Thumb in his sash, a hot drink in his hand and the brilliant blues and oranges of early dawn in the distance; Adrian was having a good morning. The city skyline was framed with a webwork of light, and like an explosion the dark blue of night was steadily moving further away from the shining jewel of the rising sun. Adrian raised the ceramic cup to his lips, sipping just a little at the steaming liquid. A little sweet, mostly bitter, and with a spicy kick. If he was still tired he wouldn't have been for long while drinking this, no sir. Something Nimba made for he and his officers in the morning. An old Yi Aba brew, she'd told him. His eyes roamed over the docks; the early morning bustle. A nearby bazaar was opening, awnings raised over stalls of food, clothes, jewelry, and an assortment of other goods. Fishermen heading out to work with their nets, lines and bait. Funny how busy it all seemed now, because it would just get even louder later in the day. He'd been to Saridur several times, seen the markets and the temples, the local governor's estate and the expansive docks. He never tired of it, either. A real trade city. A slice of whatever they took in at their ports went inland along trade roads, and chunk of what came back down went right to the docks. As it were, everything his crew was taking on now was solely supplies for the trip. Necessities, with prudent surplus, and surfeit on top of that for any potential passengers. He'd also ordered some of the men to start cleaning up and preparing the forward hold in advance.

His first mate tromped up the boarding ramp, nodding to him as she approached. She was a sea elf, as evidenced by her stature, long ears, tanned skin and dark hair. "We're good on rations, sir. So far no one seeking passage." She crossed her arms, halting at his side and turning 'round to face the city.

The corners of his mouth turned up a bit, and he took a moment to sip his drink before replying, "We'll be having at least one guest that I know of." He gestured back at a hatch leading below deck, "Hence why the hold's seeing some renovations." She gave a single, understanding nod, but remained respectfully silent. "Is the crew ready to depart, Damaya?"

The elf turned her eyes to him, nothing more, "Aye, sir. At a moment's notice."

There was a momentary delay, broken by Adrian, "So, tell me your thoughts on the coming venture. It's obvious you've mused on this extensively, it's written on your face clear as day."

Damaya shifted, a subtle, thoughtful tilt to her head, and said, "I don't have any, sir." She shook her head, gaze darting away from her captain briefly, "No reason not to go after it. Especially if the reward's anything like the last payoff. And," her arms fell to her sides, and she shifted her weight in his direction, "I would never turn down a chance to see home, again." Adrian merely smirked, nodding understandably. "Permission to return to duties, sir?" She asked, her relaxed posture stiffening once more.

"Granted, chief." He said, a touch of dry humor in his voice. Damaya saluted him swiftly, and then went her way. Adrian calmly approached the side of his ship, laying a hand on the railing- feeling the wood against skin, his thoughts wandering. Nàsk trading ships were fine ships. Decent defenses, swift and sturdy. Anya was a ship of the line, though. Faster, stronger and with an array of heavy guns to smash through even the most formidable of warships. She was beautiful. He'd found himself admiring her from time to time, often unconsciously. Of all the gifts the Queen could have granted him, even as much as the sword tucked into his sash meant, this was more than he could have asked for. It had been a simple decision, the name. He wondered how his sister was doing. He'd not seen her for... what was it, now? A month? Two months? The time could drag on, and usually went right by him.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a cannoneer dropped down beside one of the nearby light guns. She set to work repairing a magic engraving along the barrel, focused intently on making sure the enchantment would function properly were it to be fired. Otherwise it might very well simply explode.

Adrian decided to leave her to her work, and began to move around the deck. Under ordinary circumstances, a Nàsk warship would have been an odd sight at most foreign ports of call. Saridur was an exception. Looking across the docks, even out into the nearby waters, he could spy at least four others. Those were official military vessels, of course, patrolling in service to Queen and country. Defending an important trading hub, and the river Anneissy it bordered. A few of the crew nodded to him as he passed, but otherwise went about their jobs. He'd no doubt that this was going to be a dangerous mission, if the last lodestone's acquisition was to be any form of example. At least some of them would die in the process. He'd never tell them it wasn't possible, and anyone who was there to remember knew it well.

Adrian considered his own fate - would this be the journey that claimed him? It didn't matter either way, as far as he was concerned. The fun? That was not in the knowing.

Saridur was always a goddamn hassle.

There was not a moment from sun up to sun down-- hell, even amidst the throes of high night-- that one was not forced to veritably wade through throngs of witless, scampering wretches, all of them babbling about increasingly inane subjects as they scuttled about just... just being in the damn way, in general. Joining in the asinine clamour, naturally, came the calls of the bazaar-- crooked merchants hocking their wares at passersby, desperate to snatch up a customer from one of their competitors, their incessant cries carried aloft on the morning breeze and melding with the chatter of the daybreak crowds to produce an infuriating cacophony of utter inanity.

And to think, it was only gonna get louder and louder as the morning gave way to the meat of the day and more and more townspeople emerged from their hovels to go about yet another shapeless day in their mind-numbingly wretched, pointless lives. At least I'll be long gone by then.

One supposed that in such situations, it really paid off to be an eight foot four, eight hundred pound suit of armour-- at least, Jag figured as much, and anybody witnessing the hulking figure none too patiently shouldering and shoving aside anything that made the mistake of being in its way would perhaps have been inclined to agree. The Bosphorean bounty hunter would have been lying were she to have denied that she derived some sense of perverse amusement in lording her own physical stature over the rest-- and lying wasn't something she made a practice of, so she also was well aware of how petty it was. It wasn't a matter, really, of demonstrating superiority over them or anything like that: after all, she took no pride in stamping out a cockroach, or swatting down a moderately irksome fly, so she certainly would have been remiss to delude herself into believing that her ability to shove around a few gnomes when she had two to three feet of height on them and well over three hundred pounds in weight even without her armour... actually meant a damn thing.

So really, as rationalising it went, she could only say it was entertaining, and that was about the long and short of it. She had learned the hard way that in the outsider lands it was generally frowned upon-- strenuously, for what it was worth-- to amuse oneself through wanton violence in the middle of a densely populated marketplace. But-- No, it doesn't do any good to lapse into those patterns of thought again. It was all too easy to find herself recalling wistfully her life in Bosphorous, where opponents of a worthy calibre could easily be found and where true strength was respected and cultivated. It availed her none to remind herself that in Bosphorous, one needed only open one's eyes and be faced with countless opportunities to alleviate boredom-- innumerable adversaries who would have without hesitation indulged their quarry's battle lust. It was of no benefit to her to reminisce on the many glorious battles, the carnage and massacres to which she had lent her blade that yet lingered in her memory, tinged with fondness. It did her no good to...

Wait.

Fuck.

Disgruntled by her own inability to avoid reflecting upon things that certainly no longer bore any relevance to her, Jag all but bulldozed her way through yet another gaggle of blithering cretins, resisting the urge to grab her shield and take to using it as a battering ram or some shit. It would certainly have cleared her path pretty damn quick, but then, it would also have probably left a few dozen corpses in its wake, and being questioned by the Saridur authorities regarding the suspicious trail of battered carcasses leading up to the docks was not among her priorities at this point-- not now, when she had a ship to get to.

The lodestone-- now that was a prospect capable of salvaging Jag's temperament from the dregs of violent discontent and disgust that were otherwise so easy to descend into. Not necessarily the lodestone itself: those individuals who pursued that strange and precious artefact in pursuit of artificial might, in hopes of enhancing their own potency through means of deceitful, disingenuous fraud-- they merited little more than Jag's disdain at best, and her fist through their skull at worst. If anything else, then certainly the prospect of prolonging her own life through that method was viable: there was nothing mendacious or indignified regarding her intent to take this opportunity to provide herself with more time to continue indulging in her beloved sport of bloodshed. But even that was at best a secondary goal-- a byproduct, if that, of the nature of her primary aim in boarding a ship destined for the Naua Te archipelago.

And that aim, naturally, was nothing more and nothing less than to fight and win. After all, a lodestone buried beneath an ancient city, fabled to grant unto its possessor might and mythical properties beyond all conceivable for the greatest of mere mortals? You can't try and tell me there aren't gonna be some halfway decent warriors after that lodestone just waiting to provide me with a good fight.

You know, ships are too quiet. Figuratively. By Nimba's standards, anyway. Sure there was always the chatter of the crew, the creaking of the ship, and a myriad of other possible noises. Like cannon blasts. What Nimba missed was music. Pervading, energetic and soothing all at the same time. It had given a real personality to her caravan, back when she still traveled with her family. She guessed that, had she to be fair, the ship had its own character. The problem was she just didn't care for it, really. The Anya itself was fine, of course. She spent most days aboard just wandering the decks, compartments and holds. Gave a girl quite a bit of space to explore for a big, floating tub. Infinitely more spacious than her old vardo, at least. She'd spent most of the very early morning making breakfast, and then some goyano for Adrian and his officers. A brown, clear drink that a lot of people took to calling "Yi Aba tea", even though it was more accurately a kind of cider. Whenever they were moored off she tried to stay out of the way as much as possible, keeping away from the cargo hold and stores where traffic would be busiest. As it were, things weren't as hectic as usual. Most cargo had already been unloaded, and only provisions were being taken on. The worst it got was when Adrian ordered for the forward hold to be prettied up for some high profile guest.

Nimba stole onto the deck, padding silently across the wooden boards; ducking and dodging the crew. In her right hand, tucked behind her back, rested a fresh, bright red apple. They'd a barrel of them down below, she figured absconding with one wouldn't hurt. Besides, she was hungry. Spotting Adrian, she sidled up next to him, brought the fruit to her mouth and bit down as loudly as she could. She smiled up at him as she chewed, and waited until she swallowed to speak, "I'm not sure if you were supposed to be looking somber there, wey'ho, but you've definitely gotta work on it. You look a little silly when you're just smiling at.. well, at nothing like that." She elbowed him playfully in the ribs, and strolled over to the side of the ship, taking a seat on the railing. She'd always had good balance, so the only way she could foreseeably fall would be for someone to push her. The thought crossing her mind, she shot Adrian a dubious glance. Then took another bite of her breakfast.

Spying a dhow setting off from the docks, she followed it with her eyes until it was out to sea, casting a net for a chance at a haul of fresh fish. She tilted her head. Fish sounded good. Maybe fried in some oil. Add a few herbs- She jumped when the first mate, Damaya, barked an order at a guy who'd been slacking. "Hard ass," she murmured sourly, taking another bite. She didn't mind the woman, she just didn't get along with her. Admittedly she did one damn good job. Nimba just thought she went, oh.. above and beyond the call of duty, so to speak. When nothing but the core of her meal remained she tossed it into the water below, hopped back onto her feet and rolled her head around to loosen her neck muscles. "Na ki bai'o dama yño. Sapara nyé. It really that important we wait for this luxury lapper?" She scoffed, looking out into the docks, market and what streets were visible from her vantage point. Not seeing anyone who looked like they could afford anything more than your average galleon, she turned back to Adrian. "All I'm saying is that I don't do specialty meals. Okay, well.. exceptions being anyone who can't actually.. eat.. certain things," she said with a shrug. "But I swear, if this im'a ba comes whining that the food's not 'to their standards' or some loii..."

