Damascus L. Vieri's Story

The sun slowly rises above the horizon, the surface of thick clouds becoming clad in shades of red, pink, and orange, and this colorful display was seen infinitely in all directions, seemingly no end. Within this sea of color moved a single spec, tiny in comparison, and this spec drifted as if it was asleep. This spec was the Wayfarer, and although it had looked better in its twenty years of service, some of the patches where the finish of the hull remained shimmered in roughened glory. The vessel, tried and weathered yet still strong, by this time has been out at-sail for nearly a month now, and its occupants are almost out of supplies, almost out of ammunition, and have been out of patience. Just the night before, the Wayfarer stumbled upon a herd of sky-serpents, snakes not even a foot long that glide through the sky-bed and breathe a short spurt of fire, and the ship was forced to react to nearly twenty or so of these serpents, not helping the already low morale of the crew. It was not a particularly hard fight, but everyone participated in some shape or form, the targets too small for any canon usage, so if anyone aboard managed any sleep it was not much. However, it at least has been tranquil on the ship, no movement on deck or in the halls below deck, and the only sound is the soft humming of the engines, an almost soothing ambient noise.

A muffled voice breaks through the shattered silence. It is the very basic intercom system that the captain uses to send quick messages, surely more effective than sending the cabin-girl to deliver messages to all crew members. The captains voice was muffled and cracked coming out of the rickety make-shift speakers, but making out what was said is not all that difficult with familiarity or practice. He spoke in a casual tone, which at least gave rest to any worry they were in danger yet again.

*All hands on deck. All hands on deck for voting. Let me see here… oh yes, navigator, advisor, first mate, and sergeant need to be posted on the quarterdeck, all others in front of the Captain’s cabin. That is all.*

Caintry released the button under the rickety microphone, the metal circle popping out with a click, and with the announcement done he knew he only had a minute before everyone was gathered. He slumped back into the chair, giving a quick huff in coordination, and he decided to give one final notice to his notes before heading above his head to the quarterdeck.

The desk in front of him was littered with askew papers, rolled up pages, ink blotches dotting the surface of each one, and frantically scribbled notes beside open books; it was as if a printing press had exploded in front of him to form a fine layer of writing. At the center of the clutter was a map tattooed with drawn lines and side notes, a book that read “Duden’s Guide to Places without Guides”, and a paper that seemed to be donned with the documented thoughts of a mad man, so despite the disorganization, there was a clear purpose and achieved goal to the mess. He had checked his math with the navigator, inquired if any “off the map” islands were known of by the adviser, effectively complained to the First Mate, and checked over all defenses as well as offences with the Sergeant, and the fruit of his labor was three equally mysterious choices to resupply and put the crew to work.

Paradiso, the lair of pirates and thieves where Caintry’s mischievous soul could find an infinite amount of trouble to get into.

Parada, a rock covered in jungle in which the crew of the Wayfarer might very well be the first to reach its true depths.

Perodo, the tiny jungle island that became home to a peaceful colony with the same name, but right before setting sail it was rumored that Perodo had went dark for a month at the time, meaning no one has heard of it for two months now.

A devilish smirk, one signature to Caintry, slithered onto his cheek, for he was always one up to explore the unknown and dive into trouble.

Caintry reached for his gyeroot tea in an almost celebratory manner for mayhem yet to come, but a thought stopped him from taking a sip. This is a new crew, he thought, how many of those have I seen? It seemed at first a simple thought, he even began to innocently count in his head, yet it really hit him when he flipped the question. How many crews have I lost? Caintry had been the captain of the Wayfarer for a little over twenty years, a crew member of the ship twenty years before that, and although some would argue that is not much in the long life of Denaucmen, that does not make it shorter. Forty long years or forty short years is till forty years, for time travels the same for all. A solemn mood fell over Caintry as he struggled with his runaway train of thought. Was it due to his leadership? What could he have done differently? Should he have taken those jobs in the first place? Should he have known? Finally, one thought struck him that summarized his pondering.

Do people follow him into the darkness, or does he lead them into the darkness?

However, before Caintry could finish these thoughts, he broke out of his pensive state by realising he was going to be late to his own meeting, and after throwing the entirety of the gyeroot tea back in one large gulp, he swung up to his feet and began to make his way to the door, the smirk returning right where it was used to being.

Varsh was in the middle of a long series of stretches, unwinding his muscles from the brief skirmish yesterday. As he stretched, tired muscles groaning in pain, he reflected. He thought back to the fight yesterday, fighting a species he had never fought before. Air snakes of all things. They had caught him unawares, and in the heat of battle he had realized his sword was too large for these small beings. So he preceded with bare hands, giving his war cry, a gutteral shout that would have sent odd little shivers down the backs of his crewmates and gathering the attention of the snakes. With odd little hisses and shrieks they all swept towards him, with little gouts of flame lancing towards Varsh, singing his cotton shirt and burning his arm slightly, both of which he ignored with extreme disdain, but the pain did activate the first round of adrenal glands, causing his muscles to swell, and his pupils grow wider. With a deathshead grin he grabbed a pair of snakes and bashed their heads together, scattering brains and blood everywhere, and then went for more to grab. While in his mask of rage, he barely noticed the crew doing their best and accounting for sky snakes right along with him.

Varsh was going deeper into the reflection when his Captain’s voice interrupted him. Ending the stretch immediately, he stood to his full height and strode out the door of his cabin, clad only in pants and leather vest. His shirts were cleaning. This put on display his powerful physique, and also the burns and scratches that covered his arms and shoulders, most still an angry red, the scratches not even attempted at being covered. His hair was bound back in a warrior’s knot. As he strode to the quarterdeck he began barking in a loud and powerful voice “All hands report to the captain’s cabin! All officers to the quarterdeck! Time now!” After yelling his orders he moved up to the quarterdeck to observe the rest of the crew as they assembled.

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Loud banging rattled the ancient wooden walls of the Healer's Quarters. Needless to say, Eire wasn't having the best day. Most of the crew would agree their night wasn't all fun and games, but no one, no one, loved sleep the way the young Arcadian did. The woman paced her medium-sized room that doubled as the sick bay for the crew, slamming cabinets open and closed again after grabbing various supplies for the crew. She stomped her feet [a habit she'd picked up from the flightless races] as she walked from one side to the other, but her light weight didn't give it the same satisfying THUD.

