• Mature • Mister Thagoras

[Kasoria]

"LAAAAAAAAAAND!"

"Fuckin' well better be, this time..."

Kasoria grunted out the words as he finished the last few inches of flesh on his face. The razor glided over the stubble until it was sheared away, and he studied his reflection in the cracked mirror. He wiped the blade clean of soap and moved his face left to right. Hmm... yes, that was enough. Neat and tidy, but with a certain... wolfishness, that only a good smear of hair could lend a man. He washed his hands in the water and pondered that the fact it was warm was the true luxury here: that time and wood had been spent heating up water just for him to to chop at his cheeks.

Perks of the job.

"Oh, aye," he murmured to himself, shivering as a fresh blast of chill wind swept over the deck. "Perky as fuck, this is..."

The Dolphin's Horn still plowed black water under sunless skies, but their candles said it was during the day. Thirteen of them had passed since Viden. More than a tentrial across the Hollow Sea; that meant Scalvoris would be upon them, soon. The crew had taken to double watches, peering at the darkness through glasses and lenses. Waiting for the smear of light from a lamp or bonfire to alert them of human life. They cursed at the foolishness of making such a voyage in Cylus: were it the will of U'frek, they could sail clear across the Sea and smash into lightless land. More likely, given the heathen passengers.

Kasoria swilled the water around and spat it back out, dispelling the thought. Fear of their mutants wasn't what drove these men. They were land-sick and barely hid it anymore. His own people were even worse. They'd spent longer floating on rocking wood, but thirteen days of constant dark, with only stars to comfort them... it was making them all edgy. And then, come the thirteenth day-

"LAAAAAND HOOOO!"

The little man with the black eyes rested his hands on the railing of the carrack, and peered at the smudges on the horizon. No stars, they, inverted or otherwise. What twinkled there was orange and red. Cast shadows that stars did not. By their light already, his squinting eyes could see the shapes of buildings. The closer they got, the lights multiplied. They were spread out across the coast, illuminating docks and houses and taverns and things he could not yet make out but could hazard a guess. Not just a farm or a little village, but-

Two lights above all. Spread out, leagues apart. Bright and sharp and clear and what first of all alerted the crew of the ship.

Lighthouses. Not a wee place, this.

"Thank fuck fer that," Raand said, walking up to his side with a grateful sigh. "Too long smellin' youse lot."

"Aye, an' yer a bed a' fucking roses," Vaul hissed, walking up with Miki, both of them already armed and ready, the former barely meet the latter's chest. "Where's the boy?"

Something tall, lithe, and with a wooden leg thumped down to the deck close enough to Vaul to make him jump like a frightened rat. Hatchet and maul were in his hands before he was fully aware of it. Belial just grinned crookedly and shrugged.

"You the reason my ears're burnin'?"

"Little shite-"

"Fuckin' stow it, fucksakes," Kasoria said offhandedly, not even looking over. Edgy. Restless. In need of dirt under the feet and fresh supplies. Maybe a little perusal of the womenfolk. "We're onna' clock."

Behind him, unseen but perhaps heard, Vaul raised a finger and mouthed something. Belial just giggled, and Kasoria rolled his eyes. Honestly. Like kids. He sighed and flicked a glance at the women who walked up to his other side. A woman who wore a new face now, specially crafted just for her time in Scalvoris. She'd taken to wearing it on the boat, just to get them all used to it. So they wouldn't get confused when they heard her voice from that mouth... or stick a sword through her when she was found where "strangers" weren't welcome.

The little man rested his hands on the blades at his hips. Fishing boats. Nets strung up alongside ranks of fish. Bigger vessels, low-bottomed but still loaded with barrels. Hardly Foster's Landing, but a port used to trade nonetheless. He heard excited talking and turned to see Manclin and his delegation of nobs and toffs and scribes jabbering about who and where and what and other such things. Kasoria knew half of it by now: this had been a long job. The Band would split if needed, but otherwise stay together. Surrounding at best, flanking at minimum. The ambassador would always have Kasoria at his side. And the girl, well...

"Stay close but stay back, Ophelia," Kasoria said, practicing the name on his tongue, so it wouldn't sound like he still had to remember it. That could matter, in the future. "Manclin'll be lookin' t'talk t'who's in charge, see where the land lays." He spoke up so all his men could hear, four granite-faced bastards from the Oh'Pee, bound only by loyalty to each other and coin for their killing. "Same goes fer youse lot... an' keep it proper t'night, too. Still onna' job... dat means fuckin' youse, Belly."

"Dunno what y'mean, High Mark..."

Kasoria rolled his eyes as the Dolphin's Horn split black waters, coming to dock in Havardr at long last.

[Rorom]

In fact, by most metrics Havardr was a small village of semi-nomadic sailors, fishers and whalers. And after the Pirate Lords had attacked the prior arc, nearly to the trial, it'd been reduced to less than a dozen souls, the population. Rorom had done what he could to shore it up and bring more people in after he returned to Havardr. Given his deeds there earlier with dispatching Breachfang with Darius Baer's help, they welcomed him easily enough and accepted his overtures to repopulating the village, at least grudgingly.

The lights, as they came clear to the Dolphin's Horn, would become clearer, and the 'buildings' as they'd appeared at a certain distance were but tents and a scattered few yurts, with cook fires.

Rorom had only recently returned himself, after being sent to heal from his wounds, after the battle with Chrien and her horrible black whale, at the Sea Witch's cave home to the south. The fires and glows in the red sands of Havardr were the leavings of her lightning strikes, which had created spots of burning earth. The two larger fires at either end of the territorial lands of Havardr, which had indeed been Lighthouses, were the flaming rubble that persisted after her lightning strikes to take them down.

