Eire Seeleheiler'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?"

Arc I--Day 1

Even as she made her way up towards the Captain's cabin, Carina still felt dizzy. Just wonderful...how was she supposed to get anything done like this, especially when she was the navigator of all people? Needless to say, the voice telling her how ill-suited she was to her job was hardly a welcome sound--even if Carina ended up thinking it was an annoying voice in her head rather than the cabin girl.

Almost spontaneously, an acrid smell filled the air around Carina, overwhelming her other senses--and when she came to, she realized someone had an arm around her and was guiding her along. That accent...and the terrible smell...so it was the gunner. Well, one of them...Shenk, right? As she found a vial being put in her hand, and herself being pulled up a flight of stairs, Carina felt a little baffled from the unexpected aid. Carina hadn't really been able to focus much around Shenk before, because the smell of...whatever weird weapons he created really was overwhelming. Yet here he was, pulling her along with cheerfully encouragement. She really hadn't been fair in her initial assessment of him, huh...

Making sure not to trip on the steps, and letting Shenk pull her along, Carina finally made it to the top...and found another vial, this time with blue liquid, being pressed into her hand. Looking up in surprise, Carina found the medic, Seeleheiler, was giving her this one. With a suggestion to come to her quarters later. Nodding, Carina made a mental note to do so, as she had ignored such suggestion she in her past over things she considered insignificantly. It...wasn't pretty.

Oh, wait...she was supposed to be heading for the quarterdeck? Good thing Seeleheiler had told her that. "I...think I'll be fine now. Better get to the quarterdeck quickly...um...thanks, you two." Carina glanced at the two vials she had recovered a little cluelessly--was she supposed to take both? Or would that turn out badly? After a bit of deliberation, she stowed Shenk's vial in an empty pouch and drank up Seeleheiler's concoction immediately. Then, removing herself from Shenk's hand--trying not to be too rough about it, of course--Carina made her way to the quarterdeck as fast as she could manage.

"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.

Jeremiah gave a helpful wave as the beleaguered navigator stumbled to her position. Poor thing still looked like hell, not much he could do about that, but who didn’t after last night’s festivities? Jeremiah himself had somehow managed to smell even worse than normal, presumably due to the offal he spent half a night scraping off of the guns. He was, however, faring fine on the mental front. It took a hell of a lot to get Jeremiah down, and what a sane person would call trumatic the gunner would call exhilarating. Carina seemed...upset. More upset than what Jeremiah assumed the average non-Culverin would be feeling right about now. She seemed, in Jeremiah's eyes, conflicted. Now, if there was one thing Jeremiah tended not be be burdened by, it was troubles with conviction. Jeremiah and most of his ilk tended to suffer from a frankly dangerous propensity to be damnably certain in their actions and wants, throwing both foresight and hindsight to the wind with regularity. If apologies are in order, so be it, but when a Culverin does something, he or she really, really, wants to do it. No half-measures, no hesitation. To be unsure, even in the face of what most would call reason and logic, is a terrible things for any self-respecting Culverin to feel. Catarina, for as overwhelmed as he thought her to be, struck him as someone who felt the same. Outwardly, granted, but she was putting up an admirable front. When he saw her, he knew, he just knew, that she wanted to do something. Something she didn’t feel like she could. Nonsense! Jeremiah wasn’t blind to it, and he felt that sudden brotherly urge he got from time to time. Bottling up things like that, it ended poorly, explosively even. (Sometimes literally, in his experience). But, the day for helping with such matters was not today. The navigator seemed to have enough problems standing upright, and he’d rather see her get through the day without keeling over the side than vent. At least she had a decent elixir to get through it. Not his, granted. Seemed that Erie decided to give the girl a little help of her own, which he couldn’t help but feel relieved by. So, when Jeremiah heard her joke about his medical fidelity, he couldn’t help but let out a coarse bark of laughter.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Birdy! That brew’ll fix her up right quick. Mine’ll do as much as a stiff shot of poppy, it will!” He nodded as he took his place at the deck, beside the healer. “‘Sides, love, you’ve got magic, yeah? I’ve got a brew pot and a chest full of powders.” He scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly as he spoke a little quieter, which was still unsettlingly loud. “Speakin’ of, you think....” Unfortunately, the captain chose that time to give his speech. As ostentatious as he found him, Jeremiah couldn't help but respect him for giving them the vote. During his time aboard the Wayfarer, he had learned that democracy wasn’t really the norm among the other islands. He could see why. In all fairness, the democracy of Culverin was anarchic. It was total and unfettered, an open invitation for mob rule and a mad sense of egalitarianism that sent the entire city into upheaval whenever elections came about. Jeremiah was used to wild-eyed firebrands screaming on the tables of taverns, not the poised and charismatic speeches the captain tended to give. It was refreshing, a sense of order that Jeremiah didn’t know wasn’t present in his life before he joined up. It gave him the prideful feeling of focus, not on weapons or warfare, but on a mission. So, he mulled his options carefully.