To make things worse, she'd been up all night preparing things for people who never showed. Feeling useless as well as tired, Eire sat twiddling her thumbs after healing her own wounds. Well, she actually spent her time whipping up a new pain elixir she'd been working on, but she felt as though her time was wasted nonetheless. Perhaps she should have been used to the members of her crew tending to lick their minor wounds in private by now. Eire couldn't help the disappointment that burned in her stomach, sometimes a girl wants to heal a nicely scrapped knee or a little snake bite. Healing only life threatening situations tends to get boring. Eire took a deep breath and settled her annoyance. Despite her feelings, she was happy that no one on the crew was grievously injured. To lose someone after the long months abroad would be even more disappointing.

With a resigned sigh, the cherub slumped down on her bed next to an open porthole and felt a chilly morning breeze roll in. Just as she got comfortable, the telltale crackle of an announcement filled the quieted room, "All hands on deck. All hands on deck for voting. Let me see here… oh yes, navigator, advisor, first mate, and sergeant needs to be posted on the quarterdeck, all others in front of the Captain’s cabin. That is all." It hadn't taken long for the healer to pick up the skills to decipher announcements made on the speakers, though she did suspect hers was one of the best behaved.

"Of course!" Eire called as she jumped back to her feet in one swift motion. She ambled to the door, swiping the elixir from her desk as she passed in case anyone had wounded more than their pride. With a flick of her wrist, magic flipped her 'DOCTOR IS IN' sign to the otherside. It now read: 'DOCTOR IS OUT; OF HER MIND'. She'd made it herself in a language only spoken in Arcadia, and as far as the crew could tell the sign only translates to the first half of the statement.

Though she wasn't in a hurry, Eire caught up to the growing party of her mates that had already arrived at the Captain's Cabin. Minutes after arriving, thought it felt like hours to the cherub, she was already bored. More than anything, she hated to be kept waiting. Sure, the officers likely had something important to discuss, but that didn't make it less boring. To find something to entertain herself with, she examined the crew. The minute her eye caught the first burn hole, her eyes flew to her own blouse. Directly to a rather large hole with singed edges just above her navel. Cursing aloud, she vowed then and there to use those foul beasts in her soul-sucking research should she ever see one again. This day couldn't get worse.

The Cannoneer's unique scent arrived long before he did. He trundled up the stairs with Carina in tow. The poor girl was hobbling in a fashion the healer had only seen in the extremely old or the extremely sick. Again, the Arcadian's temper flared a bit, but was quickly squashed by a more overwhelming wave of professionalism. As Shenk and the navigator joined the crowd, The healer eyed the red potion in the woman's hand. Scoffing inwardly at the painkiller, Eire offered the blue elixir to the Navigator and called, "You're going to be late at that pace; not even a quarter to the way of the quarterdeck." She laughed shortly at her own joke before adding, "Perhaps you should take this instead and stop by my Quarters after the vote. Please note should anything unusual occur. I hope it helps."

After sending Carina a hopeful smile, it didn't take Eire long to regain her previous boredom. Turning to Shenk she joked,"So. You're cheating on me with painkillers, eh?"

"Damascus Lieth Vieri, you stand before this court on charges most grave, treason against the family. How do you plead."

"Not guilty," Damascus spat, glowering at the high judge of Carpage.

"You realize that the evidence levied against you is... overwhelming. The court may decide to grant you leniency should you confess," the large man said, his jowls quivering with the effort of speaking. Taking Damascus' silence as an answer, he reached over with his sausage like fingers and banged the gavel against the stand. "Very well then," he spat as he leaned back, the chair beneath his bulk creaking ominously. "Bring out the evidence."

"Is it not my right as a noble to request trial by combat," Damascus interjected. It would have been his only chance

"It would be, under normal circumstances. But you, Vieri," the name being spat like a poisoned bite, "stand accused of a treason most high. And as such, are no longer subject to your rights as a noble. Now, silence as your guilt is assessed."

And so the trial ran, running him around in circles, never letting him speak. Never letting him defend himself, tied to his chair like a sideshow attraction. The court audience and the jury of his 'peers' watched on in horrified silence as the so called evidence was displayed before them. His fate had been sealed before the trial had begun, but the horror and resentment on the faces of the assembled nobles confirmed it. The judge looked pleased as he brought the gavel down upon the podium, the sound resembling the strike of an ax upon an executioners block. "Damascus, under the noble laws of Carpage you have been found guilty of treason against the family. Usually the sentence for such a crime would be death, but taking into consideration your past, and the standing of the family you betrayed, this court has decided to grant you... leniency. Therefore you shall be branded according to your crime and banished from the Isle of Carpage. Guards."

With that two burly guards made to lift Damascus by the arms. "I'm quite capable of standing on my own, I do still have a shred of dignity left," Damascus spat as he shook off the guards. Standing of his own volition he started his march out the doors. He was led to the adjoining antechamber, or more accurately, torture room. He sat down before the block and placed his arm on it, in silent defiance of the sentance, but knowing there was nothing he could do.

"Damascus formerly Vieri, it is with deep regret that we have to carry out this task," the hooded guard said somberly.

"Get on with it and spare me," Damascus spat, cutting the man off. "We both know this was a sham. So get the job done and send me on my way." Damascus was practically snarling at the man.

"Very well then." The man reached over and withdrew the branding iron from the nearby forge and placed it just over his arm. "All hands on deck. All hands on deck for voting. Let me see here… oh yes, navigator, advisor, first mate, and sergeant need to be posted on the quarterdeck, all others in front of the Captain’s cabin. That is all."

Damascus woke from the realm of dreams and memories with a start and a very un-nobleman like string of curses. He swung his legs over the edge of his bunk and held his pounding head in his hands. "Fucking hell, oh that was something I could have gone a while without seeing again," he breathed. His fingertips brushed against the cool smooth surface of the orb he had instead of a left eye and recoiled almost instantly. "Then again, better than some," he said as he stood and stretched, his back and every joint cracking in protest. He staggered over to the small head and started the faucet, the small thing struggling and sputtering with the simple task given it. Finally after a few moments there was enough to fill his shaving cup. Beating the powder he sprinkled into it into a froth he daubed it across his face and started going at the short stubble with a straight razor.

