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Chapter Four - A New Heading

Queensbane looked daunting and inhospitable from the sea. Jagged, rocky, teeth-like projections protected its base and formed speared points to keep unwanted visitors at bay. The stone fortress glistened, smooth and eternally damp from the thousands of waves polishing it day in and day out. It certainly looked the part of Evander’s fanciful elaborations, though Vagor would soon find that not all of Evander’s tales rang entirely true.

The pier itself was also constructed from sleek, slick sea stone, mortared and stacked to reach far past the protective spikes and offering a well-managed port for trade and asylum. 

Captain Taprick appointed three men to carry Moose to the infirmary. The unlucky sailors grumbled for a moment, but let it lie. Cap was in a mood and they weren’t willing to push it, though the lack of pay during this stop was at the forefront of everyone’s thirsty gullet, and tensions, though they wouldn't grow into anything more than that, were palpable.

Not the first time this captain's approval ratings have dropped, he recognized the discord and gathered his men. 

“One for each of ya. Don’t much care what ya do as long as ya do it before sundown. If ya ain’t at the boat by dusk, yer not at the ship.” Captain warned as he popped the intricate buttons off his jacket and cuffs. The carved silver nuggets shimmered like gems and satisfied the disgruntled crew, for now.

He didn’t offer one to Vagor, hardly acknowledging his presence at all as the crew convened here on the dock. 

Vagor traced his way through the small crowd of sailors to the Captain, assuming his own due trinket of pay, but when it wasn't readily offered, he cleared his throat, proffering a quick "Ahem," to Cap, eyebrows raised and holding out his hand expectantly.

Eyeing the empty palm, Cap slapped it with his own, leaving nothing more than some thread from the silver buttons in Vagors grasp. 

“Nice try.” Cap scoffed as he turned to leave it at that. 

"Good fuckin' gods, can you at least give me the lay of the land here, then? I've earned at least that much," Vagor spouted in frustration, willing and eager to take his leave of Cap once and for all.

Captain Tapia snorted before acquiescing. “Queensbane's about as neutral a place as you’ll find. We’re in the country of Kepkot. Avoid Chillwhim to the north if ya know what’s good fer ya. Makir, to the west, ain’t so bad if yer willin’ to work, lotta stuff there. Most of Kepkot can be tolerated too.” Cap handed Vagor a compass. “There’s a place for everyone.” He paused, “‘Vander taught me that.” 

Vagor growled at Captain Taprick’s overly personal and uninvited words of advice, "You may know Evander, but don't act like you care about me. You don't know me. You won't even fuckin' pay me." He ripped the compass from Cap's hand, clutching it firmly in his grasp as he donned the hood of his cloak and stormed down the pier and toward the city proper. 

Cap yelled out after him, “I ain’t paying ya for free passage on my ship. Ye should be thanking me fer not letting ya drown.” Captain roared.

Refusing to glance back, Vagor shouted, "You didn't save shit. Evander's the only one I have to thank for that!" And he bid the captain a final unsavory, single-fingered gesture in farewell. 

Shaking his head, nonplussed, Captain bellowed to himself, “Aye. And just whose ship do ya think he pulled your sorry ass onto?” Captains' earlier esteem for Evander's dissolved with his words, referring to him as just another lousy crew member. 

Urchins and starfish clung to the smooth stone walkway Vagor now traversed - a reminder that nature didn’t intend for this to be here. Queensbane was bustling with trade and networking - a conglomerate of customs and creatures, the likes of which Vagor had never seen. Which wasn’t saying much, but he knew enough to recognize it for the impressive social and structural feat that it was. 

Vagor's path led him right into the heart of the city. Tavern doors swung on their hinges as patrons began pouring in, despite the fact that the morning's light still hung low on the horizon. The tables and benches of merchant's stalls lined the walkways, and at every turn, a cacophony of deals and arrangements echoed through the streets. Keener eyes than Vagor's could catch gold satchels being swapped and unguarded goods changing hands. This was not the place to get too comfortable. 

Vagor fumbled Evander's silver coin in his pocket, acutely aware of his own lack of valuable possessions. While his fingers itched for more, he found himself morally disinclined to join the thieving masses after all. So I do have a moral compass. How inconvenient. He grumbled to himself.

Perplexed and a little disheartened at his prospects, people milling past him without a shadow of consideration for his presence, Vagor decided there was truly only one thing to do - drink his problems away. 

He took the coin from his pocket, flicking it high above his head. It shimmered as it flipped head over end, cascading its way back down toward Vagor's outstretched hand. Though he hadn't expected it, this seemingly simple action inspired something in him - a light akin to hope, to the prospect of good fortune. 

That is, until the nimble fingers of an impossibly quick and dexterous street urchin of a child snatched the coin midair, and carried it away, maniacal laughter disappearing into the crowds huddling the fareway. 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Vagor shrieked after the long-gone street rat, fists waving angrily.

He squatted down in desperation, resting his elbows on the bend of his knees, hands dangling limp between his shins. He let out a long sigh. 

Fuck…water it is. 

He picked himself up and waltzed right into the nearest tavern - a rickety wooden sign hanging from a wrought iron post out front read Gadwen's Alehouse - only to be informed that a pint of water would cost him every bit as much as a pint of ale. One silver coin, inconveniently.

