#klethera

With an unenthusiastic disgruntled pitch the Midlander spoke against his new employing Highlander in mock, “O’ Cap’n well… what will you have of us.” Clearly not wanting to even entertain this, but more keenly he had always had an ill-feeling about this brash pirate and their entire Crew a bunch of immature heathens that took life so carelessly. Regarded being a snake himself, familiarity could be sniffed, traitorous blood floating in neighboring water. This stead was driven by glory, a majority gained chalked into fortunate events, luck. Sinbad, his new Summer Cap’n, held seemingly boundless strength but one-day inevitably would clash with something that’d not bend nor break. Mayhaps betrayal, or something due to inexperience, the wrong pirate won that pit, he was certain. Upon this young upstart Crew was merely limbs, nameless hands and legs. Submissively broken souls that gave their freedom away for momentary lapses of glint. Boisterous laughter left the highlander until his sternum ached and pain struck him to quell-down, “Could you care to least pretend you wanna be here? Three-months, might be an eternity otherwise… I can assure you that. Look where you are now. Taking failure for your pathetic Captain wagered everything into. You told my lass to silence herself in a disrespectful way at our parley long-ago, and now I’ve got the power to silence you as my dog, fitting. What and when I command; you’ll roll over and bark, boy!” Raising his voice in declaration at the end, ensuring who dominantly stood, even… well considering he physically currently, could not. Judas scowled, fellow brow’s frowned but sassed, “Last I checked my Cap’n, had more metal bones than you’ve got. Least he was wobbling on one-leg, and not like you whose is truly left rolling around.” Mocking the condition of the arrogant muscular moron. Unafraid to rebelliously sass, he also made a promise to watch over the other two, Klethera and Casta was also stuck in this arrangement. If angering this tyrant and getting stuck with their share of overloaded work and nonsense, then he’d take it deemed in Repentance. Ensure swiftly and safely, possibly could devise. Strategic webbing planning worked as the wheel-chaired oaf gave out an offended huff, “Bullshite, you’re bluffing no-way little Solaire isn’t still feeling the effects of our battle. I’d wager he threw everything at me, after-which wallowed in his substances and poor-vices in typical fashion, and you know what… I respect and condemn that alcoholic junky for showing up to our hellish bout, coming close, but I won by an inch, so I’ll take my fucking mile victory. It won’t be long, before I’m healed, then I’ll get back to bashing in trunks and skulls. Until then, you’ll have to lap up the taint-end of my business.” Crudely pointed fact.  The Midlander bit his lip to retort further, tension between them. Two volatile elements that weren’t friendly to combine.

Time bellowed forth as the three in Sinbad’s command was left nearly with every responsibility, Casta using her medical knowledge to help get him standing on crutches in physical therapy, roaming around. Klethera was sent often on messenger and hired goon to retrieve debts. While Judas was left with the most life-threatening missions, with no rest in-between. Nothing he wasn't accustomed too, conditioning himself tirelessly towards once before for a noble ambition. Up till their final day appeared, and contract was fulfilled. The Boss highlander sat now in a befitting chair treating it like some grotesque throne luxuriously diamond-encrusted prime shades looking below twiddling his ringed-fingers, dazzled with assortments of bling; high living, “You managed to survive this Summer, somehow providing usefulness despite who you once followed. What remains in task, is a simple gathering between fellow low-life's. I owed them monthly shares of gil alongside my plunder…" Pursing lip's soaring highly with a daring-thought. Lowering his shades, doubling down like some hot-shot movie star. His pirate queen lass behind him caressed his muscular stature only furthering his tyrannical beginning. "...Now I don’t see why I’d ever have to continue paying off them anymore. My infamy is about to shoot-up, I’ll be getting the royal bounty treatments. So YOU my darling rag-tag bunch will convince them, find another sugar daddy. They can find their purse elsewhere, or become creative to eliminate that noise if they dare fuss, give them no quarter.” Judas’s haggard visage wrinkled, sharp-blue orbs were left murky, his eyelids were bagged tirelessly overworked, weight loss, parched lips and complexion didn’t fare well, absolutely deprived of energy and sapped to even refuse, but had peculiar sixth-sense this wasn’t wise, nervous bumps swarmed up his arms, intuition to fuss, but was drowned due to all his other ailments. This deplorable chapter and nightmare; Summer of Sinbad, held closure by mid-day. Underneath relief as his other two-companions weren’t like him in shape, thankfully sighing. While Klethera and Casta shared disbelief of their First Crewmate’s convicted resolve to remain a guardian even outside of their former mutual flag.