Old habits of nobility die hard, clean shaven, fresh pressed, and well mannered. Even after the ordeal of the flying serpents he had somehow retained the look that he and everyone around him had come accustomed to. By the time the first mate bellowed he had just finished his waking ablutions. "Yeah, yeah, on our way," he muttered as he heard the tired plodding of heavy feet through the closed door of his rather small cabin. He contemplated his visage in the mirror, the rather ghastly scar across the socket of his left eye that disappeared behind and under his ear. Reaching over he plucked the bandanna that was hanging from a hook and tied it over his eye, hiding the silver orb from sight. After that he quickly changed into his usual garb, silk shirt, vest, linen trousers, black leather boots, and a green cape that covered his left side. Then finally, almost reverently he affixed his silver scimitar to his side, tucking Lizbet under the cloak.

He was the last one to appear on deck, simultaneously brushing his hair out of his face and shielding his eyes from the light shift. Fashionably late he liked to refer to it. He gazed over the assembled crowd of misfits and misplaced. Gods above, should there be any, they reminded him of the last crew he was with. The crew he had been first mate for, the crew who had picked him up from that forsaken desolate rock, the crew that was slaughtered trying to do the right thing. He shook away the memories and strode over to join the rest of the crew, each step measured and crisp, almost military. He stood at the back of the crowd, staying silent, awaiting the word of the captain. He made a note to speak with the ships medico, Eire, about the splitting pain in his ribs. One of the serpents had gotten itself wrapped around his middle before one of the crew had been able to toss him a pistol, as his sword arm had been pinned. However, none of this pain showed, if he had been able to bite it back when he'd been branded a false traitor, he could handle a broken rib or three.

As soon as Caintry swung open the door to his cabin he saw the crowd that was his crew waiting, and he silently cursed to himself, seeing as it was probably bad he was late to the meeting he called.

He gave a grin of appeasement and begun to walk through the crowd.

The first face in the crowd to standout was Killian, not because he had a pretty one but the fact that it expressed how little he wanted to be here. Caintry typically hired whimsically and sporadically, but engineer is one of the few positions of the crew that has to be filled to survive. Fortuitously, he had found Killian as a stow-away right after their last engineer had met his untimely demise, and Caintry was not one to waste fortune.
“Happy to see you, as always, Killian. I presume you are making friends,” said Caintry in almost a sarcastic chuckle, if detectable.

The next face in the crowd was that of the pale, cold, and hard Lady Mercy, and it just occurred to Caintry that she reminded him of a marble statue of sorts, the thought bringing yet another smirk that would be the many throughout the day. She was tall and tough, Caintry sometimes doubted whether he could take her in a fight although he would never admit it, and he could tell she underestimated her Captain, which he liked and was cause for the growing of the smirk. He could detect sadness behind the eyes of the statue, and he wondered if statues really did have the ability to peer into souls of the people who make eye contact, as the old women of his village would have him believe so long ago. Just for the sake of trouble and the analogy, he made sure to lock eyes in his greeting.
“Lady Mercy, I am shocked to see a single hair out of line,” he said playfully, not quite teasing, “Careful, some might mistake you for human.”

As Caintry continued his way through the crowd, his gaze now fell upon Robyn Janye, the cabin girl. Caintry had the talent of having lived a long time, and in that time he acquired the skills of reading eyes. However, you did not need that to see that Robyn was acting tougher than she was, and he almost admired her acting so tough. He wondered if she still thought that he was a pirate, but either way he might as well confuse her.
He let out a histrionic and dramatic “Aaargh!” with even the one closed eye and hooked finger as he passed.

Caintry barely noticed Matrist as he kept walking, the man having an almost uncanny ability to not be seen, and he shared something in common with him that he wondered if Matrist had noticed. Matrist, like Caintry himself and Varsh, were almost like people plucked from a different time, given Caintry was plucked back in time and Varsh and Matrist forward, and there was almost an understanding in a shared disposition.
Caintry simply nodded in his direction.

Next he saw Nadia leaning against a wall. She was one of the military trained people aboard his ship, but she seemed to lack the discipline one would see in a professional sailor, and that was good. The freedom and lack of structure he provides was much more suited for her creativeness, and he was happy to provide her with the environment, given she does not send the Wayfarer into the unknown below as the product of an experiment.
“I hope this time you were nicer to the speaker, or are you the one that is going to tell Robyn she better obtain running shoes,” he remarked with a nervous laugh, hoping that he did not actually have to buy a new speaker.

Next was Jia, the monk-cook. That was enough to hire her immediately, could not get much more unique than that, but he begun to wonder if the cook part of the title was just added to get the job. No matter, she had an interesting story, at least her eyes said as much, so he probably would have hired her with no cooking experience at all, if she had any now.
“Good to see you as always, Jia.”

For lack of time, not favoritism, he quickly rounded the corner, up the stairs, and took his positions among the officers and planners looking down on the rest over the railing; he made a note to give a greeting to those he missed. With a clearing of the throat, he began his briefing.

“A nice morn, I hope all slept well. You all look, well… terrible.” Caintry paused. He meant to only give a small introduction to each of the three islands, but as his devilish instincts tugged on the back of his mind, a smirk once again began to show itself.

“For many of you, this will be your first job done as a crewmember of the Wayfarer, and I assure you none of you know what to expect. A long time ago, I first came into contact with this beauty of a vessel in a rather special way. The Wayfarer was neither the first airship I found myself working for or the best equipped, but she has always been my favorite and the only one I actively tried to work for. Why? Story. She was the most interesting, simply. My old Captain brought me on as the ship’s scout, thief, cheater, or whatever you wanted to call me, and why did my glorious, honorable captain pick me? I was the best, and I was the most qualified in that degree of expertise. Obviously I did not stay in that position, I am now standing above you on the quarterdeck. So, that leaves the question: why did I bring you on? Surely, in line with the practices of my good Captain, I would carefully choose only the best for the job, the role, when selecting who is privileged enough to be a member of my crew. Well, no, not even close. Some of you, I wonder, probably never did the job you agreed to do before coming aboard. Most of you would not ever in your right mind agree to come aboard this airship, as well as no Captain in their right mind would ever hire you. Some of you had no choice but to come along, helping more than one of you escape your respective authorities, and some of you would have joined any airship. So, again, why did I choose you?

