Song of Shattered Blades

Arcturion

First Post
Song of Shattered Blades

Introduction

This D&D campaign started out around 1997-8 on AOL and AIM as a chat room and message board based game using AD&D 2nd Edition rules set in a homebrew world called Paylen. In that time I was a relatively newbie GM and honed my storytelling and writing skills, meeting a great bunch of folks over the Internet to boot. The players came from all walks of life, house wives and working husbands, old crusty fogies who knew their way around the original 1st Edition OD&D rules, and young folks still trying to find their way in the world (I’d include myself in this latter category). It was great fun playing the game over the years and, though not without its share of drama and heartache, they were good times. When 3rd Edition rolled around, we were excited to convert to the new system and played 3.0 for a while.

Eventually it came to a point where we all had to take time off to go our separate ways and the campaign went into limbo indefinitely during 2000-1 in the middle of a particularly long adventure arc involving a ruined volcanic city. I myself went to school before joining the US military, and for a while gaming was a luxury I could ill afford since I just didn’t have the time. After talking about it for a few years, now one of the original players from way back (and a good friend of mine) and I have decided to revive the game in 2007, continuing where we left off, only this time we decided to focus more intimately on a smaller number of characters with a split-style of political and intrigue-heavy storytelling using 3.5 rules (and the Unearthed Arcana gestalt variant), and less on globe-hopping antics and MacGuffin-seeking adventure hooks as we’ve done in the past.

In a way, it was going back to the roots of the game and made us remember why we played in the first place. With 4E just around the corner, I’ve come to realize that time sure does go fast (whether or not you’re having fun though I’d prefer to be than not, heh), and us young folks aren’t as spry as we used to be, advancing in our respective careers and/or getting married and raising a family. Still, we felt bad and more than a little nostalgic at having left the game of our youth when there was still so much left of the story to be told. For the time being, the campaign has returned in the form of play-by-post e-mails, at least until we ever get to a point where the game can resume a chat based or even a face-to-face tabletop format.

Eltera, daughter of House Trellust and a dark aelf warrior exiled from her native homeland of Nyctalinth, is the story’s main protagonist. And though she may have more than a passing resemblance to a certain dual sword-wielding hero, her story is a bit different as she tries to piece together the fragmented memories of her shattered past and escape the inner demons that continue to pursue her even to this day. The flip side is a relatively new character, Fharis Aquilla, an Arcturion (sort of a warrior/mage trained to defeat casters and preserve the balance of magic in the world) and leader of the Quasi Lamna, or Shattered Blades, an adventuring turned mercenary company. His investigations into the intrigues of the Empire and the nobility within Drace and without will invariably lead him toward many dangers and plots that threaten the kingdom.

Events that happened before in the game will be explained either in the story’s narrative or with footnotes. I won’t fool anyone by saying we’re trying to write Shakespeare, but we try to have fun with all the various themes we have going and that’s all that matters. The campaign world also borrows a few themes from several sources, not the least of which being Eberron, Forgotten Realms, Greyhawk, Mystara, Terry Goodkind’s Sword of Truth novels, George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series of books, and other odd bits and pieces that may or may not be recognizable to the reader. That said, a few real world cultures and nations are painted with very broad strokes in this story, but we’ve never claimed that we’re running a historical gaming sim, heh.

Without further introspection, I hope anyone who reads this enjoys the story and I’d be happy to answer any questions or comments they may have, thank you.

Synopsis

Below is a preliminary map of the Paylen continent. The game takes place in the northern kingdoms with a central focus on Mordrake, the vaunted high Kingdom of Dragons. Six years have passed since the B’astyian Empire invaded the weakened Republic of Veracia and crushed it beneath its iron heel. The Veracians themselves were as much to blame for their defeat as the Imperials, having given themselves over to hedonistic excess and wanton corruption many long years before the invasion. Nearly four score prior, the mad Veracian King Aermond the Usurper led the Republic on a self-righteous crusade against Numia, the Millennial Kingdom of the First Men (known as the Numina) far to the south, utterly destroying the ancient kingdom and casting Veracia into financial ruin and social upheaval.

When Aermond himself was brought a head lower by the people’s justice not long after, it had sown the seeds for the Republic’s inevitable downfall at the hands of the Empire. Today, there are whispers that the B’astyians mean to bring about a second War of the Veil as their Emperor Helbanion has lured the enigmatic Spirian Witches into his fold with the promise of crowning their sorcerer-queen, Suspiria, as his new Empress. This has the Dracians ever concerned for it seems to be an alliance wrought with contradictions. Long governed by a stern theocracy, the Iron Imperium has made no secret of its hatred of arcane magic while bringing to bear the full force of its military might using steam-driven monstrosities and screeching iron to lay waste to their enemies.

Still mourning his Queen Amestris Sethira who had perished thirteen years ago when the Exarchate of Ilvernus was destroyed by the supposed wrath of the gods, King Kelvin Tessius of Drace has begun to pursue the elusive dream of peace with the Hrundir, war-like barbarians who hail across the Abrisseen (Sea of Talons) from the cold and unforgiving realm of Haeslund. The northmen have ever been at odds with the civilized and law-bound Dracians as each side fought skirmishes to a bitter stalemate and launched coastal raids upon the other since time immemorial. Still, Tessius is of a mind calling for truce and a possible alliance with the proud Hrundir and their implacable Jarl lords. After all, should Mordrake fall to the Imperial war machine, where else would the B’astyians think to look upon for their next conquest?

However, the immortal sisters known as the Nornir would see that the fates of these warring nations take a different path of their own choosing. And all the while, a small band of guardians and keepers of the peace called the Arcturions stand at the ready, watching for any change in the tides of war. For many ages since Alhazarde’s Covenant was forged and the founding of Mordrake finally realized have members of their order stood vigilant against the threat of those who would bend the force called magic to their will and use it in the pursuit of dark ambitions. Her steps still haunted and steeped in blood, a lone exile from the lightless depths will have her part to play in this mummer’s farce, as both king and fool alike are mere puppets dancing upon strings held by forces yet unseen.
 

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Arcturion

First Post
Dramatis Personnae

Dramatis Personae

PCs

Eltera Trellust, (Svari dark aelf) fighter 2/swashbuckler 3/dervish 7 + scout 12 (gestalt), Nyctalinth exile, aunt of Vyruna, daughter of Saulekanis, mother of Ayaleska, slayer of Valsentres (as her sinister alter ego)
Fharis Aquilla, (Draconic Fire-Souled Hrundic, raised Dracian) hexblade 7/abjurant champion 5 + harbinger 10/sublime chord 2 (gestalt), Arcturion, ward of Altair Aquilla, twin brother of Sharis, apprentice to Xedrik

Former PCs

Angar Bloodtongue, fighter/rogue/assassin (half-Inmerish/half-orc), exile from the Blightlands, husband of Ryane Amberhawk, accompanied Elderdrake and Ryane westward to Ashaeron
Bel Daveril, fighter/wizard/arcane archer (Thalasian aelf), accompanied Nashiel southward to help liberate Veracia from Imperial occupation
Boethuis, fighter (half-Dracian/half-Thalasian aelf), accompanied Taterina to Tial’Sol to help fortify the city’s defenses against Imperial incursion
Caynan Tyrelius, artificer/fighter (Dracian), currently serves King Kelvin Tessius as his royal smith in Drace
Elderdrake Thistleknot, rogue/handler (Leluric), accompanied Angar and Ryane westward to Ashaeron
Ivar Wolfgarsson, barbarian/frenzied berserker (Hrundic), son of Bulwygar Wolfgarsson, is part of the Hersir envoys negotiating a peace in Drace with King Kelvin Tessius
Jace Therek, ranger/scout (Hultaan), accompanied Dusduana and Tanius westward to Inmerthyr
Marcus, fighter (Kyrian), betrothed to Rayella, sworn to protect the last Kyrian children and accompanied Rayella to a dragon’s lair somewhere in the Ashmorn Peaks
Nashiel d’Reaumont, fighter/wizard/spellgunner (Veracian), accompanied Bel Daveril southward to help liberate Veracia from Imperial occupation
Rayella, sorceress (Kyrian), betrothed to Marcus, sworn to protect the last Kyrian children and accompanied Marcus to a dragon’s lair somewhere in the Ashmorn Peaks
Ryane Amberhawk, rogue (Inmerish), wife of Angar Bloodtongue, is with child, accompanied Angar and Elderdrake westward to Ashaeron
Scrin, rogue (half-Mykosian/half-Thalasian aelf), chose to stay behind in Tial’Syn in the (misguided) hopes of winning the fair hand of Princess Rhiannon Anduhaal
Taterina, monk (half-Dracian/half-Thalasian aelf), accompanied Boethuis to Tial’Sol to help fortify the city’s defenses against Imperial incursion