Danger within Sinbad’s new attitude intrinsically wasn’t his own danger that held frightening concern. …But what fed on rash thinkers. Above all other forms. In darkness dwelling almost certainly, lurked a set of blood-thirsty behemoth predators, dragons; monsters which consumed the lowly deemed ‘'predators”’ effortlessly.

One-night remaining to rest. Judas couldn’t shake the shivers of the cold brigs forced to lay near a barred window almost like a cell. He was superstitiously forewarned when the tide grew so silent like this dusk. He was kept personally wide-awake. Sharpening his hidden dirks, anxious, most likely there would be blood spilled in ten bells. No way this whole assembly involving cutthroats, pirates, could go smoothly… Didn’t help Sinbad didn’t elaborate which ("band") they were about to cross.

Casta couldn’t escape her routine nightly tears; she confined herself typically to writing but currently held no way to unleash or express her downtrodden emotions. Harm was felt in her healing with guilt, surgically stitching the very person who demolished her revered hero in a Seeker Captain. Casta wasn’t far from Sinbad; they both shared their stories why they looked up to the scoundrel black-cat, but perspective couldn’t be further how they handled it. She saw the contrast of just how vastly different her Seeker was in leadership, treating subordinates like actual-beings and equal, giving freedom catching people from slipping off the teetering sea-vessel wanting to chart the character, and depths of souls, judging actions not faceless covers. Versus Sinbad’s commandment, whose self-serving acting; all means to ends. It brought back familiar trauma that festered in tremors, abundant cold sweats. She couldn’t identify her own anger building, but negativeness, being generally overwhelmed was consuming her most-humane gentleness. Comparable to a flower being watered-down with ever punishing downpour, merely hoping it could-brave and survive another night.

Lastly aboard was Klethera who volunteered working off sentence. Her fault in belief, feeling Sinbad in twisted-way, was grieving despite mouthing otherwise, taking life-careless and acting so righteous in a way. She brought down Sinbad’s brother’s life to end… despite that man having a putrid soul, was unquestionably not hers to take. That’s the issue with deemed heroes; they're often shouted praise for them destroying evil but they enact themselves evil's color, murdering to achieve resolutions of peace. She felt guilt, knowing better, should have captured and let chains, or cells hold nonredeemable. Yet... Hanging around the pirate crowd construed her thinking, she witnessed how many couldn’t be contained by that method. So when then?! If at any, extent should evil be annihilated? Who can reside as judge? Her perceived bloodline was tainted; a pirate father definitely had his share of kills, alongside a grandfather who assassinated countless men for shreds of peace, she didn’t want to partake in that savagery of ending any more lives or one another, the rebellious attitude flowed so beautifully identical to her predecessors. ...However, could she really escape fate standing above a mountain of bodies? Maybe her father was right and couldn’t keep up with this atmosphere. Making her sizzle with heat, an acceptance stubborn to admit… She began dreaming of a new-way to battle, it’d be her own-style to materialize. The three in unison before dawn-break, connected a thought, wondering what became with their Crew having to depart right before this harrowing, learning shortly a traitor was creating chaos among their own flagship. For a brief-moment, they began to feel close; like an actual family forming, now a distant memory from unending chaos.

Doubt crept, reality hit.

