warfare was also new to him, and learning how to emotionally cope with it was more of a challenge than he had anticipated. Despite all of that, Sounsyy was right.

 

What was done was done. He repeated that phrase in his head when she fixed her eyes upon his. There was some fatigue in those eyes of Ryanti’s. A little bit of the white in his eyes had become a damp red in sleepiness. Perhaps the Captain could have seen the struggle to uphold some sort of standard on her ship; a kind of resolve to handle whatever her and her crew could on their turf, playing their game. Maybe she could have seen in his eyes the memories still of being face to face with Juhh, his feet dangling off of the ground as he was fed the words of the failures of others that came before them.

 

But, if she were to see one thing above all else in his eyes, it was the desire to do whatever was right. It was the hope that he was making the right decisions to the best his ability. It was that same care that Sounsyy had shown to her crew, and when Ryanti closed his eyes and slid down his index and middle finger along the inner sides of them, and reopened them, she could see a different kind of care that Ryanti had for her.

 

Sounsyy’s words reminded Ryanti of something. The young man knew he had a choice every day he woke up. The truth was, and he knew, that every day was a new day. A new sunrise. A new beginning. Within that early morning’s light, he had that choice to make. He could either decide to be the same man he was the day before, or he could make the decision to be a better man than he was the day before. He wasn’t sure how many mistakes he made today, and what he did right. He had to make a lot of decisions about everything, and he wasn’t sure which decisions were the right ones… and which were wrong. Now he was going to dive with her as a result of the decisions he made, and he knew he had the power to make the decision to make sure both Sounsyy and himself came back from this alive. The first step to making that decision had to start now.

 

Ryanti’s steps were not heavy, but the pervasive silence made them so. His eyes shifted towards the rifle that Sounsyy cradled in her arms as he approached within a few ilms of her. He trailed his eyes upward until they met her own again, his face illuminated by the shade of the evening moonlight, the thoughts behind his eyes becoming occupied with the notion of getting lost in hers. She could feel the rifle in her grip shift as his hands became upon it, and with a slow motion Ryanti lifted the heavier weapon out of the Captain’s hands.

 

His movement was as swift as the eastern winds, yet as solid as any well-trained operative. Within a moment, he had flipped and brought the rifle’s stock up to his shoulder, resting the metal component of the rifle right ahead of the trigger upon Sounsyy’s left shoulder while bringing his right hand up against the barrel just ahead of her. He was left handed. Ryanti squeezed his left hand upon the trigger, and lowered his head to the side to aim, the rifle’s stock the only thing that separated Ryanti's cheek from Sounsyy’s. Three swift shots rang out. The rounds fell in an arch right before Sounsyy’s eyes. Three rounds hit what was left of that floating target at both ends and the middle. She could only feel the rifle shift a tiny bit as he made those three shots, wasting as little energy as possible while finding a happy medium by ensuring maximum accuracy.

 

This all happened within a single moment. It was a method of communication from Ryanti to Sounsyy. A kind of symbolism. Tonight, there had been a broken barrel behind Sounsyy’s back that Ryanti had dispatched. Tomorrow, it could be anything, but no matter what it could be, Ryanti would dispatch them all the same.

 

With those three rounds, Ryanti had put today behind him. One round for the skirmish. A second round for the fight with his Commander. A final round for his self-doubt, which he melted off of his voice the next time he spoke. His voice was a whisper right next to Sounsyy’s ear, quiet and personal. “Understood, Captain…” He murmured to her, eyeing the back of her for a brief moment, witnessing once again the blemishes that beheld her skin. He didn’t mind how it looked. He saw the goosebumps too. He didn’t mind that either but… he wondered if that was his fault.

 

Ryanti slowly brought the rifle back down, placing it back into her grip with a little bit of ease as he glanced his eyes upon hers once more. A cold gust of wind blew upon his back, and his shoulders tightened up to bear it. He maneuvered further in front of her in a slight adjustment, to keep the cold wind from hitting her. “I will have your back, Sounsyy, and your front. You have my word, and my promise.” Her eyes that he had glanced at before, deadened by past memories and experiences. He wondered if Sounsyy was only talking to him when she mentioned that what was done was done. Ryanti had made his decision of who he wanted to be tomorrow.