"Aurek," Rorom said as the native Havardreen arrived to greet him. "Make sure any scrap wood we have from the rubble Chrien made is used ter create small fires along those hot spots on the upper shore. People will want places where they can warm themselves, as we go about our business."

Aurek blanched, and looked to the sea, "You don't mean, we're going to still go out there. She's... just a breath away, I can feel it."

Rorom snorted, "Chrien's never more than a breath away when you're sailing on the waves of her fortune. Tis the lot of us sailor folk." He patted Aurek on the shoulder, "Go fetch the people, gather scrap wood, and we'll figure a way to safely fish and continue our mission here."

Besides... Rorom reflected, Chrien had not targeted the people of Havardr, but the lighthouses had been what gave offense to her.

Even so, Rorom would be loathe to waste the resources that had crumbled to ruins from her powerful strikes. So the wood was gathered, what wasn't burning, and set to creating fires along the upper crest of the beach, where those spots of lightning glow persisted yet.

The mariner sought out some more of the locals, who numbered in the mere dozens, maybe forty of them at this time. And they were spread out currently. But he gathered one of them by the arm, "Where's Mastrel? Did he come back from the battle?"

The villager looked to Rorom, and shrugged, "The one with a wooden leg and glass eye?"

"That's the one."

"He was bossing people at the wounded ships, trying to get them repaired last I saw."

Rorom nodded, no point in bothering him if he was at hand, doing what he could to alleviate the damage done by Chrien's attack. "And the Black Whale? The baleen, it were killed and brought ashore or...?"

"Yes, we've been gutting and butchering it since it was dragged ashore. It's done."

Rorom nodded, relieved, yet still leery of the fact that he'd dealt a blow to one of Chrien's creatures, one that she apparently held in high regard. There, Rorom squinted his eyes and could just about make out the large baleen whale, and its onyx black hide which were so familiar to him.

"Good." Rorom said, "It's done fer now then."

He was about to join the butchering, and direct those efforts as he saw the Havardreens were doing a slapdash work of butchering the whale carcass, when a loud voice announced, "SHIPS AHOOY."

"Blast it." Rorom rumbled, the pirates wouldn't be so bold as to dock at their shabby pier, and stage an attack there? No, they'd do as they did last time, and moor out of the way and attack from the least protected portion.

He soon redirected his path toward the docks, where he would meet the ship's people on the pier. Over a blue merwool tunic, and brown leather trousers and boots, he wore his cloak of norther sea wolf hide, clasped at the shoulder by an Isonomia pin. He took up a spear that was nearby, and was flanked by four of the militia lads that the Black Cats had helped train up.

"What colors they flying? Any known pirate lords?" Rorom asked the militia men.

"No sir, no pirate lords. I don't recognize the colors."

It was just as Rorom could expect. Although they were sailors most who lived in Havardr, many of them had barely glimpsed past the waters of their native home. Yokels some might call them, but Rorom preferred to be more charitable.

Just to be on the safe side, Rorom caressed the blade of his spear with the switfness of wind, even as Breachfang growled deep within his soul. He couldn't place what it was, but there was something that set his magics ill at ease on board that ship.

Then, someone unexpected exited the ship. Rorom blinked, and then blurted out, "Mister... Thagoras?"

[Kasoria]

It was no warmer nor brighter, but it wasn't at sea, so Kasoria was grateful for it.

The Band and he were the first ones down the gangplank, since there was no ritualized meeting to be done. Fagan gave him leave to check the pier, establish some sort of perimeter, watch for... something. The ambassador was somewhat unconvinced that an Etzori-hating assassin was waiting at this fishing village just on the off-chance they happened to make a stop ("An unscheduled stop, no less") but Kasoria had insisted.

Manclin had agreed. Partially because one they once called the Raggedy Man had been doubly attentive to his role as bodyguard since Yaralon. As if determined to erase the stain on his conscience for fucking up so badly, nearly getting them all marked for death. Sympathetic as he was to the man who'd become, arguably, something of a friend, Manclin was too cold a fish not to see the benefit in allowing the man his efforts.

Especially when they kept him alive.

"Smells like Fosters Landing," Vaul said, stooping down to sniff the dirt, a little ritual he seemed fond of. The others of The Band were fanning out, making a rough semi-circle around the bottom of the gangplank. "More seal, though."

"Smaller n'all," said Raand, pacing back and forth and marking every face that paused to gawp at them. "Seemed like this place'd be bigger, wiv' the lights."

Up on deck, Belial snorted, bow in hand. He was more useful high up and kept apart, where his training and eyes could better serve them. He looked around the village closer now, and even in the dark he could pick out the damage, the ruins, the still-smoldering evidence of battle.

"Used t'be, maybe. Not now."

Kasoria didn't speak. He watched. He looked around and saw a village that had known war, and death. Beneath the dead fish and sea salt and ash and smoke, there was blood. The people weren't just curious or hesitant; they were afraid. The last visitors that had jumped down from their boats here had come to plunder, not trade. Now a handful of sellswords with hands on blades had come to them again, and it was like the trauma was set to burst upon them all over again. He saw spot in the ground where the stone and dirt had been split, like ice hit with a mallet, struck by something powerful and fiery. Those huge lights flanking the village, weren't the steady beams of a lighthouse. They were ground height, spread out... rubbles. Burning rubble.

The fuck happened here?

"Eyes up, boys."

He snapped the words in Ith'ession, likely known only to The Band (highborn types tended not to learn the "vulgar old tongue" of Etzos). At once they came to, keeping their half-circle but standing at what passed for attention. In heir case, that meant backs straight, eyes wide, and hands near blades. Kasoria stepped out of line a few paces, indicating he was the man to talk to. Looked like a leader and four men backing him up. Kasoria kept his hands away from his weapons, and in plain sight. No need to make anyone more nervous... which wasn't so say he didn't rouse his Sparks, letting them prowl around just under his skin.