Shit. 

A different approach was now a blaring necessity. 

Sticking to a trajectory of taverns, pubs, and ale houses, Vagor continued to try his luck at inquiring for refreshment on-the-house, but when that inevitably failed - and it did so, unironically, without fail - he changed tactics and offered labor in exchange for food and drink. 

That also failed miserably. 

At long last - in truth, it had been just shy of two hours - an elderly barkeep by the name of Bivens, hardly smaller than Vagor himself, and every bit as capable despite his years, took pity on the golden-eyed half-elf and handed him an apron from across the bar top, albeit reluctantly. 

"If I catch you skimming the coin, I'll throw your ass on the street faster than you can scratch it." 

Vagor gave a curt nod in agreement, before hastily throwing on the apron, readying himself to get straight to work. He rounded the counter to position himself behind the bar, but was met by Bivens' hand firmly planted in his chest.

"Just where do ya think yer goin' son? I wouldn't let ya within six inches of my ales, boy. Nah, if yer gonna earn yer keep, best ye start at the bottom."

Turns out Bivens meant "bottom" rather literally, as he handed Vagor a broom and mop and sent him swiftly off to clean the privy. 

Shit…No, I mean…not shit. No more shit. Enough shit already. 

Vagor’s cheekbones flared in annoyance at his situation, feeling utterly and unfairly trapped. Sure, he didn't know a lick when it came to who he was or where he came from. And he got it, that didn't exactly leave him with a budding resumè of vocational experience to otherwise grant him the privilege of picking and choosing between high-salaried job opportunities… But even so, he was fairly certain cleaning toilets wasn't something he wanted in his repertoire. 

Unfortunately for Vagor, it didn't much matter what he wanted, as his grumbling stomach so aptly reminded him. 

He cleaned the literal shit out of those toilets. 

A couple hours later, he emerged from the privy, a little damper than before. Beads of sweat had blossomed across his brow, and the cuffs of his rolled sleeves were darkened, wet with soapy water. His chest heaved, a little out of breath from the fury of effort he had thrown into scrubbing the bathroom spotless. Or more precisely, shitless.

Bivens shook his head and laughed quietly and bemusedly at Vagor, a young buck in comparison to himself. "Alright lad, have yerself a seat. Ye've earned yerself a morsel at least." 

Within a few minutes, Bivens carried a warm plate - steaming with an elegantly simple arrangement of thin-sliced meats, a hearty chunk of sharp, hardened cheese, and fresh-buttered, soda-leavened bread - to rest on the dark-stained hardwood table before Vagor. 

He didn't even bother lifting a utensil. Vagor's bare hands shoveled every last bite ravenously into his mouth.

●●●

With a full belly and a surprisingly chipper attitude, Vagor clutched the broom, whistling discordant tunes as he swept its bristles thoughtlessly across the tavern’s dining floor. It took little effort on Vagor’s part to eavesdrop on the day’s chatterings. Patrons were littered about each table, bubbling with muted whispers and musings. “I saw it with me own two eyes, honest to Prism! The whole sky was on fire! Well, maybe not fire, but I ain’t ever seen lightnin' like that before! It was bloody everywhere!” The weathered gentleman, admittedly tipsy, spewed to his two aged companions. “Sumptin’s afoot, and with t'e gods I’d wager.” He took a hearty gulp from the pint of ale clasped firmly in his grip, “Mark my words. This canna bode well for any o’ us.” 

Vagor chuckled quietly. Seems Evander isn’t the only one prone to superstitions. 

That blasted lad had wriggled his way into Vagor’s thoughts all too easily. And while Vagor continued brushing dust and dirt into small piles around the room, it wasn’t without a tinge of remorse. He tried to brush the regret away with each subsequent broom stroke. 

Rather fortuitously, an ample distraction walked right into Vagor’s view. The tavern door opened, as a young man, perhaps slightly older than Evander, stepped over the threshold, turning his back to Vagor as he gently closed the doors behind him. His head hung low, avoiding eye contact with any of the tavern dwellers in his path, the man somberly yet swiftly traveled his way to the staircase just right of the bartop, climbing up to the rented rooms of the second floor. 

The young man was just shorter than Vagor, and small of frame, though not near as slight as Evander. An olive complexion draped itself on round cheeks that angled softly into a sharp jaw and squared chin. His face was clean-shaven, his shoulder-length black hair drawn neatly into a small pony tail at the nape of his neck. Though shorter, somewhat unkempt strands framed his temples, drawing attention to his delicate features and elegant blue almond eyes. 

He was inescapably handsome. His attire was well-kept and well-bred. A tailored, tweed gray coat framed his torso flatteringly, paired over a deep blue vest beneath. A well-worn set of dark brown leather shoes peeked out from beneath the hems of matching blue trousers. 

But what truly struck Vagor wasn’t the lad’s appearance. It was his gait - the way he walked and held himself as he did. Soft steps, yet purposeful. Poised. He knew it wasn’t an exact likeness, but it reminded him of the way Evander moved, as if the two were cut from the same cloth, the same life. 

He thought to shake it off, but fate, it seemed, decided otherwise. 

