The Sea [ze_kraken x catalyst]

ze_kraken

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Cyberpunk, Sci-fi, Fantasy, and other low-tech/fantasy.

179365
Reynard Gilpin
Reynard stood atop the deck of the Albatross, feet planted widely apart to steady himself as the small sloop cut through the open ocean below. Ocean spray sprung over the railing of the ship as the waves buffeted the vessel, coming to make the deck slippery and Reynard’s cloak damp to the touch. Reynard ran a hand through his blonde beard, scratching his chin as he gazed out over the horizon, shielding his eyes from the sun’s violent reflections with a raised hand. They were three days from land by his judgment, and the positioning of his ship by the star charts.

Not that he needed the charts, anyway. Few knew their way around the open ocean like Reynard the White Gull.

Reynard took in a long, deep breath of the salty air before pirouetting on the spot and strolling from the prow of the ship to its stern, greeting his crew as he went along. Stopping at the base of the mast, Reynard peered up to the crow’s nest and cupped either side of his mouth.

“Oie, Polivar!” He shouted up.

Without delay, a head poked out from the crow’s nest - a young boy, no older than fourteen with matted and dirty straw-colored hair and a thin, wispy moustache forming at his lips. Even from his position, Reynard could see the boy’s fair skin was ablaze with sunburn and peeling at the seams.

“What’s’it?” Polivar called back.

“Seen anything up there?” Reynard asked, images of the open ocean flashing before his eyes as he awaited Polivar’s answer.

“Nothing, not a thing!” Polivar answered, words flowing rapidly off his tongue. “We expecting something?”

There was a nervous undertone to Polivar’s raspy, northern continental accent. Everyone aboard the Albtaross knew of Reynard’s gift, how he could read the waves like a learned man read script. Only, as hard as he tried to coax the images into place, Reynard could not see more than seagulls, fish, and leagues of flat ocean water. He closed his eyes and strained himself, looking for something, anything. There. Reynard saw it in his mind’s eye. A storm, brewing over the horizon. Only, when he looked around the day was bright and cloudless, the air temperate with the cool touch of the ocean breeze.

“Nothing yet,” he told Olivar. “Just keep an eye out for me alright? And for fuck’s sake, boy, throw a cloth over your head or you’ll start to look uglier than a fifty year old whore with all those burns!”

“Aye, cap’n,” Polivar’s head vanished back into the crow’s nest.

The captain rolled his eyes and proceeded towards the main cabin, opening the doors and heading down below-deck after passing by the navigational tools and breakfast he had left on the table that morning. The ship always felt rockier below-deck, Reynard mused to himself as he deftly cleared the stairs and hold without skipping a beat. He then walked down the length of the ship, coming to the cabin below-deck at the prow of the ship.

Clearing his throat, Reynard stretched a hand out and knocked twice on the door. Even if their lovely lady was this voyage’s “cargo”, she ought to be treated as a lady.

“Are you decent?” The captain asked in the girl’s native tongue, refraining from using common for fear his men might overhear and rake him over the coals for it later.


 
Delicate fingers ran across the dark blue cape that sat upon the lady's shoulders, wisps of dark brown hair framing her face as the rest was dressed into a bun. There was a chill in the air that threatened to bite rather than nip, and though the skies were clear outside and the sun was shining... everything was much colder below deck, a bitter lesson quickly learned. The cape hardly made it better since everything was so damp - if not wet - all the time.
Khelida had only been out at sea twice in her life: once as a young child and the other as a flippant teenager. Neither had been the best of experiences. This journey, she decided, would be given the benefit of the doubt, if only because the third time was supposed to be the charm. Even though it wasn't her idea nor a strong desire, she didn't have much of a choice. Her father promised her to a man from his home kingdom to pay off all debts. In a perfect world, she'd be considered lucky: saving her father, rising straight to the rank of a noble. Many women would kill for the opportunity, and that was made clear given the many who made jealous remarks upon hearing the news.
Yes, she was so fortunate to secure this status... but at what cost?
She had to cross the sea to be in her new home, her new life. She'd only met her betrothed once, yet it seemed she was enough for him to forgive her father's debt. And while he had been a gentleman, he didn't seem to hold very... progressive notions on what it meant for her to be his wife.
She didn't quite know how to feel. She always had romantic notions: picturing herself traveling, falling in love at first sight. She supposed this could be those visions coming true, but... Khelida shivered before mentally blocking the unpleasant thoughts. A knock at the door helped as she closed the book she'd been reading. She took a moment to stand and straighten out her clothes.
"Yes. Come in." She recognized the voice as the captain's - Reynard the White Gull. He hadn't been disrespectful to her - perhaps his pride was riding on it? - but... distant. Maybe that was so he wouldn't make any distasteful comments. She didn't have much of a read on him yet.
 