Realizing she was probably getting a little carried away, Nimba took a few deep breaths. The fire cooling, she cleared her throat and recomposed herself. "It's not happened, yet. But it probably will," she huffed.

So there stood a not so imposing figure clad in heavy armor, breathing heavily at the edge of the wharf and clenching his fists with a massive crater and a cowering dockworker at his feet. The darkness behind the visor stared down at the man - the man who was considerably taller and bulkier than him - in silence, an aura of anger and hatred emanating from every inch of his plated figure. Frightened into stock stillness by the armored figure, the man held his exact position, waiting for permission to do anything other than breathe and look helplessly back.

"Again? Really?"

A rough voice called out from behind him. The source was a red-haired woman in her late thirties, impatience heavy in her stride as she made her way toward them. She was dressed in light military gear with a few inconspicuous modifications and a pair of metal gauntlets fitted neatly on her hands. She tugged on the armored man's wrist and muttered something incomprehensibly under her breath.

"If they figure out you did that, they're going to make us pay for it," the woman hissed. The suit of armor responded by lashing out with his fist, which was easily dodged. "Look," she continued, ignoring the sudden attack as she walked around behind him, the helmet blankly following her movements. "I know it's not a lot, but these things add up you know? I don't care if you're Rustam's special watchdog or whatever; if you keep breaking everything, we're going to get pulled from duty, understand?" She tapped his helmet with the knuckles of her gauntlet. "Hey blockhead, can you hear me?"

"Do not touch me," Artora growled, swinging his fist at her. It was a powerful, blinding movement that couldn't have possibly belonged to a human, but the woman nimbly stepped back in time to avoid it.

"Just some friendly advice," she shrugged, taking a few more steps backward to keep her distance. Even she understood that she could only push her luck so much. She turned to the dock worker, who was still completely frozen. "Yeah, you can go now." With a slow nodded, the man regained his composure and scuttled off back to work. Her attention returned to Artora. "I mean, this much I can kind of handle, I guess, but if you start going around punching ships until they sink, that's where I start drawing the line, okay?" She pointed to the crater on the floor. "And this shit needs to stop, too."

"I take orders from no one," he snarled, the persistent inhuman growl in his voice scaring away a small flock of birds that had wandered too close looking for scraps on the ground.

"Well, clearly you do because you're wearing that stupid armor," she said, dismissing his threat with a wave of her hand. "Sorry to ruin your fun, but we're setting sail. You can stay here and continue destroying the road if you'd like, don't mind us. Just don't expect any credit when we come back with the lodestone." Artora held his tongue, knowing that arguing with this woman was all but impossible. He wordlessly traced her steps and boarded the ship, ignoring her ramblings and complaints as he made his way up.

"Agnes," he said flatly.

"Yeah?" the woman responded, turning to face him with a hand on her hip.

"Do not get in my way."

"Whatever you say," she muttered, spinning back around and heading up the rest of the way. To anyone else, this exchange might've seemed comical, but every swing Artora had made at her was meant to kill her - and they would have, had they connected. Being the humorless, spiteful creature that he is, he only abides by rules out of necessity and does not know the meaning of holding back. It's not rare to see his charges dropped considering how precious of a war tool he was in the past and would be in the future, even in spite of his frequent rampages. Though he is not one to hold value in anything, including life, instinct drives him and it is by instinct that his character his defined, that he clings to life and crushes any who dare oppose him. In recent years, however, he has managed to keep his temper in check more often, gradually beginning to think more of his future rather than his present, though not by much.

This mission was particularly important, as it granted - at least to an extent - the one thing truly worth anything to him: Freedom. To live unconfined, unordered, and unobserved is all that he desires and every step closer to this goal is worth every corpse, every trail of blood he leaves in his wake. Normally, it would be simple matter to depart his homeland and live free elsewhere on missions such as these, but there was always someone watching to make sure he does not get away. On this particular occasion, that observer was Agnes Aramor, the red-haired woman that had been grinding his nerves since she'd been introduced to him two weeks ago. Despite her casual and joking behavior, she was very much a force to be reckoned with and that was one risk he was not willing to take. Though he was fairly confident that he could easily destroy her, he was not willing to take such an uncertain bet.

Until he is fully aware of her potential, he can't quite make any moves yet. But that time will come, and that time will be soon.

Sarindur was... different. It might not really be that different than other cities, or just port cities, but it was different from Svariz and that was all Sarasa really had to compare it to. In Svariz there was the palace with all its large rooms built to house her, the main streets wide enough for her to slither down comfortably, and open grounds for her to spread out freely. Here, there was no palace, at least not one for her (though that could change with her ambitious and doting sister), the streets were narrowed, and open spaces didn't exist as far as she was aware. Not to mention that, in her home city, the common rabble stepped aside out of respect and worship, as is proper, for her, giving her even more room. Here, these merchants and beggars and peasants walked the same street as her at the same time, with only some making room out of avoidance and potentially fear of the women who not so much stood several feet higher than all of them in the air as rose to that height. Fear was certainly better than nothing, but it was clearly fear of her large tail, not of her or her status, and that irritated her to no end. One of these people had managed to cause a manifestation of this irritation of hers by actually coming into contact with her long tail as it trailed behind her, an action that sent the disrespectful person flying violently into a nearby wall.

But the worst part of this supposedly lovely city, the worst part, was this fabric that she had been coerced into wearing over her upper body. Savages, lesser beings, and servants were meant to wear clothing like this. Great ones, like her and her sister--like the great Dragons--wore jewelry or armor to distance themselves from this weak layer of cloth that even the slightest of breezes could command. "The savages are weak and need to cloth themselves and foolish enough to scorn those who aren't as weak as them" she was told, and she understood, but that didn't necessarily make it better. She was also told that they were made from silken fabrics like her bed, but one shouldn't be glad that they happen to be wearing their bedspread. Not only that, but Sarasa had also been stripped of her jewelry before coming here, for her safety and that of the gold and gems themselves she was told, leaving her with only her gold bracelets and a steel covering for the tip of her tail to jingle and jangle as she went. A cramped city with uncomfortable clothing covering her body and a scarce amount of Svariz's gold adorning her, so far she was not enjoying her journey outside of the city, and there was still a ship and an island to go.

But she would have to endure this and more, her sister was counting on her to retrieve the lodestone to help in the oncoming war; her sister was depending on her for the first time. So she held her complaints back and continued through the streets with her companion and guard Ravadhi, a Naralin warrior-priest with pale gray scales and an unnatural level of stability in his stride. It was he who was making sure the majority of the rabble kept away from Sarasa and he was the one who would be making sure she was able to accomplish her task properly. He facilitated inns, good food, travel plans, scheduling, breaking the bones of annoyances, and providing her with a sight at least reminiscent of her home. She had little problem listening to someone who was not only respected by her sister, but held as close a relation to the great beasts as she did and was a skilled practitioner in their worship.

"What is that?" She had noticed a different air about in this city than in the rest of her travels, and the newfound intensity as the wind picked up finally solicited the question she'd been pondering.

"That is the smell of the sea, my lady. The petty poison of the gods is what fills the air with its scent." He spoke with a focused, authoritative air about him and kept his arms crossed and rigidly still as he walked. His words were like a sermon, and she attentively listened to his religious explanation of the odd flavor that filled the air, and accepted the condemnation of mortals and gods alike naturally.

"How can they stand such a thing?" The smell of fresh air was an acceptable thing for Sarasa, though the scented perfumes and incense that filled the palace were much preferred, but this taste that mixed itself into every breeze and breathe was something she wasn't growing fond of.

"They grow accustomed to such things. Such is the acceptance of the fools, who would offer thanks if the gods saw fit to rape and torture them. We will merely have to tolerate this for the sake of my lady, your sister." His contempt for the people around him was quite clear through his biting words, though one wouldn't really be able to tell from his demeanor, and, once again, Sarasa took no issue with his explanation. "It would appear that you were not paying quite as much attention to my lectures as you had claimed, my lady." He tilted his head upward to meet the Naraga's now avoidant gaze, but the appearance of their destination, a Nàsk warship floating in the poisoned sea that would ferry them across.

The last time Requinn Voss visited the port of Saridur, he went by a different name: Thanare'Quinn Voss'Eht'Ahn. He was an Imperator in the Pax Alma, a general in the Rexian Imperial Legion, and he was laying siege to the port with 20,000 elves at his back. But that was nearly 600 years ago, and he was a young man then. So much has changed over the centuries, the city was barely recognizable. Standing atop the hill on which he pitched his command tent so long ago, he found himself inside the city walls, in front of a tailor's shop, gazing down at the city he once besieged.

The citizenry paid him no mind, and why should they? While high elves were a rare sight outside of Rexia, Requinn's black hair gave him the appearance of a sea elf, if one did not take the time to examine him closely. His golden eyes were a dead giveaway, but he had allowed his hair to obscure his face, and he drew his cloak close and his hood up. Leaning slightly on a cane he purchased not but an hour ago from an elderly man outside the walls, Requinn started the descent through the crowded streets to the docks.

The ship he was looking for bore the name Anya, no doubt named for a past "conquest." It mattered little. The captain, a native of Nàsk named Adrian Ronuad, was a well known explorer and had, in years past, recovered a lodestone for the queen of Nàsk. Going over the few things he knew about the captain in his head, Requinn nearly passed the ship by entirely, a crime for which he mentally berated himself, as the ship was nothing short of magnificent.

Requinn had heard stories about Nàsk warships, but he had never seen one himself. It was larger than he had expected, given that the ships of his day rarely had more than two masts, and it was bristling with cannons engraved with magic runes. The cannon was a human invention, the product of a shorter, yet far more inventive, life. Despite Requinn's grudge against humanity for bringing down his empire, he could not deny the abundance of creativity they possessed.

Requinn started up the ramp, still leaning on his new cane. He didn't actually need it, but he saw no harm in presenting himself as less capable than he really was. He dropped his hood and stepped onto the deck of the ship, finding now that he did need the cane to balance himself properly on the rocking ship.

"It's certainly been a long time since I last stepped foot on a ship. I'm not quite used to it yet." Requinn spoke casually to the first crewman that approached him, followed by a slight chuckle. The sea elf gave him a look of curiosity. "Ah! Forgive me for so rudely waltzing onto your ship without introducing myself! Requinn Voss, scholar, author, and archaeologist, at your service, lady...?" He smiled, but didn't spare her the time to respond before he continued, "If possible, I'd very much like to meet the captain. I seek passage and I'll deal with none below him."