A handful of patrons seated near the entry began murmuring amongst themselves, “Looks like it was another unfruitful morning. Simon, that poor lad. He’s been out looking, what? Three days now? And still no sign of ol’ Orange Eyes.” 

This more than prickled the hairs at the base of Vagor’s own neck. He didn’t know if he believed in coincidence - he didn’t know if he believed in anything at all - but he knew with unexplained certainty that this couldn’t be one. 

●●●

“Have you seen this woman?!” A young man dressed in a fitted blue vest and matching trousers called from the crowd, his unimposing yet deep, smokey, and accented voice quickly drowned out by the dozens of unrelated conversations, no one paying him any mind. He held a neat stack of posters tight to his chest, as if each single layer of parchment was more precious to him than the purest gold. Taking advantage of a lull in the din of the crowd, the lad continued his woeful tale, “… missing eight years ago!” 

A wooden stool nearby caught his eye, and he scrambled atop it, hoping the slight elevation would grant him a more attentive audience. The crowd shifted with the influx of foot traffic.  Someone tossed a copper at him, mistakenly believing him in need of funds for some sorrowful cause or another. The heat of anger reddened his cheekbones, as he yelled out in anger, “I don’t want your money!!” Shaken by this mild bout of rage, he lost balance as the stool wobbled out from under him. He crashed against the travel-hardened dirt, crushing through the stool itself as he did. He nursed the bruises that began blossoming almost immediately, as the papers he had held tight against his person now switch-backed the air all around him. As they landed gently on the roadway, most found themselves trampled and swept away before the young man could gather even himself. 

Disheartened by this set back, he dusted off his trousers and slowly righted himself to a stand. “Please! They have orange eyes and the brightest smile...” But with every disinterested glance from passersby traveling the road on their respective errands and adventures, his resolve waned. His words echoed in the chambers of his own mind, drawing deeply etched memories to the forefront of his thoughts. He closed his eyes, vividly recalling the way her soft, slender hands had fit so perfectly in his own, the thin ringed sliver of gold on her own finger cool to his touch. The way the sun danced in tandem with the mischief of those bright orange eyes, the slit of her soft pink lips blossoming into a maniacal grin as she released his hand from her own before pivoting into a run across the grassy field in which they stood, beckoning him to give chase. Begging him to love life with her. Now, as he stood on this boisterously busy road, how he wished he had. 

Lost entirely in the dark crevices of his own memory, the young man almost failed to notice the earnest approach of an aged gentleman walking by. It seemed he had piqued someone’s interest at last. “Orange eyes you say? How peculiar…” The man’s voice was pitched, and a little croaked from old age. As if by some strange magic, the old man’s inquiry drew the attention of yet another traveler, a woman of little note at first, who eyed the papers in the young man’s arms with an uncomfortable intensity. 

Slightly defensive, as he suddenly realized the very personal nature of his task, he cautiously handed her a poster, and responded to the old man's question, though he had since meandered away, “Yes, like the sunset. I have reason to believe they may be lost at sea.” 

An unsavory fellow tattooed to the nines, and donning a lady and a lad on each arm, must have overheard, as he yelled out to the young fellow in passing, “Aye, we call that drowning laddie! Ha, ha!” The lady on his right arm slapped his chest half-heartedly, and squealed in mocked reproach, “Buuuudge!” The small group snorted in laughter at Budge’s crass quip. 

Glaring at the unhelpful jest, the young man continued his discussion with the woman beside him, “Do you… know them?” 

“Oh, no. Sorry. But I know other people with orange eyes.” The woman insinuated as she added, rather unnecessarily, “Strange, ain’t it, how they don’t care to be found.” 

He furrowed his brow, “That’s unhelpful. And most assuredly untrue.” 

“Apologies, that’s just my experience. Did she disappear from this port? Lotta ships in and out of here. Sad to say your chances are slim. Queensbane services every continent.” 

“No. They went missing from Bhule.” 

“Bhule’s not a port, boy.” 

“I’m aware.” He issued between gritted teeth, growing weary of this particular line of intrigue. 

“What makes you think they’re here? You some kind of tracker?” Adding under hre breath, equally rude and irrelevant, “Though surely not a very good one…”

“Look. I appreciate the concern but these questions solve nothing. If you don’t know who she is then please, move along.” He pressed the posters to his chest protectively. 

“Dunno who she is, sure, but I know her kind. You’ll need a lot more than luck to find anyone left with orange eyes.” The woman grinned, turning to leave. The woman's leering gaze sent a swift shudder down the young man's spine. 

Glad to be rid of the pretentious woman, the young man swiveled around to meet the crowd once again, hoping to find kinder ears and eyes from here on. And yet, the woman's parting words ate at him. He sighed, whispering breathily to himself, "But I'm not trying to find just anyone."

His vision blurred as he fought back the tears that threatened to dampen the papers cradled to his chest. He brushed them away quickly with his free hand, releasing another deep albeit sputtering sigh. Pulling himself together, he tugged at his vest and painted a friendly smile over his own sorrows, and resumed his announcements into the crowd of passersby once more, "Excuse me, the name's Simon, and if I could only trouble you for a moment of your time. Have you seen this woman?..."

●●●

Vagor shuffled hesitantly toward the small party of men seated by the tavern door, clearing his throat a few times before they took notice of him. 

