The Dragons' Run - Act 1

Wordlessly, Lesanda leads you back up into the Hearth, nodding the two guards back down to their charge as she goes.

"I've got preparations to make, and I'm sure you do too. If you've no other questions or insights to offer, you'll have to excuse me."
 
Wei Lwyn

Wei lays a gentle hand on Yvara's shoulder as Lesanda departs.
"You did everything you could boss. SHe needs time."
 
Yvara

She leans into Wei’s touch and relaxes slightly.

“I want her to be alright. She’s a lifetime from being sane and healthy, but sweet silver Mother I want that for her.”

Yvara glances to Abyss.

“What’s the call on those captured ships and sailors now?”
 
Abyss' Black Reach

Abyss shrugs at the question, seeming distracted. The Jade gauntlets creak as she tightens a fist.

"I've handed them over to custody of Banoron troops. I'd imagine the ship'll be put into drydock or seized, while the sailors will be imprisoned. Until after Helige, at least. Who knows what the council will decide."
 
@FuzzMonster @Sarky @Hair @Ragoza @Sideris

The weather holds fine for the journey to Helige. You set out early the next morning, and expect to reach port by early evening. Around you the scattered islands and islets of Lastland seem to sit uneasy on the surface of the rippling sea. The air is tense - there has been no response from Sark to Seréa or the Imperial ship's holding.

You have some time to prepare or engage in other activities on board your vessels before you land.
 
Jensa:

It had been a trying couple of days. Jensa had gone to Seppish intending to spy on the Banoron for potential disloyalty. None of the contingencies she had planned involved "Lesanda was right, and I need to work with her for the safety of Lastland". The loosing of Lintha scum by a Dynast, and his daughter revealed as a Lastlander in confused semi-exile. It was a lot to take in. "Never trust a Dynast", her mother had always said, and it was a truism that had never failed. Serea is not a Dynast though. Not really. The sea salt of an t-Oileánra was in her veins, no matter what monkish vows she took, or surrogate family raised her.

Such awkward thoughts led to her approaching Serea's cell halfway during the voyage, dressed plainly (relatively, for Jensa), bearing fresh bandages and soothing ointments. The monk's fate was in the hands of the Tribunal. But something in Jensa was convinced she deserved at least the minor kindness of her injuries being tended. She nodded at the guards, smiling as sweetly as only a trained Caerdath spy could. "Morning, boys. Here to check on her Immaculate-ness' injuries. Perhaps freshen her up before the Tribunal."
 
Wei Lwyn

Unlike the Lastland natives, Wei has pretty much no idea how to sail a ship. In all honesty, the average Lastland toddler would be more useful on board than our hero. What he lacks in sailing ability, however, he makes up for in sheer swagger. Nearly the entire journey is spent posing dramatically at the ship's prow, wind catching his hair just so, Gwynt perched regally on his shoulder, bow in hand. If all goes really well, maybe Yvara will be watching.
 
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Maatre

"You realize you have to eat some time? Moonlight hasn't made you look dashing when trying to ham it up at night. Noonday sun just shows the sunburn. Ass." He sighs and looks away from Wei's preening. "At least we'll have something to do soon."
 
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Wei Lwyn

"Maatre, my lad, you have so much to learn. What looks, to your untrained landlubber eyes, like preening is, in point of fact, a complicated pirate deterrent. Salt soaked rogues lurk these waters, and by ensuring that they see me and know this vessel is under my protection, I keep the cowards at bay. Honestly, I oughta be charging for my services."
Head tilted slightly to the left to catch the light, bend the knees a little more.
"But if you want to do your bit to ensure the ship's safety I won't stop you fetching me a bite to eat."
 
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Yvara

The magistrate is, of course, watching Wei preening. She occasionally shakes her head and sighs dramatically, but truth be told...his antics are a balm after Seréa’s madness and trauma. Yvara waits onboard the ship, but does not enter Seréa’s cell. She’ll see her again, but in time.

Instead, Yvara passes the rest of the time dividing her restless energy between the Mantis scroll, and preparing her arguments for Helige.

As they approach the isle, Yvara will wander towards the handsome idiot.

“I believe this is where one poses dramatically? I would like to reserve some time before we arrive, I have to brood and glower at my home isle on the horizon. Something to do with disillusionment and betrayal and compassion, you know the deal. What’s the best pose for ‘you failed her! Sifu, you failed her and her daughter!’?”

Yvara is joking of course, making light of a terrible situation. Should Wei look closer, why, he’ll see only one tiny teardrop lingering at the corner of her eye.
 
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Wei Lwyn

Right. Better not fuck this up.
"May I recommend shaking a fist? Perhaps brandishing a weapon? Allow me to demonstrate."
Rather than choose between brandishing a weapon and shaking a fist, Wei chooses to do both. Teeth bared for good measure.
"Or you could go for something more despondent, drop your shoulders and sigh a bit."
Again, a demonstration. The most theatrical, weight of the world sigh this vessel has ever seen.
"Or my personal favourite, an arrow in the throat from half a mile away."
An arrow appears from nowhere and lets fly, whipping high over Yvara's head and disappearing into the waves.
"Though I'd recommend that you be really sure before you try that pose."
 
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Maatre

“You can feed yourself by feasting on the horizon, layabout.” Maatre did slip down below decks for a skin of wine and a few ship’s buscuit, chucking one at Wei’s head during his heartfelt with the magistrate.
 
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Yvara

The gesture earns a single giggle, and Yvara leans over in an almost dainty fashion to bite the hardtack straight from Wei’s hand. A couple of crumbs drift to the deck as she mumbles thoughtfully.

“...she’s so broken, and I just want her to be alright.”
 
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Abyss' Black Reach

Abyss spends the voyage reacquainting her crew with full hands conditions. Five score marines crowd the Crestclipper, ordered into two watches, six hours on, six off. She pushes the crew hard, taking a complex route circling Lesanda's vessel. The all hands drill she calls during a finicky bit of seamanship almost goes awry, but with some cursing and a couple of judicious cuffs about some ears disaster is avoided.