A Tale of a Turtle.

[Squirrel]

WANTED

HUNTERS, ADVENTURERS AND MERCENARIES
FOR DARING HUNT OF THE WORLD'S GREATEST GAME
300 GOLD NEL AND MORE AWAIT
MEET AT NALDA'S
COWARDS NEED NOT APPLY

17th of Vhalar, 718.

The posters had hung for days now, from the World's Beginning to ol' Rakath's Hammer, from Penkath to Thalmart. Some had stepped up to the challenge - willing, some maybe even able, but all turned away with empty pockets. They just wanted her coin. One look into their eyes was all it took to know they'd turn tail, hop overboard at the first sight of him; she knew the sort well enough. She'd been one of them, once. "Tide's rising," Ruckus mumbled into his wooden mug, though the first mate took no heed to his own warning and immediately signaled for another refill - his fourth this night. By now the other sailors were rising from their tables, tossing their pay over the counters without a backward glance, eager to hoist sails and be gone come dayrise. Fools. How many would return this time, she wondered? Who would be swallowed next, as they spun the wheel of fate and offered little prayers to Chrien that they might live to reach next port?

But of course, it wasn't the storms they should be worried about. It was what hid them. "Settle in, boys. Looks like it's another night on land." At that, several voices groaned, wooden tables creaking as the seamen slumped back into their places. Some voices grew heated, then came the sounds of distant yelling, followed by slamming mugs as Thryston ended the argument with one swift blow, and added a kick or two for good measure once the seamen went down. Thryston had a knack for keeping order when it was needed. With nowhere else to go but a bar, and nothing else to do in a bar but drink, the Second Mate's knack was coming in pretty damn handy.

She just wished she could share in a little bit of it now, as the familiar hulking form of Onell settled in beside her. "The boys're getting restless," he growled in a baritone voice that could send lightning from his mouth if it went a note lower. She could always tell it was him, simply from the way he lumbered about, nearly nine and a half feet of scars and muscle, a behemoth even among Thiussum, a freak of nature... and a very well accomplished quartermaster, given his powers over the crew. "If you keep us stuck in this damn bar another night, they're gonna start saying you've lost your legs." She shot him a hard glare. To anyone else it would have been a sly jab, at best. To a captain, those words were just shy of calling mutiny. Onell's eyes met hers for a moment, and he looked up and away, bottom lip pursed in thought. "S'what I hear."

"Y'know what I hear?" she asked back. Onell shook his head so slowly it looked more like he was glancing around the room disinterestedly. "Yntarra's still screamin' at me."

Onell's jaw clenched, hard. "Yntarra ain't screamin' no more, Great Serpent bless her. Only one still screamin' is you." Huge hands pressed down gently against the counter's edge, and when the great beast stood up to leave, she glanced down at the huge gashes he'd left in the wood with his thick black claws when his hands had tightened into fists. He might try and hide it, but he was just as haunted. He just tried to forget, to move on to the next batch. Perhaps he'd dealt with this loss before. Perhaps not. He wasn't the only one, though. Thryston's knuckles weren't just bloody from keeping the boys in line; she'd seen him sneaking out in the early breaks of the morning, out to take out his anger on some unsuspecting lackey in the blood pit of some dark corner. Ruckus drowned himself in whiskey until he passed out in stupor to hide himself from the nightmares that left him screaming and sobbing, like a broken child.

Not her. Though her crew might be little more than wrecks themselves, and the survivors of one, but she was still a Captain. When all else failed, it was her job to push through it and hold them together. Nothing less was allowed, or she wasn't fit to hold the title. "If it's the last thing I do," Captain Varsix growled to herself, "I'm gonna kill that son of a turtle. Even if I scream it 'til my dying breath."