"Ummm…" Vagor paused, suddenly uncertain of himself as four pairs of nondescript eyeballs stared back at him more expectantly than he had, well, expected, "Forgive the interruption, but…Who was that man?" He nodded his head in the direction of the staircase where the young man had just ascended moments earlier.

"Ah the sad lad? That's just poor Simon. He's becomin' the talk of the town in these parts. Been 'ere the better part of a week now on some rescue mission o' his."

"What do you mean rescue mission?" It struck Vagor that the man he had just seen climbing the stairs looked decidely more the part of the damsel than the knight in shining armor. 

"Oh, it's not all it sounds, I 'spose. He's got this lady he's lookin' for, though to no avail it seems. We've taken to callin' 'er 'Ol Orange Eyes' but that's hardly the only thing to catch the eye when it comes to 'er, right lads?" He took a swig of ale, joining in a hearty laugh with his companions. "Simon's plastered posters o' 'er on every street corner from 'ere to the dock, for gods' sakes." The man sobered a moment, "She's a fair-lookin' lass. Kind-lookin'. I hope the young lad finds 'er." He lifted his pint, a gesture of well wishes for the young man's search, before taking another sip, mumbles of stoic agreement rising from his companions. 

"Hey busboy!" Vagor was wrenched from his listening stupor by Bivens' bellowing from behind the bar. "Quit harassing the customers and make yerself useful." He dried his hands on a towel before walking out from behind the counter, pulling something from his pocket as he trudged over to Vagor. He held out a slip of paper, "Head on down to the marketplace and pick up this order will ya? And tell Midge to put it on my tab. Don't let her hound ya too much, neither. Ungrateful wench…" Bivens grumbled his way back to the floor-to-ceiling shelves of liquor littering the wall behind the bar top. 

Vagor was out the door without even a word. 

Perfect timing.

Bivens' request was well met by Vagor's own piqued curiosity. He didn't have the slightest idea where he might find the marketplace, but he didn't need to. He could find the nearest street corner easily enough. 

Vagor hitched to a halt, devolving into a stupefied heap of flesh as his gaze lit upon the item in question. How in the nine hells could he have missed this on his earlier journeys through the city? There, on Simon's poster, was a portrait, drawn not just in the likeness of Evander. No, Vagor would never forget the first face he had laid eyes on upon waking in this strange world - for all intents and purposes, it was the first face he had seen ever.

It was Evander. 

Or more accurately, as the poster so poignantly enlightened, Ellie Holloway.

Sheeeee-iiiiiit.

●●●

The burly half-elf opted neither to return to the tavern just yet, nor to make any advances toward actually finding the merchant's stall belonging to this Midge person. Vastly more salient thoughts swirled around his brain, muddling his mind of anything even remotely tangential to the present conundrum that is - or was, rather - Ellie Holloway. Evander.

Vagor acknowledged he possessed next to nothing in the way of pertinent information. Or information, period. While that should have perhaps unsettled him, the fact of the matter was that the last few days of his life, being the only life he remembered at all, had worn the novelty right off of that particular sensation. It wasn't the unknowing that gnawed at him. It was what to do with it. 

He'd be lying if the hefty gold-addled reward listed in bold on the poster hadn't caught his yellowed eyes. It could go a long way toward easing the ever present financial tensions that inevitably follow an amnesiac's thousand-foot tumble from the clouds onto a piss-poor sorry excuse of a sailing vessel. That reward money would go a long way toward relieving the handicap that had so cruelly landed on his lap. 

He stood there in the middle of the road, paused in thought - a little too long, honestly. Travelers were beginning to stare. It was getting downright awkward. 

Vagor didn’t care. He turned around and crashed right back in the direction he came from - mercifully a straight path, on account of his having absolutely no bearing of the city itself - ripping down every last poster on every last street corner he encountered. 

Because Vagor couldn’t escape the truth any longer. His truth, Evander’s truth - it didn’t much matter. It was the only truth he had yet learned to believe in. Here he was, this half-elf without a past, and for some reason, he couldn’t be bothered to care - not really. He couldn’t see the point in looking behind, only ahead. And perhaps he was privileged in that, given he didn’t have anything to look back to anyway, but even if he did, it was inconsequential to him. He had decided to fix his eyes forward, even if he hadn’t truly put that into words or even thoughts. He knew now, as he raged through the streets on his way back to Bivens’ tavern - masses of hopelessly crumpled posters growing more substantial in his hands at every corner - that had been his intent all along. It had been his choice.

Without knowing all the details about Simon or Ellie, or Evander, Vagor knew from the way Evander’s smile and quips pirouetted across his own memory - however brief it had been - that it had been Evander’s choice as well. 

And if ever Vagor had sought a purpose in this short-lived life of his, he had found it.

Oh my fucking gods, the MOOOORAAAALS!!! Vagor bellowed silently in the caverns of his own mind, gritting his teeth in resolution as he steamrolled his way through Queensbane.  

Spotting the swinging tavern sign that read in scripted font, “Bivens’ Place”, Vagor stomped through the door, beelining straight to the just lit fireplace, into which he swiftly thrust his collection of papers. The fire roared violently to life in Vagor’s golden eyes. 

