The Game of Kings

[Bront]

"Good morning Morika," says Carver as he follows her downstairs. "I finished this last night, and thought you might like it."

Carver offers her his carving of the repilica of the ship they are on. It's got some fairly intricate detail to it, and seems to have been made with care.

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

Morika had been scowling at the lack of food-smells, but Carver's gift interrupted her tirade before it could begin. She takes the ship, her expression one of puzzelment. Why would he give me anything after I insulted him? No one's ever done that before...

"Um... Er... Thank you Carver. It's... very pretty..." she says slowly. The shifter seems to be at a loss for words, but what few get gets out seem very sincere.

 

[James Heard]

[Top Deck]

Glaring at the rising sun, Dragen padded onto the top deck still tugging his antique hobgoblin armor onto his knotted frame still dangling his boots from one hand while juggling his bow-wrap and some remnants of last night's meal he took with him in the other.

Ignoring everyone else in his rather bleary-eyed way, he walked to an empty spot on the deck and tossed his boots to the planks with a heavy thunk. Cracking his neck, he carefully unwrapped his bow and strung it with one of his practice strings. Picking out imaginary targets off in the distance, he began to methodically draw the bow to its full extension with a swift and deadly motion and then ease the tension back to vertical. Over and over again, sometimes with a frown and quick correction at his unseen target or to stop and belch and scratch like some shaggy beast, Dragen aimed his invisible arrows into the dawn.

At the end of it, almost like a prayer, he unstrung the bow and placed his hoary cheek to its wood, silently communicating words unspoken. Once wrapped up in its familiar sweat-stained rags, the aging archer sat down upon the deck and finished the awful business of lacing his boots.

 

[Bront]

"Um... Er... Thank you Carver. It's... very pretty..." she says slowly. The shifter seems to be at a loss for words, but what few get gets out seem very sincere.

Carver nods and seems to smile, though he always seems to smile somehow. "Your welcome. I think it turned out pretty well, though I had some trouble with some of the trim, which can be quite tricky. I like to carve when there's nothing else to do, and I enjoy sharing them. I like sharing my other works too, which is probably Bim's business didn't last long when he died. Do you have any hobies?"

 

[Bobitron]

Glasia is quiet for the remainder of the evening, sipping sparingly at her cup and eating a light dinner. She sits back and observes more than anything else, taking a short walk around the deck to look at the amazing sight of a night sky while at sea before turning in.

[Top Deck]

She greets the morning with a smile. The praise from Doral last night made her feel more comfortable around the group. She makes her way to the deck, standing far out of the path of the busy crew and letting Cloudchaser have free reign of the morning sky. Looking about with her face raised high to enjoy the fresh air, she notes Dragen going through his own morning ritual. Walking over, she reaches him as he laces his boots.

"Good morning," she says with a smile. "You know the bow well, warrior. I have seen many of my people use the longbow, but few have the connection you have. The Silver Flame would be proud to count you as one of its faithful." The wizard speaks with a smile firmly in place, a hint of a joke in her voice on the last sentance.

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

[Galley]

Carver nods and seems to smile, though he always seems to smile somehow. "You're welcome. I think it turned out pretty well, though I had some trouble with some of the trim, which can be quite tricky. I like to carve when there's nothing else to do, and I enjoy sharing them. I like sharing my other works too, which is probably Bim's business didn't last long when he died. Do you have any hobbies?"

"Oh... well, physical things mostly. I like to run and climb, I like to watch birds and other creatures, and to talk to them when I can. I never had the skill for things like this... my hands..." she trails off and takes her hands off of her belt. Now that they're no longer holding something, there's a faint but perceptible tremble in her hands. "I guess I owe you something. You know what I said yesterday, about a babbling brook? A brook, a small stream of water, makes a gurgling sound when it runs over rocks in its bed. It sounds a little like a person talking in the distance, so a babbling brook is one that makes some noise. And a person that babbles like a brook talks a lot, sounding like a running stream. Does that make sense?"

 

[James Heard]

[Top Deck]

"Good morning," she says with a smile. "You know the bow well, warrior. I have seen many of my people use the longbow, but few have the connection you have. The Silver Flame would be proud to count you as one of its faithful." The wizard speaks with a smile firmly in place, a hint of a joke in her voice on the last sentance.

Dragen grunted dismissively.

"I wet some of my first shafts on a young woman from Thrane about your age," the archer began, looking up sadly. "She had blonde hair and didn't have the good sense to sleep in that morning."

"Around this corner she came wearing this green dress, with a bucket to fill from the well," Dragen rubbed his temples with one hand. "...and I put one through her throat and one into her right eye from about the distance you are from me right now." The archer's smile turned both vicious and wry.

"Afterwards I vomited, it's common," he explained. "Then kissed her corpse and thanked her for her gift."

"Maybe her Silver Flame would have provided her some comfort. It certainly didn't protect her that day," he provided as he worked on the other boot.

"I think we killed the rest of her family soon afterwards," the grey-headed archer mused, rubbing his chin. "Who knows for certain about these things? HAH!" he barked.

"There are no gods," he said, gazing directly into the young girl's eyes. "Or if there are gods then they are vicious liars of the worst sort. When men die, they die into nothingness unless men remember."

"I comfort myself with by remembering the smell of that dead girl's hair, not with the whispered lies of her divine oppressor. You can count on men, and to oblivion with the gods," he finished with an almost whispered hiss as he rose to his feet.

"If you'll pardon me, miss," he said politely, "You'll understand there are more important things than souls and more present things than gods. I'm good with this," he indicated his bow, "because I don't allow my conscience to distract me from the purpose of the bend and shaft. I'm no more a priest of the blood than one of your templars, and while I know my mind I don't see a purpose to speak of it most of the time. This, I believe, is the essence of polite company."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll see what sort of wine the galley serves up for breakfast. I've spent more time with demons and the past this morning than I usually do."

 

[Deuce Traveler]

Doral sighs, puts away his spyglass, and moves into the shadows.

DM
[sblock]
He casts invisibility on himself, then quietly goes to the dwarves' cabin and listens at the door for signs of life.
[/sblock]

 

[Bront]

[Galley]

"Oh... well, physical things mostly. I like to run and climb, I like to watch birds and other creatures, and to talk to them when I can. I never had the skill for things like this... my hands..." she trails off and takes her hands off of her belt. Now that they're no longer holding something, there's a faint but perceptible tremble in her hands. "I guess I owe you something. You know what I said yesterday, about a babbling brook? A brook, a small stream of water, makes a gurgling sound when it runs over rocks in its bed. It sounds a little like a person talking in the distance, so a babbling brook is one that makes some noise. And a person that babbles like a brook talks a lot, sounding like a running stream. Does that make sense?"

"I guess I can see the compairison. That seems odd to be, but I guess it must be common place. Are sayings like that a shifter cultural thing? I would think saying that someone talks to much would simply be a faster way to speak" Carver says.

 

[Bobitron]

Glasia listens to Dragen's words in silence, her face drawn and serious. By the time he turns to find whatever libation he desires, a single tear runs down her cheek. As he strides off, she turns a brave face to the wind and stands in contemplation for a long moment.

It doesn't last long, though. Calling Cloudchaser to her arm with a wavering voice, she leaves the morning air for her bunk, lying in bed and crying for a long, long while.