Another bout of yelling opened up behind her, and the Wyvarnth Ithecal gritted her teeth and spun off the barstool, easily lifting it up with one hand and wielding it high above her head. She might not look like much, dressed in a salt-stained shirt still covered with rips and tears, not to mention the canvas trousers that'd seen better days... but underneath, she was corded with almost as much muscle as Onell, and thick scars covered the entire left side of her face, gouging out portions of her muzzle, tearing through one eyeball and leaving it permanently milk-white and empty. As she raised the barstool menacingly, the last remains of her sleeve fell away to expose the huge mass of old burns and welts running from wrist almost down to her shoulder, black and grizzly. The mark of the Arm Nautica, sealed into her flesh and then half-burned off again. "Damn the lot of you, shut yer traps, or I'll be making sure you never see the light of the ocean for the rest of your short lives, y'hear me?!" she screamed.

[Silaqui Falone]

She'd seen the posters. Heard the rumors floating in the breezes as she hung the fringes of society. Hood drawn up to cut the light of day and a glare of the moon from her frame and face. She'd floated into this town as they said for many reasons. Mostly because her path from her homeland had taken her to this port in a seemingly endless sea of grass, partly because she needed further supplies, partly because someone may have work she could do be it killing a beast or man from the safety of range, and finally to gather information beyond what mangled scraps she could gather from the corpses of those less fortunate enough to becomes so creatures meal could give her.

She'd slipped in, unnoticed thanks to the yelling, after the first heated exchange. Green eyes watched from the far edge of a bar as conversation happened between two people. From how the others acted towards them they were of higher standing than they. Some of the words used told her they were sailors. Interesting, there were no others in this bar besides the keep, whom she'd waved off gently, so that left only this woman, who'm she'd gathered was the leader of the lot of men and...Ithecal. From beneath her hood a well manicured eyebrow raised. So even they could be sailors. It was less a surprise and more of an unexpected discovery. Still.

The female lizardman wheeled on her cohort of sailors and raised a stool menacingly while threatening the lot of them. Crass, brutish and perhaps a bit too masculine for what she deemed a lady of any species should act but this a woman of the sea before her. Certain liberties and allowances could be given to her as she herself took for herself being a wandering bowmen. Moving from where she'd placed the shadowy woman moved to the side of the lizard like leader of the throng. "Excuse us," she said laying a copy of the poster strewn about the port on the bar to the side of the bellowing Ithecal. "I'd like to inquire about this hunt." She sneered slightly thankful for her cloaks hood as it hid it from view.

[Squirrel]

Captain Varsix wheeled on the spot with such ferocity it looked like the newcomer might find herself a target, to invade so suddenly in the middle of a clearly very heated argument, and with a fair share of bravado to boot. It showed guts, if not a whole lotta brains... but then again, one cursory glance from head to foot and the Ithecal gave a mocking smile of her own, one that she didn't need nor want a hood of her own to mask her contempt. Inquire about the hunt indeed; and she'd thought the sailors had been fresh-faced whelps. "Consider yerself excused, my Lady," she replied with an unsteady flourish and a bow, dropping the barstool back to its feet, earning no short amount of laughter from those not busy tearing apart two roughshod sailors away from each-other, one now brandishing what remained of a glass pitcher, and the other with blood dripping thick from a gouge above their eye ridge. That's what she got for turning her attention away, even for a moment. Sailors weren't made for land... at least on a boat, there was the threat of being tossed overboard if you stepped out of line. Here the best they could do was beat them bloody and wait for it all to happen again tomorrow. Land-livers often called the seas a lawless place, but the truth of it was, it was a hell of a lot better than here. They needed out. But damn it all, she thought to herself, twenty trials, more even, and they only had two hunters to show for it. No being picky now.

Dragging another stool from the counter to sit on and rolling her right arm with a noticeable wince, the Ithecal sucked a breath of air through her teeth and gave another, more critical look up and down the new girl. "Tomorrow, The Reach Of Qualifax arrives in port, a merchant vessel heavy with goods from the far reaches of Ne'haer, all of which is bound for Ethelanum warehouses. It won't set sail again until all its goods have been handed over, and with her belly, she won't be finished until Zi'da." Of course, that had nothing to do with the hunt. "She'll be escorted by a pair of Brigs, mercenary ex-pirates and vandals with a nasty reputation but a flawless record, under the banner of the B'rthec Muar. One of those Brigs, the Tempered Tongue, has a Captain that owes me a favour, and," she said with a play of a grin on her face, "has agreed to allow us to 'borrow' their ship while they're out of commission, no questions asked, as payment." That one had been little more than a stroke of good luck, nothing to be smug about, but it didn't stop the little fluttering in her chest that came with the knowledge that vengeance would be coming that little bit sooner. "When they arrive, you, me, and my crew, are going to board that boat and drive it out into the Crescent Sea, turning it north around the outer edges of Ethelanum, steer it back towards the rocks of the shore, and take down the beast that's been hiding away in those shallows for the better half of two seasons, feasting on sailors and merchants making the passing from the northern states of Rynmere and Rharne... the Black Mountain."