Your eyes.

Yes, you heard it right, I brought you on my ship based on what I saw in each of your eyes. This is not some poetic jab at the cliche “something greater within”. Within your eyes, I saw a mixture of… authenticity. I saw a story. I could not know whether you would serve faithfully and turn out actually suited for the job, such as when I took Varsh on as muscle, eventually being promoted, or stab me in the back and attempt to burn my ship down, literally in some cases in the past, but neither would I care. In short, you are not the most suited, but the most interesting for your respective jobs. You are, each and every one of you, fantastic stories.”

For a moment, an instant of noticeable sorrow fell over Caintry, a hiccup of melancholy or a blink of solemn, but he did not dwell.

“For many of you, this will be your first job done as a crewmember of the Wayfarer,” he continued, the signature smile that had only wavered returned and his tune still cheerful, “and although we are not heading into any of three islands with any certainty about anything, you can depend on the fact that we will find trouble, mischief, and something to preoccupy ourselves anywhere. That, my dear…” He thought to say friends, but stopped. “That, my dear crew, leaves us with our choices and your voting. You have had it rough enough lately, so I will let you decide where to dock. Well, I will let you vote on where to dock, and as long as your choice doesn’t sound absolutely dreadful that is where we will go… Well… Forget what I said, just vote on where to go.

Anyways, your choices are between Paradiso the pirate den, Parada the unexplored jungle-rock, or Perodo the peaceful colony that is probably dead. There is a possibility everyone is sleeping I suppose, but unlikely. Now, I can not tell you anything about Parada or Perodo, you know as much as I do, but I have been to Paradiso, so I might be able to answer some questions. However, I would really prefer not to.

You may give a short speech before your vote explaining your position, but all that is needed is a simple naming of the island."

It didn't take long after his own arrival for the rest of the crew to show up. Why was he the first to appear? Well, discipline, probably. The other side of it was that he was among the few members of the crew who remained unscathed in last night's tussle with some beasts of the sky. Amazing as they probably were, he had little interest in trying to fight a flying snake thing. Besides, while he avoided any direct confrontation, he had his hands rather full dashing about here and there and trying to make sure the damn critters didn't set anything crucial on fire, nor tried to chew through the sail for whatever reason.

It was a good thing he could leave the machine room to Robyn for the most part. He wasn't on the best terms with the girl - not that he was on good terms with anyone, really, it was just that he had to deal with her a lot more than anyone else - but he was somewhat worried if she came topside, she would just get snatched away to a horrible fate. After all, the sky serpents gave the crew significant trouble, and he was among the least combat-capable people around. Which was saying a lot, really, because while he was just average by build, he was in fantastic shape. When he was invited by the captain, he expected to have to pull his weight fighting things as well, but that was entirely unnecessary in the end.

And he was happy for it, really. He didn't learn to fight because he wanted to, and while he had grown to enjoy physical activity of most kinds over the long years wandering the world and avoiding police and second-grade bounty hunters, he would rather not be forced to fight. Besides, it didn't seem like he could compete with the more combat-oriented members of the crew. The quartermaster, one Elric Mahal, was a mountain of a man. Though no longer young, he was big enough that he had to duck into most doors, and some of them were problematic for him to fit through because of his muscular girth as well. The next most imposing man was certainly Varsh Terask, a full head taller than Kilian and then some and with arms almost as thick as his legs. No less imposing was a certain Lady Mercy, which was the only name he knew her by, the formal enforcer slash captain's bodyguard. While not that much bigger than himself, the way she carried herself betrayed countless years of experience wielding the sword she had on her at most times.

The others, including the captain himself, he would dare to take in a fight, but not those three. While some looked significantly more threatening than himself, they didn't seem too skilled in combat or relied on weapons that had little utility in close quarters. Not that he was usually eager for violence, nor measured a person's worth by it. Rather, had this ship had a crew comprised of more ordinary folk, they might not have made it through last night, certainly not all of them.

"Cap'n." He acknowledged the man with a short word and a salute. Well, never having learned much of the military, he wasn't even sure if he was doing the gesture correctly, but it mattered little on this ship. Caintry proceeded to make a far more theatrical greeting than entirely necessary, eliciting a smirk on Kilian's own face a couple of times. The eyes, yeah right. More like how much of a weirdo they were. The crew were a collection of misfits, some more obvious and some less, but few were entirely normal. The captain himself was probably more than a little insane, a slightly twisted smirk basically never leaving his face. The people who seemed more normal in terms of character were probably Carina, their something of a pushover navigator, and Uriel, the adviser who certainly had some great assets. Jia was just very foreign, Robyn was a little girl who tried too hard to look tough, and himself, well, he was probably broken in more ways than he knew. What a merry bunch they all were.

"I'd rather go to Perodo." He voiced his opinion second, rather upset that Paradiso was the first one called out. It wasn't a good place, certainly not for someone like him. It probably housed more than a few of his old partners in crime he would rather never see again, as well as countless people he crossed, not to mention more bounty hunters that wouldn't mind going after him. His reward - even though offered separately by four governments - wasn't so great that people would chase him specifically, but who would pass on a bounty that came right to them? And while he could appreciate nature, a jungle island was a lot more nature than he would like, likely dangerous nature at that. Besides, Mercy did have a point. They couldn't count on an uninhabited island to provide supplies.

"I think we all need a small break, so a peaceful place sounds perfect." Kilian continued, deciding to give his argument more weight. "And if it is dead, there's going to be a lot of valuables we can just take. Say what you will about looting, it's practical." He shrugged. Depending on how long the colony had been silent and potentially dead, there might not be any fresh food around, but there would likely be preserves. Everybody made those and they could last years until opened. "Sure, there's danger, but it's not like Paradiso is safe, either."

Arc I--Day 1

When Carina finally arrived at the quarterdeck, she was surprised to see everyone had assembled...except the Captain. Although...considering her clothes were still covered in ash, she probably wasn't doing very well in terms of presenting herself, either. At least Seeleheiler's potion got rid of the dizziness and at least some of the aches, so she could focus somewhat on whatever the captain had called them for.

