Future Imperfect - Time to Die pt. 1
Olarune 21, 998 YK - Morning, 3000 ft. over the Thunder Sea
The Golden Dragon cruised at fifteen knots over the Thunder Sea, even in the late winter, this close to the equator it was still beautiful weather. Up on the main deck strode the finely clothed form of Destry d'Deneith, the Giant Greataxe Unc'nack Trull clasped easily in her right hand, despite it's six feet of length. She caught sight of one of the passengers, sticking out not only because of his flame-touched symbol of the Silver Flame hanging from his neck, but also because he wore breastplate, an odd sight for a passenger airship, unless one was part of the hired help like Destry and her companions.
The man stood a few inches over five and half feet tall, wearing just his breastplate, the under armor padding, and his holy symbol. Destry strode over to him, as he seemed to be looking for someone or something.
"Greetings," he says as she smiles at him.
"Greetings, good priest," she says, bowing her head slightly, "how are you?"
He paused, and looked her over, "Besides the fact that I have no clothes at the moment, quite well."
"No clothes?" she asks, leaning against her axe as if it was a staff, it's five-foot long soarwood shaft facilitating it's use as such.
He smiled, "It's an interesting story, really, but not one for this time or place. What can I help you with?"
"Ah, well," she began, not sure how to continue. "I've recently become interested in the Silver Flame." She took a breath, and continued, "Recently I met, uh, a pair of paladins of the Flame. Since then I've become quite interested. You are the first of the clergy I've come across since."
"Ah, good," he commented.
"Come, let us have some breakfast," she says, gesturing with the large axe. She then sees the questioning look on his face. "I'm one of the mercenary guards," she says, expecting it to explain.
"Are you indeed?" he asks, then adds, "And who might I be breaking the fast with?"
"My name is Destry d'Deneith," she says, adding a slight curtsey.
"Brother Ivello d'Orien," he says, extending his left hand in greetings, revealing his least dragonmark.
She takes his hand, giving it a hearty shake, the motion revealing a hint of her own lesser dragonmark over her right shoulder, peeking out from under her blouse.
"If I may though," Ivello petitions, "I need to find some clothes first." He motions to his armor, "Because I really don't want to be wearing this on the ship. It's probably not necessary."
Destry smiles, "Only if you promise to tell me the story."
"I would be happy to tell you the story, over breakfast," he says.
"Come," she says, gesturing to the rear of the ship, "I'm sure we can convince some of the crew to part with an article or two with enough coin."
After exchanging some silver for a cotton tunic and a pair of linen breeches, and a quick stop in his cabin to change out of his armor, Ivello and Destry walk towards the dining hall.
"So, you said you were part of the mercenary company onboard ship?" Ivello inquires.
"We are a mercenary guard, yes," she clarifies. "We've saved the ship several times," she extrapolates, "as a matter of fact."
"That's wonderful," he expounds, "I've heard she's had quite the contentious beginning."
"She is a great ship," Destry says, her eyes gazing to the ceiling and her hand grazing the wall as they walk.
"Yes, well, I was late arriving for the departure," he begins.
"I'm glad you made it," she interrupts.
"Well, it seems I should have been here earlier, as you seem to have had a bit of trouble," he admits, "I might have been able to help with it."
"Indeed," she replies, instantly crestfallen, remembering her fallen comrade and the battle of less then twelve hours before. "It was tragic," she stutters, "We lost someone. Very, very precious to us."
"That's sad to hear," he says, sharing her guilt.
"Can you raise him?" she asks hopefully, remembering her own brush with death and subsequent raising not two months before.
"Unfortunately," he admits, and Destry returns to her crestfallen state, "no. The Silver Flame has not gifted me with that power. It seems I am found wanting in that regard."
"Ah," is all she replies. They walk in silence for a while until they reach the dining room.
Seated around one of the tables is an eclectic group. A pair of elves, one, a male wood elf, in armor, and the other, a female high elf, has the distinguishing feature of a green eye, as well as the surrounding skin. There is also a kobold standing on his chair, his copper tinged skin showing from beneath the billowing cloak he wears even at breakfast. In addition there is a woman wearing darkwood studded leafweave under a rather ill-fitting darkweave cloak. In addition there in an empty seat.
"I would like you to meet the rest of the band," she says, sweeping her arm to encompass those seated at the table. It appears they are all still in mourning over their friends recent demise. "The merry band, who've nearly lost the ship twice."
Ivello raises his eyebrows before Destry hastily correct herself, "I mean we've successfully saved the ship twice." She then pauses, and counts on her fingers, "Three times? Yes, three times."
