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Wordcount: 4,084
Warnings: none!
Summary: The girls head into the city of Wress, where Runa is accused of thievery by an old acquaintance, some guards let slip tidbits about the overarching plotline, and we sell some guns to a local merchant.
Wress unfolds below them like a rippled cloth, patchwork grey stone and tiled roofs bordered on the north by the rich greens of the forest, on the west by snowy-topped mountains. It’s always a sight of some magnificence to descend from the air to the surface, pinpricks of movement and color resolving into people and buildings. Wress, though not as large or as crowded as most cities, especially those cities on the islands of the Coalition, is not exempt from the busy energy that plagues every city. And the docks where the Sun’s Heart lands, her engine stilling as she drops into the berth and settles into silence, are the busiest, loudest part of the city.
Captain Charille gives a tiny sigh as her ship settles into unmoving rest, part relief at a smooth, incident-less landing, part wistful regret that they are no longer aloft, and turns to shout orders for the cargo to come up, the sails to fall in, any repairs that need doing to be done. Her crew is efficient and eager, and snap to their tasks almost before being told--they know their work, and they know that the sooner they finish their work, the sooner they can get ashore for leave. The Captain limps down from the quarterdeck as their passenger emerges from her cabin, and meets her by the section of railing that pulls open to allow access to the gangplank being lowered by several hands.
“Miss Khortaavian,” the Captain says, smiling, “welcome to Wress.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Neema says, and it’s her good manners that stop her from making any disparaging comments about the surface, or how very dirty and cramped and busy the city looks compared to the pristine deck of the ship.
“Are you still willing to join my girls on their errand?” the Captain asks, nodding to several crates of cargo being raised from the hold behind her, all stamped with Haventeem seals of commerce. One much smaller crate is brought forward and rested against the railing by the gangplank, ready for departure.
“Of course,” Neema replies. “It will afford me a good opportunity to see the city. And if I can provide any assistance, of course, I will.”
The Captain smiles. “I believe it’s an errand you will find quite interesting, considering your background.”
Lisseth, Naiakiir, and Callie emerge from belowdecks, checking their various bags and gear, double-checking their weapons. Neema’s hand goes to her own pistol in its holster, though she hopes she won’t need it.
“Ladies,” the Captain says easily, pointing to the smaller crate. “This is the sample you’ll be taking to Sevra. If she likes what she sees, tell her we have five more large crates, and can establish a more regular shipment if she so desires.”
“Where’s Runa?” Callie asks suddenly, glancing around the deck to see if they’d missed her somewhere.
The Captain smiles. “On the ground already, I’m sure,” she says, and nods down the gangplank. “Do you have any questions? Any concerns?” Naiakiir asks for more detailed directions to Sevra’s weaponry shop, and the Captain provides them, along with a few more suggestions for naming sale prices before she nods and turns to oversee some other part of docking procedure.
Corinne, lingering nearby and fiddling with a stack of cargo until the Captain is out of sight, smiles brightly as she crosses the deck to the girls.
“Hey,” she says, turning to Naiakiir, “I just never got the chance to thank you for saving me yesterday. You too, Neema.” She includes the woman in her smile.
“Of course,” Neema says. “I take it you’re feeling better, then?”
“Right as rain,” she says, “but Bennest won’t let me do anything useful. Or fun.” She makes a face.
“He’s only trying to keep you safe,” Naiakiir offers. “You lost a lot of blood, so you really need to rest.”
Corinne nods resignedly. “I know, I know,” she says, “but we’re in Wress! The market here is amazing, and Bennest is confining me to the ship. I can’t even go ashore for a second! But you’ve got an errand for the Captain, right?” She glances at the cargo crate. “So, I was wondering--if it’s not too much trouble, and if you happen to pass that way… can you… maybe check the market for this exotic fruit I heard about? It’s supposed to have this amazingly sweet taste and I’ve just been dying to try it. I think it’s purple? Or maybe orange, or both? And it’s supposed to be spiky! I don’t know all the details, but I do know that it’s supposed to be in season, and it’s supposed to be here, so I’m sure the market in town would have some.”
“Of course, Corinne,” Callie says, smiling. “I’m sure we’ll pass the market at some point, even if it’s on the way back from Sevra’s. We will definitely try to find it for you.”
Corinne’s delighted squeal can probably be heard as far as Rondell. “Really!? Thank you, Callie, you’re the best.”
“No problem,” Callie says with a wink, and Naiakiir nods in agreement.
Corinne thanks them again, profusely, and trudges back toward the hatch that leads belowdecks to her bunk where she’s supposed to be resting. Scritt leans out over the crow’s nest above, and waves at them.
“Good luck,” he calls, and then ducks back out of sight before any of them can respond. Lisseth shakes her head and picks up the crate of cargo. It’s not so heavy that she’d stumble at the weight, but it’s certainly not as light as a feather, either. She leads the way down the gangplank to the ground.