They'll peg you for a mage right away, anyway. Ain't like you can hide it anymore.

He frowned and battened down the inner voice. No time for that shite now. He rehearsed his lines as the group approached. Travelers from Viden. Delegation from Etzos. Greetings, friendship, supplies, all that-

"Mister... Thagoras?"

It took a lot to make Kasoria pause in surprise. But that's what he did as his mouth opened to speak. Just stood there, frozen, mouth gaping, as a name he'd shed five long arcs ago came bubbling up from the mouth of a man just as shocked as he was. It took a few blinks for him to dredge the face from his memory. It bore deeper lines and more grey in the beard, but he knew the man. He remembered his boat, that river, those cackling idiots-

"Rorom." He scoffed, mouth slowly twisting into a bemused smile as he shook his head. "An' I thought I wuz a long way from 'ome..."

[Max]

Havardr.

Maxine had heard of it but she’d never been. She hadn’t much of a reason for it to become a place of particular attention, in truth. It wasn’t the haven for her vices like the Town was. It wasn’t the perfect oasis for skullduggery in the way Almund was famous. There was a charm that came with the stories of humble whalers braving the cold, but life was hard enough that the simplicity of the lifestyle here never drew her in.

Kasoria had insisted the delegation’s ship make its stop here, for supplies or whatever, and so here she was anyways.

Cross this off the…bucket list, then?

This landfall was of course a monumental occasion for her. That’s because she wasn’t Maxine, she was Ophelia, and Ophelia had never even been to this part of the world before. Ophelia, the professional but quiet female that made up this merry band with her straw hair and ordinary features.

Ophelia. Ophelia. Ophelia.

She was reminding herself of her identity so often it was as exhausting as it was necessary. She watched the men scurry about the deck. Sailors went about their chores for making the ship ready for docking. The Band maneuvered about, placing themselves in positions of advantage where they could work best should trouble greet them instead of a proper welcome. Good and Malice remained on the ship, tucked away like the truth of who she was from public view.

Ophelia leaned back against the wall leading to the captain’s quarters with her arms crossed. She could smell something like a fish market…and smoke. A cry above drew her eyes and her eyes alone. Above, a gloomy raven circled her like carrion. The sight of the companion, invisible to all uncursed eyes, filled her with familiar dread. She swallowed it and her eyelids fell shut.

The vision that filled her mind was the opened eyes of Isra. The raven turned its head toward the shores, feathers bristling in the cold air the raven surfed. Smoldering piles puffed smoked into the air on the island, and lit yurts were like glimmers of hope among whatever wreckage this was. The raven moved its head. It focused on a collection of people moving with purpose toward the docks. One in particular had a commanding presence the others fell in step with.

Ophelia, certainly not Maxine, opened her own eyes with a furrowed brow. She pressed off the wall and slowly moved toward Kasoria like a satellite. Not too close, but never far away. She looked toward his face to voice the obvious, but she saw in his eyes that he saw it too.

Something is wrong here.

The charlatan looked back out toward the shore and the ship began its docking. She expected after an attack that the place would be crawling with Elements, the survivors left choking on their authority. She didn’t see that here. Not at face value. Her mind started to wander toward other worries when she tried to sort out why, and her unease deepened.

Much has happened since I’ve been gone. What have a missed?

Kasoria and Raand made the first move when the ship was secured and the plank was down. Her instincts willed her forward and she nearly followed them. She asphyxiated on her own self-imposed leash and hung back instead. The delegates, their supplies, and the rear guard were her concern for the moment. Kasoria seemed intent on keeping his promise not to force the Max out of her, and she was relieved he was oddly met with familiarity and friendship.

"Well, isn’t this interesting," she remarked only to herself. "By the end of this voyage, he’ll be the bloody mayor.”

For now she watched their general surroundings and the body language of her group with a keen eye. Kasoria had done plenty to prove his trustworthiness and good judgement as a leader since Yaralon. For now she could focus on living in the skin of her new facade.

[Rorom]

The colors of the ship looked official enough, and not the sigil of a pirate crew. Perhaps mercenaries? But no, mercenaries rarely put flourishes on whatever sigils they claimed, as this boat flew. This was some nation, perhaps one of Argos, or Etzos even? Rorom wasn't a great hand at heraldry or any such thing. He could tell the tails and scale pattern of every fish, whale, and porpoise from the Meridian Main to the Hollow Sea, but if one asked he probably couldn't even recall the heraldry of his native Bayward.

At any rate, the men and woman that filed in after Thagoras appeared less an official security detail, and more a band of freebooting mercenaries. The only meaningful difference between a mercenary and a pirate, as far as Rorom was concerned, was that a mercenary would accept your coin and carry out a job on whoever or whatever you pointed to. A pirate would take your hospitality, coin, smile, and then slit your throat. And in no particular order.

Last Rorom had heard from Thagoras, he'd been after a bounty, and hired Rorom to ferry him through to attract pirates. Rorom had even played an active role in attracting the fools, hawking valuables and trinkets that would distract the captain while the leser crewmen entertained themselves with Rorom's simpleton Uncle, a role which Thagoras played fairly well until he had the opening he needed, to strike at the pirate boarders.

Thagoras now appeared to arrive, at the head of a mercenary group. "Got a crew of yer own, have yer?" Rorom said, looking over the bunch. Inside the sea wolf growled at this man, who Rorom couldn't mistake as anything other than a mage, or someone heavily cursed or marked. Something about him made the sparks beneath his skin crawl with revulsion. What was it?

"And no." Rorom said of being far from home, "Home ain't but a day's walk from wherever your ship is moored."