For whatever reason, the first mate, Terask, wasn't wearing a shirt at all, as if he was proud of all the angry red burns and scratches covering his body. Either that, or it had gotten burned off. Of course, Terask was nothing if not resilient, so he was no doubt taking it well. On the other hand, the advisor, Rozinan, seemed like she hadn't suffered much from all the chaos last night. Perhaps she just hadn't gotten caught up in any fighting at all.

Leaning against a railing and folding her arms, Carina nodded in acknowledgement to both of them, but said nothing. (She didn't acknowledge the sergeant at all, he could get fed to the serpents for all she cared. He obviously felt the same way about her.)

Within a few minutes, Captain Osborne finally came out of his cabin with a smile, greeting some of the assembled crew members in his usual witty manner. And when he climbed up to the quarterdeck alongside them, he delved into a speech about how he chose everyone for his crew because...they were "interesting" or whatever. It took much of Carina's willpower not to roll her eyes throughout the whole thing, it felt like stalling in every sense of the word.

...although part of her just wanted him to stop talking so she didn't have to think about how she might not really good enough as navigator for this voyage...

At last, the Captain let them know about their options for where to restock. Parada was completely out of the question as far as Carina was concerned, you just couldn't trust a place no one knew anything about that couldn't simply be noted from outside observation. So...it was either the colony that had mysteriously gone quiet, or a place that was crawling with pirates and thieves. Hm...

"I also believe Perodo is our best option, Captain," Carina offered. "As Lutz has noted, even if it really has died out, there must be something we can make use of there. And dead or not, it seems more welcoming than Paradiso. Going into a thief den, especially after last night, would just be begging for trouble."

Damascus coolly watched the crew as they fidgeted around waiting for the, remarkably late captain from his position leaning against a stack of crates behind the assembled members. The orb under the bandanna twitched as he decided to open its eye briefly to get a, new perspective on the crew. Barely visible under the bandanna a faint purple glow began to emanate as the orb fired to daemonic life. Filtering into his reduced field of vision came faint purple aetheric traces lacing the sky, following the ebb and flow of magic that was helping to keep the tub afloat, as well as the traces of the magically inclined of the crew.

Scattered throughout the assembled members of the crew were pinpricks and traces of magical energy. Some was retained in weapons, some from hands, eyes, whatever the foci of their craft he saw the traces of it. He noticed that in many of them the traces were much fainter, weaker than they were when he had first observed them as such. He could attribute this to the recent battle, and the general tiredness of the crew. One of the crew caught his attention by virtue of simple the amount of concentrated energy in one area. The young Cabin Girl, what was her name, Bobby? No matter, but the arm under the long glove was simply buzzing with purple aetheric traces. It had him curious as to why the arm was so imbued, but it wasn't his place to ask.

His thoughts, and indeed concentration, were interrupted by the, by court standards, quite grand entrance. The captain strode powerfully through his hirelings, nodding and interacting with those he seemed to know for either longer, or better than the rest. He was a good man, seemed personable, seemed to care for his crew. He'd known another captain of the same such vein. His left hand concealed under the cloak curled reflexively around the pommel of Lizbet, caressing its smooth cold metal with the care and grace one might treat a lover. Or a memory.

His thoughts were once more interrupted by the captain, this time by his words. Damascus wasn't going to lie, he'd expected this sort of filibuster from the captain before he'd opened his mouth. And Filibuster was all it was, something he was quite used to. His time in high court had been populated with such measures and he was proud to say he was one of the best at it. He didn't particularly enjoy it, he would rather say just what he needed to, but he was exceptionally talented at the intricacies of court and public and private conversation. While the Captain was certainly good at it, Damascus couldn't help but call it what it was, filibuster to appease a tired crew and build up to what the actual point was.

Your eyes. Yes, you heard it right, I brought you on my ship based on what I saw in each of your eyes. This is not some poetic jab at the cliche “something greater within”. Within your eyes, I saw a mixture of… authenticity. I saw a story.

Damascus couldn't help but scoff audibly at the man. Only having one eye, Damascus sincerely doubted that the captain had seen anything in his eye. None on board had seen beneath the bandanna, none on board had witnessed his shame, none of them could possibly have seen his story. He did not doubt that the captain had seen something in him, but he preferred to think what he saw was what Damascus had wanted him to see, a quick wit and a quicker blade.

This man must have been the son of a senator, Damascus thought as he listened to Caintry rattle on. He was almost proud of the man, almost wanted to see how he'd hold up in a noble court. But eventually the man got to the point and laid their options out of the proverbial table. Perodo, Paradiso, or Parada, a triple threat of P's. Privacy, piracy, or primeval it was a tough choice. He could see the merits of any of the places laid out before them. Though he had no intention of visiting another possibly abandoned settlement. Too much risk for repeated history.

"The way I see it is as such ladies and gentlemen," Damascus began pushing his shoulder off of the crates. Standing straight he ran a hand through his hair, setting it back away from his eye. "Each of these places holds... unique opportunities, as well as dangers. On the one hand we have Paradiso, a notorious hive of sin and villainy. Just the sort of place that any of us could lose ourselves in and rest reasonably undisturbed for a time. While there restock, rearm, refuel, and relapse into our.. finer habits," he said with a devilish grin. He began to pace behind the crew, much like a lawyer would making his closing arguments, every movement calculated for maximum effect, his cape billowing and swirling about his feet in a theatrical way. The captain wasn't the only one with a flair for the dramatic.

"On the back edge of that sword, it is a hive of sin and villainy. There are plenty of opportunities to find oneself in how shall we say, in a pit of trouble. Bounty hunters, assassins, high port taxes, truly dreadful stuff that." He paused to gauge reaction. "Now on the other hand we have Perodo, the silent settlement. If there are people still there wonderful, locals to trade with that have had no recent communication with the outside so we're likely to not be... ratted out. And if they're dead, unfortunate as that is, as Mr. Lutz so bluntly mentioned, looting is an option," he noted with a head nod and gesture to the man in question. "Again, on the other side of the coin, if they're alive and have been silent, there must be a reason. Perhaps a reason more sinister than we could imagine," he paused for a fraction of a second, memories tied to the statement flashing through his mind. Recovering almost immediately he continued. "Sickness, cultish behavior, pirate slaughter, daemons, it could be any number of things. We could be walking into as much of a trap there as we could be in Paradiso."