“Paradiso!” Ah. Well, not as carefully as he probably should have. “Got an inn, yeah? Seems like we could use three hots and a decent cot, given the shape of us.” Plus, there were pirates. Squishy, unsuspecting, deserving pirates. Oh yes. Not that he could say that, given that Nadia already did. He was not entirely unconvinced that his fellow gunner could not read his mind. She had the amazing ability to make Jeremiah homesick, something he didn't think he would feel. She just had this air about her that... Uh.

The gunner used his involuntary chuckle when Erie cracked her joke to push some uncomfortable thoughts from his head. He smiled, clapping her on the shoulder as lightly as possible. He didn’t want to accidentally break anything on one of the most vital members of the crew. Again. “Rather have those knives in my wounds than a shiv, yeah?” He liked the medic. She had magic. Magic. He couldn’t even wrap his head around half the things mages could do, and had more than a few doubts about it after being told stories by a fair number of bored tavern-goers back home. He had heard stories of everything from mages calling storms down to destroy the unwary to warlocks wearing the faces of their victims and stealing their very lives. Such rumors were refuted by his parents and the few mages he’d overheard on the docks, but he had that little bit of doubt crawling in the back of his mind when he boarded the Wayfarer. A doubt that was removed by Erie, once he saw what she did with her magic. Something about using a power that could (assumably) level cities to heal was noble and worthy of respect. He couldn’t help but feel a tad left out of the whole matter, given that he apparently had the magical signature of a lump of cheese. No matter, he supposed. He had bigger problems to deal with.

After descending to deck level and seeing some of the crew on deck, Matrist had taken up his post by the mast where he had remained unseen for the most part while he watched the rest of the crew come on deck. As they gathered and waited for the captain, Matrist could not help but reflect on the oddity of voting on a destination, in what should have been a rigid command structure. Never in his time standing the wall had this ever happened, surely, he mused, this could lead to dissent and possible mutiny down the road. However, if the captain wanted to pursue decision making structures that meant it was more likely for Matrist to be able to fulfill his own mission so much the better.

Eventually the captain did come out and took a quick turn around the crew, to Matrists surprise he was noticed and nodded at. A strange feeling ran through him at the time, as it seemed as though the captain understood how he felt as if he had jumped forward in time. The island of Dimmar was a woefully technologically bereft place, however because of that magic ran in the veins of the folk there more strongly than many other places, deep, and old, strange, and wild. However, Matrist did not wish to give away any of his background or ties to that place yet. Though it was rare to find people who had traveled to Dimmar, and rarer still to find those who knew anything of the Mistwalkers, their reputation as assassins, and more specifically mage-hunters, tended to make people.... uneasy. So instead he gave the bow of the outer Torrad islands; right hand across his chest over his heart, the palm outwards, a slight inclination of the head, and but the barest bend at the waist. It was more the impression of what might have been a bow, but they were a proud people.