He smiled uneasily, and handed his spear to one of his militia men. Well, if Thagoras ran a company a tenth as fierce as himself, Rorom and his green militia didn't stand a chance. So he'd hang his hopes on his being there for good reason, and not as a accomplice of the pirate lords.

He strode forward and extended his hand. The sea wolf rumbled its discontent in the bones, as the wind called warnings to him. But he ignored them. Part of living with the witch-curses that were a part of him now, were showing them who was the master. For now.

"Well, yer journey's been long I wager." He said, as he held his hand out, "We don't have much, but there's enough to share. Bones will be working up a good chowder about now, from sea urchins, salted greens, bivalves of every description and some fish. A real sea man's stew." Regardless of whether Thagoras accepted his handshake or not, Rorom would wave away the militia, and lead them down the pier.

"This place has had it hard, but since I've arrived we started rebuildin... Lots to catch up on, it's been, what four arcs? Five since we sailed the Zynyx to fetch those bloody severed heads?" Rorom sighed, "Just a arc ago, this place was decimated by pirates, reducing it to a mere dozen souls or more."

Rorom nodded at the villagers that came to watch as the procession strode forward to meet the newcomers. He walked a few more fathoms, until he got to a large cooking fire, with a cauldron perched over it. A surly, skinny biqaj was stirring a large ladel through the cauldron's mixture. Little bits of food were added to it, spices and salt here or there to taste. They'd had this stew going for nearly the entire season now, since Zi'da. Fuel was more of a problem in Havardr than food, truth be told, so they had to use refined marine oils at times to keep it burning.

"This is Bones. Just ignore his miserable hide." Rorom snickered. Bones glowered, but shugged. "Dip yer cups into the stew when you want some. Best if you have your own utensils, but we can scare up a few spoons if needed."

"There's Almund rum too, watered down four times over, I'm afraid, but it's the best we can ration at the moment." Rorom pointed toward the casks of liquor that stood off to the side of the eating area.

"We haven't had much chance to rebuild, since Chrien took offense at the lighthouses we built... sneezed them down with a bit of lightning." Rorom shook his head, but had a look more of grudging admiration of her handiwork, than outrage. "But we'll rebuild, sure enough. Make yerselves as comfortable as yer can."

All around, even though their lives were in a shambles, people went about the business of the entire point of Havardr, dreding fish from nets along the shore, some braving the deeper waves in longboats, trying to spear some seals and other marine creatures. All through the village, was a sense of unease. Things were askew on Scalvoris, and all could feel the sense of foreboding, even if they couldn't quite put their finger on what it was.

"We've had troubling word, of explosives stowed deep under the island." Rorom informed him. "If yer not lookin' to help, might be best yer get a move on to safer waters, wherever they might be. But I'll not complain if you decide to stay. A band of capable warriors could come in handy around these parts. But things are bad, I can't deny it. Word is all over the island that any moment we could be blown sky high."

Rorom settled down by a small bench, more of a split log that'd been rolled out for the purpose of relaxing in front of the cookfires.

Dana

, having heard Rorom's voice nearby, came out of their yurt to grab a pair of wooden bowls, dipping them into the stew and then bringing one to her father. She took a seat next to him, quietly observing Kasoria with an air of curiousity and suspicion. "Where did you all come from?" She asked.

Rorom looked to her, suspecting the reasoning behind her question. He hoped being in Scalvoris might ease her worries about being pursued by Viden's agents. But it seemed he'd not moved far enough for her fears to ease.

[Kasoria]

"Who's dat?"

"I dunno, Vaul, y'think he tells me 'bout every twat he meets?"

Vault shrugged and conceded the point. Of course he knew that Raand wasn't omniscient when it came to Kasoria's adventures, but the bald wanker certainly liked sounding like he was. This one, though? White-haired and bearded and almost as old as Kasoria himself, yet hard arcs made him appear even older. Hard times made a hard man, and so that alone wouldn't make him knowing Kasoria a surprise. But this far away? Not just a few trials or tentrials or even seasons, but the quite literal opposite side of the world...

Even here, there's someone who knows the Raggedy Man... and he gave 'em a fake name, t'boot.

Something sharp but large clicked next to him. It was Mikiros' fingers, demanding attention. The hulking man wafted his fingers towards his nose, then made a gesture of a slitting throat, and two fingers laying in the palm of his other hand. The other men grunted and nodded, Vaul smelling the same thing in the air. A quite glance around the yurts and tents and fishing nets revealed the more permanent buildings as lumps of charcoal or blackened shells. Not too many men of fighting age, either. Which meant they'd either been taken, run off, or-

Aye. Stinks of death, big man.

Kasoria took in what he was told with a stoicism that was as natural to him as breathing. It was, after all, a fact of their world. There was a reason that the great mortal powers of Idalos tended to be cities, with walls and gates and citadels and the wealth and numbers and concentrated power to project that power quickly and definitively. Beyond that circle of power, beyond the perimeter of authority, Idalos was wild. Not just teeming with monsters and magical dangers - and the fucking Morties, lets not forget them - but good ol' mundane human bastards. Bandits and raiders of all stripes, on every continent. He would know, after all.

Beyond the cities and the security of their armies, the world was at the mercy of these groups. Every arc, every settlement rolled the bones. Most times, they were lucky, or large enough to scare off the wolves, like bison clustering for safety. But it only took one bad arc. Harvadr had apparently found that out, and barely any of them were left to learn from it.

But they're still here. Because it's home and, really, where else is there?

"We call it 'forever stew' back 'ome," he said as they were led over to a bubbling pot, set up familiar but ingredients definitely not. He'd wager every people had something similar, for those folks too poor for regular meals. Just a big brass or iron cauldron, constantly bubbling, refreshed and enhanced by new additions. Vegetables, meats, broth, booze, scrapings, as long as it could all congeal together in stew, it would be doled out for a few coppers a bowl, as much as you wanted. And for a place gutted by pirates, eking by on grains, guts, and sea bugs, what better choice was there? "An' we'd be grateful."