"Another one?" a female voice spoke from immediately behind Silaqui, just over her shoulder. Captain Varsix practically leaped from her feet in shock. Even staring Silaqui in the face, she'd apparently never noticed the woman's approach from behind either... which made her quite the sneak, in skill if not in looks. The Paltharnum had a very different look from the other sailors of the bar; for one, she was quite clearly sober. A tight brown leather vest pressed a crisp white shirt to her torso, tucked neatly into pressed trousers. Despite the perfect stance of a disciplined soldier and the frankly menacing-looking peace-bound scimitar at her hip, there was an almost matronly look to the lines in her face, the colours of her skin dulled to dusty grey. She raised a thick eye-ridge when Varsix just seemed to stare, completely caught off-guard.

Then, the world restarted, and Varsix coughed and straightened herself. "Would you please not interrupt me in the middle of talking?"

"I didn't interrupt, as I recall you'd just finished explaining exactly nothing about what this young girl is supposed to be risking her life for," the newcomer explained without a hint of sally to her tone, if not in her words. "What Captain Varsix was trying to say is, the target is a Rock Turtle. Giant beasts armoured with shells of stone and a taste for human flesh, known for destroying entire ships and drowning their crew, before eating the survivors first and the dead later. The only way to kill one is to take its head in the brief moments it emerges from the shell... and it only does that to deal the killing blow." She smiled sadly. "It's a suicide mission, dear. There's a reason the Arm Nautica hasn't done away with them, and it's not because of all that nonsense about 'being a good deterrent against invaders'. They'd slaughter an entire Constrictum-class Tallship if they tried." She smiled, a very matter-of-factly colour to her voice, as she turned back to the captain. "Did I miss any important details in that little summary, Captain Varsix?"

"No you did not, Sailmistress Tydra," Varsix returned through clenched teeth, glancing between her and Silaqui.

[Silaqui Falone]

If it hadn't been for the need of money and the obvious numerical advantage this Ithecal possessed perhaps she'd have taken the opportunity to break off a few of her teeth with that mocking bow she'd tossed her way. There would be time for petty revenge for such a front. For the moment, however, she simply lowered her hood seeming to ignore the walking purses ignorant behavior. She listened with half interest to the extraneous details about how they were coming up with a ship. Heading to sea eh? Then turning back towards the shore and its rocks to kill something called the Black Mountain? Then another female voice spoke from behind her.

She didn't turn. She had no need to. From the tone of the voice Sila was able to discern that if this woman had wished her dead she'd have been so by now. Regardless, she listened to what this one had to say. Turning slightly she nodded to the woman now know as Tydra, "Thank you Miss Tydra. Your honesty is greatly appreciated." Turning back to the leader of the wretched back of sea dogs Sila locked her eyes on the Captain. She smiled softly before letting the softest of chuckles leave her lips.

"Well Captain," she said half closing her eyes while keeping them locked on Varsixs' own, "Your Sailmistress has changed things for me in regards to my rate for this mission. Since we'll be hunting game we don't already have equipment capable of dealing with we'll be requiring 600 Gold Nel with half upfront. Unlike a sword which will slash and cut most things with little change to how its made an arrow." Sila paused to pull two from the quiver that hung over her shoulder and offered one to the captain and the other to the Sailmistress, "Is a piece of precision work. Sea beasts are sturdy creatures and require completely different styles of heads to puncture their thickened hides. As you can see," Sila motioned to the leaf shaped blades with barded ends meant for killing land creatures with light to medium thickness hides, "These heads by there shape will not cut into a sea beast capable of killing a ship. We're wagering that something slimmer and more stream lined with a refined point will be more of whats in order for dealing with this turtle."

