The Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence - Main Deck
Estelle Amorica, The Emperor’s Alchemist
Well, that had been rather different than she had foreseen it. Further proof, perhaps, that there were still many things Estelle needed to learn about the world. Rather than being impaled or beaten with something or other until her life bled out onto the cool sand beneath her mechanized feet, she was lifted and tucked under a large reptilian bicep. Not having much in the way of time to react to this, she was merely able to blink rapidly a few times in a comical caricature of astonishment before the man’s legs bunched beneath him and she was sailing in the air.
Literally, now, for they had landed upon the deck of the pirate ship. She was opening her mouth to… well, she wasn’t exactly sure what she was planning to say to all this, but as it was, she never got the chance, for the ravein’s raspy baritone sounded above her, something about getting a move on, and it wasn’t long before more people seemed to appear out of nowhere. A furred man was hauling ropes up with haste and a strength completely alien to her, and someone was firing a gun or letting off explosives or something, and above all of it, a rough woman’s voice was muttering a string of obscenities.
“Yeah, yeah, you say that like the ship can just steer any which way… I swear, no finesse
…” But the young woman was not to hear any of the rest of the helmsman’s rant, for she was soon brought indoors, where yet another ravein, this one lizardlike, was rushing ahead of them, apparently trying to find a spot for her to be placed. It briefly dawned on her that she could not be certain if the nature of this search was for a guest room or a prison cell, but either way, it seemed she didn’t have much choice in the matter.
“Um… you can put me down now,” she pointed out in a small voice to the one carrying her. “It’s not like I can really go anywhere, and…um.” Ending that sentence probably wasn’t necessary, was it?
Either way, she eventually found herself in a fairly-spacious room, alongside the two scaled men and someone with enormous mechanical arms. He appeared to have been injured, though he wasn’t bleeding excessively. Blunt force then. Concussive? Perhaps, he was most certainly no longer conscious. Ignoring for the moment the odd nature of her predicament, she scanned the room until she found a small inkwell atop a desk and went for it, grasping it delicately in one gloved hand and a quill in the other. The avian spent a moment in quick contemplation before deciding that technically, one of this man’s comrades had saved her life. Might as well go as far as she could towards returning the favor, right?
Trauma concentrated in the head, so… dipping the quill in the inkwell, she pressed the tip to the unconscious man’s forehead and began a circle, repeating the process several times until she had a transmutation array drawn in ink above his brows. It looked kind of silly, she supposed, but that was a small matter next to the fact that this would help repair any internal damage. Touching the circle, she created the characteristic flash of blue-purple light, and stood back.
“Mmm… he may not wake up for a while, but he should be fine now, I think.” So saying, she dropped like a heap of stones to the floor, completely drained herself. The darkness that overtook her vision just before impact was a blessedly-welcome kind of peace, given all that she’d endured recently.
The Mediterranean Wastelands
Rhys Wilcox, The Tempest
Right on time, Jan had turned the ship so that it began to gain altitude, and the crew, true to their training, all grasped onto the ropes that had been thrown overboard. Rhys was no exception. Though he might have preferred the delightful carnage, he was not stupid, and did not much fancy the idea of being left behind.
Roussan was quite strong, but Rhys wasn’t counting on him to haul a fifteen-foot mech up, and so directed Tempest to climb, hand over hand, up the rope and onto the deck. Taking care that nobody was in his way (the one time he’d almost squashed Neyshak, Barvassi had had words
for him), he maneuvered the machine into a crouch and opened the hatch, climbing out of the cockpit with some difficulty due to his bum leg. Someone, he couldn’t see who, was dragging the captain into the cabin area, presumably because he’d been injured.
It didn’t happen all that often, but certainly wasn’t unheard-of. Rhys did a quick head-count and registered that they were missing Asherah, Sharpclaw, Neyshak, and Naga. It was most likely that the last two were below, but he wasn’t sure about the majnun woman or the gator-man.
Roussan seemed to be preoccupied for the moment, so Rhys made his way to the helm, where Jan was busy steering them away from the Sky Faction, apparently feeling just as cranky as usual. He said nothing, well-aware that the woman was quite capable of doing her own damn job. Indeed, it wasn’t long before they’d disappeared into the sky.
Turning back to what crew were still on deck, he yawned quite openly and waved his hand lazily. “Right… everyone go eat or sleep or whatever it is you do. We’ll be in the sky for a while yet, might as well take advantage of the fact that the Architect doesn’t have anything fast enough to catch us.” He shrugged, posture slumping, not terribly aware of how odd he looked, leg still bleeding sluggishly, face spattered with someone else’s gore, and seeming for all the world as though he might just fall asleep right there. Still, when the captain wasn’t around, he was generally heeded. Technically, Roussan was next in charge, but Rhys wasn’t exactly sure where the bear-man was at the moment.