He turned to the delegation and gave a nod. The bookish man dressed far better relayed it to the gaggle and the scribes surged forward, if in an orderly fashion. They got into line all by themselves, coins presented and insisting the skinny cook take them. Wasn't like they'd be missed: they'd spent more time scribbling and sailing than spending over the last couple of seasons. And speaking of being cooped up with naught but hard tack and picked herring...

"It's not that bad, not at all," one of the worthies said, educated enunciation jarring with the lilting, growling gutter accent of Kasoria and The Band. "Got a wonderful... bite to it, hmm?"

Fagan Manclin blew on his own bowl and sipped at it. Tasting it like an aristocrat would a bottle of wine he was thinking about buying. After a few moments he smiled and raised it to Bones. "Well done!"

Kasoria scratched his beard to hide most of the smile. The younger man was growing well into his role: he could barely tell if he was lying or not. Then he shook the proffered hand and filled it a moment later with a generous cup of that watered down Almudian pisswater. It wasn't Etzori stout, but he would make do after thirteen trials in the dark, with naught but boiled water mixed with grog.

"T'the River Rats," he said with a grin not without humor. Just not a species most would laugh at. "Wiv'out 'em, we'd never a' met."

Rorom wasn't kidding about the taste. Kasoria still asked for another.

They sat, and the rest of the Etzori took that as their cue to begin mingling. They split apart like a shoal of fish, meandering amongst the tables and tents around the makeshift soup kitchen. Talking to people, trying out their more exotic tongues until, oh, turned out everyone spoke Common. The Band split as well, but less acutely and excitedly. They merely expanded their perimeter: Vaul, Rand, and Mikiros lengthened the triangle they stood in, watched over by Belial. Kasoria stayed where he was, because that was where Manclin was. Shite, speaking of which-

"A pleasure to meet you, sir!" The young noble said, pink hand shooting out for a shake. "Fagan Manclin of Etzos, at your service. You know our Kasoria from the, ah... old days?"

Ever the fucking diplomat.

Kasoria allowed them to speak back and forth for a moment, absorbing what he'd been told. Disgusted contempt spread over his face the moment that fucking Morty was mentioned. Wasn't that just like their ilk? Smash something down, just because mortals had dared to make it, thinking their labor a challenge, or an insult. The ineffable arrogance was unbelievable, and yet exactly what he'd expected. He hawked and spat to one side, giving his opinion without words. But the rest...

"We came at jus' the right moment," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Jus' in time t'get blown right back fuckin' 'ome. Who packed them under there, anyway? And why bother? Who benefits by turning an island into a crater?"

Two guesses. You'll only need one. Fucking monsters.

"Where did you all come from?"

He'd heeded the child when she'd approached, just like he did everyone else that came within three feet of him. Instincts that old and proven never dulled. He'd even noticed her pause once her bowls were full, gazing at him with the fearless curiosity of a child. He turned to face her, letting her see him full. The black eyes, not a hint of white or color set into his sockets. The slow, steady pulsing of green-white ether through his arteries, in time with his heart. Removing his cloves and hood would reveal even more, and he was grateful for the amulet he wore, stifling the black smoke that wafted about him when he took it off. And all that, was just the physical costs of-

Knowledge? Wisdom? Attunement with the fabric of reality?

No. Power. Always power. Always a price.

"Over dat way," he said, raising a finger and pointing into the black world to the West. "'cross the Hollow Sea. Long way past Viden. 'round Andaris, den 'cross the Orm'del. Then after all dose trials an' nights an' leagues... then yeh'll get to my land." He leaned a little closer, voice softening into the one he'd used when he'd told stories to Martyn as a boy. "A great, tall city, forged a' stone an' smoke an' iron an' blo... brave men."

Something cruel but undeniably correct chuckled in him. No, he didn't want to frighten the child, nor offend Rorom by the act. So he'd switched out the more accurate word with... one no less true, but less... prevalent, perhaps. He leaned back and fixed his gaze on Rorom, after giving her a few moments to reply. Despite his appearance, Kasoria had no issue with children, nor was he unused to them. Absent as he'd been, he'd never failed to make his little boy laugh, nor spin a tale for him.

"We've 'ad problems inna' past, stickin' our noses an' blades where we shouldnae. Almost cut short our wee trip aroun' the world, y'ken?" He gestured with a slight bow towards Manclin, already muttering earnestly with some of the Harvadr locals. Probably getting as much of an explanation as to the village as history was. "The delegation? They're here t'make deals wiv' the nobs, fer whatever might benefit Etzos." He shook his head slowly, not meaning to menace, but implacable in his expression. "We ain't wastin' blood or time fixin' anyone else's problems."

A mercenary, a sellsword, a pirate, or a scratcher, might have left it there. So it told much that Kasoria took another slug of his refreshed mug and took a slow look around the village. The wreckage and the sadness. The resilience and determination. Saw and remembered those same look in his own people.

The... injustice, of it all.

"Wish it weren't so. But yeh know how it is, when yeh got people lookin' to yeh..."

[Max]

The shake of hands solidified the amicability of the party that greeted them here. It was best for both sides. Giving and taking an ass-kicking like she did outside the gates of Yaralon for entry was not something she was in the mood for. By the looks of the Havardr denizens, they hadn’t the want for it either. She almost didn’t believe it.

Are we about to have a normal, civilized commune with people for once?

It had been some time. The Yari were excitable and quick to blades. The scholars of Viden were so bookish she was suffocated with the mundane nature of that landing. The thought of simple people, gathering around a simple fire, and sharing simple food and drink in this cold dark together was a change of pace. A welcomed one, even.