"Yes. Come in."

Reynard cleared his throat again and wrapped an unsure hand around the doorknob to the cabin, raking his other hand through his messy and tangled hair in an attempt to look more presentable. As a boy, he had grown to fear nobility looking as he did - often they would beat him for daring to shame them with his dirty, ragged presence and perceptive eyes. Not that Reynard had blamed them; he had been, after all, a pickpocket after their valuables. Managing to fuss his hair into a more appropriate, though still lackluster, appearance, Reynard twisted the doorknob and entered the cabin.

The second cabin was comfortable, if not exactly lavish. Whereas the crew slept in the hammocks lining the walls of the hold, Reynard and their guest were each afforded their own cabins. Reynard's was smaller, situated just off the main cabin, with little more than a hammock and a window. This cabin, however, housed a real bed and bedside table, both bolted to the floor. A lamp swung overhead, housed in a thick iron casing - fire was the bane of a ship - and tethered in place by three sturdy ropes.

As Reynard navigated the small door frame and shut the door behind him, he scanned the room, seemingly unaware of the lady standing there before him. Visions of rain and lightning flashed before his eyes as he finally acknowledged Khelida, nodding swiftly. She was, like all noble women Reynard had encountered, exceedingly lovely. He found difficult placing her exact heritage - her skin, warm as amber honey, marked her as clearly not from the continent. Perhaps the isles? It would make some sense... Shaking himself from thoughts of the woman, Reynard nodded, foolishly, again.

Not yours to touch, he reminded himself.

"Ah yes, my lady," Reynard began, stumbling a bit on the words as they were not his native tongue. "I came to inform you that we might be in for a bit of rough sailing shortly and ahem..."

He paused, then, struggling for the right words. Groaning internally, he switched to common.

"If you wouldn't mind, there is space in the main cabin - it will likely get quite rocky down here. And, well, if you grow seasick better you vomit over the side of the ship than in your own chambers, no?"


 
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The door opened and Khelida looked to the man - Reynard, as expected. She smiled slightly to herself at his appearance, noting that he'd at least attempted to slick back near unruly hair. Based on her own experience of unruliness, she suspected his was more of a choice than anything, but he was consistently treating her as a lady. Truth be told, she hadn't expected it. Many told stories of infamous pirates, their lack of morals, unprincipled actions. Captain Reynard had so far impressed her. She waited patiently for him to start the conversation, hands clasped in front of her. She wasn't sure if he was preoccupied with another thought or checking the room for...something.
Her smile only widened when he switched to common. "A storm?" she asked, matching the common tongue. She quickly caught on that he'd only speak it when they were in closed, private quarters. Probably to save face among his crew, but she didn't feel comfortable enough to press buttons with him. Not yet. "That's unfortunate. I'm not sure if vomiting in front of others would be better." She brushed a curl behind her ear. She could admit that even the thought of getting caught in a storm out in the great ocean was a bit nerve-wracking. "If you think it would be best, though." She wasn't about to argue with someone who had real life experience. "Um... should I bring anything?" She looked around the room. Perhaps her book? She wouldn't want to accidentally soil a blanket or anything too important.
 


Reynard was not accustomed to passengers so readily agreeing with his suggestions and was taken aback at Khelida's seeming willingness to go along with his idea. He cleared his throat, painfully cognizant of the fact he had done so twice now within the span of a minute, and nodded.

"Bring whatever you like - there will be plenty of space for you there. There's a table and paper and ink as well if you're inclined to use it," Reynard said. "The crew and I likely will be out on the deck for most of it. I'll do my best to steer clear, but there are no promises we will be able to."

Crashing waves and forked lightning flashed behind Reynard's eyes. Fighting the urge to grimace, he made a gesture best described as a bow towards Khelida, or what a bow would be from one who had read about one in a book once. Rising from his ungraceful gesture, Reynard slid out of the cabin and made his way back upstairs. Once he arrived back in the ship's central cabin, he was greeted by a huffing Polivar who, upon seeing his captain, stopped and held a hand up, hunched over and wheezed.

"Out with it, boy," Reynard grunted.

Polivar let out one last wheeze before shifting upright, still breathing heavily. He was a portly lad, at least twice Reynard's girth, his belly hanging over his trousers singed with a cloth rope. Sweat beaded down his forehead as he spoke.