The Captains speech was illuminating, full of passion and conviction, though hiding the glimpses of unknown stories as well. Charismatic and yet somehow unknowable, he spoke of recruiting the crew for the stories glimpsed in their eyes. Matrist almost chuckled, there would certainly be few people with eyes as unusual as his; over-large and glowing a blue in the faintest way you might not even notice. He offered them choice, decide he said, where shall we go, and one by one the crew spoke up. Some cast their votes simply, and some would be orators persuaded and cajoled, some used bravado, and some used simpler appeals. Ultimately, there could be only one choice when the votes were all numbered. Seeing this, and knowing that the fulfillment of his true mission could occur at any of their ports of call, Matrist elected a different route.

Either entirely unnoticed by the majority of the crew or forgotten of in the self interest of voting, Matrist stepped forward and into the silence spoke the first words many of the crew had heard from him.

"Where my Captain goes, I follow" Simply that, no more needed to be said and he was not a man to waste words or blow hot air when his task could be simply accomplished. With a nod to Caintry at his spot, he resumed his lean against the mainmast.

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...

Arc I--Day...uh...something.
Paradiso

As one could expect from a pirate haven, Paridiso was noisy, dirty, and pungent. Although Carina wanted an opportunity to take a walk and clear her mind, she had doubts she'd be able to do much of that in this place.

Over the past few days, she hadn't said much to anyone other than Seeleheiler, and that was just for her checkup. Thanks to the healer's expertise, Carina was in reasonably good shape again. Even so...maybe she shouldn't have kept hiding the cause of her condition from Seeleheiler? Something in her--maybe some foolish pride--just didn't want to discuss her problems, even to the healer of all people.

Besides, she had enough "problems" as far as the other crew members were concerned, didn't she? Even now, Carina didn't feel comfortable talking to anyone about her worries. They probably all saw her as foolish for wanting to go to Perodo and avoid having to deal with any of the resident pirates here, anyway. Well...okay, maybe Shenk wouldn't, but she had a hard time understanding his accent...and trying to ignore the thick scent of gunpowder and chemicals.

In any case, the only meaningful thing Carina could really remember saying to anyone other than Seeleheiler was volunteering herself to obtain water supplies for the journey, as they were running out of that as well. Originally, she had hoped to take a walk, but it seemed more appealing to just get the water and leave by now. But where were they selling water...?

After a few minutes of wandering--and ignoring men who were trying to court her--she did find a shop where they were selling casks of water. Obviously, one would be very difficult for Carina to carry all the way back to the ship, let alone enough for the journey. Maybe...she had to get help from Terask to do this? Using her power for this sort of thing definitely seemed like it'd attract unnecessary attention.

Taking out a small notebook from one of her pouches, Carina jotted down some notes on the location of the shop, looking around to make sure she had all details correct. Hopefully, there would be someone willing to lend a hand to her for thinking she could carry so many casks of water by herself.

Even so, she should probably try with one so there was something to show for her efforts. Stepping into the shop, Carina fished some coins out of her pocket--distressingly, it didn't look like she had much left at this point. Seems she had to learn to mind her spending in the next port...this wouldn't reflect very well on her if she had to ask the others for money, though. She probably had enough for three, four casks?

The shopkeeper looked up at her lazily. "Ya need twice that for one cask," he mumbled, as though he had just gotten out of bed.

"Twice?" Carina repeated in disbelief, feeling her face go pale. Great. She couldn't even get a reasonable amount of water for the ship like this. It was her own fault for not minding her spending more in the previous towns. Well...sacrifices had to be made for her crew, and she probably couldn't convince this shopkeeper to drop the price just for her--especially not by force, she didn't need to cause even more trouble for the crew. Reluctantly, Carina fished out some more coins and placed them on the counter, hoping she had enough for a second one on the second trip.

Grumbling something that sounded vaguely like gratitude, the shopkeeper sluggishly hauled himself up and lumbered to the back of the shop, picked up one of the casks, and brought it back, with barely any effort. As Carina took it from him, her eyes widened at how heavy it was--but she quickly reached out with her mind, lifting up the water inside into the air to reduce its weight. Immediately, a stinging pain dashed through her body, but she managed not to cry out as she hoisted the cask onto her shoulder.