Runa is, indeed, waiting for them at the bottom, sitting with her back to a stack of crates, her hands pressed into the stone of the street. She looks up at them as they stomp down to her, and bounces to her feet. She seems far more happy and at ease here on the ground than she had at any point in the air. But even so, her eyes occasionally sweep the ever-moving crowds for danger, one hand deep in the pocket of her pants where the other girls know she keeps her knife.
“So,” she says as they join her. “Where to?”
“A place called Sevra’s,” Callie says. “A weapons shop.”
Runa nods and plunges away from the docks, leading them north.
“Wait, do you know where you’re going?” Callie protests, but Runa simply keeps walking, weaving through the crowd with the expertise of someone used to squeezing through large groups of people. “Does she know where she’s going?” the musician asks the group at large as Runa shows no sign of answering.
Lisseth shrugs, resettling her grip on the crate. “I think she used to live here,” she says. “She never talks about it, but some of the other crew mentioned they picked her up here when she first joined.”
“So she’s from here?” Neema inquires.
Lisseth shrugs again. “I don’t think Runa is from anywhere.”
They follow the wiry girl as she ducks and weaves away from the docks, skirting a few seedy-looking taverns to lead the way to what appears to be a main thoroughfare heading west, deeper into the city. They walk for several blocks, through an area of town that might not be the best neighborhood, but certainly isn’t the worst. The buildings are tall, stacked on top of one another two or three high, and there are a lot of alleys branching off the main street they are on. Callie takes the crate from Lisseth, giving her a break as their little group continues following Runa, whose head turns at each cross-street to check down it for danger.
Their street funnels them into a better part of town, where the buildings are lower, larger, and the streets wider. Runa slows, then, falling back a bit to walk closer to Naiakiir and Callie, and she makes a face as the street suddenly opens up to what is clearly a market square.
The square is probably two or three blocks wide, bordered on all four sides by fancier shops in proper buildings. The main bulk of the market, however, is the maze of pop-up vendors and stalls that flood the square in brightly colored, untidy lines. There seems to be some sort of logic to the mess of people--food stalls, selling everything from fruit to pastry to haunches of meat line two sides of the square, taking up a good third of the space; the other outer edges are mostly lined with trinkets and crafts, art and useful goods; and the inner space is covered in weapons and armor, expensive things made harder to steal by the labyrinth of stalls between any potential thieves and the edges of the market.
“Can go around,” Runa says, shifting her weight nervously as she eyes the seething crowd of people pressed into the square. “Shop’s on the other side and down, to the north.” She points vaguely across the market toward the quieter end of town.
“Is it easier to cut straight through?” Lisseth asks, also watching the flow of people. Runa shrugs.
Neema sighs and makes the decision for them, setting off around the very outside edge of the market, between the shops and the first row of stalls. They don’t make it very far, however, before a burly man in a stained, white apron steps in front of them, towering over Runa’s nervously ducking form. She straightens up when he confronts her, though, blinking.
“You!” the man sneers, waving a pudgy finger in her face. “Thief! I knew you’d be back one day, and I knew I’d be the one to catch you!” He raises his voice, looking over his shoulder for some of the patrolling guards and shouts again in their direction, “Thief! Thief!”
Callie hands her crate back to Lisseth, stepping forward, hands out to calm the man. “Sir, please,” she says evenly. “I’m sure you’re mistaken. My friend here isn’t a thief.”
Runa--thankfully--doesn’t say anything. She crosses her arms, eyes the baker with a spark of mischievous recognition in her eyes that tells Callie that maybe she did steal from this baker before. Despite this, Callie holds out a hand in Runa’s direction, hoping that the other girl won’t damn herself by admitting it.
“She’s a blight on this market,” the baker counters Callie’s claim, arms waving in anger. “Or she used to be,” he adds darkly. Before Callie can begin trying to calm him, they both notice a pair of guards making their way towards the group, and the baker shouts again. “Guards, over here, this-”
“Yeah, guards!” Naiakiir interrupts, waving her arms. “Guards please, this man is harassing my friend! We’ve never seen him before, he just started yelling at us out of nowhere! Please, I’m scared.”
The guards are standing in front of her by the time she’s finished, looking a bit dubious but a bit concerned. “What’s going on here, Varid?” one of them asks, turning to the baker.
Runa ducks her head slightly as he speaks, hiding her face behind a curtain of tangled, curly hair.
“I found her!” the baker, Varid, says triumphantly, pointing emphatically at Runa. “I told you I would! It’s been three years, but here she is, as if nothing has changed. I won’t let her get away this time!”
One of the guards lets out a chuckle. “Varid, have you finally caught the imaginary thief you’re always going on about? Let me guess, this time you’re definitely sure,” he jokes, but his partner pokes his shoulder, watching Runa as she shifts her weight uncomfortably under his gaze. His hand drops to the hilt of his sword threateningly, and he advances a step toward her, squinting as if trying to place her in his memory.
“She might actually be--”
“Sirs,” Callie interrupts, turning to the guards with her brightest, most winning smile. “We are from the ship Sun’s Heart, on an important errand for our captain. We were just passing by when this man accosted us with these upsetting and false accusations.”