NPCs (Allies)

Cohort
Grievyros, Fharis’s cohort and mount (unique half-dragonne/half-gold dragon), once served as cohort and paladin’s special mount to Ser Trevelleon Vantares​
Thalanost
Elefeir Anduhaal, Queen of Thalanost (Thalasian aelf), mother of Prince Kalmerith and Princess Rhiannon Anduhaal, bestowed Amurisil upon Trevelleon before it passed to Eltera​
Kalmerith Anduhaal, Prince of Thalanost (Thalasian aelf), son of Elefeir Anduhaal, older brother of Princess Rhiannon Anduhaal, Coronal of Tial’Syn’s armed forces​
Rhiannon Anduhaal, Princess of Thalanost (Thalasian aelf), daughter of Elefeir Anduhaal, younger sister of Prince Kalmerith Anduhaal​
The Arcturion Order
TBA
The Crew of the Argus
Hashad al-Ja’qar, first mate (Akunduin)​
Orpheus, familiar to Rentiki (unique undead boa constrictor)​
Rentiki, captain (Daoshan), master to Orpheus​
Terwase, ship’s surgeon (true race unknown)​
The Crew of the Black Ark (formerly the crew of the Zephyr)
Bellhopper, first mate (Minoi), son of Cloudbreaker, taken into custody by the Dracian Kingsguard, supposedly held at the Pentaculum for questioning​
Cloudbreaker, captain (Minoi), father of Bellhopper, taken into custody by the Dracian Kingsguard, supposedly held at the Pentaculum for questioning​
Pyroclast, demolitions expert (Minoi), taken into custody by the Dracian Kingsguard, supposedly held at the Pentaculum for questioning​
Tourniquet, ship’s medic (Minoi), taken into custody by the Dracian Kingsguard, supposedly held at the Pentaculum for questioning​
The Fane of Daeus
Portia Valens, High Septa of Ad Pirum (Dracian), younger sister of Lord Fellador Valens, formerly mentor to Fharis and Sharis Aquilla as well as Trevelleon Vantares​
Trevelleon Vantares, Ser Knight and ex-paladin of Daeus (Veracian), former member of the Quasi Lamna, once wielded Amurisil and Anarquelion, helped Eltera escape from Ashaeron, whereabouts unknown​
The Istari Lyceum (Arcanus Assylae led by High Istaros Xedrik Da'Marsellus)
Cirdet, Istaros (Dracian)​
Julla Harone, wizard (Dracian), daughter of Lord-General Aelia Harone, apprentice to Xedrik​
Marinon, stablehand (Dracian)​
Tayan, Istaros (Dracian)​
Xedrik Da’Marsellus, High Istaros (Dracian), mentor to Fharis Aquilla and Julla Harone​
The Quasi Lamna (“The Shattered Blades,” adventuring/mercenary company under the command of Fharis Aquilla)
Acacius Lea (aka Grant), marshal (Dracian), lieutenant to Fharis, second in command of the Quasi Lamna, former commander of the Lamna Quas before it was disbanded​
Nyssa, orphaned waif (Veracian), was once rescued by Eltera from the H’jenn-Ra, served Sharis Aquilla as her squire briefly, currently serves the Istari Lyceum as a maid​
Rode, ranger/scout (Leluric), serves as the company’s outrider and tracker​
The Three Paragons of Alhazarde (Found)
Amurisil the Dreamblade, the Merciful Moon (intelligent weapon of legacy moon blade), forged during the War of the Veil, once wielded by Trevelleon, currently wielded by Eltera​
Anarquelion the Dawnblade, the Torch of Anar (intelligent weapon of legacy sun blade), forged during the War of the Veil, once wielded by Saulekanis and Trevelleon, currently wielded by Fharis​
The Weirwood Circle
Dusduana, druid of Inmerthyr (Inmerish), is a loyal supporter of Tanius​
Narine, bard/druid/fochlucan lyricist (fey sirine, masqueraded as a Tveshani gypsy for a while), is a skinchanger, is cursed with prophetic visions, has retreated into self-imposed isolation​
Tanius Linumbral, the Moonshadow, Hierophant druid of Inmerthyr (half-Inmerish/half-Svari dark aelf), current leader of the Weirwood Circle, son of Drichol​
Thorak-Nor
Astayanax, High Artificer of Thorak-Nor (Thorazuin dwarf), was once a thrall under the dragon Scypyros, was defeated and freed by the party at Ilvernus, last seen headed westward to Scythica​

NPCs (Neutral)

Patrician Nobles and Royals of Drace
Aelia Harone, Lord-General of House Harone (Dracian), Chief-Commander of the Dracian Army, father of Julla Harone​
Altair Aquilla, Lord-Senator of House Aquilla (Dracian), stepfather of Fharis and Sharis Aquilla, widower of Lady Vivayne Lyrae​
Appion Tuccius, Lord of House Tuccius (Dracian), husband of Inwe​
Derimus Solis, Lord of House Solis (Dracian)​
Fellador Valens, Lord of House Valens (Dracian), older brother of High Septa Portia Valens​
Inwe Tuccius, Lady of House Tuccius (half-Dracian/half-Thalasian aelf), wife of Appion​
Kelvin Tessius, His Grace the King of Mordrake (Dracian), the First of His Name, widower of Queen Amestris Sethira​
The Aera (Dracian aerial forces)
Sharis Aquilla, Aera Knight-Commander (Hrundic, raised Dracian), ward of Lord-Senator Altair Aquilla, twin sister of Fharis Aquilla, former member of the Quasi Lamna​
The Contari (Dracian cavalry forces)
Theos Riedrian, Contari Knight-Commander (Dracian), younger brother of Ios Riedrian​
The Hersir (Nobles of Haeslund)
Bulwygar Wolfgarsson, Jarl and Lord of Sodergard (Hrundic), father of Ivar Wolfgarsson, has taken the wolf as his sigil, is served by the Nornir​
Tuskegrin, Lord of Ostegard (Hrundic), has taken the boar as his sigil​
Ursodrik, Lord of Vestegard (Hrundic), has taken the bear as his sigil​
The Last Kyrian Children (Auriel survivors)
Gavrielle, eldest female of the Auriel survivors (Kyrian), wife of Stanivus​
Stanivus, eldest male of the Auriel survivors (Kyrian), husband of Gavrielle​
The Nornir (The Weird Sisters, servants of Jarl Bulwygar Wolfgarsson)
Skuld, of the Golden-Hair (appears Hrundic, true race unknown)​
Urd, of the Raven-Hair (appears Hrundic, true race unknown)​
Verdandi, of the Silver-Hair (appears Hrundic, true race unknown)​
The Pentaculum (Drace’s island prison)
Zaxenia Kundalain, Dame Warden (Thorazuin dwarf), the Lady Ironhand, former member of the Arcturion Order​
The Three Paragons of Alhazarde (Lost)
Morwinyon the Mournblade, the Morning/Mourning Twilight, forged during the War of the Veil, lost along with its first and only wielder, current whereabouts unknown​

NPCs (Enemies)