Now, the shopkeeper cracked an eye open wide at her. "Lass, ain't that a bit heavy for a littl' girl like you to be carryin'?" he questioned, actually sounding somewhat concerned for once.

"O-of course. Don't worry, I'm stronger than I look." Carina flashed a smile at him, even though she was only half-telling the truth, and turned around to make the journey back to the Wayfarer with the water. Since she only really needed to think about the weight of the cask and not its contents, she could focus more clearly to remember her way back. The pain continued to run through her arms and legs, but she convinced herself to endure it at least until she got back. Hopefully, Seeleheiler wouldn't be too upset about having to look her over again.

However, as she kept walking, her eyes caught onto a familiar head with white hair. Oh, that was Lutz, wasn't it? But...wait, was he...bleeding? Wincing as her body protested from having to use her powers and walk faster, Carina quickened her pace so she could keep pace with him. "Lutz, is that you? What happened to--"

As she caught up with him, her eyes trailed down, and she gasped when she realized the one who was bleeding was not Lutz, but in fact his assistant, Janye. She was bleeding from her arm, and in tears, unlike her usual tough act. "...h-how did this happen?" Carina stammered, feeling her face pale. "Is she going to be okay?"

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.

Though she was curious what Jeremiah was about to say before the Captain showed up, the conversation had slipped her mind after all of Caintry's showmanship. More than anything, she wanted to get back to her bunk to sleep. In the days to follow though, most of her time was spent healing those that had finally dragged their asses to her door. The first of which was Damascus. His bruised rib took a whole afternoon to fix. What most don't understand about magical healing is it can be good or fast, rarely both. While she is well versed in medicinal poltices and potions, some things can only be healed by magic or time and she currently on had one to spare. Her pointed questions about his bandana went without answer, but she didn't mind much as it was easier for her to talk than run her hands along someone's body in silence. Carina visited shortly after. She always seemed to somehow dodge Eire's questions on her condition. The healer did her job as best she could with the little information she had.

After a hard day's work, it was all she could do to collapse in her hammock rather than the floor. Despite some being together for years, the people of the Wayfarer had so many secrets still. Some of them may end up getting one of them killed one day. Maybe all of them.

---

As they approached Paradiso, its shores in their sights, Eire told the crew she'd be taking inventory of the medicinal herbs and potions all morning; that wasn't necessarily true. She took the inventory, but the meager scraps that were left after the long months away and especially after the sea snake invasion. With a heavy sigh, she pulled a bag from beneath her hammock and slung it over her shoulder. Hopefully this 'Den of Thieves' had a healer or two around to help restock. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like a place that would be safe for someone like Eire to travel alone.

Varsh listened carefully to the Captain's orders, and then nodded his gruffly. He began barking out orders to the crew, a standard safety brief.

"Do not, do not, do NOT speak anything of the Wayfarer while out. Do not do anything to get yourself killed without killing at least three enemies. Remember to meet at the inn on time. Now get out of here!" After he finished speaking, a bolt of pain ran through him, reminding Varsh of his infected wound. Thinking to himself it's probably time to get it looked at, he strode to Eire to speak with her. Also, one as small as her would need guarding in the mess that was Paradiso, and Varsh knows very little about more urbane settlements.

"Eire, I have a wound. It smells bad now, and hurts more rather then less as time has passed. Is it bad?" And with that he turned around to reveal a wound about five inches long, stretching along his upper left shoulder. It had turned greenish, and smelled revolting, with some pus oozing out disgustingly. It was swollen, and definitely needed some sort of medical attention soon.

Eire's hand flew to cover her mouth of its own accord. She managed to choke out a rather quiet, for Eire anyway, "No! No. It's not... terrible. But we should definitely get that taken care of once I get more supplies. Would you mind accompanying me? I'll probably need your sword arm once or twice." She left out that she'd probably need to keep an eye on him with a wound like that. Sometimes it's better to downplay something dangerous for the sake of everyone involved.