Things weren't going to get better, this fairy tale story had come to an end. Gloom rampantly grew, and with dreams on the line... That fact was just too much for many to handle. One dusk, Captain's estranged daughter walked into his cabin. Struggling to swallow as she saw her Father in a state that was ultimately, she felt a sense of responsibility. All that transpired in that dark-pit wouldn't have ever occurred if she didn't still own the bullet on the brother of the man, who her father fought to the brink. That silver-tongued pirate in her father, managed to turn a situation from a potential War of butchery, bloodshed, into a sacrificial battle, laying everything on the line. Her eye's heavy seeing continuous flow of aether flowing through machinery of magitek, pumping nutrients, breathing apparatuses bound to him. She hadn't gained the misfortune of witnessing this side, sure she met him with bandaged arms, unusable ones, but this was something far more critical and concerning. Walking to him with guilt in her quivering voice, "If I didn't act impulsively." She felt the unbridled guilt, falling to his bedside and wept trying to brave restraint. Yet showing an actual Father and Daughter closeness, that continuously was blooming in the most unlikely ways. Always showing glimmers of surpassing not just the Captain but her Grand Father compared to their own youth, their temperaments getting the better of them not recognizing it until things were too far gone, what they love, treasured most in the world drifted from their grasp... She still had a chance to grow beyond to take advantage of history. After settling her conscience she withdrew to her own quarters. While another matey aboard, their emotion was about to hit of dangerous conspiracy. When you witness the closest person you revere, fall in battle. It's personal, if you can't do anything about it that weaknesses seep into you sometimes, to rid it you feel a liability to have it eliminated. Or worse, yet that loss feels as your own. This felt eerily familiar before with the last time Captain was brought to a mutiny. Masked and gloved, a sneaky assailant joined forces with shadow, about to cause a full on betrayal. Taking ethanol fuel and leading a pathway to bed's rest. Before matching a lighter and setting ablaze. A fire broke out, heading and directly sent to extinguish the life of a Captain.

It seemed he was on the verge of really finding himself. Showing that nobody could halt him, he brought happiness to many aboard, got them closer to finding who they were on his own path. Guided the balance between shore and sea. Although there were promise's of ferrying them to their destination of greed they never questioned that he couldn't have gotten them there. Never once showing discrimination under his sail, there was trust and feeling of an actual home despite how diverse the wild personalities were, they were felt universally kindred under his leadership, he even began confronting forces larger than him.

None saw his overall results of change more than his mental-counselor and advisor aboard, Slafhota who continuously checked on him and was out for his well-being. The fact he chose her, over drinking out of the bottom of vices to numb out existence, or channel his self-dismay into lust and fuck it out of him, everything that resulted into temporal remedies that he did formerly, was proof he wasn't hopeless. Her eye's opened in explosiveness as she screamed and charged and shouted aboard, the cabin had a wall of fire. She saw in the corner of her sprint the ember slowly burning through the layers of blankets bundling him. shouted with a tear that fell between the lid's crest, "FIRE! CAPTAIN O' OUR CAPTAIN!" Only on the scene. She doused herself with her own aspect of water magic and without any footwear ran into the engulfing flames her large sea roe frame leapt forth and yanked him off his machinery and pulled him rampantly out of the seething fire and dragged him out against his slumping nature. Everyone accounted for got to the top of the decks and with real unity and a touching mankind's most amenable attribute despite many of them were atrocities, noted monsters hiding their teeth, or they didn't trust each-other none of that mattered in this test as they brought bucket to bucket, took places giving compressions and air to the Captain in this moment they were a fully-empowering Crew. ...But those fumes sizzled out and were doused. Their orbs needed to wander behind their skulls. If someone was willing to do this. How far would they go stuck in the midst of the sea? This was an organized attack of one of their own. Who could've done this? Perhaps taking out the Captain was botched, and ended unsuccessfully. But in this singular motion, whoever was the mastermind, had not only further envenomed doubt but broken everyone's trust. They brought chaos, the purest discord to the ship. An already uneasy atmosphere had taken over. They fought amongst one another after they put Captain back to rest. Questioning even the one who sprung to save him... As often the first on scene. That was curious. Then they even quizzed, his own fleshing-blood in Klethera the last who visited him in their many witness, and had threaten his life formerly, but truthfully this Crew had all partaken in some sort of dangerous accolades, they all could have a motive if one really thought it out. Their combined sense, and reasoning, was all being pin-pointed on one individual in-particular and singled out. Who has done this before? The important check-box in any investigation, History, Motive and Reason. Well, who other than, the right-hand man, the First Crewmate Judas wasn't just providing questioning but being the most-questioned with intent, after-all, a snake like him; the predator of deceit. This is a man who strategically lays plans ahead, at least that's what anyone's initial thoughts would have of him.

Sudden vocal skirmishes of shouts pierced through the veil. A mutiny was going to take place, but in that unexpected, instant after many Sun's escaped. Amber feline eye's awoke, with a dry, voice, "Can ye fucks keep it quiet? I'm tryna' rest." A painful chortle hitting his lungs as he coughed up some smoke. Signs of consciousness returned.