Haeslund
Fenrigar, sea reaver (Hrundic), the Scourge of the Abrisseen​
Mount Furyon
Scypyros, the Ravager of Mordrake (unique dragon), Lord of Mount Furyon, forced Astayanax into servitude, was served by Exarch Lazaro as an ashen lich, current whereabouts unknown​
The B’astyian Empire (The Iron Imperium)
Adielle, of the Hexen Eye (Spirian), loyal maidservant of Suspiria​
Escrion, the Iron Doom (true race unknown), master to Tobias, last known whereabouts was following his defeat by the party in the Imperium’s underground railway​
Helbanion, Emperor (B’astyian), betrothed to Suspiria​
Nazgeroth Bloodtongue, Lord of the Blight (half-orc/half-ogre magi)​
Suspiria, Witch-Queen of Suspar (true race unknown), betrothed to Emperor Helbanion​
The Knight of Numia, the Emperor’s Fist (supposedly of the First Men, or Numina), defeated and slew the former Emperor’s Hand Targerus in single combat​
The Ensiferum (“The Order of Sword Bearers,” Fane inquisitor arm)
Dismas, Ensiferas (Dracian)​
Gestas, Ensiferos (Dracian)​
Junthalos, Executor (Dracian), once served as the right hand of Exarch Lazaro Artimus prior to the fall of Ilvernus, distrusts the Arcturions and the Istari Lyceum​
The H’jenn-Ra (exiled noble house of Nyctalinth led by Nychodamos)
Ayaleska, daughter of Eltera and Zarael (Svari dark aelf), appears to be highly telepathic and can manipulate Daelkyr creatures, other abilities unknown, is currently being sought after by her mother Eltera​
Favian, House Wizard (Svari dark aelf), commands powerful spells, favors lightning magic, constantly seeks to supplant Zarael, was horribly burned by alchemist’s fire thanks to Eltera and the Minoi​
Makaro, House Weaponsmaster (Svari dark aelf), commands great physical strength, is unmatched in his rage during battle, is immune to fire, was rendered mute after his throat was slashed by Eltera​
Nychodamos, the Death’s Head (Svari dark aelf lich), Patron Father, is a skilled necromancer, was once defeated though not destroyed by Saulekanis since his phylactery was never found​
Vyruna, House Assassin (Svari dark aelf), niece of Eltera, despises her aunt, is hopelessly in love with Zarael, envies Ayaleska as the daughter she should have had with Zarael, is an adept skinchanger​
Zarael, House Heir (Svari dark aelf), father of Ayaleska, is apprentice and lieutenant to Nychodamos, appears to possess abilities related to the mind and body​
The Weirwood Avengers (splinter faction of the Weirwood Circle)
Beriel, druid of Inmerthyr (Inmerish), was defeated by Tanius in his bid for the title of Hierophant and control of the Weirwood Circle, despises Eltera and all those of Svari blood including Tanius​

NPCs (Deceased)

Drace
Amestris Sethira, formerly Her Grace the Queen of Mordrake (Dracian), ex-wife of King Kelvin Tessius, died in the fiery holocaust that swept over the Exarchate of Ilvernus thirteen years ago​
Ios Riedrian, former Contari Knight-Commander (Dracian), older brother of Theos Riedrian, slain in an attack by Scypyros​
Vivayne Lyrae, Lady of House Aquilla (Dracian), wife of Lord-Senator Altair Aquilla, died of a mysterious illness nearly thirty years ago​
Ilvernus
Lazaro Artimus, former Fane Exarch of Daeus (Dracian), Lord of Ilvernus (ashen lich), served by Junthalos, thrall under Scypyros, was defeated by the Quasi Lamna (presumed destroyed by Fharis)​
Mount Auriel
Aphrael, (Kyrian) daughter of Daedalus, twin sister of Ashrael, died trying to stop Ashrael from destroying Mount Auriel during the Harrowing, her spiritual essence was drawn into the Black Ark​
Ashrael, (Kyrian) son of Daedalus, twin brother of Aphrael, went mad with the power of the Daelkyr during the Harrowing, recently destroyed Auriel and nearly wiped out the Kyrians, presumed dead​
Daedalus, (Kyrian) leader of Mount Auriel, father of the twins Aphrael and Ashrael, killed when Ashrael destroyed their homeland, managed to save the Kyrian children before he died​
Nyctalinth
Saulekanis Trellust, former Weaponsmaster of House Trellust (Svari dark aelf), father of Eltera, once wielded Anarquelion, defeated but was unable to destroy Nychodamos, slain trying to save Eltera​
The B’astyian Empire (The Iron Imperium)
Targerus, formerly the Emperor’s Hand (Aurak draconian), was defeated and humiliated by the party in B’astion (Aristahl) after they destroyed an Imperial dreadnaught, slain in a duel by the Knight of Numia​
Tobias, former apprentice to Escrion the Iron Doom, was defeated and slain by the party during the liberation of Giarna​
The H’jenn-Ra
Drichol, formerly of the H‘jenn-Ra (Svari dark aelf), father of Tanius, slain by Eltera (as her sinister alter ego) nearly a quarter century ago​
Valsentres, former Fane Initiate of Daeus (Svari dark aelf), blinded and then slain by Eltera (as her sinister alter ego) in B’astion (Aristahl), presumed dead though his corpse was stolen by the H’jenn-Ra​
The Weirwood Circle
Savrius, former Hierophant druid of Inmerthyr (Inmerish), ex-leader of the Weirwood Circle, slain by agents of the H’jenn-Ra (the true identity of the assassin remains unknown)​
 
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Arcturion

First Post
Prologue: The Bonds That Tie

Prologue: The Bonds That Tie

With each heartbeat, each breath taken of this still unfamiliar air, the once inviting blackness of twilight began to retreat, shrinking further and further away from the inevitably encroaching light of dawn. Here on the surface, the darkness of night was like a frightened beast tamed each morning by the accursed sun.

Pathetic.

How so unlike the Underealm the surface world was, Vyruna thought idly to herself. In the constant, unchanging shadow of the Underealm, there were no seasons. There was no such thing as weather. There was no sun, no moon, no stars. Sea and sky were things unknown to the dark elves, and mattered as much to them as the death cries of prey to a predator. In the Underealm, there was only darkness, and the unquestioned power of the Svari who ruled from their base of power in Nyctalinth.

Many decades had passed since she last stepped foot within her native homeland. Even after all these years living on the surface since her exile from Nyctalinth, Vyruna couldn't help but take note of the stark differences between the world above and the one below. She did not miss the misguided, small-mindedness of her people. To use a human expression, they were but helpless sheep clinging to the hem of Illotha's skirt while the petty goddess led them blind and dumb to the slaughter, all for her own amusement.

The Daelkyr had opened her eyes. The power they offered had set her free. Still, there was much work yet to be done. The surface was wholly infested with the lesser races; insipid humans and the accursed Thalasians. Their stink permeated the very air, inescapably offensive to Vyruna's acutely honed senses.

It was late autumn, at least according to how the inferior races reckoned time and the passage of seasons here on the surface. It wouldn't be long before this alien landscape became veiled in ice and snow as white as the Svari woman's long hair, and all hint of warmth driven from the world above to match her cold heart.

Despite the chill air, the Svari woman wore no clothes. She had long since discarded the need for such mundane trappings. Her entire body wholly infused with blessed corruption, Vyruna's flesh was instead covered with glistening black chitinous plates marked by an intricately complex web of what appeared to be veins across its surface, articulated and pulsing as if the form-fitting carapace possessed a mind and will of its own. The living armor served only to accentuate the curves of her lithe figure, combining both artful grace and terribly alien design into a beautiful yet otherworldly singular being.

She was armed with a large sword at her back, its blade opaque and transparent as if it was carved from crystalline ice. Hard and durable as any Svari adamantine weapon, it appeared to be an executioner's greatsword with a wide axe-like tip. Its blade was slightly curved and marked by teeth-like serrations at regular intervals where the crysteel was segmented into thirteen individual pieces held together into a single whole. A two-handed weapon, its sheer size dwarfed the Svari woman but she carried it with an air of confidence and familiarity that belied its seemingly unwieldy design.

Vyruna placed a lightly armored hand upon the gnarled trunk of a fir to brace her weight against it. The Underealm did not have trees, strange plant life that could not thrive without the light and warmth of the sun. The prospect of meeting the gaze of that burning, thrice-damned orb in the sky did not sit well with her. She did not fear the approach of the sun, far from it, but with everything else that was alien still to her in the world above, Vyruna regarded its mere presence with nothing but contempt each time she saw it.

The Svari woman stood at the edge of a great forest, mostly of fir and pine. Their evergreen leaves rustled in the chill wind, casting their strangely sharp scent into the air. Vyruna's senses missed nothing, and the stench of the surface world's native flora was almost overpowering to her.

Where there was a vast sea of green, healthy boughs despite the approach of winter, the immediate area where she stood was oddly brown and marked by twisted, barren limbs.

Her emerald green eyes narrowing with growing impatience, Vyruna cast a sidelong glance at her companion and fought back a sneer that threatened to overtake the corner of her lips. The young Svari girl to her right stood silently, watching the distant horizon with impassive pale blue eyes the hue of a cloudless sky.