Varsh nodded and spoke, his gutteral deep voice rolling out "That works yes. I am ready when you are healer."

Eire simply nodded in response and followed the rest of the crew through the tunnel that led to town. As they drew closer to the town, so Eire did to Varsh. While she'd always wanted to see the world, she feared it was a terrifying place full of dangerous creatures that would gobble her up, given the chance. Not wanting to show weakness infront of her crewmate, she struck up a conversation, "So you didn't think to come to me sooner? I probably could have just slapped a poultice and a bandage on it and sent you on your way." Eire puncuated her statement with a smirk, but it quickly dropped from her face. "Now, I'm probably gonna have to touch it," She added with a shiver.

Eyeing her oddly due to the shiver, and then shrugged. "It is what it is. As long as you don't claim my blood life will move on." He knelt down to place the injury within her reach.

With a deep breath, the winged lady concentrated on her pointer finger. A few seconds later, the very tip glimered with a bright white light. Varsh's eyes widened at that, and then he closed them quickly. Careful to avoid hurting the First Mate, she slowly, gently ran her finger along the outside of the wound. The path her finger traced left a slight glow to his skin. The pus seemed to harden, or at least slowed in its oozing, but it was still a gnarly looking wound.

"I'll be able to disinfect it better in town, but this should help the pain at least," Eire said with a hopeful smile.

It was a truly peculiar feeling, being worked on with magic. Varsh opened his eyes after Eire's words, and then quickly stood up to his full height. "I am probably one of the first Hashari in a long time to feel the touch of magic. Tell me, do you know much of my people?"

"I can't say that I do. Care to enlighten me?"

Varsh smiled briefly, and then gestured for them begin moving. "I will tell you the story as we walk." His voice took on a more loud tone, with veins of pride moving through his voice "My people's story begins many thousands of years before. We were weak then. Very weak. Weak as the other humans you see in daily life. And then.. The Wizard came. He was a great and powerful Wizard. But he needed an army to make his ambition of conquering the world. So he took my ancestors, and changed them. Worked on them. Altered them. Made them stronger. Made them different. We were no longer fully human. We were more. We were Hashari. And we followed the Wizard for years, conquering his enemies, until his final defeat at the hands of the Tree-Folk. With that, began the Aeons of Blood, which still happen today. Right now, hundreds of Hashari are dying fighting each other. That is the tale of my people. And I am one of the losers. One of those defeated and clanless. Serving non-Hashari." As he spoke, they got closer to Paradiso.

Eire instictively reached a hand out to comfort Varsh, but thought better of it and stopped just short of actually making contact before dropping her arm back to her side. At a loss for words, Eire's social graces failed as is par for the course for her. Flustered, she floundered to just say anything, "That's unfortunate, er- terrible. Uh, I'm sorry. My people were servants too. In fact, they'd probably be very disappointed that I willingly follow orders. Alas, I've never really fit in there. At least you aren't dead?" As soon as the last statement passed her lips, she pinched herself, admonishing her idiocy.

Varsh glanced down and said "As'Aray me'Hashar. A Hashari does not fear death. But dying clanless is unforgivable. But enough of that. Why would your people not obey orders? Who is the leader? How does that work without a great chief? I do not understand."

"I misspoke. We have leaders, but my people took a vow to never be subservient to another race. It's a whole thing, not much to it." Eire punctuated her lie with a shrug. In truth, there was very much to it, but she didn't want to bore the poor man with a history lesson of a place no one has ever heard of. Perhaps another time when he didn't have a grievous wound.

"Interesting, I sense a story there, but look! We are here!" And with that, they entered the sprawl of Paradiso, with the pungent smell of human waste, alcohol, and general misery hitting their noses. Varsh snorted at the smell, and then asked "Where are we going to get medicines?"

Eire struggled to see between the crowds of people that seemed to be grouped up around the street. Some were her height, but it seemed as though nearly everyone had a few inches on her. An annoyed grumbled escaped her pursed lips, "You wouldn't happen to see an apothecary? Perhaps a place with a lot of plants?"