He paused and turned to face the crew. "Now Parada, not much to be said there, its a jungle plain and simple. And in the jungle, well we all know the dangers and rewards of such places do we not," he stated with a grin and sweeping gesture. "So here we stand, a choice of Privacy, Piracy, and Primeval, each could be as rewarding and treacherous as the last. I for one prefer the comforts of civilization, so my hand is cast for Paradiso. At the very least there we can be assured a warm bed, cold drink, and if so inclined welcome company."

Having said his piece he took a single step back to his stack of crates and resumed leaning against it. The habits of a noble and the court duties that go with it die hard. He was simply glad to see that the recent gauntlet of tribulation hadn't dulled his tongue any. Whatever the crew decided on, he would abide by, but he had a yearning to see the lights of civilization once more from the comfort of a glass of brandy, a comfortable bed, and a warm companion.

Practically the entire crew had gathered at the behest of their captain, but the man himself was nowhere to be found. Big surprise there. Nadia let out another frustrated sigh, drumming against the wall with the fingers of one hand, this did little for her ill temper brought on by lack of sleep. The gunner perked up a little when she noticed the ship's cook approaching, however, and acknowledged her presence with a nod and a slight smile. She had gotten along fairly well with Jia since their new recruit's induction on the Wayfarer.

"Yeah. Rough day, too. Cleaning burn marks and sky-serpent guts isn't my idea of fun," replied Nadia wryly. Just then, the sound of the door to the captain's cabin opening caught her attention. Here he was at last. It felt like the crew had been waiting far longer than necessary for him to show his face. She quickly stopped leaning against the wall to make herself appear at least mildly presentable, then turned her gaze to the deck in embarrassment when Captain Caintry brought up the speaker she had previously wrecked. "No, Cap'n," she mumbled. The last thing she wanted was to have that brought up again, in front of the whole crew.

When the captain began his speech, Nadia mostly tuned out at first, expecting the same old sort of introductory spiel from her military days. But then came the odd part, the bit that got her attention, or at least her curiosity. Captain Caintry had picked the crew for their... stories? Did he intend to write about them in his memoires or something? Looking to the collection of misfits she would be calling her crewmates, the gunner almost missed out on what their leader had to say next. The reason why he had called them all here: to vote on their next destination. A pirate den, a wild jungle, or a ghost town? Decisions, decisions. Nadia listened carefully as some of the crew members cast their votes before deciding to make her voice heard.

"I don't see us getting restocked on a wildland, so it's a toss-up between Perodo and Paradiso, from the look of it," she said. "And if we dock at Perodo, we may end up running into what made the place a ghost town in the first place. At least we know where we are with cutthroats. Just keep our big 'uns in plain sight and we'll only have the idiots trying to mug us. My vote's for Paradiso."

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Eire had remained silent for a good portion of the voting, only piping up after Varsh to add, "I've got 10 blades to cut through illness right here!" She raised both hands and wiggled her fingers in a magical manner for effect. Usually, she'd have added an eyeroll at how pretentiously Varsh was speaking, but that just seemed to be how he was. He always seemed to be ready to fight whomever dared to contradict him, so of course Eire had to.

Truth be told, Eire couldn't care less where their adventures took them. As long as it was somewhere new, she'd be happy. However, she was still feeling a bit under utilized and was eager to remind people that she did actually have the ability to take away their aches and pains they all seem to grumble about constantly. Sure, she could just do it, but she preferred consent. Magically healing someone is a very intimate process, and it made Eire feel much less skeevy when the other party agreed to it.

In any case, the healer was eager to get underway to wherever as long as it had food and a nice place to take a nap.

“Good morning.” Lady Mercy greeted, her tone as cool as usual. Robyn couldn't help a small grin but it faded when she realized that Lady Mercy didn't smile. She wasn't so easily amused. “I expect we’ll be finding out soon.” She went on answering her question and then went on to -seemingly- appraise the others that arrived. Robyn straightened her back, taking on the same posture and stern expression as Lady Mercy.

Shortly after, The Captain made his appearance, greeting each one of them accordingly. To her, he hooked a finger, closed an eye, and gave a wild "Argh" out of nowhere, startling Robyn a bit. She blinked and fought the urge to laugh. What the hell was that all about?

Soon the briefing began.
"A nice morn, I hope all slept well. You all look, well… terrible.” He said and Robyn scrunched up her nose.

Rude, she thought as he went on.

“For many of you, this will be your first job done as a crewmember of the Wayfarer, and I assure you none of you know what to expect. A long time ago, I first came into contact with this beauty of a vessel in a rather special way. The Wayfarer was neither the first airship I found myself working for or the best equipped, but she has always been my favorite and the only one I actively tried to work for. Why? Story. She was the most interesting, simply. My old Captain brought me on as the ship’s scout, thief, cheater, or whatever you wanted to call me, and why did my glorious, honorable captain pick me? I was the best, and I was the most qualified in that degree of expertise. Obviously, I did not stay in that position, I am now standing above you on the quarterdeck. So, that leaves the question: why did I bring you on? Surely, in line with the practices of my good Captain, I would carefully choose only the best for the job, the role, when selecting who is privileged enough to be a member of my crew. Well, no, not even close. Some of you, I wonder, probably never did the job you agreed to do before coming aboard. Most of you would not ever in your right mind agree to come aboard this airship, as well as no Captain in their right mind would ever hire you. Some of you had no choice but to come along, helping more than one of you escape your respective authorities, and some of you would have joined any airship. So, again, why did I choose you?

Your eyes.

Yes, you heard it right, I brought you on my ship based on what I saw in each of your eyes. This is not some poetic jab at the cliche “something greater within”. Within your eyes, I saw a mixture of… authenticity. I saw a story. I could not know whether you would serve faithfully and turn out actually suited for the job, such as when I took Varsh on as muscle, eventually being promoted, or stab me in the back and attempt to burn my ship down, literally in some cases in the past, but neither would I care. In short, you are not the most suited, but the most interesting for your respective jobs. You are, each and every one of you, fantastic stories.” He said and Robyn was sent back to the day she met Master Jacken. He told her the same thing...there was something in her eyes. To his credit, he'd sifted through her mind telepathically but it started with her eyes. That's what he explained to her.