"Storm on the horizon!" He huffed. "About an hour 'til we reach it!"

"How wide?" Reynard asked, already attempting to plot a course in his head that would steer them clear of its path.

"Wide-"

"How wide," Reynard snapped.

"Too wide for us to circle 'round," Polivar explained, gesturing with his arms outstretched wide as if to clarify just how wide it appeared to him.

"We'll see about that," the captain retorted, heading up on the deck and to the wheel of the ship.

Joncyn, the ship's navigator and steer stood at attention at the wheel, holding it steady and gazing, rather dramatically Reynard noted, over the horizon. When he saw his captain, Joncyn, by some miracle, stood more stiffened and turned all his attention to Reynard. He had been a member of the royal navy for some king or another, not that Reynard cared - he was a brilliant steer and, more importantly, totally and utterly incapable of acting without being ordered.

"Stand at ease, fuckwit," Reynard grunted, having no time for the pomp and ceremony.

Reynard jostled his mind, searching for the path that would steer them clear of the storm. He found one, a narrow opening on its western fringe. It was uncertain if they would make it there and the opening still be there, but it was their best option.

"Turn us due west and then straighten back south once we pass the storm," Reynard ordered, spinning around to spot Polivar already remounting the crow's nest, clumsily pulling himself atop the mast. "And you! Polivar! Keep an eye out!"


 
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"Thank you, Captain. I'm sure I can handle it." Khelida smiled kindly at the man before a... what was he doing? A bow? Well, at least he had the decency to try. She would have given him reassurance had he looked to her, but she guessed he was too embarrassed to make further eye contact. He left the cabin quickly after that, and the lady sighed as she looked around in thought of what to bring. She supposed it'd have to do, and not long after did she make her way to the main cabin.
She passed a few scrambling crew members on the way, and she tried to will her own nerves away. Again. Once in the main cabin, she looked around for a decent spot to sit. There was the table as the captain had said. But... paper and ink? Who would she write to? She swore her father was half illiterate after spending all these years as a drunk. And would he even receive her letter?
... Would he even open it?
Since the entire arrangement came to be, the scariest question Khelida asked herself was if this was all for naught. As much as she disliked herself for it, her concerns continued to circle around her father. He was an addict on more than one account, and he'd most likely end up in debt again. Would he end up as a vagrant without her keeping him in check? What if he grew ill? Who would take care of him if his only flesh and blood was across the sea, the journey even longer by land? Having no control over her kin was something she struggled to accept.
For now, she tried to distract herself with the book, one of her favorites. It was a work of fiction, a thing of fanciful adventures she already read twice over. Eventually, however, she could feel the waters growing rocky, the wind howling outside, yells coming from above. She had to believe the ship could weather the storm.
She did, until a large sway of the ship caused her to catch herself, and cast large clouds of doubt. It was worse that she had nothing else to do but just sit there, holding onto something to steady herself. Surely there was a way she could help?
 


The rain came first. As the Albatross bucked and darted across the rough, churning waves below the rain fell, striking the deck like a hail of arrows. Reynard's cloak flapped wildly about him, his hair whipping about like it had a mind of its own as he assumed position by Joncyn at the ship's wheel. Up above their heads, the storm clouds rolled in, carrying with them a salty, chilled breeze and yet more rain. It was strangely beautiful - the sunny sky to their back, a black and roiling hellscape to their front.

Reynard leaned in to Joncyn, raising his voice to be heard over the pounding rain. "Keep us heading out of the storm's right-hand arc!"

Joncyn nodded and began to turn the wheel westward, lurching the ship into a wide left-turn. Reynard grimaced at the sudden motion and made his way down the stairs to the main deck. He waved over his crew, who had just finished stowing the dry goods and materials below deck. He beckoned them close, forming them into a circle around them as the rain pelted them. Reynard leaned in and shouted.

"Lower all but the lowermost sails! Keep them parallel with the ship!"

His crew acknowledged and rushed to set about their tasks. Reynard approached the central mast and looked skyward, spotting a clearly terrified Polivar making his descent down the mast. The boy had tied a knot keeping him anchored to the mast, though Reynard thought with some amusement if a rope could sustain the boy's girth should it come to it. Casting the thought aside, Reynard went to assist his men in dismantling all but the smallest sail and angled it to run parallel to the direction of the ship. Already he could feel the ship slow, bobbing more in line with the waves as they smashed against the Albatross' hull, spraying the deck with fresh seawater.