Varsh towered over the crowd, and he was drawing a lot of glances, but on the bright side, he could see quite a bit further. He noticed a building, made of wood with a large balcony that was exploding with herbs and foilage. "He gestured to it, and asked, do you see that? Could that be your apot-apothe. Your medicine place. Some of your words are diffcult."

"Very good!" Eire, strode proudly towards the shop, elbowing people as necessary. As they stopped at the door she turned to Varsh, "In my experience with this language, as long as the person you're speaking to understands what you mean, you can say whatever you want. Now, let's make this quick. These ruffians are making me uneasy." She eyed the drunks sprawled down a nearby alley with distaste.

People naturally made way for Varsh, as his frame naturally intimidated people. He noticed the people in the alley and glared at them. He moved to position himself in front of the alley in order to allow Eire to enter the shop. "I'll come in after you enter."

Eire nodded in appreciation and stepped in, and was immediately gripped by a wave of awe. It'd been a long while since she'd seen a shop so well stocked, but perhaps she'd forgotten what 'Well-stocked' meant in her months asail. She passed down the rows, dragging her fingertips along the plants' leaves on either side. On occasion, she'd feel something familiar and add it to the bag slung around her shoulder. It didn't take long for the bag to be nearly bursting, but she wanted to make sure she didn't get caught unawares should they not see land for months on end again.

Catching up to Varsh after paying for her goods, she stuck a poultice over his wound. "I got you something. Now, this should help the inflammation. It's not as good as something I would make, but it'll work in a pinch." As she stepped back, she slid a lolly into his hand with a shit-eating grin. "For being such a gentlemen."

Taking the candy with an odd look at Eire, he asked "What is this?" he sniffed it "It smells sweet." Varsh gestured at the drunks, who were now moving a little more animatedly, roused by the bulging sack of plants that Eire had bought, obviously point out that the pair from the Wayfarer had money in some quantity. There were five of them, and the biggest of them, a rotund man with a blotchy face and an Alcoholic's broken veins waddled forward to Eire.

"Oye.. Shurlya purty lass like yerself could spare a poor man some coin aye?"

"What money I may have had, has clearly been spent," Eire replied, gesturing at the bag at her waist. She took a step back towards Varsh.

"Yur a fookin lyir! I betchu got plenty of coin hidden. I got a thirst and I need money! And you'll give it t-ACK" the ending in his speech was cut off by throat being constricted by a large hand.

"I don't like your tone. You will stop talking to her., or you will just stop. I don't care." His voice came out in a low rumble that sent vibrations through the chest of every person near him. Eire jumped as the hand entered her sight, breaking her stern concentration on the man that had been approaching.The man was choking, grabbing at Varsh's hand, trying to break his grip. Varsh merely tightened his grip. The other four drunks however were not amused, and one of them pulled out a dagger.

"Drop 'im you overgrown shit!" the fellow yelled. He had greasy black hair and pale blue eyes, with the same tell tale alcoholic veins. Varsh nodded. And threw the drunk in his hand to the ground with a crunch.

Varsh then advanced upon them chuckling. "Has'Arask marul. You fight a Hashari. And we do not lose." The man steeled himself and ran at Varsh giving a reedy war cry. Varsh stopped moving, then sidestepped, allowing the dagger to glance off his leather vest, before grabbing the man by his shirt and arm. Varsh preceded to break the man's arm in several places, forcing him to drop the dagger with a scream.

"Now, you've done it! Never go in against a Hashari when death is on the line!" Eire helpfully yelled above the general raucous of the fight. The group of drunks fighting a giant seemed to be drawing the beginnings of a crowd.