He turned to face Bivens’, still situated behind the bar just as Vagor had left him. The old barkeep was the very picture of befuddlement, frozen in time, drying an empty glass stein. He popped his mouth open, presumably to ask where in the devil his order of supplies might be hiding, but Vagor beat him to the punch. 

"I'm sorry to do this to ya, but I've gotta put in my two minute's notice."

Bivens halted in surprise, blinking at his new hire, now ex-hire he supposed. He looked on silently, his eyes staring blankly at Vagor, careful not to betray any thoughts that churned behind, if there were any to betray. He shook his head, half in annoyance and half in honest amusement and perplexion. Bivens ran his fingers through his short peppered mop of hair, a bumbling gruff laugh bouncing out of his lungs, "Yer an odd fella aren't ye?"

Vagor chuckled in relief, "I really wouldn't know."

Vagor and Bivens looked on at one another, a detectable hint of mutual respect and appreciation for their short acquaintance brewing between them, before Vagor caught a glimpse of the skyline from a nearby window, peeking just over the adjacent building. 

“Godsdamnit, it’s nearly dusk…” Vagor hurriedly unfastened his apron, tossing it carelessly on the counter before rushing for the door. 

“One more thing…” Bivens snatched Vagor’s attention back for one last moment. “For your troubles, lad.” With a flick of his thumb and a slight whisk of his wrist, Bivens sent two small coins hurtling toward Vagor. It took both hands to catch them, and even then just barely so. He peeled back one hand to reveal the two coins nestled in the fold of his palm - one silver and one gold. He hadn’t earned that gold. Hell, he’d barely earned the silver. 

He nodded at Bivens with gratitude, beaming with a soft, crooked smile. He turned, gently opening the door to make his exit. As soon as his feet crossed the threshold into the streets of Queensbane one last time, Vagor pocketed the coins dropped into a dead sprint. 

●●●

Vagor braced himself against the nearest building, letting the cool, clay siding against his hands offer a slight relief to his overheated muscles and racing heart. His chest heaved from the exertion, but resting for too long wasn’t an option. He had watched the sky grow darker, little by little, as he raced through the streets, puzzling his way back to the harbor. The soft cadence of squawking seagulls and cresting waves told him he was close. 

Now isn’t the time to get soft, Vagor. He urged himself onward. 

As he rounded one final corner, the outstretched pier and the dusk-kissed waves filled every corner of his vision. Just left of the dock itself, seated and leaned against a wooden barrel and chewing on what looked to be a bit of straw, Vagor spotted the very same filthy, street rat from earlier that morning. He tipped his head into his chest, shaking it back and forth with levity. Fate is a fickle and funny thing… Vagor mulled on his thoughts a moment. 

Eh, who doesn't love a petty bitch.

And he pulled the silver coin from his pocket, drawing just near enough to flick it up and over to land squarely at the boy’s feet. He swiveled his head around in time to meet the urchin’s eyes with a mischievous wink, before returning his focus to the task at hand. 

Vagor surveyed the stone-piered dock sprawled out before him, The Changeling bobbing peacefully in the rippling tides just beyond. His vision detailed the ship’s crew, hoisting anchors over the ship’s rail, readying the vessel for departure. 

Vagor's eyes danced across the ship's hulls, letting the growing sparkle of lanterns being lit, one after another, fill the echoey chambers of his own nonexistent memories. He'd craft new ones, just as he was doing now, taking in this growing constellation of makeshift stars. Amidst the ship's bustle, he spotted the familiar list of Evander's slight frame leaning over the rail, undoubtedly issuing gentle orders to the surrounding crew. He didn't notice Vagor on the dock yet. He wouldn't have, the distance still too far between them. But Vagor saw him, and even if just for a fleeting moment, he could've sworn Evander himself was glowing alongside the lamplight.

He eyed the distance between the end of the dock and the sloop itself, calculating his chances for success. 

He didn’t like them. 

Chapter Two ~ The Ropes

Moose, who had been absent-mindedly and rather inharmoniously humming sea shanties into the night, noticed a slender middle finger poke through a knot in the hatch. Announcing boisterously, “‘Vander's back!” He unlocked the small wooden door. 

Evander climbed out, closing the hatch behind him, careful not to lock it this time. “He’s gonna need a minute, mate.” 

Collin turned to the rest of the crew to jab,  “Few hours with ‘Vander was torturous. Anyone would need to recover after that therapy session.” Evander rolled his eyes and clasped a hand on Moose’s wide shoulder “His name’s Vagor. Count to 200 then tell Cap he’s up.” 

“What happened down there? Heard ‘em knocking.” Moose inquired with a deep chuckle.

Evander smiled wide, letting his eyes sparkle a bit by the moonlight. “We’ve got a fighter on our hands.” 

Moose tried to match Evander's wide smile, but due to scars and sheer lack of practice, it only went about halfway on one side. He sat by the hatch and proudly started counting:

“One… two…. three… six…” effectively giving Vagor roughly a minute before finishing his error-riddled task and gathering himself to fetch Cap, something he likely couldn’t mess up. Emphasis on likely.

“Don’t think anyone’s slept this long since Moose knocked out ‘Vander last year.” Cap said gruffly as he approached the hatch. “C’mon out ya freeloader!” 