“They’re not false!” the baker shouts indignantly. “This girl spent years stealing from my stall, and I won’t have it, sirs, I simply won’t stand for it!”
“Can’t have done,” Runa says cryptically. “Been on the ship for years.”
“Years before that,” the baker spits. “I told you she’s been gone for a while.”
The guards share a look.
“Really, Runa would never,” Naiakiir says, tears starting to well in her eyes. “I’ve known her for quite some time, and we’ve never been here, and she’s never stolen anything! She’s one of Captain Jamisen’s most trusted crew members, you can ask her. Please sir, I don’t know what you think is happening but, Runa didn’t--we just got here we haven’t done anything, I’m--” And with that she starts full-on sobbing. Callie shoots a dirty look at the guards as she moves forward to console her friend, as if to say this is all their fault.
The guards, now faced with multiple character references as well as a frightened young woman in tears, hesitate. Runa looks up at them with the most innocent look she can muster. Admittedly, it’s not a terribly innocent look, but she tries.
There is a sudden commotion a few rows down from them, a sudden shout of anger and fear that’s quickly shushed by a second voice. The guards’ heads snap toward the sound, even as a third voice joins the altercation. It says something about the guards not being terribly good at their jobs before it, too, is quieted. The guards share another look, this one darker and more nervous, and one of them shrugs.
“Not our fault we can’t be everywhere at once,” he says. His partner shrugs, too.
“Listen,” he says, “Varid--unless you have actual proof this girl has been anywhere near your shop in the recent past, you’re going to have to let this go. We have better things to do than hunt for your phantom thief from three years ago when people are disappearing and we’re getting blamed for it. So unless you’re actually getting robbed by her…?”
The guard leaves his sentence hanging, but Varid--no matter how much he splutters angrily--can’t produce any evidence of Runa’s immediate guilt. The guard closes the case with a decisive nod of the head.
“So,” he says, “our apologies, ladies, and you’re free to go on your way. Varid won’t be bothering you anymore.” They wait until the baker nods (grudgingly), and then head off through the market toward the north.
Runa grins at the baker, shaking her hair back from her face, and waves her fingers at him as he turns. “Did love your scones!” she says brightly. He turns, furious, but Callie grabs Runa’s shoulder and tugs her away before any further damage can be done.
“Really, Runa?” the musician says dryly, but Runa just shrugs, and Callie can’t help but laugh. Naiakiir breaths a sigh of relief at the crisis averted, straightening up and briskly scrubbing the tears off her face.
“I’m curious what those guards meant about people disappearing,” Neema says, not deigning to comment on any thievery, alleged or otherwise.
Lisseth nods. “We could find more guards and ask them?”
Runa makes a face, but points to a woman in armor standing at the corner of the market, looking bored. Lisseth hands the crate to Runa and approaches with Neema.
“Excuse me,” Neema says politely, and the guard flicks a look at her, but does not stand straighter or in any way indicate that she realizes she’s been addressed. Neema’s lip curls slightly—Surfacers have no sense of decorum—but she forges on. “We simply had a few questions about the city, if you have a moment. One of the other guards said something about kidnappings, and we were concerned?”
The guard grunts in acknowledgement, crossing her arms. “We’re not supposed to talk about it,” she says. “But the locals are nervous enough, you’d probably hear about it anyway.” She eyes their trajectory across the market. “Especially if you’re heading north.” She pushes off the wall, pointing out the parts of the city she’s talking about as she continues. “Up that way, there’s been some talk about some monsters coming out of the forest--just rumors. But the northern quarter claims to have actually seen some--and lost people to ‘em. There’ve been investigations, but nothing’s turned up. So people are on high alert against nothing. Apparently. Nothing’s made it this far south, so my job remains boring as ever.”
“Of course,” Neema says coolly. “Thank you for the information.”
She turns back to the group, moving a bit away from the guard. “Well,” she says, “that sounds delightful.”
Runa shrugs. “Sounds like Wress. Sevra’s is that way.” She points in the same direction the guard had indicated people were disappearing from.
“Of course it is,” Neema mutters, but follows Runa as she presses on, leaving the intriguingly hodge-podge market behind and plunging into quieter streets.
This is clearly the merchant quarter of town: the streets are neither wide nor narrow, and they’re lined with shops and restaurants whose signs each have a unique name, and whose windows all display their very best goods to tempt the reticent shopper. Runa looks more nervous here, her shoulders hunched a little further, her hand in her pocket around her knife. She hesitates at each alleyway--the tiniest of pauses in her steps that might have been unnoticeable had she not also peeked around the corners, a too-careful watch for some sort of danger. Any time they pass the more-numerous guards, she ducks her head, hiding behind a quickly raised hand or her hair.
She’s as surprised as any of them when they arrive outside Sevra’s shop without further incident.
“How did you know where to find this?” Lisseth asks her, taking the crate back again. Runa just shrugs, ignoring her, and Lisseth sighs heavily. After a year on the Sun’s Heart, she’d hoped that Runa would have at least decided to talk to her by now, but there seems to be some unassailable barrier between the two of them. She shakes her head and pushes open the door to the shop. Neema, Callie, and Naiakiir follow her inside while Runa remains, leaning on the doorframe, watching the quiet street for danger.