She stopped and acted as if she was thinking for a moment. "Unless that is you can come up with something akin to a harpoon and a device from which to launch it. Either route you choose to take Captain it won't be cheap. The harpoon is a finicky piece of equipment that requires a trained crew to man it and special ammunition to fire out of it. Which," Sila motioned to the men to her left, "You don't appear to have. Though, this is a port city I'm sure you might be able to find some persons drunk enough or perhaps foolish enough elsewhere to man a harpoon."

Taking her arrows back she slipped them into their quiver and continued to watch Varsix, "We may also have other ideas that I'd be willing to discuss with you should you agree to out terms Captain Varsix."

[Squirrel]

"Mistress Tydra, to you," the Ithecal corrected curtly, in a tone brokering no argument... made all the more jarring by the way her face didn't seem to alter a hitch, despite her voice shifting from such a matronly tone to such a sharp barb. But then, there was something about the way all the other sailors seemed to avert their gaze, once the Sailmistress had entered the fray.

Varsix struggled to keep such a tight lid on her indignation, however. Especially after such a verbal lashing by a fellow senior officer. Especially when a landwalker would dare try to lecture her. "You expect me to hand you the entirety of the reward, right now, and let you walk out with it?!" she screamed, a mix between utter shock and bubbling fury. "Yer takin' me for a fool? A damn simp or somethin'?" She clearly didn't care for the explanation either, refusing to even glance at the offered arrows and slapping them away with a hard backhand. "You are, aren'cha. Hah. That, or yer thick as soup yerself, thinkin' a damn arrow will make differences. Y'think arrows bring down mountains? Y'think BALLISTA do? Nah. Nah." Her voice had suddenly dropped low, to a near-whisper mixed with a low growl. Her face contorted into a half-smile, half-growl. "Nah. No arrows, nor bolts, nor javelins nor harpoons will pierce the Black Mountain. Yer'll meet the sorry souls that'd tried them all, if'n you think it'll ever be that easy. Otherwise, e'd be dead and buried long ago."

The whole room sat eerily quiet as Varsix leaned forward, her chair rocking gently beneath her. "Yer'll get your gear. All yeh can handle, 'n more. Do yer job, an' at the end of it, yer'll get your prize, and some extra, if ya do a good job." Her eyes softened. "Ah'm sure ya will. Ya got spirit. Fightin' spirit, like Thryston." That good will vanished as quickly as it'd appeared. "But if yah try 'n' weasel yer way to some easy spoils again, I'll string yah by yer hair from me figurehead 'n' leave yeh for the gulls." She leaned back, her right arm flicked forward, and a flagon of ale exploded into wooden shrapnel and bent metal two feet from Silaqui's head. She should be lucky Varsix was clearly drunk. "Now get out."

There was no arguing past that point. Tydra saw to that, suddenly sliding between Silaqui and the captain, ushering her back towards the door with firm pushes from hands ending in wickedly sharp claws that brokered no negotiations on the matter. However, whether she was just following unseen orders, or if she was intentionally shielding her from harm, was left up to her interpretation.

It was strange, though. To any other person that would look like the end, of course. Yet a third shape was waiting just outside the bar to meet them as Tydra pushed open the door to the wet and dark Yithiral streets. The largest one of all; Silaqui might even recognise him as he started to order in a low baritone of rolling thunder. "Tomorrow, at sunrise. Outside here with all your things. Keep your mouth shut and do your job right, and you'll get all that six-hundred nel and more." In his hand he held a jingling sack, and he shoved it against her chest; no need to explain what it was, or how he'd found it so quickly. "Advance payment's got a cost. You take it, you're ours. You don't turn up tomorrow, next place you turn up is a ditch." His voice shouldn't have been able to grow any lower, but it did, rasping hard on a rough mouth with jagged edges. "But, a show of good faith. To explain exactly what your purpose is, in case you haven't grasped it yet." From an enormous pocket, the Thiussum pulled a different leather pouch. Smaller, but much heavier when grabbed her wrist and pressed the object into her palm. Metal pieces intersected the leather and a little length of string poked out of the top. "Captain Varsix is... heh, was... one of the best alchemists of the Arm Nautica. She knows how to take down a mountain. But sure, bring all the arrows you need," he chuckled darkly, showing off a mouth with far too many teeth in it.