A cold boreal gust picked up suddenly, blowing Vyruna's long, stark white hair across her face. Irritated at yet another intrinsically surface world phenomenon, the Svari woman quickly ran her fingers through wild tresses, tucking them behind a delicately pointed ear.

If the young dark aelf girl noticed the chill, she said not a word to affirm its existence since the current did not so much as touch her. Her long, straight hair, as stark white as the elder Svari's, was as still and motionless as death even in the face of a stiff breeze. The simple white, diaphanous gown the girl wore clung to her delicate frame like gossamer, equally undisturbed and unmoving despite the strong gust. It was as if the very air rejected the girl and slid aside to avoid her, deathly afraid to even touch someone whose very presence seemed so unnatural.

And unnatural was exactly what Vyruna thought of the little brat. Though the young Svari girl appeared not much older than any prepubescent child, she knew better. Like Vyruna, Ayaleska too knew the blessedly corrupting touch of the Daelkyr. Where they granted the older Svari great physical abilities, they did something entirely different to the girl. Vyruna did not care to speculate what that might be.

"This is a waste of time," the elder Svari woman finally spat in their native tongue, she being the first to break the long silence save for the moaning wind. "What are we still doing here?”

Wordless still, Ayaleska continued to stare off into the distant horizon, her icy blue gaze steady and impassive. Vyruna's flustered questions went unanswered, lost to the gale.

The older Svari growled and cursed under her breath. The brat was beyond intolerable. Why had Zarael sent them to this spot in the middle of nowhere, a worthless land ruled over by equally useless humans and their bloated dragon allies. The ignorant creatures of this insignificant speck of a nation were so certain in their own fleeting sense of power, blissfully unaware, seeing nothing, knowing nothing.

"There," Ayaleska's small voice echoed without emotion, ringing clearly yet empty over the howling wind.

Vyruna turned toward the direction of the girl's gaze, and saw two figures loping over the far hill at a fast run, their forms lost to darkness and shadow. Though she couldn't see them clearly yet even with her greatly enhanced vision, Vyruna knew what approached them. Daelkyr netherhounds. Admittedly, the foul creatures had their uses, but their constant slavering and disgustingly monstrous forms repulsed the older Svari.

Racing across the rocky plains were beasts that resembled great wolves or panthers, but any semblance to those animals ended there. Sleek fur and graceful muscle were replaced by black chitinous plates and bony sinew. Their frames seemed oddly elongated and horrifically misshapen, as if half finished by whatever mad necromancer had created them. Long draconic snouts ended in rows upon rows of cruelly jagged teeth the size of dagger blades set into bifurcated lower mandible jaws, allowing for a much more powerful bite and larger maw in which to entrap their prey. Gangly limbs ended in sickle-shaped talons, while two whip-like tentacles studded with horned barbs and spikes sprouted from hunched shoulders. Their tails were equally flexible and tipped with a scorpion-like stinger trailing behind the creatures as they ran at breakneck speed. Completely sightless, they had no eyes and needed none as their other senses were sharpened to a keen razor's edge; a gift of the Daelkyr corruption.

The netherhounds panted and yipped excitedly from the previous night's hunt as they slowed their pace and came to a halt before the two Svari. Their long, black tongues lolling between slavering jaws, the beasts encircled Ayaleska, each vying for space at the child's side like attention-starved pups seeking their master's approval. One of the unsettling creatures reached out with its lashing tongue, gingerly touching and wrapping itself around the girl's slender, outstretched right hand.

Unflinching, Ayaleska's reaction was neither one of disgust nor fear as vile drool covered her arm and dripped from her fingers. Vyruna noted that no expression at all passed over her stoic, emotionless face. Closing her eyes, the ebony-skinned child seemed lost in thought, as if silently communing with the netherhound.

"What are you doing?" Vyruna asked in a tone tinged with boredom and annoyance. "Enough of this. You have your pets back, we should leave now." The elder Svari's patience was wearing thin. They didn't have time to waste playing children's games. "Our part in this ridiculous farce is over," Vyruna continued tersely. "Favian and Makaro have already withdrawn, and the traitor's body delivered."

This whole mission was a fool's errand, Vyruna thought to herself. Why had they even bothered to waste time and effort to steal back the corpse of yet another traitor?

"We are all of us betrayers," was Ayaleska's unexpected reply, her blunt words devoid of any passion. The girl had not opened her eyes as she spoke, and continued to allow the Daelkyr netherhound to lick at her exposed hand. "Is it not so that our house was driven from the Svari homeland because we were branded traitors to our people? We are none of us special in that regard."

Taken aback, Vyruna glared at the impertinent child. She could not refute her words, and the fact they rang true and stung with the bitter memory of being exiled from Nyctalinth infuriated the older Svari.

Ayaleska ignored her and delved deeper into the netherhound's collective memories. It mattered not that the exact netherhound that confronted her mother was destroyed on board the Ark. The creatures shared a hive mind and were inextricably linked to one another as a result. What one hound experienced, they all did.

She could detect her mother's scent still lingering with the creature.

She was close, so very close. Soon, she would finally be able to return from whence she came.

Opening her pale blue eyes once more, Ayaleska was greeted by the netherhound's slavering visage. A gurgling sound issued forth from deep within the beast's throat, a sign of uncertainty when faced with not knowing its master's will. As hive mind creatures, they required constant mental prodding and reassurance from the master to see that they carried out their commands.

The thought of such a flawed design displeased her.

Wordlessly, Ayaleska reached out with her left hand to stroke the snout of the second Daelkyr netherhound at her side, the creature's breath forming clouds of mist in the chill twilight air. The child's eyes suddenly took on a bright ice-blue intensity as her bone-white hair and gossamer-like gown began to flutter, disturbed by an unseen wind.

The creatures' shrieking howls shattered the once pervading silence, echoing across the forest canopy and sending flocks of migrating birds and mystling dragonets into the air.

Convulsing in uncontrollable seizures with their tentacles and tails whipping about wildly, the netherhounds thrashed and screeched in agony, though anyone watching the terrible scene unfolding before them would not have been able to discern any outward cause of their horrific pain. In the midst of the cacophony stood Ayaleska, eerily calm, with her glowing eldritch eyes the only indication that the girl was even aware of the madness she had wrought.

Vyruna whirled toward the beasts, the hilt of her sword already in hand. Its crysteel blade flashed in the retreating gloom, inviting death if the Svari so chose. Despite the size of the weapon, Vyruna easily held it aloft with a single hand, which had grown in size and shape itself.

The elder Svari’a hand was now of monstrous proportions, ending in three cruel talons while her chitin-plated forearm thickened to that of an ogre's, complete with obscenely muscled sinew. Where her lower arm joined the elbow, two long wicked horns jutted out backward, lending the impression of a draconic aegis. This was the Daelkyr's gift to Vyruna, as she was capable of manipulating her own flesh at will to suit her needs. Few creatures were as skilled at skinchanging as she was.

"What in the hells do you think you're doing?!" she snarled, struggling to be heard over the din of the hounds' anguished cries. The Svari woman tightened the grip on her sword hilt, her entire body taut and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. One of the creatures’ tentacles lashed out at her blindly, forcing her to duck into a practiced roll as the spikes stripped pieces of bark from the tree behind her. Vyruna came back up to her feet quickly, the executioner’s sword whistling through the air when she brought it to bear before her.

Rasping a death rattle, the two creatures gave a final shudder and crashed heavily to the ground, the one which had been licking Ayaleska's hand collapsing upon its haunches while the other fell prone on its side. Languidly, their tongues sprawled out of their gaping maws, soaking the earth with vile spittle.

A heavy stillness permeated the air, the beasts' cries abruptly silenced in death. Her eyes gradually dimming to their normal icy hue, Ayaleska's impassive gaze took in the slain netherhounds at her bare, delicate feet, their foul carcasses as inert and lifeless as stone.

"What have you done?" Vyruna demanded. Her voice was barely able to hold back the curses that threatened to rise up in her throat. "Do you think this a game? Zarael won't be pleased when he hears of this."

Petulant little brat. Children should know their place among their betters. Vyruna expected as much from the hells-damned spawn of a wretched traitor. The mere thought of that contemptible bitch's name nearly brought bile to her mouth. 'If you were my daughter . . .'