“Hello!” a bright, friendly voice calls out, and the person the girls assume is Sevra steps out from a back room and sets her hands on the counter. “How can I help you?”
She’s the sort of person who simply fits in her shop. It’s hard to picture her anywhere else. Tall and slim, with grey streaks tinging the brown of her long hair, she matches the comfortable, worn-but-serviceable state of almost all her merchandise. The walls are covered in pegboards which are, in turn, hung with a wide array of swords and knives and other bladed weapons. The walls to either side of the door have a smattering of bows and arrows as well as wires and ropes and other trap or snare components. And, surprisingly, there are a few guns hung on the wall behind the counter--certainly nothing as high quality as the Coalition weapons they brought to sell, but not unuseable. Sevra’s open, friendly gaze falls on the crate, and she smiles.
“Ah, here to sell?” she asks.
“Yes,” Lisseth says, bringing the crate forward, and setting it on the counter. “Captain Jamisen of the Sun’s Heart sends greetings and an offer.” She opens the crate, revealing a few pistols and a rifle as well as two boxes of ammunition for the guns.
Sevra raises an eyebrow, gently rubbing a finger along the barrel of the rifle. “These are Coalition-quality,” she says, and can’t hide the note of surprise in her voice.
“They are indeed,” Lisseth replies. “And the Captain bid us tell you she has five more crates of similar merchandise on board, as well as the promise of future shipments, if you wanted to work out a more permanent schedule.”
“They’re from Haventeem, actually,” Neema jumps in. “Standard pistols from the Firring Brothers’ factory, I believe, and the newest rifle model from Target Acquisitions, Inc.” She launches into a list of the qualities of each gun and the companies they hail from, pointing out advantages they have over the stock Sevra already carries. “Although,” she says, pausing in her sales pitch, “that rifle you have there might be a comparable model.”
Sevra smiles, turning to take down the gun Neema pointed out. It’s a little old fashioned in design, perhaps, but well-maintained and clean, beautifully polished. She gives Neema the details of it--proving her good memory is why she didn’t take notes during Neema’s detailed speech. “I believe the man who sold it to me retired from the hunt,” Sevra says, gesturing vaguely toward the north as if encompassing the whole forest in her turn of phrase. “I’m close to the edge of the city, so I’m usually hunters’ first stop on their way in or the last on their way out.”
“Have you heard the rumors of monsters, then?” Neema asks casually.
The smile on Sevra’s face falls a fraction. “Well, who hasn’t heard rumors?” she says, matching Neema’s tone. “But there are many strange things in the Laelle Wilds, and we’ve more than enough hunters willing to test their mettle out there and more than enough guards to protect us here at home, so I shouldn’t worry.”
As if on cue, there’s a scream from outside, from the north. The girls all turn to look through the window, but the street is still quiet. Runa stands up from her casual lean, and waves at the others through the window, pointing in the direction of the second scream that rings out through the afternoon.
“Just rumors,” Callie says, raising her eyebrows. “Didn’t one of the guards say something about kidnappings?”
Sevra shifts uncomfortably. “I suppose there have been some disappearances,” she admits.
Callie looks between Neema, Lisseth, and Naiakiir, and shrugs. “Should we check it out?”
Sevra blinks. “It’s not your job, is it? There are guards--”
“Yeah, they seemed really eager to get on the case,” Callie says, rolling her eyes. “I think Runa’s going.” She points outside to where Runa’s form has disappeared from the window. “And I’m at least going to go find out if that person screaming is okay. Naia?”
Naiakiir jumps a little, then shrugs. “I’d rather not get into anything, but if someone’s in danger and we could help…”
Lisseth sighs. “I suppose I’ll come keep you out of trouble,” she says, and follows them outside.
Neema sighs, too, and pulls a handful of money out of her bag, laying it on the counter. She picks up the old rifle, inspecting it quickly, and nods in satisfaction. “Do you have ammunition for this?” she asks. “I am afraid I might find myself in need of it.”
Sevra blinks in surprise at the sudden changing roles of their interaction, but quickly reaches under the counter, pulling up a full box of rounds for the rifle. She sweeps the money off the counter into her moneybox, considering the price fair without the usual haggling, wincing as a third scream echoes down the street. “I’ll watch your crate, then, shall I?” she says nervously. “I really am eager to discuss further shipments with your Captain, and would definitely love to buy these.”
“We promise to be back soon to finish the negotiation,” Neema says, wincing at the bad manners of running out mid-way through a deal. “Sincerest apologies for leaving so suddenly.”
“No, it’s all right,” Sevra says, waving a hand generously. “I’m...I’m glad someone is at least trying to help.”
Neema nods, loads the rifle, and dashes out after the others, up the street to where she can see Runa climbing a building to get a better vantage point. The younger woman shades her eyes as she scrambles up onto the flat roof and pinpoints the cause of the screams--several fleeing figures making a dash for the edge of the city, fighting something trying to drag them back toward the treeline of the Wilds.