 

There was no fear in Ryanti’s eyes anymore. His fingers have become cold in the late evening wind, but her eyes kept him warm on a layer below his skin. He was careful not to touch her skin with those cold fingers when he brushed a bit of the Captain’s hair that had blown into her eyes with the cold, cold wind that came. There were goosebumps on Ryanti’s neck. Probably from the wind.

 

“I need to know… will you have mine?”

[Sounsyy]

Sounsyy reached up and knocked his hand away with her left while her right held the rifle to her side. She gave him another vexed look and her injured hand reached out to his chest and pushed him back some with her four fingers.

 

"Don't get cozy," she said referring to his hand, "I got yer back, but yeh snap down there or that artifact takes hold of yer mind like Sixteen says, I'm leavin' yer arse wit' the fishbacks. I've outlived a helluva lot of suicide missions where I believed in what I were doin', so I ain't keen to die on one I don't."

 

Sounsyy took her eyes off of Ryanti for the first time since she turned to face him. She looked down the deck of her ship. Marjanie's lithe figure was leaning against the helm, her forearms between the spokes. She looked tired, but Sounsyy was glad to see her. She wondered if the Elezen had been silently judging her marksmanship the entire time. The rest of the deck seemed quiet, almost ghostly. A thin fog was just starting to roll in with the cool air of early morning.

 

She brought her attention back to the rifle at her side and hefted it one last time. She turned away from Ryanti and aimed out over the gunwale, bringing the rifle butt against her shoulder and cocking her head to eyeball down the long barrel out over the Indigo Deep. She checked her positioning quickly, and satisfied, lowered the rifle without firing. She nodded a bit to herself before propping the rifle against the gunwale and turning back to face Ryanti. Her arms folded across her chest in an almost motherly sort of way.

 

"Yeh should put up and get sleep. We'll be diving in a few hours. When first light comes be out on deck. Marjanie will brief us as we suit up. Then we'll dive. After that, we're in Llymlaen's hands."

 

She handed the rifle back to Ryanti and helped him pack up the gear he had pulled out for practice. It only took a few minutes to successfully pack everything away and after one last brief exchange she sent the boy below. She sighed as she came back out onto deck, just her and dark sky above. She craned her neck and stared straight upwards into the night sky, stars beginning to disappear behind low fog. She thought of that blackness that she would soon be descending into. Darker, darker, and deeper away until nothing. She felt a little dizzy and could feel Marjanie's anxious gaze on the back of her neck.

 

She blew out Ryanti's lantern and the ship fell into darkness. Her bootsteps were the only sounds that rose above the gentle lapping of the waves against the ship's hull as the Captain carefully made her way back across the deck to where Marjanie awaited her at the helm. The Elezen woman said nothing as Sounsyy crested the top step. The two stood together for a time, the Captain's eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.

 

"So yeh got a good look at the suits," Sounsyy asked, seemingly to the abyss. The Elezen's voice soothed back to her, "I did. Ironworks. So she finally got them to work..."

 

Sounsyy said nothing for several minutes, staring out at the subtle movement of the waves glistening in the moonlight. She had nodded, but realized Marjanie could probably not see her reaction, or was simply too preoccupied to take notice. "For my sake, I hope so," Sounsyy finally said flatly.

 

"The dive will still be dangerous."

"I'm agonizingly aware."

"So you trust him?"

"No."

 

...I trust you.

 

 

 

[align=center]~Day #9~[/align]

 

 

When Sounsyy finally made her way to her cabin, it was early in the morning. Still hours before dawn's light, but not many. The Captain slumped back against her cabin door to close it, the heavy latch falling into place with a soft clack. Her foot came forward and did not land upon crunched glass. She knelt down to feel the floor, but found it cleaned. The planks where the wine had had a chance to soak into still bore a distinctly darker shade, but were otherwise clean. She wondered if P'welro had done this.

 

Her chair called softly to her, singing its siren's song. Only, Sounsyy's ears did pick up a faint call. The image of the ancient sea serpent with the woman's torso swam across her vision in the darkness. She had to steady herself, her hand reaching out and touching the wooden walls to remind herself she was still in her cabin. She was awake.

 

Her breaths came quickly, but she did not hear the call again. There was only her pounding heart, beating in time with the pulsating Allagan relic hidden in the bowels of the ship, though she did not know this. She sank into her armchair with a groan and held her arms tightly against her body while the night slowly gave way to morning.