The other three Drunks saw one buddy wheezing for breath and the other one screaming, clutching his throat, and decided discretion is the better part of valor. Thus, they fled. However, amongst the crowd gathered was a rather prominent slaver who was a marvelling at Varsh's strength. He gestured to some of his men and they moved towards Varsh and Eire. They were armed with clubs, pistols, and one of them carried a net. Varsh was too busy making sure the drunks were done fighting to notice, but Eire was far enough away from the main event to see them rapidly approaching. She yelled a warning out to Varsh, but it was drown out with the crowd. She tried to elbow her way back to her crewmate, but the crowd grew so suddenly, as if by magic, that she couldn't get there before the villains.
A club slammed into the back of Varsh's leg, causing it to buckle. Varsh fell to his knees, but something happend. Something snapped. Varsh's muscles began bulging, his breath came faster.His eyes went dead. And that odd deathhead grin came upon his face. With a powerful shout he got up, unsheathing his massive blade for all to see, and with one slash cut the man who had hit him into two twitching pieces. All the noises in the crowd stopped, everything stopped, save for Varsh. He had gone Berserk. He noted the other slavers who had just stopped, in absolute awe at what they had just witnessed. Varsh gave another shout and moved forward stabbing a slaver right through the chest, quickly pulling it out and moving towards the next. Blood flowed onto the rough cobbles of the street and people began dispersing quickly leaving Eire quickly by herself.

As the crowd finally cleared up, she caught sight of the blood pooling near her boots. Her heart stopped for what felt like eternity as her mind raced to the worst case senerio. The relief she felt when she realized that Varsh was still moving and not the bits laying in the street, made her sick to her stomach. Careful to stay out of the reach of his blade, which somehow seemed to have grown a foot longer and more imposing, she approached the giant that was nearly frothing at the mouth. The crazy look in his eye chilled her blood, and yet, she called out to him, "Varsh? C-come on. I think they are sufficiently scared."

Holding her arm out in a submissive gesture, she glanced at the slaver cowering in a puddle of his own urine next to the better half of his comrade. "They'll let us go now, right?" She questioned forcefully. The man nodded his head so quickly it almost appeared as though he had a spring in his neck. Eire had never before seen a fear as deep as she saw in his eye that day. Taking another slow step closer, she added, "See, Varsh? Let's go back to the ship, huh? You have to order me to... swab some decks or something. Right?"

Hoping to help, Eire closed her eyes to concentrate on the shaking hand she was partially using as a shield. It began to glow with faint light, not the same as it had been before when she healed his wound, but not all together different either. The light was softer and seemed to eminate from her hand in waves just barely visible to the human eye. The waves stretched towards the raging man before unfurling not unlike fingers on a hand.

Varsh's vision was obscured by fields of red as his rage overwhelmed his reason. After the destruction of the two slavers the rest had fled or were cowering but Varsh did not care. He would kill them all and scatter their remains to the four winds.

The fingers of light extended until they could give Varsh a good slap, but instead passed beneath his skin. Eire used their connect to find something, anything that could help. She felt the massive amounts of adrenaline flowing in his bloodstream. She tried to coax it down, told his brain it was safe, but it seemed nearly a lost cause. However, she felt a building pressure, fighting her gentle magic, the ancient magic of the Wizard of Yore. The two magics began interacting, and Eire began to see.

Meanwhile, Varsh had frozen, eyes wide as the two magics within him interacted. His rage was abating as he watched the slavers flee in terror.

Words. Images. Scenes from a long time ago began flowing through Eire's mind. She saw a tower, made of respledent white marble with a huge flag flying from atop it. She heard chanting in an old tongue unknown to her. She heard the screams of men and women as if being tortured. She witnessed the first Hashari. Watching them fight others. Felt their pain as they died for their Wizard, their deity. However, the images stopped once Varsh's temper had cooled, eased by the magic and influence of Eire.

Eire's eyes snapped open and wildly search the area, trying to place where she was. Trying to place what was real. Yet in her mind a few words stuck, branded into her mind as if with a hot iron. Ynal, Hjor, and Jarusk. The first two felt positive, wheras the last struck an odd chord with her character, as if a choice would have to be made. Resolving to ask Varsh if he knew what the unfamiliar words meant later, she took a few hesitant steps toward him. This time, she wasn't sure which of them she was scared for.