“Yeah,” she says, sliding back down the building. “Got trouble.” She sets off at a run, leading the others down several alleys and shortcuts until they spill out into the green outskirts and into a sudden fight…
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Wordcount: 3,633
Warnings: some violence
Summary: The campaign kicks off with some ill-received pranking, a stormy air battle with some mystical foes, and the promise of an errand with which to being Act One...
“Captain wants to see you ladies!”
A too-cheery voice sounds from the doorway of the tiny walled-off space on the starboard side of the forecastle that serves as one of the three fore-cabins on the Sun’s Heart. The young women in the four bunks squashed into the tiny room begin to stir as light filters in through the now-open door, blinking blearily at the figure standing there. “Come on,” Corinne says brightly, knocking lightly on the door frame to reinforce her wake-up call. “You don’t want to keep the Captain waiting!”
Runa is the first one to actually make an effort to get up, running one hand through her mess of curls, and giving up when that hand gets caught on a tangle. She stuffs her feet into her boots before jumping down from her bed--and immediately grabs wildly for the edge of the bunk as her legs threaten to slide out from under her. Lisseth, slithering down from the bunk opposite her, suffers a similar loss of balance, and steadies herself on the door frame as she stumbles toward it.
“What the--?”
“Oh, did Japhs get in here last night?” Corinne asks, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Japhs?” Callie asks, sitting up on the bunk under Lisseth’s and inspecting the floor before carefully setting her feet around the large grease spots that caused Runa and Lisseth such trouble. “Was this an attempt at a prank?”
“If so, it’s a rather rude attempt,” Naiakiir says as she makes her way across to the door. “Luckily none of us got hurt, but we could’ve, not to mention the time it will take to clean.”
Runa growls, her usual glare dropping into a scowl as she pushes past Corinne toward the deck of the ship.
Lisseth sighs. “I guess we should go after her.”
“She does look rather punchy,” Callie says, smiling.
The group follows the black cloud of Runa’s dark mood toward the base of the mainmast, where a small huddle of crew is gathered around a game of dice. One of them--a man in his early twenties with slicked-back hair--scrambles to his feet when he notices Runa storming toward him, a smirk on his face.
“Nice morning, girls?” he asks, sneering back at his two friends, who snicker. Runa steps too close to him, whatever disadvantage she has in height mitigated by her fists curled at her sides and the look of determined anger on her face.
“What do you think you were doing?” she hisses. “Someone could have gotten hurt.”
He sneers again. “Please, it was a harmless prank. So you slipped and landed on your butt. Get over it.”
Runa’s fist snaps up, ready to hit his jeering face, but Callie steps up next to her. “Okay,” she says, raising her hands to push Runa and Japhs apart. “We just want you to apologize and maybe promise to not do it again. No need for anyone to get hurt.”
Japhs steps back, crossing his arms, eyes still on Runa’s raised fist. “Yeah,” he says insincerely. “Sure. Sorry.”
Callie rolls her eyes. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Any trouble over here?” A deep, reassuring voice heralds the arrival of Bennest, the first mate, a tall, broad-shouldered man that even Japhs has to look up to. His large hand descends onto the shorter man’s shoulder and Japhs uncrosses his arms nervously.
“No,” he says. “Not at all. We were just discussing--”
“Uh huh,” Bennest says, unconvinced. “Why don’t you and your friends head below and see if Cook needs any help cleaning pots. If you have time for dice, you have time to scrub.”
Japhs’ friends groan, but they stand up and pack their dice away, trudging toward the hatch. Japhs follows them with one last sneer at Runa, who half-lunges menacingly in his direction.
“Runa,” Bennest admonishes, but she merely crosses her arms innocently and offers him half a smile.
“Thanks,” Naiakiir says to Bennest. “That could have gone a lot worse.”
Bennest spares a smile for his apprentice--Naiakiir spends a lot of her time with him in the ship’s surgery, learning healing from the big first mate--and gestures to the quarterdeck. “The captain wanted to see you all this morning,” he reminds them, and disappears toward the hatch after Japhs.
“Do you have to escalate every situation?” Callie asks Runa gently. She just shrugs in response, and leads the way aft toward the waiting captain.
The Sun’s Heart is a beautiful airship--her decks gleam the warm, rich brown of polished mahogany, her two slim masts with their wide, opalescent sails climb toward the blue sky, her wings sweep to either side of the gold-inlaid rails. The magic and technology that keep her afloat so far above the surface are complex and beautiful in their own right, twisted into the ropes of the rigging, the whorls and grain of the wood, the sturdy solar wire that reinforces the crisp fabric of the sails. The girls tread the steady deck lightly, easily, as comfortably as they would a street on the surface or a sidewalk on one of the Coalition islands. There is no fear of falling, no matter how high up they fly--Corinne’s magic sees to that.
Captain Charille Jamisen is simultaneously an imposing figure and a comforting sight at the helm. Her cane leans on the rail in front of her as she defies her old wound and stands on her own two feet, perhaps not as tall as she would like, but strong. She sweeps her braid over her shoulder as the girls climb the stairs toward her, watching them with a fondness in her golden eyes.