To hear that again, from someone who'd never met Master Jacken and never will, made her want to see what they saw. The Captain saw a story.
She reached up, gripping her shoulder on her 'good' arm. Oh, she had quite the story, Master Jacken saw a kindred spirit. She made a note to pay attention to people's eyes. Apparently, they told quite a lot.

“For many of you, this will be your first job done as a crewmember of the Wayfarer,” he continued with a grin. “and although we are not heading into any of three islands with any certainty about anything, you can depend on the fact that we will find trouble, mischief, and something to preoccupy ourselves anywhere. That, my dear…” He paused causing Robyn to narrow her eyes some. “That, my dear crew, leaves us with our choices and your voting. You have had it rough enough lately, so I will let you decide where to dock. Well, I will let you vote on where to dock, and as long as your choice doesn’t sound absolutely dreadful that is where we will go… Well… Forget what I said, just vote on where to go.

Anyways, your choices are between Paradiso the pirate den, Parada the unexplored jungle-rock, or Perodo the peaceful colony that is probably dead. There is a possibility everyone is sleeping I suppose, but unlikely. Now, I cannot tell you anything about Parada or Perodo, you know as much as I do, but I have been to Paradiso, so I might be able to answer some questions. However, I would really prefer not to.

You may give a short speech before your vote explaining your position, but all that is needed is a simple naming of the island." He said and Robyn already had her vote. One they needed supplies, she -as in her and Killin- needed more parts of the ship as well as a few new tools but Robyn also really wanted to see this pirate sky dock. She wanted to go to Paradiso.
Robyn rose her hand but then the others spoke before her and she dropped her hand. Did she even get a vote?

"Paradiso," Lady Mercy said, shocking Robyn into whipping her head in her direction. "We need provisions, do we not?" the white-haired woman went on to say and Robyn was shocked. She thought the same thing she did.
Inwardly, Robyn was cheering, having found something, however small, in common with the otherwise enigmatic woman. Robyn dropped her head to hid her grin, hoping that Lady Mercy did not see her gawking and smiling like an idiot.

The others went on to explain where they wanted to go and finally Robyn rose her hand again.

"Ah, Well, I don't know if I count as crew or if my vote even counts but I want to go to" She paused, her eyes flicking over to Lady Mercy before she continued. "We should to Paradiso, we need supplies in the Engine Room, new parts and such, I figure that's the best place to find something good." She said, not really that great at explaining herself as it was, so it just made it worse that she wasn't exactly being entirely honest. She did want to go to get new supplies but most because she was curious.

The Captain of the Wayfarer simply nodded, confirming his recognition of the votes, and with that he made his exit, a polite farewell as he went back into his cabin. With that, everyone was to go back about their business, everyone fulfilling their roles, and now the calmness of the morning was replaced with the melody of regularity and plentiful toil, same old same old.

---

Another morning, several after the one aforementioned, was beginning to form as the sun found its way over the western horizon, the thick clouds of the sky-bed seeming less fantastic now as they drew near a clearly visible, vibrantly green island in the distance, and making its way skimming the less impressive clouds was the Wayfarer, expedient with a purpose. As the airship drew near, one could make out the island in detail, sandy shores giving way to thick jungle with a single rocky peak protruding in the middle, and in a rocky cove laid a visible settlement, a dark red-brown from being made of the wood of tropical trees. The settlement was built into the high rocky walls of the cove, wooden buildings being built into the sides with wooden walkways and bridges connecting the two-hundred and seventy degree rock face by several levels. The island seemed to fit the name Paradiso very well, enticing and beautiful like a femme fatale, but sometimes the mesmerizing lights and jovial music of the pirate den, the freedom it radiated, was accompanied by the screams of a rape victim or the crack of the odd flintlock shot. It, in fact, was a grand summary, a poetic representation, of all piracy and what pirating had to offer; wonderful glory and grit reality.

The Captain of the Wayfarer stood at the helm. The vessel drew nearer, now even the smell of festive food made its way to the crew if any cared to whiff, but suddenly the ship changed direction, driven by the captain. Although hugging the shoreline just off to the side of the infamous pirate cove, the ship was making its way, slowly, around the island, and it was clear to anyone he had no intention of going to the den anytime soon...

Right after the voting ended Damascus made his way to the doctor, Eires', cabin, making it there just about as she was. "Ah, doctor, I do believe I will be in need of your ten skilled blades," he said with a wide smile, followed swiftly by a slight grimace as his ribs shifted slightly. "Seems one of those infernal serpents got itself wrapped about my midsection during the nights fun. I leave myself in your capable hands," he said with a slight bow and another grimace. And so the afternoon went, he subjected himself to whatever treatment the doctor ordered, his one condition was that the bandanna remained where it was.


The days leading up to the landing were frightfully dull. As he'd gotten to know almost none of the crew under any normal circumstances, he spent much of his time either taking care of the odd-job tasks or in his cabin. Most of his time in the cabin was spent meticulously maintaining his equipment. Keeping Lizbet oiled and her edge as keen as a razor, every piece of his armor was taken out of its enchanted case, oiled, and buffed; and he had taken apart his flintlocks more times than he could count. The rest of the time he'd spent pouring over his private clutch of books. They ranged anywhere from fiction to a treatise on the evolution of linked groups of animals. Anything to keep his mind active.

The boredom was killing him, so when the call came out that land had been sighted he was one of the first up on the deck to gaze upon the island Paradiso. And had also been one of the first to show confusion when the ship suddenly veered off course. He almost took it into his head to confront the captain about the seemingly open breach of the voting that the captain himself had insisted upon. But as he was new to the ship, he bit his tongue and waited. And as he waited it became apparent what they were doing, hiding. He surmised that the Captain, or his ship, were a less than welcome sight in the docks of this den of villainy.

When the group of roughs stormed onto the deck he flattened himself against a bulwark and drew a pistol. Unaware that the captain had been expecting them. As he listened he slowly dropped the hammer back into its place and stuffed the pistol back into his belt. "By the gods this captains erratic, and thats even by trade court standards," he mused to himself with a rueful smile. Rolling his eyes he returned to his cabin to prepare for a day and perhaps night on the town. Selecting a crimson lined black cloak and a fresh, pressed white shirt under a black vest with silver gilding, he freshened up. He buckled Lizbet to his side and debated whether or not to bring any of his other weapons. "I'm not expecting too much trouble, Lizbet should be more than sufficient."