"Varsh? Are you... you again?" Her voice was quiet and a little shakey, but could easily be heard in the sudden silence that had replaced the din of battle.

Varsh blinked at her, and in a perfectly normal voice "Yes. I feel... Normal again. It has been a bit since I have gone red. I forgot how exhilerating it is..." He shook his head and looked around, noting how empty it was. "My blade will need some cleaning yes?" He said with a chuckle. Eire let out a bark of laughter in response.

"I believe we should head back to the ship to drop this off," she said, lifting the bag that was only a little splashed with blood. "Then we can look at that wound and be back in time for lunch! What say you?"

"Yes. Lunch sounds good." Varsh's stomach rumbled out in chorus. He lifted his blade and quickly wiped the blood from it with one of the dead men's shirt. He gestured to move forward, and began walking. Eire followed, but not before stooping down and stealing the slaver's coin purse and a rather fetching necklace from around his neck.

"Mean people don't deserve nice things," she exclaimed with a slight kick of her boot. The body responded with a sickening squelch. Varsh continued walking, absorbing the sights of the city with curious glances every few seconds. The pair walked in companiable silence, until their steps brought them back to the cove where the Wayfarer was kept. Once they'd gotten back to her cabin, Eire set off to work on healing his infected gash and any other wounds he sustained during the fight. "Did you enjoy your trip to 'Pirate's Paradise'?"

"It was a good trip. I got to see a city and kill enemies." Varsh chuckled with a wry grin. "How did you remove me from Has'Rash from Red? Never has that happened before." his tone had become much more serious.

At first, Eire only responded with a shrug, too deep in thought to formulate a good response. "I'm not sure. I was just trying to stop the adrenaline, but I saw... things instead. I'm not certain, but they were images that seemed to match up with the story you told me. Of the... Grand Wizard? He seemed like kind of an ass. On a semi-unrelated note, do you know what Ynal, Hjor, and Jarusk mean?"

Varsh's eyebrows beetled together as he began to think. He stroked his beard, and then said "That is strange. Very strange. As to your question, we call our healers Hjolins. But the other two? I know not."

Eire mulled his response over in her head as she put away the supplies, "Thank you for accompanying me. It was certainly a trip." Varsh nodded, and then stood up.

"Time to head back to Paradiso for lunch with the Chief. "

As the large man strode back aboard the Wayfarer his breathing was starting to sound a bit strained; and as if to compensate his morphic field was trying to force a change to strengthen his limbs. Even so he did his best to push through the moments of fatigue cursing his growing frailty in these moments when age did catch him up. Grunting slightly he shifted the weight in one hand and placed the barrel onto the deck as Kaela padded up beside him, her rider looking not too worse the wear.

The lack of another didn’t surprise him, especially given their rather brash send-off by the engineer and he supposed he couldn’t blame Kilian; after all she was just a bairn. He glanced around the ship to see if any of the others were aboard and if they were then they weren’t visible. There was a brazier on deck that they used to keep off the chill during the night watch holding little more than cold ash now but he went over to it anyways.

Shrugging off his cloak and furs, using his other hand to lay them out near the brazier he gently placed Robyn down. She seemed smaller than he remembered, maybe it was her pallor or the fact she just kept shaking which did it. Either way he didn’t like seeing her like that as he knelt beside her and pulled the furs a little closer to try to warm her. A small bundle of twigs rested under the brazier so he lifted them up and into the bowl resting his hand just above them for a moment, his eyes flickering closed as he muttered to himself. A heartbeat later the wood peeled slightly as sparks came to life at their heart causing the kindling to ignite proper.

Pulling back he stood, glancing back at the navigator standing nervously beside Kaela and smiled softly before heading towards the way below deck. ”Seeleheiler, you there luv? We got a situation, could use a healer.” Elric called, sticking his head into the alcove that lead below, slowly descending into the dark.

Up above deck the small cat stalked slowly around the brazier and watched the little girl’s shallow breathing as she shivered a little less in the growing warmth.