“Ladies,” she says easily as they salute her. “An eventful morning?”
They all exchange a glance, a raised-eyebrows, small-smile glance that says that even though they know they can’t hide anything from her, they might as well not give her more to worry about.
“No, ma’am,” Naiakiir says, expression earnest even as the Captain’s eyebrows rise fractionally. “Just an average morning.”
“Good to hear,” she says. “As you know, we’ll be landing in Wress tomorrow, and--” She breaks off, squinting into the distance for a moment, tracking a growing storm cloud. She turns to the woman standing next to her with a faint smile. “I am afraid I might have lied to you, Miss Khortaavian. The storm is, it seems, going to cross our path.”
The woman--the ship’s newest passenger, picked up a couple weeks previous when they were docked on the island of Felgreene--lifts a hand to shade her own eyes as she follows the captain’s look.
“Well,” she says, half a smile tugging at her lips, “it will certainly be interesting.” She brushes one perfect curl away from her face as the wind picks up, and turns back to the group. “You didn’t have to interrupt yourself on my account, Captain,” she says.
“No,” the Captain replies, keeping her eyes trained on the darkening clouds. “But on account of the storm? I fear I did.”
The girls follow her gaze to where the storm--merely a smudge on the horizon a moment ago--is becoming a full-on thunderhead far closer to the ship than is comfortable. They are dwarfed by the angry, grey clouds, and the usual nervousness of being caught in a storm so very far from the ground swirls in the air around them with the wind.
“Captain!” A voice drifts down from the mainmast, where they can all just make out Scritt leaning over the crow’s nest to shout down toward the deck. “We have a problem!”
“I believe I’ve identified it, Scritt,” the Captain calls back, but he’s shouting in response almost before she’s finished speaking.
“It’s not natural!”
The Captain frowns at his warning, but before she can shout a request for clarification, the storm slams into them, the maelstrom having rushed to greet them with an unnatural speed. Full winds ram the ship several feet starboard as the Captain turns and rings the bell for storm positions. There’s a pounding of feet on the lower decks as the crew all scatter, some going below decks to the engineering bay and flight tech, some to their weapons lockers. Runa leads the way back down the stairs from the quarterdeck as the first assailant circles low enough to break through the cloud cover.
The eagle is majestic, with a wingspan to rival the width of some of the ship’s sails. Its sleek, golden feathers remain unruffled by the howling gale as the tiny blue-skinned creature on its back raises a staff toward the center of the storm now swirling over the deck. The eagle lets out a cry and swoops lower as four more birds materialize out of the clouds behind it.
“Sprites!” The Captain lets out a curse and throws both hands around the wheel as the ship heels left in the buffeting winds. “Keep them off us!” she shouts.
Runa is already drawing her sword from the hidden sheathe at her side, bracing herself against the heaving deck between the two masts. Lisseth moves forward, already pulling in the Source to gesture wide with her hands and push the falling drops to either side of the main deck, as she passes Corinne and a few other crew members who emerge from the hatch and break for the quarterdeck and the Captain, holding their own weapons ready. Naiakiir nervously drops her hand into one of the pouches on her belt, rolling her alchemical grenades between her fingers until she finds the one she wants, and reaches for the Source, channeling it through her ring and putting up a softly shimmering protective barrier around herself. Callie steps up behind Runa, her amulet clutched tightly in both hands, eyes closed as she searches for the Source.
But surprisingly, it’s Neema who lands the first hit. As the first eagle drops close to the deck, Neema rushes forward with a yell, brandishing a finely crafted pistol and shooting the bird twice in its open, screeching beak. It drops like a stone, rolling over the side as the sprite springs off its doomed mount and lands on the foredeck lightly.
Runa doesn’t waste the opportunity, throwing herself onto the higher deck with a growl and descending on the sprite with her sword, slicing a long gash across its side. It hisses at her, brandishing its staff, and the rain seems to grow stronger around her, drops pounding against her skin like hail. She hears thunder crash nearby, and braces for the following lightning strike, lashing out again with her sword in the eerie flash of bluewhite. The sprite falls in a spray of dark red blood, but it’s quickly replaced by two more, the eagle they were riding wheeling away from the ship before Runa can strike it.
Behind her, by the masts, two more eagles and their sprite riders are harassing Neema, Lisseth, and Naiakiir. One of the birds turns to lash out at Neema with its claws just as Naiakiir throws one of her grenades. A concentrated burst of pepper spray detonates across the eagle’s tail feathers, and it screeches at the burn, turning back to Naiakiir, opening up its side to a shot from Neema. The sprite slashes at Naiakiir with a rusty sword, but it glances off her protective bubble.