The militia was waved away and the delegates visibly relaxed behind their small wall of protectors. A couple more pleasantries were exchanged before both groups started to trudge up the dock toward the shore.

"Go on, O,” one of the sailors ushered her with a soft smile. "I’ve work ‘fore I gets a bowl.”

Ophelia murmured a thanks to the ship’s caretaker for the time being and started down the gangplank. In short order, she closed the gap to fill in the rear of their procession. Her eyes glanced toward the curious villagers but nothing in their postures suggested a threat. By all accounts, the populace that remained was beaten and tired…but stubbornly here. Hungry, too. The stench of death did not shorten Bones’ line for a hot meal.

Ophelia turned her head toward the Almund rum and a thirst within her stirred. Fresh from the bottle or watered down, it mattered not. It hadn’t touched her tongue yet her mind knew exactly what it would taste like: another lifetime. Her longing was disturbed only by Rorom’s explanation for the carnage they currently beheld.

Chrien…

She looked around at the smoldering embers and inhaled the smoke and smell of death with new perspective. This chaos and destruction was the making of her matron. This was but a fraction of the putrid horrors she imagined when her mind drifted back to the task Chrien set before Maxine. It was impressive in a dark way, the level of brutality and pettiness the Immortal managed to put on display. Chrien could not have made her position more clear. Mortals were mere pawns for her disposal when they soured her mood, even if it was the simple erection of a couple lighthouses to guide their way home.

Ophelia got in line quickly and set her attention away from realities that threatened to bring Maxine roaring to the forefront. It moved quickly. Before long, Bones has slapped a pile of the hodge-podge stew into her bowl. Ophelia found a seat on another log bench beside Miki. The great behemoth of a man smiled at her, pointing a finger at the stew he’d already practically inhaled.

"Delicious?” Ophelia asked him with a smile of her own.

"Uh-huh,” he answered with gumption.

"Mhm,” Belial whispered next to her, his gaze on a pair of women walking past the fire. "Ain’t bad at all…”

Ophelia’s smirk widened and she shook her head. They could be somber, but quietly and amongst themselves, the screws were certainly loose in this rag-tag band of cutthroats. The mere fact they could remark on gruel and local tail given what surrounded them was a testament to the level of apathy their experiences in the world had bestowed upon them. Belial blinked and cleared his throat. Self awareness and basic social courtesy wasn’t entirely lacking at least.

She lifted the spoon out of Belial’s already empty bowl and used it for her own meal. They were right. As random as the ingredients were, she’d definitely suffered worse. Rorom could’ve offered them boiled leather run-off and she might’ve drank it so long as it was warm. The biting Cylus wind on the open sea had been unforgiving, and between the fire and a hot meal, Ophelia was plenty grateful.

Conversation continued around her. Pirate attacks. Explosives wedged underground, rigged to blow. She took it all in and managed to give no tell but a grind of her teeth. Scalvoris seemed to always be in a state of constant crisis. It was a wonder she ever, even for a split second, felt safe on this godforsaken island.

Not. Your. Problem.

Once this was home…

Not anymore.

Ophelia dug her spoon back into the meal and shoveled another bit into her mouth. She tried to focus on the flavors, challenging herself to name each ingredient as she tasted it, in hopes of distracting herself from the turmoil within. Kasoria voiced what reason tried to argue with her. Etzos had no business involving itself in the heroic rescue of this place or any other. They’d stick to the plan. They’d stick to the mission. She would stick to all of that.

Ophelia finished what her spoon could scoop. She lifted the bowl to her lips and drank what little remained. Havardr offered them much considering they had so little. She wasn’t about to disrespect them by wasting a single drop of sustenance. Somehow she managed to stay rooted on the bench and away from the temptation of Almund rum still sitting in the cask.

"Looks and sounds like Havardr has taken a beating,” Ophelia’s voice raised despite the scolding feeling that came immediately after. She turned toward Rorom with a knit brow. "These attacks so bad your people further inland couldn’t send yours some uniforms? We’re friendly faces, but you don’t look ready to take on another round of lumps. Respectfully.”

Ohhh…you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?

Her perplexity was stronger than her will, it seemed. She remembered the old powers that were when she was last here. They were strategic and protective, and she saw less evidence of that strong assertion of will she once knew. Either she was missing something, or something far more sinister had happened to Scalvoris at large.

She needed to know.

[Rorom]

Rorom watched as the coppers passed over for bowls of chowder were thrust into Bones hand, and subsequently the cantankerous cook shoved them into his own pockets. The mariner didn’t begrudge him the tips, it was a pittance afterall and Rorom wouldn’t have insisted upon payment anyway, not for anything Thagoras’ men had while here, at any rate. When it came to takeaways, repair and resupply, that was another matter.

Bones merely grunted at the compliments coming his way, and looked like he wanted to spit in one direction or another. Instead, an audible grunt with a look from Rorom, and the cook swallowed down his bile.

“The fishermen have been busy at it, since before Chrien’s arrival and afterward. What more can we do? We’ll rebuild those towers, eventually, but fer now best mind Chrien’s temper and let them lay in rubble a while longer.” Rorom had no specific loyalty toward Chrien. His observance of her divinity was mainly for the sake of placating the angry Sea Bitch.

Rorom nodded at Thagoras, to his toast to the River Rats, and had a drink of the four-times watered down grog. It was swill, and barely tasted better than fresh water. But it still numbed the senses enough to make a difference to most men and womens moods.

“Kasoria?” Rorom said, as the dignitary spoke up. “Apologies, I’m Rorom Nji’Ihai, please ter meet yer sire.”