Moose glanced at Evander and mouthed “Sorry” to which Evander merely shrugged and softly said “It’s in the past," absentmindedly rubbing his temple.

The hatch opened slowly as a very large and discombobulated figure muscled his broad shoulders awkwardly through, appearing rather disheveled.

Vagor took a moment to scan the small audience now surrounding him, a fact with which he found himself wholly unamused. He threw a hopeful glance Evander’s way, looking to him for reassurance that it would be okay to speak, to act - to be here.

Smiling in gleeful amusement at this absolute brute of a half-elf, both twice his size and twice his age, looking to him - all of twenty-four years of age - for advice and wisdom and comfort, Evander uncrossed one arm to gesture encouragingly for his new friend to speak up…

I’m gonna hate this kid, I can tell, thought Vagor, in a begrudging attempt to deny that he didn in fact, find himself every bit as reassured as he had hoped to be by that bright little pipsqueak of a man.

Vagor turned himself to face Captain, a charade of confidence backed by the knowledge that he had at least one turdish sailor looking out for him here. He clenched his fists at his sides, “I ain’t no fucking freeloader. I didn’t ask to be here. But here I fucking am.”

“So is everyone else here. Ye ain’t special. I don’t care much for how ye fell from the heavens, or for any sorry sob story 'bout yer dead mother. We make port in two weeks. Ye can sail, or ye can swim. Yer choice.” Captain Taprick wasn’t a busy man, but he had an urgency about him that encouraged fellow men not to waste his time with idle conversation. 

A low growl of frustration echoed from Vagor’s throat as he leveled his gaze to meet that of Captain’s in a silent battle of will. 

“Sail.” 

He turned his back to the Captain and the rest of the crew, decisively maneuvering around the ship’s deck, taking it upon himself to check every bit of knotwork like he owned the place. 

He tilted his yellow eyes up to catch sight of the stars that had only just begun to grace themselves upon the black canvas of night sky, assessing the ship’s heading for himself. He angled himself toward the quarter deck, grabbing the stair rail as if to make for the helm. He stopped short, however, shaking his head before casting an annoyed and purposefully condescending glare at the ship’s actual captain, and silently resumed his work amidst the ship’s rigging on the main deck.

“Vander, check his work. I won’t have my ship failing on his account. See that he has a bunk and let ‘em eat with the crew.” Captain Taprick turned to the crew before him, awaiting instruction while the stranger wandered nearby. “Back to yer posts, enough rubber neckin’ the newbie. Ain’t nothing special to see here!” 

Evander rocked back and forth from heel to toes. “Aye,” he resounded with the crew as they scattered to their respective corners of the vessel. 

Leaning against the mast, arms crossed with one foot resting on the beam, Evander watched Vagor inspecting the ropes, the ties, and equipment on deck. 

“What kinda ship is this anyways?” 

“Retired war sloop, think we still have some dusty canons in the hold. It hauls cargo now, Makir to Kepkot mostly. Sometimes Cap takes on private work and we get to go north to Chillwhim,” seeing Evanders words fall on deaf ears he added with a hopeful smile, “All places you’ll come to know and love.” 

“Hasn’t anyone ever told ya what happens when you assume stuff?" Vagor huffed, faking disinterest, before caving and inquiring further, "What kind of cargo?” 

“All kinds. Supplies and food. Nothing valuable beyond flour and cloth. Cap has some agreement with The Waters that he won’t carry gold.” Evander shrugged.

"Pity," Vagor replied, "Of all the ships I coulda landed on, I just had to find myself on this sorry excuse for a boat." He patted a hand on the ship's rail, adding apologetically to the vessel itself, "Apologies lass, it's not your fault." 

"Technically, you didn't land on this ship, you landed right…over there." Evander squinted one eye, extending his right arm straight in front of him to point to the exact location where mere hours earlier, Vagor went splat.

"Shut up, smartass."

Knowing from many past experiences that nicknames, however unpleasant, were a sign of breaking ice, Evander let that one fall to the wayside. 

Patient as ever, Evander didn't shut up per his acquaintance's request, and continued to elaborate in fanciful detail bits and pieces about the world of Whimsie to his crew mate. 

“The Waters is a myth to most. A bit of shallow bedrock that stretches a few miles. Cap says sirens target gold-bearing ships, and only those without a speck of gold can pass. The siren pod calls themselves The Waters, controlling the lynch point for any sea vessel wishing to pass through.” Carefully watching Vagor's reactions he adds “I think it’s a bit of bullshit, but sirens leave us alone so, maybe the old bat’s onto something. All the same, it’s a good thing I found you when I did,” Evander added with a jesting wink. 

“You spout this dung heap to every newcomer you meet?” Vagor replied, playfully. 

“You’d be the first, we don’t meet too many new people at sea.” 

Vagor’s response dripped with sarcasm, “I suppose the 'sirens' are to blame for that too, then.” 

“Among many other terrible beasties. Careful your skepticism doesn’t get you on the wrong side of the railing.” Evander's tone flattened, conveying his warning with a more serious note.

“The right side, depending on how you look at it.” Vagor replied, seemingly nonplussed by the supposed lingering dangers of the dark waters tossing carelessly around them. 