Lisseth pulls out her own focus while Callie concentrates on hers. She brushes her bangs from her forehead, and focuses in on the water in her pearlescent water bottle, running her fingers gently along the embossed bubbles curling up the sides. The sense of peace that always washes over her when she connects to the Source isn’t far, not with all this rain calling to her, and she lets it pool into her core, ready for her to draw on it in an instant. She flips the cap off the water bottle, and lets a thin stream trickle around and over her outstretched hand which she flicks, with just the right speed, to send the stream wrapping around one of the sprites on the eagle, pinning its arms to its sides. She clenches her fist and the water turns to ice, securing the sprite and forcing it to drop its sword.
“What do you want?” she asks it, half curious, half demanding. It merely shrieks at her, unheeding, struggling to free itself.
“I don’t think they speak Standard,” Callie shouts over the storm, and Lisseth winces, unsure what to do with this sprite now that she has it.
“Sorry,” she mutters, and clenches her fist again, the ice tightening to crush the creature’s chest in.
The second eagle takes a shot from Neema, her bullet opening up a bloody hole in its chest. Naiakiir throws a grenade that shatters at its feet, formerly-separated contents reacting into a sticky tar that envelops its talons, pinning it to the deck even as it screeches and flaps in desperate attempts to fly away. Its sprite levels a bow at Neema, taking a shot, but the arrow flies wide as the eagle bucks, throwing off the sprite’s aim.
Callie darts in, closer to the grounded--decked? Is it still grounded when the ship is nowhere near the ground?--bird, her grip so tight around the turquoise amulet she’s surprised her fingers don’t come away a little blue. The Source flows through her like a crescendo of music, a pulsing drumbeat waiting to be let loose in a clash of cymbals. Her daggers lie in their scabbards, an uncomfortable reminder of who she used to be, but she ignores them, letting the music of her magic flow through her.
She lets it out in a scream--not really what she normally tries for, but it seems appropriate in the situation. She can almost feel the sound waves tearing from her lungs, slamming into the eagle in a mimic of its own reverberating screech, and the magic manifests the sound as damage. The bird falls limp, stunned or dead, and Callie drops the amulet in surprise.
“Right then,” Runa says behind her, drawing up short. She’d clearly been about to rush in to finish the bird off, only to realize she didn’t need to. Her blade and her face are spattered with blood, and there is no sign of the sprites she’d been fighting on the foredeck.
Neema steps forward, her gun level and steady, and shoots the last sprite point blank. She pulls a handkerchief out of one of her pockets, wiping a few specks of blood from the barrel of the pistol before she holsters it, as unaffected as if this were a lively distraction from a walk in a park.
“I believe one bird got away,” she says evenly.
Before anyone can respond, the deck lurches beneath them.
They all stumble into each other, feeling oddly off-balance. With the death of the last sprite, the storm begins to dissipate, but there’s still a growl in the clouds that promises they’re not through it yet. A yell from the quarterdeck draws their attention, and the five girls look up to see a knot of crew members shoving the heavy body of an eagle over the stern rail while one kneels by an obviously wounded Corinne.
“Naiakiir!” the Captain’s voice carries easily over the storm--it was built for this--and the healer’s apprentice dashes aft, reaching for the Source and her more mundane healing components.
Neema rushes after her. “I can help,” she says. Naiakiir nods, kneeling beside Corinne and inspecting the wounds. They seem pretty bad--a lot of long cuts, probably from an eagle’s talons, a lot of lost blood.
“Can you take care of these two?” she asks Neema quietly, pointing to a pair of slashes in Corinne’s thigh. Corinne lets out a hiss of pain as Neema’s hands swiftly cover the cuts, putting pressure on them until they can get the stitches in, but she bites her lip and lets the girls work. Naiakiir pulls two needles from her bag, threading one and handing it to Neema. She stitches up the long cut on Corinne’s leg while Naiakiir moves to one of the other cuts, stitching it gently. Most of the others are small enough to only need bandages, and she hands Neema a stack once they’re both done stitching.
While they are concentrating on Corinne, the ship is still making its unsteady way through the storm. Naiakiir hears but ignores the Captain’s shouted orders for someone to secure some loose crates, focusing on Corinne instead as more people pound up the steps to the quarterdeck.
The footsteps on the stairs are Lisseth and Callie, darting toward the wheel to help the Captain brace it as the ship tries to wheel port in a particularly heavy wind gust.
“That cargo--”
“Runa’s got it,” Callie assures her, nodding back down the deck to where Runa is, indeed, running after an escaped crate and bracing her back against it, shoving heavily until it slides back along the deck toward its fellows and she can tie it back down.
“Lisseth, release that sail,” the Captain continues. “We can leave the smaller ones, the storm isn’t that bad now. But the main sail--”
“On it,” Lisseth acknowledges, darting back down the deck, collecting some other crew members to scramble up the mainmast with her and take care of the largest of the ship’s sails. Callie remains on the wheel with the Captain--though her touch might not be quite as instinctive as the Captain’s, she manages to help keep the ship level as the winds slowly die down and the rain lets up to a fine mist until they are simply flying through the remnants of a cloud.
The Captain stands straighter as they come out of the worst of it. Lisseth drops back to deck and helps Runa finish tying off the last few knots on the cargo--or tries to. As soon as she touches the rope, Runa drops it, leaving her to finish as she moves aft toward the Captain with a scowl. Lisseth sighs, ties the knots, and follows her, shaking her head.