Vyruna did not have time to finish her unspoken threat as the bodies of the netherhounds began to shudder violently once more, caught in a spastic fit of thrashing brought on by a dramatic physical transformation. Their black chitinous hides faded into near-translucence, replaced by smooth, fine scales the color of virgin snow. Where hulking muscle and wicked spines once dominated, their monstrous forms gave way to sleek, serpentine grace.

Like phoenixes reborn anew from the ashes, the two creatures took to the air, defying gravity with an ease that birds would envy. At first glance, they resembled large snakes with decidedly draconic features in their fanged snouts and the single three-taloned claw that hung beneath their long, whip-like bodies. Ice blue eyes matching the Svari child's stared out from the serpents' hooded brows, slitted like a cat's and brimming with an otherworldly sentience where none existed before.

Without a word, Ayaleska raised her outstretched arm to one of the unearthly beautiful creatures just as the drool left on her ebony skin dissipated into mist to be carried away by the breeze. Screeching, the two serpents flew circles excitedly around their mistress, enraptured in their gravity-defying dance. One landed its claw gingerly on the girl's narrow shoulder while the other wrapped its sinuous body around her arm and settled its claw on her offered hand.

As one, the twin creatures turned and angrily hissed their disapproval of Vyruna, as if the elder Svari's mere presence itself was poisonous.

Faster than Vyruna could even hope to react, the serpent at the child's hand snaked forward with blinding speed, stopping with its bared fangs leveled only inches from the Svari woman's face.

Caught off guard, Vyruna blinked at the creature, and it took her a moment before realizing that she had been holding her breath. It was quick. Faster than liquid mercury. Faster than thought.

Turning to face the elder Svari, Ayaleska's piercing gaze seemed to cut straight through to the soul. 'Know this,' the child's hollow voice echoed unbidden within Vyruna's mind, a silent whisper as deadly as any assassin's blade. 'You are not my mother.'

Withdrawing through the air with a hiss, the seemingly weightless serpent coiled itself back up toward the girl's outstretched arm. Without another word, Ayaleska calmly turned on a delicate heel and walked deeper into the forest, accompanied by her new pets. Despite her bare feet, the child made no sound and left not a single trace of her passing as she made her way into the retreating shadows.

Speechless, Vyruna could only stare after Ayaleska, the Svari woman's eyes flashing a livid green with barely contained fury. The monstrous arm at her side shook with the tension of clutching the hilt of her executioner's sword so tightly, hardened muscle and sinew flexed and strained with the effort.

Letting out a vile oath, Vyruna swung her sword in a wide, downward diagonal arc, burying its crysteel blade deeply in the trunk of the same fir tree where she had moments ago been leaning against. A dull, satisfying thunk greeted the Svari's ears as the transparent metal bit greedily into wood, as if it was a living thing that longed to sate its hunger.

Forcing herself to take several deep breaths, Vyruna tried to calm the rage within her before pulling the sword out from its wooden prison. With the enhanced strength of her monstrous arm, it was a simple task as she tore the blade free with a quick, vicious motion, sending broken splinters and shards of tinder into the air. A large, gaping wound was left in the trunk to serve as a reminder of the Svari's momentary lapse of self-control.

Behind her, the sun finally crested the mountainous peaks far to the east, further dispelling the last vestiges of twilight.

Her time would come, the dark aelf vowed. When Zarael tired of the brat's petulant outbursts, he would discard her after she had served her purpose, whatever the hells that may be. Until then, Vyruna would bide her time.

Snapping her wrist, the Svari woman quickly replaced the executioner's sword against her back. The black chitin and corrupted skin reacted instantly, reshaping itself to form over the crysteel blade and firmly holding the weapon in place.

With a final curse uttered against the light of the rising sun behind her, Vyruna too walked and vanished into the deepening woods.

She promised herself that in the end, some would live to see many more sunrises than others.
 
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Arcturion

First Post
1.0 Darksail Argosy

1.0 Darksail Argosy

A dark tiding they sing,
Its current at my shore.
A change upon the wind,
It sees me off to war.


– Verse from an old merchant marine’s warchant


Pryntar 24, Ceriday, 957 VR (Veracian Reckoning)*

Drace, capital of the Dragon Kingdom of Mordrake, the greatest realm of the north. It was a grand walled city of impossibly high, buttressed spires that seemed to rake the overcast sky, as if dozens of alabaster lances whose pennons had been set to wave at the very doorstep of the gods themselves. Arched catwalks and bridges connected numerous towers at dizzying heights, with a fall all but certain to spell doom for any who would be so unlucky as to tumble off from the city’s lofty web of intricately linked skyways. The day was cool, the wind biting with chill, and the paved cobblestone streets covered in many places with winter snow that was quickly turning to muddy slush with the approach of spring and the promised return of warmth.

And with it the unspoken but much whispered threat of war.

Though Eltera stood at one of many of Drace’s wide avenues, surrounded by throngs of people who were going about their daily lives, laughing and talking and haggling over the cost of cloth or spice, the dark aelf had never felt so alone as she did now. She found herself wandering aimlessly through the city’s port ward known as the Ebontine where the Aestas River emptied into the bay, the sight of the open sea’s vast azure expanse seeming to calm the edges of her troubled thoughts. The Underealm did not have oceans as the surface world did. The subterranean lakes and rivers of her sunless homeland held no promise of life-giving rain or weather of any kind, only the glassy obsidian surface of a dark abyss that reached down toward the blackest depths of the earth. How strange that she should be staring out at the sea’s churning currents now and wondering what changes the winds would bring.

The nightmare that was B’astion was all but a blurry haze to her, like trying to catch smoke with an outstretched hand and watching helplessly as its wispy tendrils slipped through her fingers. Eltera had discovered that the fortified city that now served the Imperium as a base from which it can launch strikes against its neighbors was once called Aristahl, the capital of the shattered Veracian Republic. In its drive to conquer other lands and erase the very identities of its fallen enemies, the Iron Throne had, in its infinite wisdom, renamed the captured city B’astion, as if it would grant any measure of solace to a people driven under the heel of an unseen tyrant. The name itself meant nothing to the dark aelf except that all she remembered of the place was blood and shadow. A face came to her mind’s eye then, unexpected and unbidden, that of Valsentres, the Svari’s face running with crimson rivulets from the bloodied, hollow orbits where his eyes should have been.

Where is your god now? Eltera’s own mocking voice intoned.

With a start, she blinked and the ruined visage of the slain cleric was gone as if he were never there. The sharp tang of the sea’s salt spray air met her senses, accompanied by the rhythmic splashing of waves and the ever present cawing chatter of tiny dragonets flying overhead. Their pearly scales shining a bright teal in the hazy morning sun, the noisy creatures always seemed to circle the ships berthed at Drace’s rocky shores, swarming the masts and scanning the decks and piers in search of an easy meal. Caravels and galleons of all sorts were docked at the Ebontine this day. Laborers and deckhands were scurrying about their business, hauling crates and barrels from ship to shore and back again in a chaotic swarm of activity that mirrored the hungry dragonets’ aerial dance.

Angar and Ryane had not so much as spoken to Eltera since those dark days in B’astion, and when she approached with the intention of offering some measure of regret or apology to the young Inmerish woman, now large with child, the overprotective half-orc had bared his fangs as well as his blades, snarling a warning to keep her distance. Eltera had not deigned to lay them any blame. What words could she have offered after the things she had done? They would have been hollow and fallen upon deaf ears. Accompanied by the incessantly chattering Leluric rogue Elderdrake, the two had left the city many days ago, booking passage with a merchant’s caravan headed toward Ashaeron and with hopes of raising their child in peace, away from any more blood and slaughter. Away from her.

The remnants of the small circle of her companions had left as well. Bel Daveril accompanied the human spellgunner Nashiel southward in a continued effort to free the former Veracian capital from its Imperial occupiers, or so the Thalasian archer claimed. Eltera had the feeling that Bel was not so much interested in the cause of liberation as she was in Nashiel’s supposed charms. Still, the two had much in common in that both were expert marksmen displaced from their respective homelands; he with the flintlock and she with the bow. The dark aelf had wished them good fortune on their journey. Newly betrothed, Rayella and Marcus had chosen to protect the last of the Kyrian children, and mentioned something about entering the service of a dragon. Eltera doubted that such a powerful creature, if it indeed existed, required the service of lesser beings, but had seen the two Kyrians fly off just as well in the dead of night so as to go unobserved. The fine suit of mail they had left her was their parting gift, and the dark aelf was grateful for it. The Hultaan beastman Jace went west toward the vast Inmerish wilderness. As a ranger, he was ill at ease in large cities and had offered Tanius his sword in service.