“He also says the seawater has enabled him to see in the dark” Collin added, eavesdropping on Evander grand tales. “I think he needs to get laid. Lad's not thinking straight. We’re all a bit starved.” Collin pauses, his eyes landing on Evander, “‘Cept maybe that one. Feeds on the ‘energy of the universe’ or some shit.” 

“You should try it sometime.” Evander let his eyes go slack and threw his hand back as if downing an invisible drink.

Collin grunted in reply, busying himself away from the conversation that had failed to hold his interest.

Vagor, eyebrows raised at Collin’s words regarding Evander's 'uniqueness', scoffed in disbelief. “Wait, really? That’s not just more bullshit?” Adding under his breath, “Where the fuck am I…” 

Once again reminded of his own vulnerability, his absent memory, and his utterly miniscule knowledge of his current surroundings, a slight shutter danced it’s way from Vagor’s head to his toes, shaking the walls of guarded resolution he had thrown up quicker than the flash of lightning that landed him aboard this strange and unsightly vessel in the first place. 

“Nothing quite as magical as 'universe siphoning', as Collin here suggested.” Evander closed his eyes, carefully choosing his explanation “I made a choice, a long time ago, to see the bright side of every situation, every person. I don’t believe in bad luck, in hopelessness, it all seems a waste of energy.” Evander opened his eyes, careful not to look at Vagor “There’s too much cruelty in the world, therefore I won’t be. I expect nothing, and appreciate everything.” Evander gestured to the crew, “You can see how this lot thinks it’s witchcraft to have hope,” laughing at himself and letting some light back into the unexpectedly heavy subject. 

“Well you can count me in with the ‘lot’ then. Sounds like a load of sunflower hocus-pocus to me. It rolls off the tongue all rosy-cozy, but there’s danger in expecting nothing. ‘No expectations’ can become a whole lot of assumptions real fuckin’ quick…Hold on, you can’t manifest shit can you? Like frickin’ self-fulfilling prophecy crap? I’m not about to let some young, dumb, and restless baby sailor start writing my life story for me…”

Evander’s bright eyes flashed to meet Vagors “Look who’s making assumptions now! I’m an open book, Vagor, if you want to judge how young and dumb I am… you can just ask, but for the record I can’t ‘manifest shit’, I just have a knack for navigating.” 

“How conveniently ambiguous and poetically metaphorical…” Vagor huffed, before giving in to Evander’s offer to answer any questions. His hands mindlessly refastened the nearest brace line holding one of the sloop’s booms steady, “So, Whimsie? That’s what you call this place? This ‘world’?”

“You’ll find out poems are kinda my thing.” Taking a deep breath and hoisting himself onto the railing to perch “And yeah, Whimsie.”

“I hate it.” 

“I’ll get ya a map. If yer planning on sticking around ya might as well learn the layout.”

“It pains me greatly to say, but I don’t exactly have anywhere else to be. So sure. And thanks, I guess.”

Evander’s gaze cast a spirited and glistening threat Vagor’s way, cautioning more poems and fanciful epigrams ahead. Vagor rolled his eyes, but silently promised to be the one to shut up and listen now. 

“There’s less war than there used to be. Riches and fools can be found in the same place. Plenty of monsters, ventures, and titles to be had. It’s quite a beautiful sight, despite the locals. You won’t have to look far to find soul-feeding sights.” Evander clasped his hands together dramatically as he realized what was happening “Ah, it’s like teaching a baby bird to fly. I’m gonna enjoy this.” Glancing above them Evander pointed to a set of stars “Look here.” 

“Stars, I see stars. What about them?” Vagor responded, before quickly quieting as he remembered his promise to keep a lid on it. 

“Keep watching.” Evander stayed still, the bustle of the crew slowing as they buckled down the hatches for the night and the ship glided onward through the glassy sea. The immediate area teemed with silent wonder, save for the soft echoes of the waves crashing rhythmically against the sloop as it continued its cut through the deep blue waters.

Keeping his lips pursed in this temporary vow of silence, Vagor mumbled annoyedly at Evander, hands waving wildly, as a full and awkward two minutes had come and gone with little to see. 

Comedically timed, as Evander had previously mentioned his ability to navigate events, a dark, gargantuan mass thrust itself into view overhead, blocking out the twinkling starlight behind it, as a massive and powerful whale head breached the night sky, heading straight for them. Its body was armored in enormous plate scales with multiple fins and tendrils flowing outward from its body, undulating as if the creature were swimming underwater and not, as it happened, through the distinctly waterless sky. It was pure magic. And massive - did we mention massive? Not a creature on Whimsie could compare to its size and presence. At what appeared to be the very last second, startling Vagor as he instinctively and rather childishly hit the deck in fear of a collision, the anomaly turned, taking effort to slowly - painfully slow, from Vagor’s vantage - change trajectory and glide back in and out of the atmosphere. 

Evander let out a gleeful laugh to break the silence. “Ha! These guys also make it a habit to fly through clouds.” Following the whale's pattern with his hand. “Maybe you’re related.”

“I reiterate. I hate it.” Vagor scoffed, as he gathered himself back to a shaky stand. 

“Oh, come on. You gotta admit this is incredible. Few people in Whimsie get to witness these beasts in action. Count yourself blessed!” Evander pointed as a few more sky whales breached, albeit less magnificently than the first. 