[Silaqui Falone]

It was as all the elders back in her village had said. The entire world was less than they. Threats of violence from two sources of this crew of wretches. She took the extra gold, after all she felt her life was worth that much considering they were going to be fighting something capable of killing ships, and attached it carefully to one of the numerous fasteners on her body glove. She said nothing to the hulking quartermaster merely took note of his body and how it went together. Guessing how dense his musculature was and how heavy his bones were. Varsix was smaller less muscled most likely lighter boned she wagered but the weak points of the Ithecal would still be the same. And blood was important to all living things be they simple beast or sentient being of any form.

"We'll be here," Silaqui said her desire to be polite with this pack of ruffians having proven to be less useful than she had hoped. Sea dogs couldn't be made it show hounds and didn't deserve the fair treatment one gave to a good one at that. Dumping the small leather purse with metal fittings onto the ground she moved past the wall of handbag material and headed off to collect her bow and perhaps a dozen arrows. She'd need to find a smith of some kind to forge her some low profile heads for what she assumed was shooting explosives. Either way, her heads, as she'd already explained the the drunken leader of this band of stranded sailors, would do little in aiding her in her task. She'd also have three longer tri-edged points with barbed backs in case she found a need for them. She stopped and looked back at the sail mistress and quarter master. She shook her head deciding not to barb them any further. Disappearing into the shadow of another building the Naerikk made quick progress to a nearby shop after recovering her bow and her equipment from where she'd carefully stashed it. .

There was a low glow from a dying hearth fire inside. She wasted no time in pounding on the door. She was met with a rightfully angry smith and his equally upset wife. Their tune changed quickly when she pressed a few gold nel into the smiths hand as she explained what she needed. Quickly she was whisked in out of the damp and cold and was soon seated next to the warmth of a re-lit hearth with a chunk of that days bread and piece of hard cheese to chew on as the smiths wife prattled on about the weather and how it had been so long since they'd had a visitor with such beauty. From the shop she could here the smith working the bellows with rhythmic precision. Sometime after he heard the banging of hammer on steel and it wasn't long before he came in with the first of her long barbed tri-edged points still steaming in his tongs. Nodding her approval Silaqui returned to pleasant conversation with the smiths wife and within two hours time she was stepping out into the drizzle of the night with fifteen new heads on shafts that she knew to be straight and true. The smith and his wife had been more the gracious, far more pleasant to be around as well, and had from her advanced payment earned a fair share of it.

Heading back towards the tavern whence she'd left only hours before she was careful to keep her quiver stowed under the waterproof cape she wore. Tucking herself into a small alcove she settled in to catch a small cat nap before the designated meeting time. Given the chance, and depending on if the three lizard folk wished to test her patience further, the three barbed points would find their marks in them. She wagered her bow would be enough to slip and arrow between the floating ribs at the base of the ribs and into the organ beneath. The barbs would ensure that if one was foolish enough to yank the arrow out they'd not live long enough to do much about it. She didn't care much for killing people when they'd not wronged her. But there was something to be said about the dispatching of dogs that didn't know when they were in the presence of their betters. She wagered that with Varsix, Onell and Tydra gut shot and bleeding badly the rest of the crew would be to concerned with their well being to give much of a chase while she disappeared into the crowds and made her way out of town. This was all of course if they even survived this suicidal mission and if the three continued to be as they had been at the bar. Of course, there was the chance that the additional pay would be enough to keep those three wicked arrows in her quiver upon their return to port. She was certain of one thing though. If the drunken wine bag of a captain was satisfied with her skills as a bow man and made mention of perhaps continuing on with her crew, this was unlikely Sila wagered, Sila would laugh at her deeply before telling her there was not enough gold in the whole of Idalos to make her want to stay on with her crew.