The sea elf nodded, clearly both surprised and confused, and tucked the coinpurse in one of her belts. She led Requinn between the other crew members, going slower than she normally would so that Requinn, with his cane, could keep up. He almost felt bad for inconveniencing her, but he invested himself in the ruse, so he figured that he might as well keep it up, at least until it became inconvenient for him. Making their way down the length of the ship, the girl glanced back at him, and her eyes met his, noticing for the first time that he was a high elf rather than a sea elf.

"Damaya," She spoke rather abruptly, still wary of Requinn, "My name is Damaya. I'm Captain Ronuad's first mate." Loyal. Respectful. Efficient. She had barely said a single sentence to him, but Requinn had already begun to profile her in his head. It was a practice he made a habit of doing with anyone he interacted with or planned to interact with more than once.

"A very beautiful name, my lady, and certainly befitting one such as you." Requinn laced his words with a hint of charm, not being one to miss an opportunity to give compliments, especially to someone as influential as the first mate. After all, it is far better to be loved than hated. He didn't pay attention to her reaction, but it no longer mattered. They had reached the captain and Damaya started to introduce him, but he cut her off.

"Requinn Voss," he interjected, switching his cane to his off hand and reaching for a handshake, "renowned author and archaeologist. You may have read one of my books?" He paused for a second, but not long enough to merit a response. "It doesn't matter, I heard that you plan to set sail for Naua Te, and I'd like to book passage, if it isn't too much trouble. I can pay my way, just name your price." Requinn kept his eyes on the captain, a friendly smile on his face. He needed the captain to take him on, so it couldn't hurt to be nice.

The early morning sun casts a faint light upon the waterfront of Saridur as the merchants begin setting up their booths to hock their wares to passing patrons. As the crowd begins to form within the bazaar the streets seem to disappear within a sea of people mirroring the actual sea lined with ships instead of merchants. Amongst the growing masses Riktor moves towards the docks in search of a ship to help him reach his goal, the lodestone. It had only been a week or so ago since he had heard the rumors spreading throughout Draust causing everyone with enough guile to begin boasting on how they would acquire the precious gem. Riktor didn't know if these rumors would bear fruit, but if a lodestone was out there he would make it his.

Riktor slowly moved through the crowd and made his way out of the bazaar and into the harbor, it was here that he intended to find a particular vessel that donned the name Anya. He had heard from his friend and fellow sellsword Jevan that this ship would be moored at the harbor here in Saridur today and it would be very likely for them to barter passage to the Naua Te archipelago for the right price. A half-cocked grin spread across Riktor's face when he emerged from the crowd and arrived at the dock for it seemed Jevan had beat him there. Leaned against a post ,drinking what Riktor could only suspect to be some sort alcoholic beverage from a flask, Jevan stared out towards a ship, the Anya. Riktor removed his hood and began approaching Jevan, and without turning to Riktor Jevan began to speak.

"Well there she sits Riktor, our ticket to power and riches beyond belief. No more dangerous battles, no more petty contracts, im talking nobleman type rich." Jevan takes another swig from his flask before finally turning to face Riktor.

"And here i was thinking you liked playing the part of a dashing rouge. Best not let the girls back home here you talk like that, they may find someone else to swoon over."[i] Riktor said as he approached his friend on the dock. [i]"I assume thats the ship then?"

"Yeah thats it, they've been moving stuff about all morning it seems they are already expecting some passengers. That may make this difficult." Jevan said taking another swig from the flask before rousing himself from the post and beginning to walk towards the Anya. "Ill let you handle the arrangements, you've always been a better talker."

Nodding to his companion, Riktor and Jevan begin the short trek down the dock to the ship. The Anya was magnificent. The sunlight of the early morn reflected off the heavy guns lining the deck, the ship itself was an imposing sight in it's own right. Riktor was no stranger to sailing but never before had he set foot on such a vessel. As they drew closer Riktor could see various others scattered upon the deck, most likely crewmen, but there were two that immediately stood out when he was close enough to see them clearly. Riktor grimaced for a moment then turned to Jevan who had a slight snarl on his face as well.

"Bloody Elves..." Riktor said to himself as they drew closer to the ship.

Elves had never been to Riktor's liking. Their conflicting views on the world and their notable skill in combat made them more than just a passing nuisance, and on more than one occasion had they interfered with his plans. Despite their obvious dislike for Elves Riktor and Jevan had no other options for traveling to their destination. Riktor approached the ship and began to ascend the boarding plank causing a few eyes to wander his way.

"Hail there! Might i speak to the captain of this vessel?" Riktor finally spoke, eyes searching the ship for the man in charge of this fine vessel.

Adrian continued to calmly sip the rest of his drink, an amused glint in his eyes as he listened to Nimba's rant. Her antics were, to say the very least, extremely entertaining at times. For all her talk, and considerable bite, he knew she was just blowing off steam. She had a wild imagination, and one that tended to work at overdrive at the worst of times. She did manage to calm down after a few minutes, and that was just shortly before he caught sight of someone strolling up the gangplank. Damaya met the man, and moments later the two were coming toward him. Furrowing his brow quizzically, Adrian realized he was elf, and a well dressed one at that. Dark hair, but skin too light to be of the seagoing variety. There was something about him that made Adrian a tad wary, but not to any degree that would effect his demeanor, of course. Being said, what was this man doing just walking onto his ship uninvited? A bit of sailor's courtesy is all he was asking for. He met them halfway, and just as Damaya was about to speak the other elf cut her off. Adrian noted a hint of irritation in the chief mate's face, but she said nothing and politely closed her mouth. Brave, at least, this newcomer was.

"Requinn Voss," he introduced himself respectfully, extending his hand to Adrian, which he swiftly accepted, "renowned author and archaeologist. You may have read one of my books?" First atop his mind was that no, he had never heard of Voss before. Not as if he would have said so, at least not rudely. "It doesn't matter, I heard that you plan to set sail for Naua Te, and I'd like to book passage, if it isn't too much trouble. I can pay my way, just name your price." Adrian smiled, and though is was nondescript in its meaning it centered upon an inkling suspicion of the stranger's intention. An archeologist headed to a place where a lodestone was said to rest, more so in the corpse of a city many thousands of years old? Much too fitting to be coincidental. During Voss' speech, Adrian had taken the liberty of inspecting him more closely. Upon doing so, he realized that by his eyes and skin, Requinn had to have been a High Elf. Thus, his use of a cane was most assuredly not for any physical aid.

Pushing that little matter to the side for now, Adrian returned the greeting with equal graciousness, "Welcome aboard, Mr. Voss. I am Adrian Ronuad des Màstoof, Captain of the Anya."

He could not go any further, as just then a barking voice caught his attention: "Hail there! Might i speak to the captain of this vessel?" It came from a gruff looking man, standing just a little ways ahead of a second.

Adrian and Damaya's eyes met briefly, their expressions for only a moment turning nearly deadpan. Internally wondering whether or not his ship had been mistaken for some sort of pleasure vessel, Adrian exhaled and turned to Voss, "Excuse me a moment, sir." He motioned to Damaya to follow as he walked around the first potential passenger and toward the next. "Place a guard at that ramp," he ordered in a flat tone. Damaya nodded, and broke away to snag a candidate. Reaching the man at the head of the gangplank, Adrian- ever composed- asked, "Good morning. I am Adrian Ronuad des Màstoof, Captain of the Anya. Is there something I could help you with?" Something out of his peripherals catching his eye, Adrian redirected his gaze for a moment. A crease formed slowly in his brow. There, on the docks, were two of the Narans- and one was a very, very large snake. It looked as if his scheduled guest had arrived.

Uncertain of his current situation and set an edge by not one but two Elves, a hint of irritation could be seen scrawled across Riktor's brow. Jevan and himself had of course expected to run into a few of their ilk once they reached Naua Te but there were two strewn across of the deck of the Anya, and one appeared to be part of the crew. Riktor's thoughts however were interrupted as a man broke away from a brief conversation with one of the elves and approached him. The man approaching had a sort of authoritative swagger about him, and once he barked out orders to place guards on the gangplank Riktor's suspicions were confirmed, he was indeed the captain they sought. He seemed to be middle aged at best, but seemed to be impressively in shape. When Riktor could finally see him clearly the word he would have picked to describe the captain would more than likely be pirate, for it seemed a certain intensity loomed about him.

"Good morning. I am Adrian Ronuad des Màstoof, Captain of the Anya. Is there something I could help you with?" The man spoke when he finally came close enough, a certain regality hanging upon his accented words.

Extending his hand towards the captain Riktor began his attempt to secure passage upon the Anya. "And a good morning to you as well Captain Màstoof. I am Riktor Fortis and this is my companion Jevan. We hail from Druast, not far from your ports of Nãsk if i do not mistake your origins." Riktor was unsure if mentioning Druast was a food idea or not. Only being known for its constant infighting and whores the name might have put a sour taste in the mouth of Màstoof, however noting Jevan's and his own appearance it was unlikely he would have believed them to be anything more than sellswords. "We have a contract on Naua Te and would like to charter passage if at all possible." Of course the contract bit was a blatant lie, but announcing that your searching for a lodestone would be bad business for everyone so Riktor was pleased with the words he chose.

Riktor let his mind linger for a moment before turning his thoughts back to his surroundings. The players were gathering. Despite their clever lies and the many ruse they cast upon themselves all those descending upon the unsuspecting Naua Te were after the same thing as Riktor himself, the lodestone. For better or worse Riktor would try to make it his, no matter who stood before him.

Green eyes regarded the rising sun without a trace of preoccupation. Appearances aside, the farthest thing from Kryssis' mind was to dwell upon the spectacle of dawn. It was just the most prominent thing that captured her attention. Even that lasted for only a moment, and then she was walking again. She was relaxed, as evident by the way her hands rested on the pommels of her swords. Not a position from which to draw them, although some of the people she passed by didn't seem to take it into account. On the whole they just ignored her, which was good. Undue attention wouldn't serve any positive purpose. She was already having a slow enough time moving through the early morning market. The extra years had at least allowed her to train, especially in settings like cities where she'd previously had no experience. Ducking and weaving through the crowds, judging peoples' movements to quickly respond with her own. She still didn't like these crowded areas. In general, she didn't care for cities at all. They were too soft and too busy, and most of the people there were fools. Pampered, weak and ignorant. Just looking around her she gauged that she could massacre many of the citizens around her before any guards showed up. By then, with how many dark corners and alleyways there were, she would be gone by the time they did. If she wanted to leave, anyway. She probably would have stayed and fought, wanting to test just how good at their jobs these servicemen were.

Just a little nostalgic woolgathering, she relented with an inaudible sigh, and pushed onward. As much as she disliked this, Kryssis was in one of those situations where it would be best to push her way through her disdain if she wanted to return to a even a remote sense of normality. Because it was either that, or she remain on this path that led to gods knew where. When she finally emerged from the tangle of bodies, she found herself on the edge of an equally busy port district. Wooden latices reaching out in all directions, early hauls of fish, crates and chests of whatever had been brought to sell. Not what she was interested in. She wanted a ship taking passengers, one that would get her across the ocean. The salty breeze assaulting her was, at this point, not new to her. She didn't mind it, but didn't much care for it either. She carried on down the docks, eyes roaming the assorted vessels for any potential choices. After several minutes, she finally spied one where it looked like people were boarding. Of course, that was only the second thing she'd noticed. The first and foremost was just how many damned guns there were. An impressive array, no doubt. She knew enough to realize that no mere civilian galley would have that kind of compliment, nor build. That was a warship.