“It’s the stuff of dreams, I’ll give you that…Or maybe nightmares,” Vagor added with an increasingly relaxed chuckle, “Fuck me, that was pretty frickin’ incredible.” He dared to step closer to the rail, taking in the dancing whales before him, and for the first time since waking up, granting himself a deep, refreshing breath of salty sea air. He wouldn’t admit it to Evander any time soon, but he also certainly couldn’t deny it to himself anymore either. That was at least a little soul-lifting. Alright, more than a little. “I guess being a Wanderer might have its privileges after all.” 

Evander watched as Vagor’s chest rose and fell as he continued inhaling the ocean breeze. Vagor closed his eyes, before turning to Evander, “Okay, enough gawking. Show me your knotwork.” Vagor settled on the nearest rigging line, unfastening it himself before throwing it to Evander.

Letting out another hearty laugh, Evander replied “My knotwork, old man? You’re the freshie here-“ gesturing to the rope “-be my guest.” He crossed his arms, getting comfortable.

“You’ve been watching me redo your crew’s sad-ass knots for the better part of the last two hours. I’ve had my turn. Quit stallin’. You’re up.” He tossed the rope to Evander once more. 

“Aye, your mistrust is crystal clear.” Evander took the rope, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at this unwelcome test of his sailing skill. “Just ‘cause it ain’t your way, don't make it wrong” Evander tied the rope, as he had a hundred times prior, letting second nature guide his slender hands. 

Vagor eyed the quick work of Evander’s hands. So not sea-green, then. Vagor mused to himself, doubting his previous assertions. He shook his head in slight exasperation at Evander’s words, before offering reply. “It’s not mistrust. Just makin’ myself useful. You’re good, don’t doubt that. It’s just…if you add a loop here,” Vagor’s voice strained a little as he tightened the knot, “It holds every bit as fast, but it’ll untie a hell of a lot quicker,” taking this moment to demonstrate just that, and hand the rigging back to Evander again. “Here, try for yourself.” 

Holding the rope, Evander shook his head “Ya sure ya didn’t get sucked up in a water spout from some fancy ship and plopped back down? You sure know a lot for someone not knowing a lot.” Evander began to do it again, his second nature kicking in before he felt Vagor’s critical gaze and slowed, adding in the deliberate second loop. 

“Maybe I got a touch of witchcraft in me too.” Vagor teased, wiggling spooky fingers cheekily in Evander’s direction.

“Don’t let Cap catch you claiming that.” Evander's eyebrows raised in feigned warning. 

“You think I give a rat’s ass what that jaundice-laden Banana Man thinks? Heh.” Vagor snorted in retort. “Mark my words, you’ll be calling me ‘Cap’ before long.” The mischief in Vagor’s speech was unmistakable.

“Big talk, fish boy. Those are dangerous words for someone miles from dry land. I’ve no doubt you can be a "Cap" someday, but a different vessel may be in order.” 

“First of all," Vagor replied, holding his index finger up, "I’m a dangerous man with literally nothing to lose - dangerous words are my forte. Second, I can fuckin’ swim, ya know? And lastly, how the hell am I supposed to acquire a different vessel, WHEN THERE AIN’T NO FRICKIN’ GOLD ON THIS BOAT? What do they pay you with anyway? Which reminds me, I gotta make it loud and clear to Cap, that my services,” gesturing to the myriad of restrung knots and rigging now neatly organized about the ship’s deck, “won’t come cheap.”

Rubbing his hands over his face with a slight groan, “I’m gonna enjoy witnessing that conversation. Regarding pay, Cap stores his gold on land in different caches, and he pays when we port. Some men prefer payment in other ways, some work for free… I don’t think Cap was planning on shorting you, but you’d do well to remember you’re a guest… however unwitting.” Evander stretched, the conversation of potential future conflict making him tense. 

“And you’d do well to respect your fuckin’ elders,” the forty-something-year-old man-child quipped back, huffing immaturely under his breath, “This kid, telling me what to do…” He shook his head in amusement at Evander’s audacity.

Evander offered a sarcastic “Aye, well, time for yer nap grandpa. Crew's bedding down for the night, grab a spare bunk and rise when the sun does. Ship doesn’t need much from us tonight.” Evander grabbed a nearby satchel and started to clamber up the mast to the crows nest. He turned back, gazing down at Vagor to add, “Understandable if ya ain’t tired, given all your rest. Also understandable if you’re exhausted, given your attempt to break the sound barrier. Just remember ya can’t jump ship 'til you’ve paid me back.” With a wink, Evander climbed the mast with such speed and grace, it was as if he weighed nothing more than the feather in his pocket. 

Godsdammit, I kinda like that kid. 

Monster Friends - Whimsie’s Comfort

This is some art drawn by @frigadae!

If you read the fight scene in Part 2, you’ll understand what this art is about.

I hope any chocolate milk lovers will be able to appreciate Whimsie a little more with this art :>

Monster Friends AU - We Have A Discord!

https://discord.gg/6HNtUgJ

This link above will bring you to the official Monster Friends AU Discord! The latest art and content will be there first before it hits Tumblr, and you’ll have a direct line to me, the creator!