Striding out of his cabin and locking it behind him he made his way to the town. As he walked he took in the sights, smiling at how the jungle of the island turned gradually into the urban bustle of the town. He nodded to passersby as he filtered through the crowd, gave wide smiles to the pretty ladies, and made careful note of the inns and taverns. He wasn't looking for anything specific, in fact he wasn't looking for anything but a good time. Since losing the trappings of nobility he'd spent much of his time looking for just such a thing.

Coming up to a small, surprisingly well maintained bistro in the center of the town he decided it was high time to get something decent to eat. This was nothing against the cooks skill but it was all simple ship fare and he yearned for something more. Sitting down at one of the outside corner tables he waited for the pretty waitress to sidle up to his table.

"Hey there handsome, what could I get you today," the waitress asked leaning slightly over the table.

Damascus raised an eyebrow and gave her a dazzling smile. "Well, I suppose I could start with the house wine and a half loaf of bread and local cheese. And for entree, what do you suggest madame?"

"Well, we've got a wild boar smoked in whiskey and local baltic wood. Its garnished with a sauce of rosemary, thyme and its own blood."

"I do believe I'll have that then," he said closing the small menu and holding it out for her. Taking it she tucked it under an arm and sauntered away. Damascus couldn't help but watch her as she swayed away. In that moment he came to the sharp realization that this particular establishment was much more well kept than the rest of the city. He was supremely curious as to how this could be. Blinking he opened his other 'eye' and scanned the area around him. Ignoring the latent currents of magical ebb and flow he concentrated on the ground and the building itself. What he found was intriguing indeed. Traced along the floor and walls of the bistro were magical symbols and ley lines that intersected squarely under each table. As the waitress sauntered back with his appetizer and wine he noticed that she herself was pulsating with magical energies.

She placed his plate of bread and cheese and poured his wine with a brilliant smile."Seems theres more to you than you seem as well," she demurred as she placed the bottle of wine down. Sitting down next to him she placed an elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, staring intently at Damascus.

Damascus plucked a slice of bread and cheese and tore of a piece of each. Placing the torn bit in his mouth he smiled and nodded in appreciation of the fresh cheese and still warm bread. "It seems so madame. It certainly explains how you can maintain such a beautiful establishment in such a place as this." He didn't bother denying that there was more to him than met the eye. With that much magical energy coursing through her, he'd much rather not attempt lying.

She smiled and traced a crimson painted nail along her cheek, the same demurring smile on her lips. "I have a reputation for running a clean establishment. Woe to those who attempt to sully that reputation," she stated, her smile widening.

"Oh, mores the pity," Damascus said flashing a mischievous grin and winking cheekily. He took a sip of the wine and swished the mild white in the glass.

She rolled her eyes and laughed, a high tinkling peal of a laugh. "Quite, sometimes, mores the pity," she said giving him an appraising up and down look. Damascus normally would have been flattered, had he not felt like her eyes were stripping him back to his bones rather than to his skin. She smirked and stood slowly, blowing him a kiss as she sauntered away.

Damascus let his breath go as he ran a hand through his hair. Three glasses of wine, a fantastic main course, and a satisfied appetite later he was back to wandering the town. He made it to the meeting point designated by the captain and withdrew a silver and ebony wood cigarette case. From it he withdrew a long dark cigarello and lit it off of one of the establishments lamps. Drawing the sweet smoke into his lungs and letting it seep out through his nostrils he waited patiently for the captain to arrive.

After he had been shooed from the room by their resident medic, Elric slowly made his way back above deck on the heels of Carina who was similarly ushered away. Once back in the open air he moved over towards the brazier where he sat for a moment to stare into the flames; his left hand lazily ruffling Kaela’s fur. He waited there awhile, hoping for word of their wee cabin girl before he was able to hear the sound of voices from below which certainly boded well if Robyn was able to talk with ease.

Satisfied that she was on the mend, or at least improving under Seeleheiler’s care he got to his feet and smothered the flames before lifting his furs off the deck wrapping them around him once more. As he stood he looked for the cat that had been prowling round but was unable to catch neither hide nor hair of her which bothered him a little but by now he felt that he would already be late for their gathering. Kneeling by Kaela he whispered for her to stay aboard and keep an eye out for his precious while he was gone, and see her safe if needed. Once that he was dealt with he descended the ship once more onto the solid earth and made his way back to the port.

After arriving at the Black Belly Bird, Elric pushed the door inwards as he stooped under the lintel and entered the dank interior. The room seemed strangely deserted, save for a few dark shapes behind the bar which lead him to believe that their captain had clearly had a hand in arranging matters for them which put him ill at ease as to why. Settling down at the edge of the arrayed tables that looked to have been moved nearer in anticipation of the coming gathering, he made his best attempt to keep his back facing the wall rather than the bar or door. A lithe waitress carefully placed a tankard filled with a musty smelling liquid which tasted better than it first seemed a letter a bitter aftertaste causing him to curl his lips slightly. He reached into his furs and pulled out a flask from which he poured a more sweet golden liquid which hissed as it came into contact with the foul brew.

As he raised the drink to his lips, much more approving of the new concoction he caught sight of the captain and their resident Lady, which explained the drink now in his hands. Perhaps a gesture in remembrance of the mead they shared on their first meeting and if so in rather poor taste, literally; though more likely simply a token of welcome to their meeting that would also be reciprocated among the rest of the crew once they arrived. Continuing to partake of liquid he cast another look around the room noting that their resident Swashbuckler was already seated across the assorted tables so he nodded his head in greeting.

---

While the old boar rested a small mouse dropped lightly from the folds of his furs onto the wooden floor and scurried away between legs of the assorted tables and chairs. As it darted across the room there was a faint intake of air and a small marmoset took its place allowing the creature to climb higher up a nearby occupied table. As it reached the top of table the universe repeated its uncertain silence as the creature once more changed to become that of a tiny Fennec which sat on its haunches and stared up at one of the rooms only other occupants. The tiny creature tilted its head to one side and made a faint yip noise at the yawning girl to get her attention.