Tanius. The druid was gone, assuming the heavy responsibility of leading the members of his Weirwood Circle following the death of their Hierophant Savrius, and with hopes of rebuilding the groves deep within the verdant forests of Inmerthyr. With a pang, Eltera had learned that the H’jenn-Ra were to blame for the devastation wrought upon the druidic Vale and their Heart Tree. Though defeated in his bid for the title of Hierophant, the one called Beriel had denounced Eltera, laying at her feet as much of the blame for the deaths of his kinsmen and the ravaging of his homeland. With a heavy heart, Eltera had decided not to accompany Tanius on his journey back to Inmerthyr given the strong enmity toward her among Beriel’s supporters.

One day, I will return to you, Tanius had promised her with a ghost of a smile and a tender hand upon her cheek, before assuming the form of a hawk as black as midnight and taking wing westward. Eltera had understood that his calling as Hierophant, once won and accepted, could not be denied.

The only somewhat familiar face still left in Drace belonged to that of Ivar Wolfgarsson. The proud Hrundir barbarian was the son of a powerful Jarl chieftain across the Abrisseen to the north, or so he claimed, resuming his duties as ambassador to his people while in the city. Ever distrustful of Eltera and of all dark elves, or “Svartálfar” as he had called them in his native tongue, Ivar had spat on any notion of association with her, much less friendship, and it took all of Bel Daveril’s charms to calm the temperamental warrior. Hefting his warhammer, Ivar had parted ways at the first opportunity. Eltera found that she did not miss his company.

So what did that leave her now? Having assumed the role of a Daoshan woman, she spent her days wandering the Dracian capital with no real aim or destination in mind. Eltera had learned at least that the Daoshans were a seafaring culture of the human race far to the south, whose daring on the high seas were legend and whose skin tone was as dark as her own. This last fact alone had kept her own identity as a dark aelf from being discovered and helped deflect any questions concerning as to from where she hailed. Still, Eltera had worn the hood of her cloak over her head at all times lest her true race be unmasked for all to see. It was almost always then that blades were bared and blood was spilt, and for what?

With a heavy sigh, Eltera found she could not blame anyone for such a reaction. Her own hands were stained with the blood of innocents. She flexed her fingers, opening and closing them carefully. The cuts left by the black adamantine blade of the H’jenn-Ra’s cruel sickle had yet to close and heal completely. Instead, the angry wounds where the cursed weapon had pierced her flesh wept often during the night as she slept fitfully, her dreams haunted by the fleeting, ghostly faces of Valsentres, of her blinded father Saulekanis, of the girl child calling herself Ayaleska, and others she could not yet name. The dark aelf had paid the innkeep several times for stained sheets, offering muted apologies. The man, interested more in coin than ruined bedding, had balked at first but quickly changed his tune, making jests about breaking maidenhead. Eltera had not bothered to take note of his crude humor, lost in her own thoughts. Amurisil’s healing magic was of no aid. Even now the fresh bandages she had wrapped around her hands earlier in the morning were starting to bleed through at the palms with spots of red.

Eltera let her hand rest on the ivory hilt of the sword sheathed at her hip. Its cool touch was somehow soothing, almost reassuring. There will always be a dawn, Tanius was fond of saying. She idly wondered if the truth of his words would ever grace her with their meaning.

With a start, Eltera quickly regained her thoughts as well as her balance just when a body nearly pushed past from where she last stood. Turning easily on the balls of her feet, she saw that the one who had seemingly walked into her was a large, tall male human. Barrel-chested and blessed with a warrior’s frame, the man’s ebony skin was as dark as a moonless night. Approaching his middle years and more round in his abdomen than torso, his features were equally larger than life. The man’s nose was broad, his dark brown eyes lined and weathered with many years upon the windblown seas. His mouth was expressive, and when he smiled, as he did now, the white of his teeth shone bright and starkly against his black skin.

Though no longer young, he was still possessed of strength and vigor. A veritable rainbow of colors greeted her hazel eyes as the man’s clothing was garish as it was expensive in appearance. A black kerchief was tied around his otherwise bald pate, while numerous gold rings hung from his ears and clicked at his thick, calloused fingers. His feet bore black leather boots with shiny, polished buckles while the man’s billowy pantaloons were striped with vertical bands of white and blue in the popular style of sailors. A crimson vest of finely stitched cloth was worn over the man’s massive frame, open and unbuttoned despite the chill air. Over that, a broad leather bandolier crossed over his mighty torso, bearing numerous throwing knives. A necklace of long, curved bones hung from a leather thong around his bull neck, most likely from some exotic animal.

The wide, golden sash of fine silk wrapped around his stomach was also kept in place by a fine leather belt, to which a large cutlass with a filigreed handguard was sheathed in a dark scabbard at his left side. At the other, a strange contraption that Eltera recognized as a flintlock pistol was thrust through the sash. According to Nashiel, she recalled that the rare weapon’s volatile black powder was first created by the Shinorese, a culture of humans far to the south, and whose design was then copied and adapted by Minoi gnome traders, its use having spread in popularity among Veracian rakes, Daoshan corsairs, and Imperial soldiers alike. On that last front, the dark aelf could attest to its effectiveness, having experienced the painful sting of its roundball projectiles before.

“My, you have the reflexes of a cat!” the man’s deep baritone voice boomed, accompanied by thunderous laughter that shook his barrel-shaped midriff. His words were heavily inflected with a thick accent and sounded odd to Eltera’s aelfin ears. “Forgive me, where are my manners? I am Rentiki, Captain of the Argus, that fine vessel berthed yonder.” The Daoshan sailor, for there could be no doubt that he was one, bowed low and swept his muscled arm in a grandiose display of courtly greeting that seemed to clash with his gaudy sailor’s garb. Rising, he motioned with a bejeweled hand toward a large merchant’s caravel, its dark canvas sails neatly tied atop its twin masts, moored at one of many of the wooden piers that dotted the Ebontine. The only distinguishing trait the vessel had was its affixed figurehead, for it bore the image of some strange, regal bird whose plumed feathers were carved in elaborate relief against the wooden sides of the ship’s bow, marked by many spots that resembled eyes.

“I noted that you were admiring my ship and I must say, the lady has good taste,” Rentiki continued genially despite towering over the much shorter dark aelf. “I am also embarrassed to admit that my clumsy efforts at introduction do not do you justice, and as you plainly guessed, my bumping into you was no mere coincidence. Again, do forgive me! An old salty dog’s trick, you see. It is just that it is not often that mine eyes are greeted by the most welcomed sight of a Daoshan sister so far from the warm shores of our homeland. Imagine my surprise to find you here in Drace, of all places, dear lady! Might I ask you of your name and the pleasure of your company?”

The man’s words were spoken in a strange human dialect that she could not – should not – have possibly understood, Eltera noted, and yet, there it was. Oddly enough, she heard every foreign word clearly and immediately knew their meaning as if he were speaking the Common tongue to her keen senses. Abruptly, Eltera also realized with a start that her hood was slightly askew as a loosened tress of stark white, silvery hair brushed across her face, briefly exposed into view of Captain Rentiki.



OOC: * The IC date is equivalent to February 24th, Saturday.
 
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Arcturion

First Post
Out Of Character

I've come to realize that the back and forth nature of pbp/pbem games is somewhat jarring to read in a true story format as far as posting goes, but I'll try to make the most of it and edit entries to make them read a little easier. It's a time consuming process though (and time being something I have to carefully budget these days), so I can't make any promises aside from spelling and grammar checks for the time being, and editing out OOC bits here and there. Apologies and all that.
 

Arcturion

First Post
1.0 Darksail Argosy

Eltera blinked away the tears in her eyes as the morbid imagine of Valsentres disappeared from her vision. She wiped her delicate fingers across her cheek, expecting to find blood. The Svari was almost disappointed to find only a tear. Why she felt that way, she could not answer.

Her vision turned back to the sea and her thoughts meandered over her the few days. There was no destination in her mind and no path set before her. Her singular goal was simple – Ayaleska. One name that, at the moment, was as elusive as a dream and yet as vivid as a nightmare. When she thought of her daughter, she found herself overwhelmed with hope and dread. Ayaleska seemed to embody all of her failures with everything she might pray . . .