Rolling her neck, she set out toward it. There was a man stood just near the boarding plank, and another at its head speaking to a man wearing fine, black clothing. She figured he must be the captain, and approached the ship cautiously, keeping an eye out for anything.. remiss, she supposed. She paused at the foot of the plank, not out of courtesy, but resigning herself to listen for the moment.

---

Nimba skittered back when Damaya returned, bearing a finely clothed elf along with her, this time. She frowned, pensively, and seated herself back on the railing of the ship to see what happened. When he introduced himself, stating that he was apparently some well known writer, Nimba - not realizing she was matching Adrian's line of thought - softly murmured, "Not a clue." She found it funny how people could be so presumptuous about their perceived fame. That usually meant you had money, and if his clothes were any indicator then he certainly did, and quite a pretty penny to his name! In that case, she figured, stop flouting it and spend some already! Setting gripping the rail with both hands, she leaned back some and turned her eyes behind to the dock just in time to see two men approaching the ship. "Oh, he's gonna love this," she snickered.

As Adrian took his leave of Requinn, Nimba hopped down and decided to tag along, flashing a cheeky smile at the elf on the way by. At the last second she changed her mind, and followed behind Damaya. "I didn't realize we were running a yom'tei shaba. What's wi-" She came to an abrupt halt when the woman threw her a curious glance. Nimba sighed, "Basically party boat. You know, something where p-"

"I'm well aware of what you mean, Nimba," she responded sharply. "We're more than able to take on passengers, and people would prefer to travel safely over open water." Damaya shook her head, "What could be more inviting than a vessel made to survive open combat?"

The Yi Aba huffed, "They'd better know our rates are high, then."

"And that they'll be getting their money's worth in dinner?" Not even a grin from the woman, but her tone did the job just as well.

Nimba narrowed her eyes, "That.. you.. wey'ha mo bado." She spat, jabbing a finger at the elf. She quickly turned back around and tromped across the deck, more or less the way she'd come, stopping just a few feet away from the gangplank to lean against the side of the ship. Twice so far in the space of an hour she's had to cool off. She was starting to feel like this was a very bad idea. Just as that crossed her mind, she looked off and spotted quite the sight: a Naran. An upper body that looked like a human woman, but instead of legs she had a very long black tail. A heavy groan escaping her lips, Nimba grumbled, "About time."

Jag was not altogether fond of boats.

One supposed that was simply the logical byproduct of an upbringing rooted in a land where there just wasn't any water lying around for anybody to decide 'gonna build some shit so I can cross this motherfucker'. And had Bosphorous been a realm with any particular surplus of large bodies of water to cross in the first place, its denizens would undoubtedly have determined that to rely on the aid of an artificial vessel in traversing the seas was a mark of immense wretched weakness-- that any who failed to make it across the water by doing nothing but repeatedly flexing their muscles clearly didn't deserve to exist. Hell, had the poor fuck who invented the first ship been born in Bosphorous, they probably woulda been relegated to the slave pens before they'd made it past their tenth year.

That having been said, Jag would certainly have been remiss to look upon the enterprising individual behind the creation of the boat with disdain, seeing as swimming was no mean feat when you were eight hundred pounds of plate armour.

But she had to get to Naua Te somehow, and though she hadn't confirmed this thesis, Jag had a nagging suspicion the whole 'propel oneself through the water through rabid and repeated muscle flexing' method wouldn't prove particularly viable. To that end, it was necessary to procure the services of one of those floating wooden tubs-- which was where the Anya came in. Scepticism regarding the name aside-- wasn't Anya some sort of outsider given name or some shit? Knowing Jag's luck, it would come about that Anya was some long-lost lover of the captain's who was now haunting the ship. It always ended up like that.-- Jag had heard the ship was bound for Naua Te, that it was harboured at the (conveniently nearby) Saridur, and that it was bearing passengers along its course to Naua Te. Well, passengers who provided due remuneration, naturally-- for which purpose Jag had made a point of bringing along a hefty sum of money. Probably more than would actually be asked of her, but... well, in cases like this, it was vastly preferable to end up bringing too much payment as opposed to little. And hell, she had so much useless money, stored away in bank vaults across Khassus, collecting dust for lack of anything to actually be spent on, that if she had just tossed the sack of money at the captain of the ship only for it to come about she'd delivered twice as much as she'd had to, it wouldn't have made much difference. Keep the change, all that shit.

And naturally, it would appear I wasn't the only person with that idea.

The Bosphorean bounty hunter couldn't help a scowl as she came into view of the ship emblazoned across the side with the word 'Anya'-- though her discontent had little to do with the ship itself, which was... well, a ship: Jag would have been lying if she'd said it impressed her any more than just about any other ship she'd seen in the last forty years, but it looked vaguely functional, which was really about all you could ask or need from a ship anyway. Her irritation was less with regards to the ship and more concerned with the numerous individuals already present upon it-- a couple humans, a high elf (of course there had to be a goddamn 'high' elf), a Naraga, and... huh. A third human, but the paint that coated their distinctly filthy skin and the scant attire of leather and fur brought to mind the Sidheghul.

How very typical. To end up on a ship with a Sidheghul and a high elf-- the scum of the world. Or at least, among the scum of the world. Well, she figured she could only hope the high elf wasn't the captain-- put a high elf in a position of some kind of authority, and they got even more asininely arrogant and self-assured than they as a baseline were to begin with. As for the Sidheghul, Jag was fairly certain a Sidheghul captaining a ship was the kind of shit you only found in children's books-- 'The Little Sidheghul That Could' or 'The Sidheghul Who Dreamed of the Sea' or some shit like that.

Not to imply they weren't all probably worthless to begin with. But after all, weren't all living things, as a general rule?

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Voss. I am Adrian Ronuad des Màstoof, Captain of the Anya."

Of course, Requinn already knew his name. He had done his research on the man before stepping into the light. Hailing from Nàsk, the captain had caught Requinn's interest two years earlier for retrieving a lodestone for the queen of Nàsk, and he had been trying ever since to get an agent inside the queen's court for access to that very stone, though thus far, to no avail. There could be no doubt that the captain doubted his story, and though it was embellished, it was certainly not completely false. Requinn had indeed written a few books on magic and military tactics, though they were published centuries earlier, and he was, in some respects, an archaeologist, as the study of lodestones inevitably led to the study of ancient cultures. The important thing was that the captain believed him to be a little full of himself, a little unorthodox, but generally harmless, and to that end, he shook the captain's hand just a little too firmly, and held on for just a little too long. Adrian seemed to be the type of man that paid attention to the details, much like Requinn himself, and it was the small things that mattered the most.

Requinn was about to respond with thanks, when a voice interrupted:"Hail there! Might i speak to the captain of this vessel?" Requinn glanced in the direction it came from, spying a pair of human men boarding the ship as the first of the two spoke. Mercenaries, by the way they dressed and carried themselves, but Requinn knew better than to assume anything based solely on appearance. No one found this ship by chance. Like Requinn, they were looking for it. He reconsidered the necessity of undertaking this venture in person, but reminded himself that he couldn't afford to be cautious when a lodestone was within his grasp. On the newcomers, Requinn figured that as sellswords, their loyalty could be bought, and he was good at buying things. Adrian politely excused himself from the conversation to address the mercenaries, to which Requinn nodded in understanding before turning his attention away from the men, just in time to catch a young girl brush past him, giving him a mischievous grin.

The girl was a Yi Aba, a people Requinn was actually quite familiar with. It was a Yi Aba caravan that he traveled with for a while after leaving Rexia, and though he never understood many of their customs, he did feel a sense of kinship. After all, they became wanderers after their home was taken from them, much like Requinn himself. In part because of his fondness for the Yi Aba, and in part because he had nothing more important to do, he glanced after the girl, who had followed Damaya a short distance. Either she wasn't aware, or didn't care that she was still within earshot, as she spoke irreverently about Requinn and the other guests, though Damaya quieted her concerns. The girl ardently exclaimed that their guests should pay a high price for passage, and Damaya countered that as well, sending the Yi Aba plodding back, defeated. She leaned herself against the rail, looking rustled. Requinn made his way over, silent in step in spite of the cane, and lightly tapped the girl on the shoulder.

" 'Anger is as a stone cast into a hornet's nest...' At least, according to the philosopher whose name I can't seem to recall at the moment." Requinn spoke in a friendly tone, leaning off of his cane and onto the railing beside Nimba and offering a warm smile. He traced her gaze down to the docks to see two Narans, one Naralin and one Naraga. Wonderful. We'll be transporting a giant snake.
He turned his gaze back to Nimba.
"The first mate called you Nimba. Lovely name, it is. I'm Requinn Voss. I suspect you overheard me introduce myself to your captain, but I'm a firm believer in proper introductions." He bowed slightly, and continued with a chuckle. "...And you shouldn't worry overmuch about preparing fine meals, at least for me. I am not picky."

The morning brought such a calming air with it. Sometimes he pondered whether or not the lands shielded by the dark of night were refreshed by the coming of each new day, the troubles of the old cast away. Fanciful musings, but there was hardly anything wrong with that, now was there? Balor sat on the floor of a balcony overlooking a stretch of the city Saridur, pipe stem between his teeth and hat resting beside him, the low hanging tip nearly sagged to the floor by its own weight. The rich, scented smoke curled up through the air, forming into dizzying waves through which the sunlight shone brighter than on its own. He moved the stem, and turned his eyes back down to a leather bound book resting in his lap. The words scrawled in a messy hand, ink soaked into the thick yellowing parchment, were little more than thoughts and observations. His daydreams chronicled with care, simply for the sake of putting them down. They would be gone on their own from his mind in time, anyway. It was little more than his own private exercise, and one he took to often. He had first taken to doing so.. oh, what was it? Four hundred? No. Five hundred years ago? Possibly, give or take. It had been around the time of the great war against the Rexian Empire, but he could not remember exactly when. The war being the catalyst made the most sense, given how enormous an event it had been. Then, with a slight smile, he closed the book, tucked it into a bag sat opposite the hat's position, and decided it was time to go.