“I knew him by a different name, but yea.” Rorom rubbed his chin, “Spose bounty hunters and such need them fake names to avoid acquiring enemies at every port. But even then, he were a great fighter, and fearsome. Doubtless he lets his name and reputation do the fending for him, these days.”

Still, unsure if Kasoria was his true name, or if it was another alias… It didn’t really matter. It was enough that he knew this man and that they’d helped each other. That was more powerful than any graven words or the sounds of names.

“We don’t know who done it. Someone who don’t like mages, spirits, or Immortals.” Rorom answered the question about who would benefit by blowing up Scalvoris. “Scalvoris is friendly to all three, typically. But there are them that are aligned either with the Pirate Lords, or Chrien or… lord knows. Some’ve given tell they’re the headless remnants of the Warden’s servants.” Rorom shrugged, “Warden was a man who ran a big fortress, to the North East. Dunno the name myself. Cursed place by the tell of it.”

“Viden’s seas are hard enough during summer. I salute yer willingness to make the crossing during the dead of Cylus.” Rorom’s eyebrows lifted.

Then another man, with a peg leg and glass eye, and a pipe stuck in his mouth, spoke up, “Har, as if Ol Captain Rorom never let an ice sheet stop him from sailing.”

“Old habits die hard, and fishing is always better in such conditions.” Rorom soberly shot at his first-mate Mastrel. “This is old Mastrel. Picked him up in Rharne, after I got nearly smashed, dragged underwater by a great whale. He can get yer ships up to snuff, if the price is right.”

Mastrel looked from Rorom to Kasoria and his crew, “Do yer ships need any repairs, resupplies? Captain’ll be ‘appy to share what we have while you’re here, but anything you take away you’ll have to pay fer.” Mastrel smirked.

Kasoria said he wished it weren’t the case that they could offer no help while here, but Rorom shook his head, dismissing his regret, “While you’re here you’re our guests, and I don’t expect you to pay anything beyond gratuity, so long as you don’t make work for my people.” Rorom spoke to Kasoria’s sentiment of not getting roped into anyone else’s problems. It was a fair position, but Rorom would make his equally clear. “So anything yer take with yer to Scalvoristown as resupply or repair, won’t be fer free.”

“But you’ll get no better price at Scalvoris than right here. Those sharks in Port Diablo will make you pay as if you’re buying a new ship.” Rorom chuckled.

It was around this time that the female among Kasoria’s group spoke up. “Aye lass.” In reference to the beating they’d taken. As for the Elements… “We’d have appreciated the Elements protection before the fact, but their hands are seemingly tied. We gotta take care of ourselves, same as ever, until they do.”

“Chrien might come back at any moment, and we gots to be prepared to move inland a ways, if that happens.” Rorom shrugged, “Nothin for it, when the Immortal sees herself a target that offends her eyes, but to move. Too late I’ll wager, to placate her, though the devil only knows what she’s after. Maybe it’s her folk who put the boom juice under the island.”

All this talk of explosions under the island seemed to unsettle Dana, who hastened her eating of the chowder. But then she caught sight of Ophelia, “Are you a fighter too?” She asked, seeking to change the subject in some manner. “You don’t look so tough or scary.”

Rorom nudged Dana, “Manners, girl.”

[Kasoria]

“But you’ll get no better price at Scalvoris than right here. Those sharks in Port Diablo will make you pay as if you’re buying a new ship.”

Kasoria couldn't help but smile at the offer. Every port, every harbor, every town and village on some trading route in the world, had much the same kind of patter rushing around its streets. Best prices for leagues around, sir! Don't trust those bastards in SoUnSo, gouge you deep they will! Got all you need here, honest! Matter of fact, I think I have a brother who has what you need that I don't...

But he didn't feel any of the frenetic, hungry avarice he usually did when those barkers made their rounds. Those men common in selling places everywhere, who did all but drag you into their orbit so they could wave offers at you. Rorom merely spoke with clarity, and honestly. He wouldn't allow the Etzori to be fleeced or swamped with vendors, but he wouldn't be giving charity, either. The food was a courtesy; everything else took effort, resources, sweat, and time. So it cost. Kasoria nodded to himself and slurped down some of his own stew.

"We'll pay our way," he said, using that same tone. One man to another. "The Captain'll know what needs doin'. His lads'll be put to it, I'd wager, but any labor yeh could add..."

It was a quick enough deal to make, and a logical one. Many hands made light and, more importantly, faster work. They'd only be there a night and a trial, instead of most of a tentrial. The Captain spoke the tides, even in this night-shrouded season, and they didn't want to miss them, not around this island where the waters flowed queerly. So he'd find his workforce doubled come the next day, and his timetable slashed in half. Until then, though...

""To all your endeavors!"

At the raising of his glass, the others of The Band snapped to attention and a curious glint touched their eyes. Raand raised his next, adding the next part.

"May they fill your purse-"

Belial took up the call, standing swiftly.

"Woo your women-"

Vaul was next, miserable little sod all growls and muttering but still going along with it.

"And speed your feet-"

Then it came to Mikiros... who had no tongue. Yet instead of awkwardly babbling through his ruined lips, he looked down to Fagan Manclin, and the highborn diplomat smiled, rose-

"-before the law takes their cut!"

Every Etzori who heard it cheered and raised their glasses, The Band and Manclin clinking theirs together with guffaws and wide grins. It was an infectious sound, spreading to those nearby. Gleefully roguish, even piratical in it's blatant anti-authoritarianism, yet none there thought these men cared much about that. Only the joke, the drink, and each other.

Kasoria drained his cup and thought the mood had lightened a little, which was his intent. Rorom had gone into a dark place in his words, somber mood infecting his tone. The Immortals, or one in particular, had marked his home for destruction at worst, torment at best. Why? A mystery. It would likely be so even all had been taken from them and snow and starvation killed them all down to the child.