Those thoughts quickly ceded and she contemplated that last word: Pray. The one notion had recently been haunting her deeply as well. She had stood outside The Fane of Daeus for nearly three candle-marks two nights before. The guards had changed under her auspices as she contemplated going in and confessing her sins. They were numerous and haunted her thoughts. Many, including Valsentres and her father, had found solace in the arms. That notion of prayer had haunted her recently and she could not elude it constantly being on her thoughts . . . almost like she was missing something.

Eltera had not entered the Fane. The possible consequences were too numerous for her to contemplate. She had quietly left with no solace found.

Unconsciously, her hand dropped back to the cooling and soothing comfort of Amurisil.

As trained and talented as Eltera was, her training often failed her when confronted with her own thoughts. The bump could have easily sent her sprawling, if not swimming. Instead, the Svari managed to spin lightly and come face-to-face with the burly, dark-skinned human. He was large and colorful. Even the black scarf over his black head seemed bright. Perhaps it was his smile.

The Svari couldn't manage a smile as she turned back to the ship. Her heart raced as the strand of snow white hair fell free. It had taken her nearly half a candle-mark* to bound her hair so that it would not be seen and her efforts had been in failure. Looking back to the ship, Eltera slipped her left hand up to her face and brushed the strand back beneath her hood as best as she could. Hopefully no one else had noticed.

Whatever magic allowed her to understand Rentiki was slipped to the back of her mind. She noted it well, but didn't have time to think about it under the moment.

Valsentres had a saying he spoke once, The gods work sometimes in mysterious ways.

Eltera returned the smile as she turned back to the much larger Daoshan, "Indeed. It looks like a marvelous boat. And I would never turn down a walk with a man as blessed as yourself with knowledge. How else would you know that my name is Cat?"



OOC: * A candle-mark is equal to an hour and is often how the folk of the various realms of Paylen reckon the passage of time outside their calendar.
 

Arcturion

First Post
1.0 Darksail Argosy

Lifting a meaty hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully, Captain Rentiki regarded Eltera with an expression of utmost curiosity etched across his broad features. As the dark aelf tucked the errant strand of hair back against the voluminous folds of her hood, she could feel the man’s dark eyes searching her face. Rentiki didn’t exude any hint of menace, on the contrary, his demeanor and fashion sense spoke of a Captain that possessed a zeal for life bordering on excess and hedonism. Eltera didn’t know the man at all, but that was the impression he gave her. And if he noticed the strange color of her hair, he gave no indication.

At the mention of her alias, Rentiki threw back his head and gave a thunderous roar of laughter that shook his barrel-shaped belly and sent several dragonets that had been milling about the Argus’s masts shrieking their discontent into the air as they took wing. “Oh ho! Cat, she says!” he bellowed, white teeth gleaming brightly with his grin. Again, he continued to speak with the thick accent of what Eltera guessed was the Daoshan language, and still his words rang clear as day to her ears. “Oh, the gods smile upon this old salty dog! Aye, dear Cat, a fine name it is! And the Argus, she is no cat, as you can plainly see, but neither is she a mere boat, oh no! The finest caravel to have sailed the Seven Known Seas! Why, I’ve braved the tempests of Tephral, crossed swords with Shinorese pirates on the Zhenshan, dodged Mykosian myrmidons in the Meridian, ran cargo up and down the Solan to the Nine Hells and back in time for supper! All thanks to the Argus. There is no finer merchant mariner’s vessel as she!”

Eltera turned back toward the ship, and though the large craft seemed rather unremarkable aside from its dark canvas sails and elaborate figurehead, she supposed it was as fine a vessel as any she had seen. Still, her time upon the surface world was short by her own reckoning, and many of her old memories disjointed, so she could not recall being an accurate judge of any ship’s seaworthiness. Focusing her eyes, the dark aelf did notice that the wooden sides of the Argus, particularly toward the stern, were pockmarked with what appeared to be burns and several broken arrow shafts. It then occurred to her that the vessel had originally three masts, rather than the two she initially observed. The third mast was missing, Eltera realized, snapped off near the aft castle where it met the deck. Something of considerable force must have struck the mast and knocked it clean off, but what could have caused such damage, she couldn’t say.

Captain Rentiki must have noticed her gaze and balled his large fists against his broad waist, muscled arms akimbo. “Ah, yes, that. Tis only just a scratch, mind you!” he said amiably, though his tone betrayed a hint of annoyance in his voice and something else the dark aelf couldn’t quite place. “Ran into some Hrundir raiders on my way around the Cape of Solannus a few days back. Bad business, them. T’was Fenrigar’s vikers, sea wolves who prowl the Abrisseen in search of blood and booty. It’s all they live for, it seems. Barely got away with a dozen men lost to his wolves. Aye, bad business.”

It was then that among the deckhands and laborers who were unloading crates and barrels from the Argus onto wagons with pulleys and ropes, a gangly fellow started across the docks toward Rentiki and Eltera. His face was gaunt, and his olive-brown skin tanned tough as leather, though not quite as dark as the Captain’s. Oily black hair hung from his greased pate, while the scraggly moustache and beard that covered his crooked mouth lent his sour expression with even more leaden weight. Compared to Rentiki, the man wore roughspun sailor’s garb stained with pitch and sweat. Coming to a stop before them both, the gaunt man rolled up the sleeves of his soiled shirt and hooked his thumbs into the ragged belt at his waist before spitting a gob of tarleaf juice upon the wooden planks of the boardwalk at his feet. He regarded Eltera coldly for a moment with dark, hooded eyes before turning to face Rentiki.

“Pardon da’ Cap’n,” the man began tersely. Eltera could smell the rank odor of his stained clothes mixed with the sour stench of old grog and brine. “But da’ estimate fer da’ ship’s repairs jes’ dun come in. It ain’t cheap, all da’ more da’ sorrows, sir, cuz findin’ new men ta replace da’ ones we dun los’ won’t be neitha in dis pisshole port.” The dark aelf took note that the man spoke a different language, though this one she couldn’t place. And yet, she understood his words, if barely with his sailor’s slang.

“Ye gods, why bother me with details, Hashad? Just pay the shipwright and be done with it! We have a schedule to keep, man!” Captain Rentiki replied with exasperation, likewise in the same harsh-sounding language.

The one called Hashad chewed the tarleaf in his mouth for a moment, rolling the bitter weed across tongue and between teeth stained a dark brown before spitting at his feet again. His squinty gaze took in Eltera once more, this time looking the dark aelf up and down while lingering a bit too long upon her crotch and chest before flicking back to Rentiki. “Beggin’ da Cap’n’s pardon, but ain’t it a bit early ta be wenchin’ at dis ‘ere hour, sir?”

“A Captain does as he will,” was Rentiki’s brusque answer. “And mind your tone when in the presence of a lady.”

Hashad gave his Captain a crooked, tar-stained smile. “A lady,” he repeated idly, smacking his cracked lips as if testing the word. “O’course. I’ll see ta da shipwright ‘n if I can’t scrounge up some new men fer da crew, but Dracians be a ‘ard sell, dey are.” Turning upon a heel, the unkempt mariner spun and crossed the dock back toward the Argus.

“Do forgive Hashad,” Rentiki said apolegtically as he faced Eltera once more, switching back to the Daoshan language with ease. “His manners could do for some polishing, it seems. But you won’t find a better First Mate in all the Seven Known Seas.” The Captain shivered, his hands tugging at the hem of his colorful red vest, as if the scant garment could afford him any protection against the icy sting blowing off the waters from the north. “The gods take this winter chill! Cold as a Spirian witch’s teat, this damnable weather is! Pardon my language. But perhaps this night won’t be as bad, so warm is your company, dear Cat. I promised you a walk, and walk we shall.” With a flourish, Rentiki bowed low again and offered Eltera the crook of his arm.
 

Arcturion

First Post
1.0 Darksail Argosy

Eltera unconsciously flexed her hands at the deckhand's approach. His very walk spoke of a self-assurance coming close to being feared, especially as his eyes took on Eltera's form. She shifted her hips, trying to get comfortable under the much lighter weight of a dagger at her right hip. Accustomed to two longswords, it was a different feel. A longsword was much preferred, especially when it came to blows.