He decided to take a path leading through the city's bazaar. It was narrow, and quite crowded, but he enjoyed the energy. The color. He quietly observed the citizens going about their daily routines, which included the merchants in their stalls. He paused to hear a man proclaiming the potency of his poultice. Balor looked shortly at some of the mixture resting in a bowl. While he was not the most accomplished alchemist, preferring spells to physical magics and medicinals, he thought it looked like little more than damp soil mixed with red pepper and mineral oil. With a chuckle in his throat, he continued through the market. The first stop was not the last, and soon he found himself looking over stalls selling fruits and vegetables, beautifully crafted jewelry, and even finely woven rugs. He rarely purchased from such vendors, what he truly enjoyed about them was the character they brought to a city. The different people milling about, the scent of fresh food, and the many sights and sounds all packed into such a small space. He appreciated the personality of it all. Amidst them, they saw nothing but an old man and his walking stick taking an early morning stroll through the market. Such anonymity humbled him, and made him feel even more relaxed within the multitude. It was not his desire to be any less than what he was, but it did remind Balor that he was still just a mortal man standing among many others. It was something he never forget, and truly hoped he never would.

When he at last broke through the undulating currents of the bazaar, Balor turned his gaze upon a line of ships. While there were several that seemed like they might fit his purpose, they were not what he was looking for. He knew his ship when it caught his eye, and he set off for it at a comfortable pace. Of course he was not the only one, he rarely was on these sorts of "outings". The first, mostly because of their size, was almost certainly a Bosphorean. He'd met only a few in his time, and they had all been strikingly alien to most other races in frame of mind. Then there was a woman clothed in leather and fur, two swords at her sides. There was something familiar about her, and something sinister- having not quite to do with her, but a presence.. lingering. Another two, possibly mercenaries by their dress, had arrived as well. Lastly, two Narans looked to be approaching the ship as well. He thought he saw a High Elf already boarded, stood near the side of the ship speaking to a girl obviously of Yi Aba descent. Finally there was a man whom he immediately pegged for the captain. The ship was very clearly from Nàsk, and this man's clothes and demeanor struck him as highly reminiscent of that nation's people. Yes, this was most certainly the right ship.

Balor emptied the last dregs of ash from his pipe, tucked it away, and strode toward the vessel: which, as he noticed, had been named Anya. "Good morning," he proclaimed in his thick, rumbling voice while setting foot onto the boarding ramp. He dipped his head to the captain, "Forgive me for interrupting, I hate to be a bother. I was wondering if perhaps your ship would be headed for the isles of the Sea Elves? You see, I've heard rumors that there might be a lodestone hidden there, and I would very much like to discover whether or not these tales are true." He smiled warmly at the captain, not for a moment concerned that he had just laid out plainly his intentions. This was a scene he'd played in many a time before, and he had long ago abandoned all pretense otherwise.

Possibly the last thing Nimba expected was for the High Elf to join her. She flinched when something touched her shoulder, and she came whirling around wide-eyed to face him, instinctually expecting some sort of threat- she even had a hand raised, ready to strike. She was very quickly lulled back into a state of calm when he started to speak. " 'Anger is as a stone cast into a hornet's nest...' At least, according to the philosopher whose name I can't seem to recall at the moment." First she hoped he wasn't about to go on some philosophical tangent, then she started wonder why exactly he was mentioning "anger" of all things. When it finally clicked, her cheeks started to fill with heat. She had just long enough to consider this because his train of thought tripped for a moment as he looked off at something else, and then he was right back at it, "The first mate called you Nimba. Lovely name, it is. I'm Requinn Voss. I suspect you overheard me introduce myself to your captain, but I'm a firm believer in proper introductions." He bowed a little to her- he actually.. bowed- and then, with a chuckle, went on. "...And you shouldn't worry overmuch about preparing fine meals, at least for me. I am not picky."

Nimba laughed uneasily, "Well, in that case: Nimba Hawteeya." She shifted, looking just a bit uncomfortable, "So you, uh.. you heard that, then? Na ro'n pel, I'm sorry about that. Wasn't so much 'bout cooking anything good, but more making 'speciality' stuff. You know," she started pacing back and forth, gesticulating as she spoke, her mind beginning to work itself into a frenzy again, "They'd prefer a steak, medium rare, dusted with garlic and cloves. Maybe a side of soup: heavy on the potato, just a little bit of salt and some cheese. Really demanding stuff. Like they forget I'm already cooking for the rest of the crew, or some loii. I mean, ama wo'in du, if they literally can't eat something, then that's different. I'm talking abo-" She ground herself to a stop, furrowed her brow, and said, "I'm.. talking again, and getting carried off." She sighed exasperatedly, and shook her head, dark tresses tossing side-to-side, "Sorry. Again." She rolled her eyes, "I tend to do that..." Her words trailed off, and for that moment she almost sounded worn out.

She squinted up at Requinn for a second or two, and realized that he wasn't a Sea Elf, despite his hair. He was a High Elf! She'd always heard mixed things about these "High" Elves. Not much experience with them, herself. In fact, she'd have to think hard to remember an occasion where she'd actually met one, herself. Some said they were just like everyone else: they could be all right, and they could be unbearable. Others maintained they were all a bunch of stuck up "holier-than-thou" types. From what she could tell with Voss, though.. he seemed well enough, this one. Nimba had never been one to really listen to rumors, after all, much of the hate for her own people came from similar stories.

After clearing her throat she said, "Uh, anyway... Assuming the Cap'n ever gets around to giving you the okay - I mean, why wouldn't he? - I don't think you're really gonna be a problem." She thumbed toward the Naraga, "Not too sure 'bout that one." She shrugged, linking her hands behind her back and turned her attention to Adrian once more, just in time to see an old bearded man with a very tall hat coming up the plank. "Oh. We've.. actually got several more, now." From where she stood, Nimba could still make out the man's words. After he'd finished talking, however, her jaw was nearly on the floor. She couldn't believe it. The old codger just came out of the blue that he was going after this rock?! Why would he...? She shook her head, dumbfounded, and not sure whether to label him as senile or stupid.

Adrian turned his eyes upward, aiming them at the heavens, and in the confines of his thoughts he wondered if the gods were doing this to him on purpose. And if so, then why? Just... why? Wasn't he a devout man? Okay, well, honestly maybe not all that much, but the point still kind of stood. He lowered his gaze to the docks, running his eyes over the assorted sights. It helped calm him down whenever he started feeling irritated, or weighed down by something. He saw men hauling crates, a family disembarking, guards on patrol, a fisherman unloading his catch, a priest in a red robe, three sailors playing liar's dice, and some early morning drunks staggering across the docks. Just getting his head working, his thoughts moving instead of stagnating on whatever was bothering him, did the trick every time. Like going for a jog to get your blood pumping, and it was an invaluable exercise.

A woman then appeared, he noticed her moving from the corner of his eye. She did not ascend the gangplank, but merely stood there, palms on the pommels of her swords. If he'd not known better, Adrian would have said this woman was one of the Sidheghul. She certainly fit the descriptions stories had given. That wasn't possible, though. They'd been wiped out years ago. He only passed his gaze across her for a moment, but what he saw he liked. She may have been rough and dirty, and in barbaric dress, but that didn't change the fact that she had softer features. What wrong was there in admiring them? Adrian certainly couldn't find any. She had a warrior's air about her: lean muscle, war paint and a sharp look in her eyes fit to match her blades, he was sure. Bestial, yet beautiful. Definitely dangerous. He could imagine she'd make a thrilling chase. Likely a hard one, but that made it all the more fun!

Just seconds later, another approached his ship. A suppressed grimace was quickly replaced by a sense of curiosity. Was that... could it be? Adrian more than suspected that this tall, impressively hulking figure wrapped in thick armor was none other than Bosphorean. He'd heard of them, before. What else could they be? The tales certainly did them justice, at the least. One would not have to be a genius to assume that such a being was capable of doing quite a lot of damage. Very deadly, indeed. Also very large. He mused that this one would have to duck quite a bit below deck. A rather amusing thought, that. He'd need to be cautious around this one, for sure. Afraid? Far from it. He had no real reason to be, for what he could tell. Definitely cautious.

Adrian's eyes darted off to the docks again, once again landing on the one who'd been paid for in advance. Orders handed down from the Queen herself, filtered through the Arbiters and their agents all the way to a trusted courier and into Adrian's hands. The large sum of Naran gold helped, too. Even if he had doubts as to the intentions of the others, he most certainly carried none for her. Naran nobility looking for travel to Naua Te after a lodestone was reported to be there? Blatant as far as he was concerned. Then, just before he could say anything to these newcomers, an old man with a long beard and sporting a walking stick made his way up the gangplank. Adrian had seen a few wizards in his time, and this man struck him as one of their ilk. He had a kindly smile on his face and a spark to his eye as he said, "Forgive me for interrupting, I hate to be a bother. I was wondering if perhaps your ship would be headed for the isles of the Sea Elves? You see, I've heard rumors that there might be a lodestone hidden there, and I would very much like to discover whether or not these tales are true."

So, here he was. Already aboard his ship was a High Elf who most likely sought the lodestone. These two mercenaries before him could hardly be here for any other reason. The barbarian and the Bosphorean? Like the others, for what other conceivable purpose could they possibly be headed to Naua Te? He had no doubts about the Naraga, and was certain she would hide the truth as well. Then out of the blue comes this old man, and his words were nothing more than the abject, unadulterated truth. Adrian chuckled softly to himself. He decided straightaway that he liked this man, whoever he was. Stepping down onto the ramp himself, Adrian politely patted the mercenary's shoulder as he passed, and extended his hand to the old wizard, "Welcome, sir. I believe that could be arranged." Then, turning his attention the group at large that had gathered, Adrian proclaimed, "So, you all want passage on my ship? I hope you can pay. And are willing to work for your stay."

As the two Naran approached the ship that would be ushering them to their destination, several figures came into sight. Several humans in varying amounts of clothing, a "High" Elf in savage drab, and what looked to be a mobile mountain who'd lost its way and wound up at the docks. The humans--the old one, the painted one, the one with the hair--were all, as humans generally are, uninteresting as far as savages go. The Elf was a contemptible mass of flesh that would probably be flung overboard en route for making some smug comment about how great his empire was, forgetting that it fell apart the very moment it fought something competent. The human shaped boulder, though, that was something to look at. You generally didn't see something of its size milling about savage cities, and here it was, peering at the ship meant for Sarasa.

While Ravadhi's attention was on the captain of the ship--Arian or Adrian, something like that--as he addressed this collection of supposed passengers, Sarasa didn't hear or care what he had to say. Her attention was on the aforementioned mountain that stood near the ship, with her mind wondering what it was. A tuskless Naraji? A Naraka that has lost its horn? A Geir? By the time she had had enough of her own inner musings, the two Naran had reached the assmebly of oddities played out before the ship's ramp. Ravadhi's posture hadn't changed since entering the city, and his only concern, being the only one with a reserved place on the damn ship unlike all these random savages, chuckled at the words of the captain. He would quite like to see barbarians and old men and High Elves scrubbing the floors for their lack of foresight.

Sarasa, finally bringing herself to pay attention to her surroundings that weren't eight feet of armor, brought her body down to a more humanoid level to whisper into the ear of her rigid protector. "What is that standing there?" She peered back at the figure that had caught her eye, before quickly turning towards the Naralin, expectant of an answer.