By the time the sails were lowered, Polivar was back on the deck, shaking in equal parts fear and chill. Reynard ushered him into the main cabin and followed right behind just as lightning began to crackle and thunder boomed. Inside he was met with Khelida sitting by the table and Polivar darting to a porthole, leaning out, and vomiting straight out the side of the ship. Reynard cast the lady an apologetic glance.

"The crew will have to keep the ship afloat - keep water off, but we've done all we can now," he explained. "Let's hope it's enough."

 
At the sound of someone coming inside, Khelida turned to see a large boy looking quite terrified. He paid no mind to the lady in the room as he ran straight for the side of the ship, emptying the contents of his stomach. Another figure caught the corner of her eye. She stood once she realized it was once again the captain. Him and the boy were a welcome intrusion to her persistent thoughts.
Only, his words weren't as positive as she would've liked to hear. She wrung her hands but politely smiled. As he began to exit, however, she called for him. "Reynard - er, Captain." She found she didn't know quite what to say. Perhaps she just didn't want to be alone. "Good luck, and thank you." There. That should be enough, right? It was genuine, at least. "If there's anything I can do, please just say the word. I may be a lady, but... I also don't like to be useless." She offered another small smile. A groaning sound from the boy made her look over to him. Oh! She wouldn't want him to be alone either, not during all of this. It seemed that was her answer, too, as the Captain nodded his head in the direction of the boy. Khelida understood.
With the captain gone, Khelida sat and took a deep breath. She looked to the boy and assumed he was now waiting for the rest of the nausea to go away. "What's your name?"
 


The next hour passed dreadfully slow as the waves continually battered and pounded the Albatross as the sloop ventured wildly off course, ravaged and pushed aside by the howling winds like a leaf caught in a storm. During that time, Reynard and his crew set about bringing buckets to bear, hauling water off the deck of the ship as quickly as they could. Thunder clapped overhead and lightning forked, the sky pitch black and foggy.

All the while, Polivar and Khelida chatted, trying desperately to forget the hell raging outside the main cabin. Reynard envied them more than he would have liked to admit as he stood atop the deck, shoveling water frantically off of his ship. The visions of the sea had faded as the storm arrived - searching his mind's eye, all Reynard could see was the same howling tempest surrounding him.

"Captain!"

Reynard shifted his attention from his visions to the ship once again as one of his crew came hurdling towards him, slipping and tripping on the slick wooden deck. Reynard hunched low to blunt his slide, tripping himself at the sudden impact. The two tumbled to the side of the deck, stopping at Reynard collided with the rim of the ship's starboard side, driving the breath from his lungs. Coughing and spluttering, Reynard scrambled to his feet and aided his crewman in standing up.

"What?" Reynard questioned, snapping.

"Water below deck!" He huffed.

"Get on it," Reynard replied, moving back to retrieve his bucket. "I'll handle the deck."

The man nodded and beckoned for his fellows to join him in heading below deck as Reynard continued to shovel water as it splashed on-deck. Minutes passed as he continued, his entire body numb from the cold stinging rain, driven half death from the roar of wind, wave, and thunder. Then he saw it out of the corner of his eye, the flash of lightning and the splintering CRACK of splintering wood. Reynard's eyes darted up just in time to see a blossom of burning embers explode outward as the mast began to tumble over, struck by lightning. It swayed in the wind for a split second before creaking and tumbling down towards where Reynard stood. Panicking, he leaped to the side as the mast came towering down.

The mast struck the side of the ship, splintering the railing and sending chunks of wood spraying out. Reynard could feel the larger pieces pierce his face as he lay, face-first on the deck. The captain mustered himself to his feet, but before he could appreciate the extent of the damage done to his ship the wind picked up and threw him off-balance. Shifting in place, Reynard stumbled and tripped, sliding off-deck in the newly-created hole on the side of the Albatross. He clung, uselessly, to the side for a brief moment before another gust of wind bellowed and sent him careening into the waves below...