His words again caught her in surprise as she understood the strange language. And yet still, even as Rentiki spoke, she understood the same language. Since her bonding with The Eye, she could feel a surge of power and ability in her body. She had changed drastically and perhaps this was another way. The other option was that it was some enchantment or magical items possessed by the crew of the Argus. The latter option seemed the most likely. Rentiki seemed to assume that she had just understood Daoshan and Hashad's own language. Of course, it might have been likely that anyone of Daoshan decent would understand both tongues.

The Svari held her tongue as Hashad walked away. Several scathing comments had crossed her mind and nearly crossed her tongue. Instead, she opted for discretion. It only took just another loose strand of hair for someone to realize she was instead a Svari and not a Daoshan lady.

At the offered hand, Eltera gracefully slid her own arm through. His beefy forearm and hand dwarfed her own and she felt like her arm was swallowed.

"Your first mate might want to discover some mediocrity of manners before he loosens his tongue," she tried to sound polite, even if his words had irked her. In truth, she was upset that she had to stay cloaked away and could not act. While Hashad's words did not truly require a response, another situation might not be so easily avoided.

"What business takes the Captain of the Argus away from his ship? I hope you came not this way for only a walk with myself."

She let his words of warmth and company slip by. Eltera understood at what they might imply, but she had no intention of getting warm in that manner.
 

Arcturion

First Post
1.0 Darksail Argosy

Accepting Eltera’s offered hand, Rentiki smiled broadly and gestured toward the western lane of the boardwalk, letting out another rumbling guffaw at the mention of his First Mate as they walked. “Aye, he can at that. You know, it wasn’t the first time his tongue had landed him in troubled waters. I found the man just off the Isle of Tysis and it seemed he had run afoul of some Mykosian myrmidons hired by a local lord there. Such disagreeable folk, they are. Apparently, Hashad said the wrong thing to one of his daughters, and was going to have his most delicates removed for the slight against her honor.” At this, Rentiki grinned and placed his free hand against his belly as it shook with remembered mirth.

“Well, I recognized a good sailor when I saw one, and offered to buy his freedom instead. Why let a salty dog’s skills go to waste, I thought? The price was rather steep, mind you, but fortunately the scruples of these particular myrmidons were for sale to the highest bidder. They had been ordered to bring back Hashad’s, how shall we say, parts as proof of their success, so what were they to offer as a substitute to placate their lord, they asked? At the time, I was dealing in the ivory and fur trade, something I dabble in from time to time still, and it just so happened I had some extra parts leftover from some rather exotic beasts that would do the trick.

“Ah, a thousand pardons,” Rentiki smiled apologetically, placing his free hand upon Eltera’s at his elbow and patting gently. “Forgive me, such talk is unseemly in the company of a lady, I know. But needless to say, Hashad has been in my debt ever since. Eh, your hand, dear Cat? Have you hurts there beneath these bandages?” The Captain’s tone had gone from jovially tongue-in-cheek as he finished his bawdy tale to one of seemingly genuine concern.

Trying not to wince from the pain at his touch upon her hand, Eltera gazed up at the large man’s face, averting her eyes for a brief moment as a quick thought formed in her mind to deflect the sudden question. “Oh, this? It’s nothing,” the dark aelf began absently. Strangely, she found herself speaking the Daoshan language as easily as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Had she been talking in the oddly consonant-heavy human tongue all this time without even realizing it? “A parry gone awry, is all it is. What, my dear Captain? You did not think the sword I wear at my side was just for show, did you?” Eltera did her best to sound convincing, using her free hand to pat Amurisil sheathed at her waist for emphasis. She flashed the man a lop-sided smile that bespoke of playfulness she did not truly feel. “In these uncertain times, a lady must learn to defend herself, after all, be it from unscrupulous pirates or lascivious first mates. The role of a damsel in distress does not suit me at all, I find.”

At this, Rentiki’s grin was broad indeed. “Well, it’s a good thing Hashad broke off as he did, lest your blade finish what those myrmidons began,” he laughed, sounding quite amused. “A fine blade it is, too, one quite fitting for a female warrior. My, you’re a rare breed, my dear Cat. I would surely like to test your skills at the sword, but I fear I was never much for dueling with steel as I am with words. Bad for business, you see. But the mere pleasure of your company is reason enough for a respite from counting coin and brokering agreements over levies. Tiresome work, that. These Dracians, they so love their taxes. It makes me wonder why I keep doing business here at all. And yet, the City of Spires has a certain charm, wouldn’t you agree?”

The Captain was well armed for a business man, Eltera noted, remembering the pistol tucked in its golden sash, the cutlass sheathed at his side, and the throwing knives over Rentiki’s barrel chest. As they walked, the dark aelf tried to listen in on the conversations of the people going about their daily lives around them. Her sharp ears picked up bits and pieces here and there, teamsters haranguing with longshoreman over the placement of goods into wagons driven by long-horned and scaly-hide aurochs, sailors swearing colorful oaths as they threw a game of bones while drunk on grog even in the early morning haze, and fishmongers extolling the virtues of the day’s catch as they curried the favor of potential customers. While some conversed in the Common tradespeak, most spoke in the halting language of the Dracians, a tongue she was not supposed to have known, and yet, she understood their words clear as day.

“But, as you say, dear Cat,” Rentiki replied, continuing to talk even as Eltera’s attention was focused on the idle chatter of passersby. “Ah, I just remembered. I have a surgeon on board the Argus, should you require it. He should still be there, as a matter of fact.” The Captain stopped, gesturing back toward his ship. “Perhaps he can tend to your hurts? Please, you can use my cabin.”
 

Arcturion

First Post
1.0 Darksail Argosy

In no way did Eltera find that information concerning Hashad a surprise. The man seemed to have an unkempt appearance that accentuate his coarse and crude mouth. His whole demeanor said that he would belittle anything with breasts into his own desires. The Svari offered a warning at the thought of the first mate, "You would do well to watch him better, else your purse may feel lighter yet again. That tongue of his is not only trouble for himself, but costly trouble for you."

As the subject changed to Drace, Eltera gave a glance over the city as numerous towers pierced through the sky. Even from the docks, there was no questioning its grace and splendor. There was a certain awe as the city was literally alive with countless wyverns, dragonets, and all sorts of beasts taking to wing. The mounts with certainty and the wild dragonets moved with playfulness. Watching them was a relief to most anyone as she had seen countless people just stopping at times to watch the dragonets chase each other.

But, when she brought her gaze low she could see the haze of fear that settling over the city. It was, at times, stifling, like a summer day. People were afraid and as more refugees flooded the gate, the fear only intensified. One person afraid of the Imperial army was one person that might get lost in a city, but a thousand people that were sleeping in alleys and beneath pelts in the streets was a depression. The fear almost smelled like burnt steel. Eltera tried to keep her tone light and mirthful, though the fear in the air still managed to pervade her words, "Indeed, it has a glory about it. I hope this approaching war does little to dampen it."

The fear in her words was not for her own sake, but rather for a city and a people.

Changing talk to Rentiki's martial skills, Eltera offered a true smile. She was uncertain if she believed him, looking at the multitude of weapons about his person. Even if it wasn't true, there was something about Rentiki's very demeanor and personality that was mirthful and carefree, but controlled and measured. It was a relief from her constant worry and doubt. If he lied, he was not to hide the truth, but rather bashfulness on his part.

"I do not trust your words there. I'll take my leave should you wish to fight me and I'd prefer that we find no trouble against which you can show me your prowess. As you can see from my hands, I am not as proficient as I might hope but I'll still not be a damsel in distress," she held back a light laugh, but the mention of her hands did fade her smile.

The pain had been persistent through the constantly open wounds in her hand. She had learnt to ignore it, but only to a point. Rentiki's weight on her hand caused her to visibly shudder in pain and the Daoshan had noticed it. Despite her attempts to brush it off, he persisted and she again tried to parry his efforts, "Trust me, it was my own fault that this wound haunts me. It was a lesson that needed to be learnt and sadly, the painful way. I shall be fine. My thanks though."

Perhaps the words were too harsh for a simple "mis-parry", but they were certainly true. She had sinned and now she would pay penance for them. It may have even been a lighter demand then she deserved and it scared Eltera to think what else the gods might demand of her.

Instead, she put a smile on her face and stepped along Rentiki's original path, urging them to continue, "Let us continue. A day can only hold so much."
 

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