"That is a Bosphorean, a giant from the wastelands." He looked about, expecting someone to come to greet their guests and take them to their room. "They're more respectable than most savages, but they lack any of the reason that could take them beyond such a state. What it's doing so far from its blasted home I haven't the slightest idea."

As Sarasa looked towards the mountain that now had a name applied to it, she grasped the silken rags that covered her head and put overhanging hood back by her shoulders. It had been noisily flapping with the poisoned breeze and her hair was beginning to stick to her back, desperate to be set free of the savage clothing, and so it was. She would still restrain herself from actually tearing the entirety of the cloth that covered her body until she had reached her quarters on the ship, as her sister and Ravadhi had told her to, but every second spent thinking about it made her body squirm. The street behind Sarasa became hazardous as her tail began swaying erratically, preventing people from coming with fifteen feet of her and keeping any other spur-of-the-moment passengers from showing up from this direction.

Noticing this, Ravadhi breached his way through the gathering crown with Sarasa, tail consciously restrained to prevent knocking anyone off the docks, and approached the ramp. "I'll assume that doesn't apply to those who've already paid for passage onto your ship, Captain. As such, I would like to take my lady aboard while you deal with these people, if you wouldn't mind making way and having someone lead us to our quarters."

A slight breeze blow across Riktor's face and the sound of water lapping against the hull of the ship mixed in with the musings of it's motley crew. A smile spread across his face as he thought back to his time aboard the river barges of Draust during the early days of his career, though in comparison the Anya was far larger and a great deal less rowdy. Past Captain Màstoof Riktor could see the Elven man speaking to a woman, Yi aba by the look of her, and making himself at home aboard the ship. He must have already secured his passage which meant one less spot for Jevan and himself, and one more possible competitor. The captain looked upwards towards the sky and shook his head nonchalantly, as if cursing his current situation. Putting a hand on Riktor shoulder the man then moved past him without a word or passing phrase, not even returning the handshake offered to him. No, instead he stepped past Riktor and Jevan both and began speaking to an elderly gentleman that had strolled up the boarding plank behind the them, and if the captain's dismissal of Riktor's words was not bad enough the decrepit old fool goes and blurts out that he is searching for a lodestone in Naua Te. Not that everyone didn't already know the rumors but the less people searching the better. It was then the captain showed his bravado and gave his little speech to all those gathered around his humble vessel.

"So, you all want passage on my ship? I hope you can pay. And are willing to work for your stay."

So Riktor's first assumption of the man was correct, he was a pirate afterall. He had the ship and the power. Not many ships travel to Naua Te, therefore he could name his price and use his passengers for labor at his leisure. It was of no consequence to Riktor however, for he was use to this sort of treatment. It was then Riktor spotted the various others dotted amongst the waterfront that seemed to be converging on the Anya. It become ever so more apparent to Riktor that his journey had be increasingly more entertaining as more potential passengers emerged, and among them were a great deal of personages of importance.

Standing out the mosy to Riktor was the young woman attired in dark furs and leather straps. Hands resting upon the pomel of her swords and a graceful ferocity shown upon her face. Riktor had travelled many places in his lifetime and met many different people, yet he could not connect her to any peoples he had encountered on past journeys. She could prove to have a very interesting story indeed.

Second to catch Riktor's gaze was the hulking mass of armor standing amongst the others with an almost statue like appearance. Riktor was almost certain that this creature was a Bosphorean, and though he had never met one in person the reputation of these creatures preceded itself.

Last was the she snake. A Naran, Naraga maybe? Well whatever her official name the she snake's servant barked something back towards the captain about prearranged passage and moved past the others there, as well as Riktor. Riktor flashed a toothy grin and shook his head slightly. Of course the Anya would have had an official passenger, why else would it be sailing to Naua Te? Riktor muttered a silent curse at himself then looked back to Jevan.

"Well my friend, I hope you never stopped skimming profits from the guild. This trip may end up costing us."

"Lucky for you I prepared for this Riktor." Jevan said laughingly as he withdrew a purse ripe with coin and handed it to Riktor. "That should do, and if not we could always go for a nice long swim."

Taking the coin Riktor then waited for the captain to continue with instructions on how they should pay.

Lounging in a tightly strung hammock, Agnes bit off the end of a thin bread cracker and then pointed the half-eaten end of it at Artora, her passive eyes hinting at none of her usual humor. "I know what you're thinking," she said dryly, turning the cracker over and then popping into her mouth. "And it's not going to happen." She lowered her feet to the ground and dusted off her hands, making a slow rise to her feet. If Artora could scowl, that would be the exact expression he would've responded with. Instead, he curled his hands into fists, taking that as a challenge and advancing toward her. Agnes raised a brow and leaned forward, still sitting in the hammock. "Not on the ship," she said sternly . Taking no heed of her words, Artora pulled back his fist and swung with all his might at the seated woman. She swiftly moved her hand up and caught his punch; the clashing of metal nearly put a dent in both of their gauntlets - Artora could feel the woman's fingers gripping around his hand and while it certainly wasn't enough to crush it, he could feel tremendous power behind it. Judging by her form and her leisurely position as she gripped his hand, it could only have been a fraction of her power. "Not. On. The. Ship," she repeated, this time with more emphasis on each word. Artora growled and wrenched his arm away from Agnes's grip, backing off for now. "You can't win," she said. "The sooner you realize that, the easier this is going to be for both of us."

"We'll see," Artora said in a low tone, turning away with both a hint of disgust and frustration. He still didn't buy it. He knew he could absolutely crush her - the timing just wasn't right yet. He was not used to being overpowered, but the military was very good at picking out individuals who were as strong as - if not stronger - than him. If that wasn't enough, she wasn't the only one, either. A handful of soldiers on the ship were well renowned in their field but thankfully enough, none of them were charged with keeping watch over him and he imagined that they wouldn't give a damn about a scuffle between him and Agnes, even if it ended in death. The higher branches would certainly have something to say, but he would be long gone by the time that mattered, whether that meant long gone in another country or long gone under the dirt.

Agnes dropped down below deck and greeted a few of the other crew members before bumping into a less familiar face. Hiring mercenaries was not a good habit, she knew, but this one had a strong rep and she accepted the job for cheap. Any other mercenary would've demanded at least eight or nine times as much as she offered. Well, that's if she was indeed who she claimed to be, at any rate, but even if she turned out to be an imposter, at least her observable skill was nothing to laugh about and that was good enough for them. The girl - no, woman? It was hard to determine her age upon further inspection. Her features were youthful and childish, but the strong air about her, her demeanor, and most of all her eyes told a different story. She wore dark clothes and wore two single-edged swords at her side, one noticeably shorter than the other. It was a leap of an assumption to make as Agnes wasn't familiar with her culture, but it didn't seem like the swords were intended for simultaneous use.

"You, new girl, I don't believe we've formally greeted each other," Agnes said, extending a hand. "You can call me Agnes." The woman responded with a soft smile and took her hand, giving it a pleasant shake.

"Nice to meet you, Agnes," she answered without giving her own name. Oh. Well. At least it seemed like she was more open and polite than she first let on. Just by looking at her she seemed like the dark, brooding type, but her demeanor was actually kind of cute.

"So how does an adorable girl like you end up on a military vessel like this?" Agnes asked, leaning with her shoulder against the wall. "Pardon me if this comes off as rude, but you don't look very strong."

"No, you're right," she shook her head. "I'm not very strong."

"Then you're fast?"

"As much as the next sword-arm."

"You're making a real guessing game out of this," she laughed. "So what are you good at, then?"

"I am very tired from my journeys," the woman smiled again as she excused herself from Agnes's presence. "I would like to rest."

"By all means," she nodded, letting her pass by. She watched her with a curious eye as she vanished behind the next corner. "What a weird girl," she muttered under her breath. "Is she really here for the money or the lodestone? I'll have to look into her case later." She paused a moment after a sudden realization. If I recall correctly, the last open room was...

Artora looked up from his bunk, lifting his head at the sight of a figure in the doorway. A woman dressed in dark clothing stepped in and wordlessly set her things down. She undressed out of her traveling gear and slipped into something more comfortable and for a flicker of a moment, he wondered if she realized that she was sharing a room with an iridan - but not before he noticed that her body was ridden with scars, almost too many to count. Even he was mildly surprised by the extent of the injuries she must've endured and briefly took note that some humans might be more deceptively difficult to kill than others. It didn't look like it would be possible for anyone to survive with all of those wounds, but she seemed to walk in just fine, not to mention that she carried two swords on her.

It wasn't often that his curiosity was piqued, but he found himself starting a conversation, which was very much unlike him. It wasn't that he rarely spoke, however, he rarely spoke to others as an initiator.

"How do you still stand, human?" Artora asked, the usual unintentional violent growl clear in his voice even though there was nothing hostile about his question.

"I don't know," she answered, turned away from him as she lied down. "Ask the dragons." The living fleshbags called humans were usually very easy to read, but he couldn't discern if she really didn't know or if she simply did not feel like answering. There was a mysterious aura about her, but he couldn't quite put a name to the source. It was bizarre for him to be thinking such a way about anyone else, but there was a strong sense tugging at his instincts when in the presence of this woman. He ignored the lingering feeling and turned away, waiting for the ship to depart. Once they reached their destination, none of this was going to matter. He'd find away, and when he did, he could say goodbye to his life of servitude once and for all.

Though he was not one to judge, Balor felt it rude of the captain to almost entirely ignore the man he had been speaking with when he decided to respond to the old wizard's question. Nevertheless, he accepted the man's extended hand, having to first shift which one held his staff. A matter of levitating it would have been simple, but better not to seem like he was showing off. "Ah, good. Good. I was hoping there would be someone willing." Just as he was about to remind Adrian that the mercenary had been snubbed, the good captain began to speak to all assembled. He listened intently to the captain's proclamation, and nodded steadily once he was through. Taking his staff in both hands and leaning on it for support, Balor replied plainly, "Payment will not be a trouble, I assure you, and as long as the work is not too strenuous I see no harm in earning my keep." He viewed himself as a servant and a student first and foremost, the literal meaning of these subject to alteration. Seeing it fortunate that he had found a vessel charting just the course he required, and more so willing to accept passengers, who was he to argue with such simple terms?

With that out of the way it felt as if everything from then on out should have been simple. Of course, there were always little details left unknown. The Narans approached the ship, the Naralin stepping up onto the ramp to speak to the captain. "Oh, pardon me. Terribly sorry," he said while stepping down from the gangplank and onto the dock, making room for the two. He surveyed the area for a moment, though kept his ears trained to what the beastman was saying. He smiled softly to himself, now things were beginning to fall into place. They had arranged passage, which invariably meant that another force could be added to the list of those who sought the lodestone. He could not at the moment recall the name of the city ruled by Naragas, but suspected they wished one of these potential weapons for some sort of ill gotten gain. The region was well known for its infighting. Much like how he was certain Nàsk wanted it for similar purposes. He was quite aware of Adrian's past find, though had not been aware he would be headed to Saridur beforehand. He mused whether or not Nàsk's decision to send a single captain instead of an armada to claim the stone was made to keep the Sea Elves from worrying, or their own neighbors. He would have to have been deaf not to notice the derisive tone to the Naralin's words, but paid it no mind. His views were not Balor's concern. The play for the lodestone, on the other hand, was a different story.