[Squirrel]

As Silaqui vanished into the late night, Tydra turned back to Onell, huge arms folded tightly under her breast. "You're gonna regret doing that."

He shot her a rare smile in return and waved a hand dismissively. "By the time you and I are through with this, we'll be burdened with more regrets than teeth," he replied. "One more can't hurt." Tydra said nothing, but the barely-repressed smirk was all the answer he needed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, seems I've got a crew to rouse. Give Ruckus a good kicking and tell him to assemble, while I grab the rest and start moving." To the common eye, they might just be a pack of drunken louts, and perhaps anywhere else they truly would be. Under Onell's eye, however, they were soldiers more than sailors. Silaqui wasn't the only one that needed to do some preparation work, after all. Jackets had to be cleaned, men to be sobered, clothes and equipment packed. Vhalar's brief splashings of morning light were fleeting, and when it rolled around, they needed to be ready for the scramble.

The morning brought about a faint mist and a bone-deep chill from the wet when Varsix emerged the next morning to find Silaqui tucked away into a corner, not too far from the tavern itself. "Come on, time to go," she grumbled, throat rasping as she led the way, followed swiftly by the familiar faces of Tydra and Onell, Ruckus shouting behind them and occasionally giving a hard slap to the workers bent double under heavy cases of goods and personal items. Thryston wasn't so merciful, though none of the men held any wounds that could account for the blood smeared across both the young Ithecal's knuckles.

It became clear why Silaqui needed an escort soon enough, as they reached the docks and immediately turned, trailing down towards the spaces more commonly reserved for fishing vessels and smaller rowing boats of ill repute. "The captain of the Reach of Qualifax isn't exactly pleased with losing one of his supporting vessels... or he wouldn't be, if we'd told him about it. This is going to be a very fast hand-over, and we're leaving the moment they pull into port, while everyone's distracted unloading their goods." Varsix's explanation was crisp, clear, and left absolutely no room for negotiation... a sentiment supported by a good deal of the crew, as they barged past in a flurry of motion the moment the Brig came into view.

She was a low ship, that was for certain, with huge square sails standing on two thick masts, a short jutting figurehead mostly wood, but with clear marks of steel reinforcement that covered the tip, giving it an ugly, squat hammer-like head. It'd already been tied up with a skeleton crew of Biqaj watching from the deck with narrowed eyes; the moment they spotted Varsix, a few indecipherable hand-gestures passed between them all, and they hopped straight down off the sides of the ship and disappeared into the crowds milling around the dockplanks, their faces lost under colourful hats marked with exotic plumage.

Just like that, the ship was theirs. The crew took to the decks and rigging with such a practiced ease that it was almost difficult to remember that most of them were extremely hungover. Silaqui was ushered below-decks to a map room dominated by a heavy table nailed into the floor, alone with Varsix while Tydra guided them out with screams and the occasional snapping of an unseen weapon. The boat rocked unsteadily, but through the narrow port windows she'd be able to catch glimpses of the docks, and soon afterwards, Yithiral itself drifting away. Perhaps this would be the last time for Silaqui to really understand what she'd just signed up for. Varsix cleared her throat to loosen the air, but her deep rasp reverberated around the small room over and over, like the echoes of a ghost.

"Next stop, Black Mountain... hope you bought all the arrows in the store, kid."

[Squirrel]

Loot Ahoy!

Silaqui

Points: 15

Knowledge:
Rhetoric: Backing your arguments with evidence to add credibility.
Negotiation: Setting down a high benchmark to work around.
Negotiation: Working out the major points first, and the finer details later, to split focus.
Detection: Picking out your target in a crowd through speculative observation.
Disguise: Keep your head down and your hood up to avoid anyone picking out memorable features.
Tactics: Have a plan to kill everyone in the room.
Tactics: Making numerous back-up plans for best and worst case scenarios.
Intimidation: Making full eye contact and using subtle vocal cues to unnerve your target.

Injuries: None.

Renown: None.

Additional Information

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