Kasoria kept his face politely amused, but he struggled to keep the hate from his eyes. Nothing save madmen and womb-cursed monsters like Merry back in Etzos inflicted such pain with such casual enjoyment. Yet millions worshipped them. He would never understand it...

Nor do I fucking want to.

“Are you a fighter too? You don’t look so tough or scary.”

"Careful, wee'un," he rumbled, talking around the lip of his cup as he took another gulp, drink quickly refreshed after it was empty. The waif turned to him, eyes bright and chin pugnaciuously high. "She eats little fings like youse."

"N... No, she doesn't!"

"Aye?" The Raggedy Man leaned forward, face a mummer's farce of doubt and hidden fear. "Y'see any young girls on our boat, hmm? No. Y'know why-" he jerked his head towards Ophelia, a bad parody of subtle, stealthy indictment. "So tread careful..."

Dana studied the little man a long time. Sharp brown eyes that were aged past a girl who'd barely seen ten arcs. Kasoria could appreciate such eyes; he wore the same in his head when he was her age. Most young men where he grew up did. Their lives were not so easy that childhood could be indulged for long. But this girl had seen more of the world than them, and after a few clinical moments she shook her head, and whispered.

"You're being silly."

"Bah!" Kasoria reared back and slapped his knee, face a picture of outraged defeat. "Too smart for me, this'un!"

More laughter. More raised cups and toasts, as crew and delegation and villagers mingled. Kasoria took a metaphorical step back after his little jest, allowing others to speak and gossp. But he listened, to all he was capable of hearing. Eyes occasionally flickering to the craggy face of the one who once called him "Thagoras". No need for that alias anymore, and he was glad of it. Yet he made a note to button hole the man when the crowd thinned and the night (well, by the burning candles, anyway) came to an end. They needed to know more about this island, these feuds, the dangers here and oh yes, the apparent ocean of fucking explosives beneath them.

[Max]

Ophelia's brow furrowed slightly at Rorom's response. If Chrien, of all deities, was to blame for the bloodshed and destruction of Havardr a few Elements would hardly deter another lashing of her ire. She knew the powers that ruled this island. At least, she once did, and they were pragmatic enough that she didn't see them sending valuable boots just to soothe feelings if there was a better use for them elsewhere. She glanced at the other natives listening nearby and noticed no wince in their demeanors. Havardr was a hardened little town used to self-reliance.

Rorom appeared to be the unanimous leader here. He looked the type that was assertive enough to tell the Council what his people needed, but with enough dignity that he would make do as they always had long before he begged. If the sea itself was rising against Havardr it was wise to move further from its tide. It would not save them the ire of Chrien's storms but it was better than being swallowed by the icy waters that could be stirred on a whim. The Captain's voice was perhaps tired but it didn't carry with it the biting hatred she expected when he spoke of what they faced and what may still come again. He had comes to terms with it like any smart sailor. Chrien's spite could always outlast the will of just about anyone. It was best not to bait her impulsive, violent nature.

Impulsive, violent nature...now doesn't that sound like someone you know?

While Rorom spoke her eyes found themselves taking a look at the fiery rubble and area damage in a new light. This was all the work of her Immortal, the one she was devoted to above all others living and dead. This was the terror her matron wanted wreaked against the mortal world, and she had called Maxine to bring its likeness time and again over the arcs since she was first marked. Did that make this scene a sacred ground of sorts? Should she look upon this work in awe and worship, damning these people for angering the Sea Bitch? Or should she curse them out of jealousy, hateful that they earned the attention not so unlike that fateful trial between Maxine and Chrien on that beach?

"Maybe it’s her folk who put the boom juice under the island."

Her attention was back on the conversation at hand. She didn't anticipate her Immortal affiliations putting a target on her back, and it wasn't out of the question that Chrien might enjoy watching Scalvoris get blown to bits. Frankly, if the present was evidence, it seemed more her style than subterfuge and political undermining.

"Sounds like everyone on the island has had their fair bit of trouble then," she said solemnly.

The Exalted Rusalka didn't know where the nest for Chrien's most fanatical laid in this region. Her best guess was with the Mer. It wasn't lost on her either that if it were Chrien's zealots responsible she might have some influence. Maybe she could help.

No. Kasoria said we are not here to help anyone. We are not getting involved and that's the end of it.

Ophelia looked to Dana when the little girl called her out. She tilted her head and a smile painted her face. The Old Man was quicker than her though. She let him have his fun until the little girl saw through his fun routine. Far be it for her to spoil any of it. Dana's assessment meant her homely disguise was working at face-value. When they got to Scalvoris Town things would become far more difficult. This war would be waged in the mind, and the closer they got, the louder its war horns sounded in her ears.

Rorom had given her much to consider. Between the present threats they'd sailed into, he'd inadvertently caught her up vaguely in a way that created more questions than answers. The bit about the Warden hadn't slipped by her either. His fortress had been her prison, Slags Deep, and she'd spit the name if she was wearing her own face rather than unassuming Ophelia's.

Does the prison still stand? If it does, who runs it now? What of the strange girl who called Warden "father"? Who are these servants? Guards gone rogue after he fell?

The rabbit hole was sucking her in. She needed to pull herself back out before she lost herself.

"I tend to take first watch." Ophelia said. Her following words were half in jest, half genuine information-seeking. "Pirates. Pissy Sea Bitch. Bombs under our feet. Anything else we newcomers should keep one eye open for?"

She took a swig of the drink left in her cup. Already was the weaker part of her brain beginning its grumblings. It was going to be fucking cold. Gods, did she still loathe the cold. The wind was probably going to be fucking blowing. A couple sips of alcohol would probably be on the table, but she couldn't drink the shivering away like she normally did for this job.