Well, as options went, this situation didn't offer many.

That Jag had little desire to share a ship with a plethora of other individuals with an evident vested interest in claiming the lodestone for themselves had little to do with the respective races of each individual-- high elves earned her ire solely due to their cultural tendency to regard themselves as, by nature, worth something, a delusion wholly detached from the reality that they, like all other living things were by nature worth nothing. And as far as the Sidheghul was concerned... Well, how was one to look upon a society that held itself as somehow a warrior's culture, built upon a foundation of explicitly targeting adversaries with no actual combat capacity? Individuals who mistook the ability to trample upon the weak as strength merited little more than the disdain of the legitimately strong.

But that wasn't the point. Jag didn't like people-- not outside a clear cut combat scenario in which they were potentially entertaining battles waiting to be fought. Beyond the parameters of a situation that involved no other means of interaction than violence, people became variables, and a variable was nothin if not a reprehensible thing. Speculating upon the intentions, the motives and potential actions of an individual was something beyond Jag's capacity to accurately accomplish, and so she generally settled to simply assume all people, given the opportunity, would immediately opt to advance their own power and status at the expense of others-- it was, after all, the way of all things, to pursue one's own aims without regard for the masses of flesh doing the same all around them. One would have been remiss to fault another person for 'looking out for number one', as the expression went, and, in doing so, seek to beat down number two. It just meant number two had to be stronger, harder, and more prepared than number one.

... shit, how'd I end up on this tangent? Jag scowled. She hardly needed to recount her own system of ideals to herself. Shit, it was almost as though she were a character in a story somewhere and the author was extolling on her philosophy as a means of intimating the reader with it. Wouldn't that be a goddamn kick.

Shaking her head and dispatching of those utterly inane patterns of thought, the Bosphorean bounty hunter reached a gauntlet-clad hand down to the intricately carved slab of stone armour set over the upper portion of her leg and her waist; just beneath its ashen aegis sat a small pouch, secured to the belt just beneath the stone face, enclosing the quantity of money she had figured would be necessary to pay her way and then some. She simply tugged the pouch from her belt, the cords that had fastened it there trailing along with it as she stepped toward the individual who had, by now, clearly been identified as the captain of the ship.

Sizable, as humans went-- at least, with regards to height; the loose silken affair that clothed his form rendered any unquestionable gauging of his build difficult, though she could certainly determine he was neither particularly slender nor notably ponderous. Proud of mien and proud of stature. Probably the type accustomed to getting their way, which was always a goddamn drag-- put two people 'accustomed to getting their way' in the same vicinity and everything's bound to fall apart at some point. But hell, Jag's intent as far as the course of the journey went was to sit down somewhere on the deck facing out to sea and resolutely ignore any and all things said or done around her that didn't directly pertain to her own wellbeing, so if there was to be any trouble, she sure as hell wouldn't be the source.

Or at least, not the instigator.

By the time she had approached the captain, silent and straightforward as ever, others had flanked him-- the humans, primarily. Talking, naturally, every one of them-- which was no obstacle to her, for what that was worth. She simply came to a grinding halt in front of the captain, and then slowly, almost mechanically, held the sack of money out to him.

It necessitated no elabouration-- after all, there was really only one reason why anybody was here, unless the ship was actually bound for the land of the goddamn high elves.

Knowing her luck, she couldn't rule that out.

The first thing that Kryssis had been forced to reshape once her old life ended was her paranoia. There had never been a safe moment among her own people, even though she never really held much influence. She was often assigned to plan defenses, lead assaults or train children, but she had not possessed any real power. Mostly of her own doing. She knew the risks, and purposefully distanced herself from gaining substantial fame. It hadn't helped all that much, she still became a target for assassination attempts, and those always ended badly for the fools stupid enough to try her. Even then, there were always plenty more who thought they could somehow beat her at her at something she excelled at more than most Sidheghul: murder. Sometimes she could root them out by the way they looked at her or acted when she was near. Other occasions she had just felt something was wrong, and ended up turning around at just the right time.

All of that ceased the day the Brood swarmed them. They had known full well the enemy was coming, but despite their best laid plans the monstrosities had carved through them with stupid levels of ease. There was a reason the Sidheghul had never raided the Brood. For that matter, there was one for why nobody earned the wrath of a stronghold, or why not once had one ever been razed. They were few, but their capabilities equalled those of thousands more. Kryssis had not once imagined their strength, and the day she came to know it was on the same day she died. In any case, life drifting among cities was much less.. arduous? Or maybe that was just because she didn't get tired the same way anymore. Well, after a fashion it had turned worse for a while. So many people that her mind was working in overtime trying to assess potential threats, but few ever came. It had taken many months of retraining to get to the point where she was today, and even then she still hated them. Kill zones everywhere, too many people with different potential motivations to count. It was people like that who paid off her tribe's destroyers, as well.

Torn back to the moment by the arrival of an old man- Kryssis could smell the magic on him, or maybe it was the tobacco- she mentally sighed at the prospect of even more arriving. He was definitely a wizard, regardless. What he said to the captain surprised her. In that moment she realized he was either without his bearings, or very brave. In a way, both of those possibilities made him dangerous. It prompted the captain to step down away from the younger, rugged looking man and speak to him, after which he addressed them all. Work, huh? Her pride aside, she did not like the idea simply on the basis that paying should secure passage regardless. To her it sounded like a power play from the man. His authority was centered on the ship, after all. His own private island kingdom. She was forced aside when the Naralin and his Naraga companion pushed ahead, the former stepping up onto the gangplank and interjecting about some prearranged deal. Regarding them both inscrutably, Kryssis could pick up the signs of regality about them, especially the snake. Distinctly high born in the way she held herself. Wonderful.

Then the giant came forth, thumping toward the captain, reaching down and producing a sack of coins. No words, just a simple gesture. Interesting. Everyone else had seemed so intent on chatting about what they wanted. From a glance it was hard to tell whether they were simply being brusque or outright dumb: either of the definitions. With how crowded it was getting, Kryssis felt no obligation to join them just yet. She was content to wait until the line had thinned out a little, and so she turned her eyes back to the docks- to the milling bodies of the city- and just watched them.

Adrian couldn't say that he was wholly surprised with the Naralin's reaction. The wizard appeared to be fine with the proposal, and he didn't know how the others felt abut it. In a way he had been expecting the Naran to remind him about their earlier arrangement. Not that he was begrudging them for it, necessarily. Where he started to feel irked was the venom not even remotely concealed in the man's words. The disgust was evident beyond all doubt. While that did rub him the wrong way, he could not- nor would he- allow it to show. He smiled in a gracious manner and slightly dipped his head, "Good day, sir. Of course. We've been expecting you, and have certainly prepared for your arrival. As to," he briefly glanced at the Naraga, who he had been told was named Sarasa, "the matter of your nature of passage, it is of course certainly secured." Now he turned his attention entirely to the lady of noble bearing waiting in a way he would be pressed to label as patiently. He knew some of their culture, enough to realize that clothing was not something her kind would probably wear. "Milady, I hope the journey has of yet been kind. You do seem troubled by your covering. I can sympathize bearing with discomfort for necessity's sake." Then, with a short and courteous bow, Adrian stepped back and gestured without flair toward the deck of his ship. "I give you the freedom to board the Anya, let us hope your stay will be pleasant." His words were careful, respectful, and firm. Allowing much room for insinuation, and even more for speculation.

He straightened, arm returning to his side, and slid his eyes across the rest of the assembled. There was still a High Elf on his ship who had not paid for passage, that he had certainly not forgotten. Then the mercenaries who had arrived just after, and who had- with the veritable flood of potentials- been momentarily forgotten. It was not something he had intended to do, and would seek to rectify. They were waiting on something more substantial; instructions on how things were to proceed. With a deep breath and a calm, but friendly expression Adrian began to relay the true terms of boarding his vessel. "If you're happy with the warning, then there is but one more obstacle barring your way. That would be pay. A sum of-" He was cut short by the approaching of the giant. A hand jutted out toward him, and Adrian instinctively leaned off from the extended hand clasping a purse of coin. Eyes half lidded, Adrian stared blankly at the bag then up at the concealing helmet of the beast. How very abrupt, he mused. What had really struck him was the blatant violation of personal space, though he supposed that could be a subjective thing. Did not make it any better.

The bag was heavy when he accepted it, with what felt very much like the right weight. Giving a short nod, Adrian tucked it into his sash for the moment and returned to the matter at hand. "Eight hundred gold pieces. For general hospitality," there was a sly hint to his voice, intended to lighten the mood after having just informed them that their trip would make them at the least eight hundred coins poorer. The price paid to secure the way for Sarasa had been trivial in relative to her family's (or, probably more accurately, her city's) wealth, but most of these besides perhaps the elf did not look like they were exactly swimming in money. Of course looks could be deceptive, but he decided to play it safe. Better to bank a little coin than none. "If you can not afford that, then I am sorry, but there's no place for you on my ship." He shrugged, "Harsh, but this is no luxury ship. This is a warship. Keep in mind that a more extravagant vessel would also be more expensive."

Ravadhi listened to the captain's pleasantries and sympathies for the savage rags Sarasa had been forced to wear, he nodded and ascended the ramp without a change of demeanor or an acknowledgement of Adrian's assent to their passage. The claws of his scaled feet found their purchase in the heavy wooden ramp and he reached the safety of the warships deck rather quickly; he was very aware of what might have happened had he lingered too long upon it.

As Ravadhi was quick in his stride, Sarasa merely smiled and nodded slightly in response to the captain's words, apparently even savages could understand the discomfort of the rags they wore. She eased her way slowly to the gangplank, still restraining her heavy tail that was a single moment away from launching an armored giant to their watery, drowny death or smash an old man into the side of the ship, and her belly scales eventually touched the ramp. With her weight finally transferred from the heavily supported dock to the relatively flimsy gangplank, an audible creak could be heard and the once straight wood began to bend. As more and more of her tail left the dock and her center of mass approached the center, a few splinters broke free on the underside of the ramp and she quickened her pace a bit to avoid the uncomfortable situation of fall into the sea. Her guard stood on the deck, arms still crossed, looking down at her for the first time since she reached adolescence; he would have to take swift action if the ever growing possibility of the ramp breaking occurred.

Thankfully, such action and worry was unwarranted, as Sarasa reached the deck of the ship without incident. The ship rocked as it took the weight of the first five or so feet of her body, then the next twenty before stabilizing and the ramp returned to its original, safe shape. The two of them moved away from the ramp to not encounter the future traffic. From their new perspective, they glanced around, Ravadhi examining the others occupying the deck and Sarasa peering over the bits and pieces of the ship that were novel to her, all of them.