They run into Japhs, who emerges from the hatch with a mop in hand. Runa catches his eye even as he tries to avoid her. One hand darts out to catch the front of his shirt, holding him steady as she rears back with her other hand and lands a punch square on his jaw.
“What was that for?” he yelps, dropping his mop as his hand jumps to the forming bruise.
“That prank this morning,” Runa snarls. “Someone could have been hurt and then where would we be? Not ready for this.” She gestures behind her to the foredeck and the grisly remnants of the sprites she’d taken out.
Bennest’s hand falls on her shoulder this time, and Runa looks up into the first mate’s disapproving frown.
“Runa,” he says, “Japhs did apologize.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, letting go of the offending crewman. “Coulda been bad.”
“But it wasn’t. So,” Bennest raises an eyebrow and Runa shrugs. He gestures for Japhs to pick up his mop and tows Runa back toward the quarterdeck after Lisseth.
“Thank you,” the Captain says as they arrive, and it encompasses all of them. “I do believe the worst is over, ladies. You defended us admirably.”
Runa puffs up a bit at the Captain’s praise, giving her the faintest of smiles in return. Bennest lets go of her, hefting his medical supplies, and takes over for Naiakiir and Neema at Corinne’s side, getting the wounded woman on a stretcher and enlisting a few other crew members to help him take her below. He pauses to give the Captain an update on the state of the ship--not nearly as much damage as they might have sustained had the sprites not been dealt with so handily and the storm kept in place longer--before saluting and following his patient to the lower deck.
The Captain turns to the five women still ranged around her.
“Well. A delightful interlude,” she says evenly, without a trace of the toll the storm must have taken on her. She continues as if she had never been interrupted, as if their conversation from before the storm had not been cut off so abruptly. “As I was saying, tomorrow we land in Wress.” She gives Runa a long look as the girl shifts her weight, crossing her arms uncomfortably. “As I trust the four of you to keep each other from getting into trouble--” another stern look at Runa, though there is fondness buried under it, “--I’m going to send you on an errand together. Our cargo from Haventeem has been languishing in the hold for several stops now, and I think it’s time we sold it. What say you? Can you ladies handle it?”
“From Haventeem?” Neema asks, curiosity piqued. “If you don’t mind my asking--is it arms?”
“Indeed,” the Captain confirms. “Guns are scarce on the surface, but Wress is a hunting town. It borders a broad forest and there is a lot of big game in the area. The old contact I have there will be eager to get her hands on what I can give her.”
“Perhaps I’ll tag along,” Neema says. “My expertise in the weaponry might prove useful?”
The Captain smiles. “I’d be grateful. If you can keep my girls in line, it’ll be an added bonus. What say you, ladies?” She turns back to her four crew members with an expectant look on her face.
Runa shrugs. “Any reason to be on the ground’s a good one,” she mutters.
“We’ll take care of it, ma’am,” Lisseth says, and Naiakiir and Callie nod.
“That’s settled, then,” the Captain says, and turns the ship away from the last wisps of storm cloud to set course back towards Wress…
The sky is yours, and the world awaits. Where will you sail?
*screams quietly in excitement forever*
So, I’ve been part of a new FATE campaign (GM’d by @featherwriter) the past few months. It’s called Soaring Sails and I play a growly grumpy swordmage named Runa who I love more than life itself. We’re about three-fourths of the way through our second Arc, and it’s AAAAAMMAAAZZZIINGGG, Alyx is a terribly wonderful GM and the other ladies in the group ( @thesugarcookieday, @greywatch, @flirtymauveskirt, and @currentsofdreams ) are magnificent.
Anyway, all this to say, we finally set up a blog!
and it’s a really cool blog!
with cool stuff on it!
And you should definitely check it out! Because in addition to the character aesthetics you might have seen bouncing around all our personal blogs, there’s also (or there’s going to be): worldbuilding notes from the GM, backstory short stories, flashfic from twitter, art, ooc shenanigans, and--converted by yours truly from our session recordings--FULL WRITE UPS OF THE WHOLE CAMPAIGN IN PROSE/NOVEL FORMAT JUST WAITING FOR YOU TO READ AND FALL IN LOVE WITH.
Listen, even if you have no idea what’s happening, pls give our lil blog a chance, because it’s amazing. Alyx has hurled us through some plot twists worthy of Bioware, I’m not even kidding, and there have been some shenanigans fans of TAZ and CritRole might appreciate. Plus there’s SERIOUSLY WONDERFUL CHARACTERS both player and non-player, a CRAZY-AWESOME WORLD Alyx dreamed up, and an AIRSHIP. Seriously, what’s not to love about an airship??
I apologize in advance if I go overboard promoting this, but LISTEN. IT’S AWESOME. Ngl, it’s all I’ve been thinking about for months, it’s quickly become my number one “fandom” and I’m half-desperate to share it with everyone. So. Come sail away with us. I promise you won’t regret it.