"This band of yours," Ivello says, gesturing at the occupants of the table, "does it have a name?" By now the pair are standing next to the empty chair at the table.
"Why," Destry says, putting on the air of a show woman, "yes, indeed it does." She pauses, "I just can't remember what it was." She taps her chin with her right hand, leaning against the top of the axe with her left elbow. "Shylock's Mercenary Company?" she quizzically answers.
"Saphron's Salvage Company," corrects the wood elf between drinks of ale.
"Saphron's Salvage Company," Destry recovers. "After the first member of our party who died."
"Not quite," corrects the wood elf once again, this time quickly swallowing a fork-full of egg, "he wasn't the first."
"Saphron was not the," Destry thinks.
"Third," interjects the kobold.
"The most influential member of out party," she corrects. "We all loved Saphron," she pauses a bit, "whomever him, it, was."
The merry band lives up to it's adjective with a round of laughter at Destry's apparent gaff.
Destry then introduces Ivello, "I'd like you to meet a potential, uh, at least ally of the party. Just met him, he came on board with no clothes."
The woman in the darkweave cloak, who was facing away from Destry and Ivello, nearly spits her mouthful of food across the table. She then turns and looks disappointed by his lack of nakedness.
Destry then gestures to Ivello, "Ivello. Ivello is it?"
"Yes, Ivello," he confirms, "d'Orien."
"He's not naked," the woman confirms.
"Well, I helped him find some clothes," she explains.
"Well, what'd you do that for?" mocks the woman.
"Cause he wouldn't come meet us without it," Destry explains, not getting the woman's joke.
"It seems inappropriate to wear armor to breakfast," Ivello defends himself with. He then glances over at the wood elf and the woman, themselves both wearing armor to breakfast.
"Let me present," Destry says, continuing where the woman interrupted, who she then gestures at, "Eve. Who dropped into our group not too long ago."
"Literally," comments the kobold.
"Greetings," says Ivello, nodding to the bawdy woman.
"In the midsts of a giant's temple," continues Destry.
"Ivello d'Orien," he says to Eve, introducing himself personally, "of the Church of the Silver Flame."
"And this," Destry continues, gesturing to the kobold, "this is Styx Tal Meek, but we just call him Styx."
"Greetings," stumbles Ivello, "young kobold."
Styx just chuckles.
"Is that a problem?" asks Destry.
"No, no," insists Ivello, "not at all."
"Good, Styx is an incredible magic user. He's um, he's blown up a black pudding. We recently had to re-acquire some magic items to help us in our fight after he sacrificed himself."
"Wow," comments Ivello, "very brave of you."
"Yes it was," quickly comments Styx, "pretty much a self-sacrifice."
"And this, of course," she gestures to the wood elf, "is…"
"Kean K'Nath," he interrupts, setting down his tankard of ale.
Ivello looks over the scruffy elf, noticing the chain shirt as well as the large quiver strapped across his back, "Are you expecting trouble?"
"I always expect trouble," comments Kean.
"This is the Golden Dragon," explains Destry, "of course we are."
"I don't want to have to run and get my armor and weapons from my cabin if trouble should appear. Besides," Kean explain, gesturing at Styx, "he's always armed, unless he runs out of spells for the day. And I never like to be unarmed." He gestures to Destry, "Plus I've got to carry around all her axes."
"Well," corrects Destry, nodding at the one she still leaned on, "not all of them."
"Ah," comments ivello.
"Well, that leaves us with the last but not least of our band," Destry says, gesturing at the elf, "Val'elna. Or just Val."
She nods, though she says nothing, examining Ivello as he stands there.
Destry points at the green eye, "Have you noticed that wonderful thing on her eye? I'm not sure of all of what it does, or anything, but it's really beautiful."
"Oh," comments Ivello, slightly repulsed.
"Isn't it artistic?" asks Destry.
"It's actually something she wanted," comments Styx, "A kind of graft."
"Well," explains Ivello, "you normally don't have plant life growing in your eye."
"Well it is," counters Destry, "if you are a very powerful druid."
Ivello eyes Val cautiously as Destry tries to recover.
"Do you drink?" she asks.
"Well," thinks Ivello, "not this early in the morning, at least not much."
"Good," she then motions for the waiter, "A round of ale please." She then looks over to Eve, "Unless you want wine?"
"No, I'm fine with ale," Eve comments, still looking over the cleric in his simple clothes.
"Well," comments Ivello, "Ale is a little bit heavy, might you happen to have any goats milk?"