Ravadhi glanced from the High Elf, whose attire and lack of action aboard the vessel made him out to be a passenger rather than a part of the crew, to the two armed men who were similarly inactive, very aware that they, and those on the docks who could afford the Anya's price, were all likely there for the same reason. News of a lodestone was spread around pretty much everywhere, and where there's a lodestone there's power, and where there's power there's difficulty and competition. The humans wouldn't serve as too much trouble, as they were never too much trouble when you weren't up against a huge amount of them or you got them away from their ships, but some of the others were definitely dangerous. The High Elf looked wealthy, but alone, making the questioning wonder why he wouldn't send well paid mercenaries to accomplish his goal, or at least bring some along, if he wasn't capable. Not being able to guess his age, though it was probably on the older side, certainly didn't ease any caution Ravadhi had for the man. The Bosphorean, who had wordlessly presented Adrian with the gold as Sarasa ascended the ramp and been welcomed aboard, would also be a challenge, as they were always a challenge even without their incredibly heavy armor. Then there was the old man, who was definitely out of place wielding 800 gold coins and going on a dangerous journey if he wasn't capable, or senile; both could be problematic.

While Ravadhi scanned their competition and organized his thoughts, Sarasa was inspecting every piece of wood and fabric and rope she could see. While the size of it all wasn't necessarily impressive--Svariz being known for oversized, Naraga-friendly structures and all--but she had never seen any of it before. The feeling of actually being on a ship had also been something she would need to get accustomed to, as the swaying of her upper body was much maligned by the swaying of the stationary ship. After she'd taken in everything that seemed interesting of the wooden marvel, she again peered at the Bosphorean as their gold was being taken by the savage captain. She was rather glad to see that they had been accepted amongst the humans and the High Elf, for they were of a somewhat respectable race and possessed a daunting stature. Most of all, she wanted to see what a Bosphorean looked like under the armor, or if that just happened to be their skin.

As the out-of-place pair glanced about, one of the crewmen approached, likely to tell them where exactly the intended passenger would be staying, as well as to be subjected to the numerous questions Ravadhi would be asking about the journey. Time, weather, food, water, noise, safety with the new passengers, all would be answered or the irritable Naralin would have to go about pestering others for the information.

Requinn listened as Nimba went on about cooking specialty meals, occasionally slipping into her native tongue. Requinn had not bothered to learn the language of the Yi Aba, as the group that had taken him in was relatively well versed in the vox altus, though now he wished he had, as it could have proven useful.

"I'm talking abo- ..I'm.. talking again, and getting carried off." She sighed, and Requinn gave a soft smile. "Sorry. Again. I tend to do that..." Her voice died down and she took a closer look at Requinn, who pretended not to notice, though he saw the exact moment that she realized he wasn't a sea elf, the surprise glinting clearly in her brown eyes. Requinn nodded, halfway a response to her apology, and halfway an acknowledgement of her realization. As annoying as she thought she was being, Requinn felt her tendency to ramble was endearing, like a child blissfully babbling about anything and everything. He made a mental note to strike up another conversation with her during the journey. She cleared her throat and continued: "Uh, anyway,a ssuming the Cap'n ever gets around to giving you the okay - I mean, why wouldn't he? - I don't think you're really gonna be a problem. Not too sure 'bout that one." She motioned to the Naraga and shrugged. "Oh. We've.. actually got several more, now." She voiced Requinn's thoughts almost exactly. Despite the two narans, the lumbering bosphorean approaching the ship that he had clocked just moments earlier during Nimba's rambling, the barbarian woman on the docks scoping out the ship, and the two mercenaries, the newest arrival, an elderly human in dark grey robes and a pointed hat, was absolutely the most interesting.

The man was a wizard, there was no doubt. Even from this distance, Requinn could smell the magic on him. It radiated from him like light from the sun, and it flooded Requinn's senses when he turned his attention to the man. Partly because the high elves were not the only species capable of magic,and partly because they were so naturally good at it, the Pax Alma trained in the detection of magic and effective ways to fight against it, but Requinn had never before encountered a human with this man's level of mastery. Then the wizard spoke, and, judging by Nimba's expression, his words had a similar effect on her as they did on Requinn. He didn't even hide his intentions like the rest of the group assembled. Requinn half expected the captain to kick him off or cut him down right there, but to his surprise, Adrian chuckled.

Time for a new strategy.

Still keeping his attention on the captain and the group, Requinn turned to Nimba and spoke, his tone steady and serious.
"He's the smartest out of all of us. He's the most dangerous person aboard this ship now and they all think he's an idiot. It'd be ironic if it weren't so frightening." He furrowed his brow put his hand gently on Nimba's shoulder and leaned back onto his cane. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I owe your captain some money. For my sake, please be careful around some of these passengers."

He turned from Nimba and made his way towards the captain, but stay back just a bit. The bosphorean had made it's way onto the ship and silently paid it's way. Nothing had been broken yet, so that was a good sign. Requinn had encountered bosphoreans twice before in his life, though he had read a great deal about them. The first time he was forced to resort to killing the brute because it insisted that he had stolen it's coinpurse. He had taken it, of course, but no amount of maneuvering could get him out of that situation. Luckily, that one was without any armor, so all Requinn had to do was leap up and deliver a swift strike at the base of the neck. The second was more reasonable, taking three chests of Requinn's gold and two of his agents as slaves in exchange for it's services as an enforcer. This one, however, appeared neither particularly chatty nor lacking in armor, so Requinn decided he would simply avoid it altogether.

The Naran's had apparently pre-arranged a passage, and from the arrogant way the Naraga carried herself, along with the fact that her Naralin bodyguard did all the talking, Requinn deduced that she was nobility. Disgusting. Svaris was one of the few places Rexia deigned to trade with simply because the Narans were not humans, and were thus looked upon more kindly. Requinn felt the exact opposite. While he disliked the human nations to a certain degree, he preferred them over the Narans, especially the Naraga, who would enslave or kill all the other races and nations if they had the ability. He had no qualms with using people to achieve his own goals, but at least his goals were in the pursuit of prosperity and peace. The suffering of others was acceptable if it advanced the greater good, but in Requinn's experience, the Naragans enjoyed watching others grovel, and that was unforgivable.

Next on Requinn's mind were the two mercenaries, who introduced themselves while he was conversing with Nimba, but he didn't bother to listen. They posed little threat. Even if they did manage to best everyone else and get the stone, he was confident they didn't actually know how to use it, and then there were a number of ways he could retrieve it from them. He wondered how loyal they were to each other, toying with the idea that he could turn them against one another, or possibly hire them against one of the other parties. If they didn't die on the upcoming adventure and if they proved skilled enough, Requinn could always use more sword arms.

Adrian asked for 800 gold coins, a paltry sum really, as Requinn had expected nearly twice that. He turned his back to the crowd and palmed a small glass container with a note inside that he'd prepared to signal his agent in Saridur, leaned against the railing as if he was looking out to sea, and casually dropped into the lapping waves below. After they had set sail, his agent would collect the container and read the note inside. Then he turned back and removed two small coinpurses from his robe, checked their labels to insure they had the proper amount of coins, and looked to Adrian. The captain looked almost swamped by the amount of passengers, though unsurprisingly, he appeared content with the amount of gold he was pocketing. Requinn decided to give the man some space, and waited patiently. After all, the captain wasn't going anywhere without collecting everyone's money.

Nimba resigned herself to watching the spectacle of the gathering unfold. Especially once the rutting reptilian thing started its chattering. Contempt for another race? That would be most hypocritical of her, given her peoples' general treatment at large. It would also be a very mortal thing of her- some might even say very human thing. Wasn't the case, though. She didn't really know enough about the Narans to have some kind of centralized opinion on them. She also refrained from labeling an entire race built upon a stereotype for aforementioned reasons, and even though that was hard given just how damned well human she was she more or less managed it. In any case, her disdain for the creature boiled up because of its tone. She'd seen plenty of nobles, or even just the moderately wealthy, who'd developed this kind of cancerous delusion that the world still owed them something after handing them so gods damned much. It made her scratch her head. Hell, it made her pissed. Her mouth worked into a frown, and her brow creased the longer she looked at them and thought about it. At least they were paying. You know, giving of themselves to those who could actually use it. And the gold was good, after all. Hard to argue with cold hard coin. Especially when there was enough of it to almost swim in.

The armored giant.. thing that had stepped forward just a bit before the snake- oh, how she loved and loved and loved that this girl was a snake; so many wonderfully bad jokes- gave her a moment's pause, as well. I mean, wow that thing was big. She wondered if size was in any way relative to its intelligence. That thought bubble lasted for about a minute, and then Nimba was sniggering at how Adrian reacted to the thing just shoving a bag full of gold in his face. Probably the only time the man would've ever thought the act of somebody paying him to be flat out rude. If anything it was a funny enough scene just because of the awkward lingering tension in the air as he sized it up before finally accepting the purse. Damn, then she started wondering just how they would fit aboard the Anya. Man, oh man. Afterward he went on his bit about how he felt for her and could relate to her and wow she never got tired of how good he'd gotten as schmoozing with these sorts of people - for a moment there she heard "people" in the exact same tone the Naralin had used earlier to describe the other potential passengers.

Just as she was pushing herself off the side of the ship, her attention was called back to Voss. He was talking to her, but his eyes were still locked onto the others. She got the feeling that he was just as concerned about them as she was, though.. maybe not for the same reasons? Probably. Nimba was just in this. Requinn foreseeable had other goals, she assumed. "He's the smartest out of all of us. He's the most dangerous person aboard this ship now and they all think he's an idiot. It'd be ironic if it weren't so frightening."

Nimba cocked her head to one side, "Huh?" She asked, looking a little bit like a dolt with the face she made. Wasn't long before she put two and two together and realized he probably meant the old guy who'd just announced himself as a target to all the others. "Oh."

He went on anyway, paying her momentary lapse no mind. He even laid a hand on her shoulder, which made her once again instinctively tense up, "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I owe your captain some money. For my sake, please be careful around some of these passengers." Then he just walked off.

She was at a bit of a loss, there. Had he just...? Yeah, he.. he had. He'd actually said something in a way that.. kind of sounded like he'd been concerned for her? Well, that was weird. Not really in a bad way, no, just... Strange. She folded her arms, shifting weight to another foot and raising an eyebrow curiously. Her gaze flickered to the snake and the lizard, who looked like they were trying to find somebody who'd take them to their "quarters" or something. With a derisive snort, she looked back at Adrian. It's not like she was gonna volunteer for that chore. As petty as it sounded, she could hardly bring herself to think about them. Why in the world would she want to actually have to deal with them? Ew. That would almost make her feel like she was getting involved with this madness. Better some other poor soul on the crew do it. In what was either a moment of clarity or her trying to condone staying out of it, she figured that "escorting" them would end with her flying off the rails during or fuming in a corner after the fact.

Yeah. She was just dandy where she was.