 
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It was terrifying.
The booms of thunder were near deafening, but it was the crashing of the waves and powerful wind that drowned out all other noise. Talking with Poliver served as much of a distraction as had reading the book. It was nice to be in the company of another, but it was something else to be experiencing the fear with a child. Khelida wasn't sure how long Poliver served on the ship, but it was clear that he was just as scared as she was. So while they could share the fear, she had to make the point of telling him that everything would be okay.
Even when she was sure as hell it wouldn't.
With water still below deck, the mast striking the side of the ship caused an immediate panic. Add on that their captain was nowhere in sight, talk of jumping overboard grew among the ranks. Their only hope, sea be willing, was to crash near land.
It seemed that those prayers were answered. The ship forced those left on board to lurch forward as it crashed onto a sandbar. Urged outside, a few remained on the ship to assess the damages and whether it was worth keeping the ship at bay. What they also had to consider was the chance that Reynard washed ashore on the beach ahead of them. Dark clouds still loomed, though the waves were only a threat further out and the rain was a gentler patter. Soaking through and through with achy and numb limbs, the lady, boy, and who she could consider escorts made their way to the land.
The thing was, nobody knew exactly where they were.
 
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179800
Rasheeq el-Yousif
The storm had come and past, leaving the otherwise arid air of Thaik Prijan heavy and humid as Rasheeq and his retainers rode along the foothills overlooking the coast. Once here there had been built a might sea wall, but those days had long since left. Rasheeq's father had described them in grand detail, how none could dare threaten the country so long as the walls stood. Rasheeq smirked as his horse trampled over the remains of a ruined parapet, reflecting on how much his nation had changed in such a short span of time: one had no need for walls when one had gold.

"Halt!" Came a shout from the head of the party.

Horses neighed as the group of men came to a sudden halt, hooves scraping against the ground as the leader of the company pointed down to the coast. Rasheeq squinted and looked, seeing rough outlines squirming along the coastline. They looked to have arrived in boats, but from this distance his aged eyes saw naught but hazy splotches of color contrasted against the white sand.

"What is it?" He asked, surrendering his attempts to make sense of what his eyes were attempting to show him.

"Small boats," the leader said, confirming Rasheeq's hunch. "Their ship seems to be mired out at sea - there is no mast."

"Well, let us greet them, then," Rasheeq remarked dryly.

The party ushered their horses back into motion as they descended the hills, arriving at the beach shortly after. Rasheeq's body guards, brandishing curved swords in their hands, took the lead, encircling the small group of haggard and drenched sailors. Rasheeq slowed his horse down to a halt and dismounted, amber, flowing robes billowing around him in the ocean breeze as he approached the one he assumed was their leader - a beautiful young girl, with skin the same shade as his own. Curious, so far out from home - judging by the complexion of her fellows, she had come a long way from Thaik Prijan.

"Greetings," Rasheeq said in heavily accented common. "It appears you lot have befallen some trouble, does it not?"


 
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K h e l i d a

Khelida was exhausted. Her modest, grey dress was now darker and heavy against skin, making it difficult to do... well, everything. She could only imagine how restricted women of higher wealth felt in all their outrageous gowns and corsets. Her hair, too, was soaking, ready to fall from its bun at any second. Nobody else looked much better.
The sand was warm beneath her toes. She wanted to throw her clothes off, soak in the sun's rays, never have to set foot on another boat again. But Poliver, bless his watcher soul, pointed out the several figures out on the hills not long after their boats arrived to shore.
Men on horses. Khelida could feel her heart begin to race even as the pirates around her told her not to worry. Not to worry? Even with the glint of swords a distant warning? She almost scoffed.
She watched warily as what appeared to be guards soon circled them, their curved swords both threatening and interesting just like their masters. Khelida had never seen anything or anyone like them before, save a painting of her mother.
And why did the supposed leader's accent sound so familiar?
Khelida squinted up at him only to meet his eyes, a striking green in contrast to his dark skin and despite his older age. It was only after a second or two that she realized he was speaking to her! Unsure of what to do, the lady quickly looked to Reynard's first mate. Surely, he was in the better position to speak, no?

∷∷∷☽☾∷∷∷

S e r a n a

The island of Zarrij had been a good choice, albeit risky. Although marked on the map, one would have to know it to be able to easily point it out. And the one who did point it out was more likely to be a... colorful sort than one with prestigious influence, so it was really only well-known by those who high society looked down upon. The sight of drunkards passed out in the streets was so commonplace that people stepped right over their bodies. Whores crooned sweetly out in the open, pickpockets beating them to the punch. In other words, it was a decent place to consider for concealment. Serana wasn't hiding from high society specifically, nor was she looking for a common place among average miscreants. She simply sought shelter where she could get the most of it.
She did not find Zarrij by herself nor did she go there alone. Roughly six months ago, the Hawksmoore mercenary band was hired out of Thaik Prijan to escort her there and shield her from everybody else, dangerous or not. Accompanying Serana personally was Aliya, a lifelong friend who had also pledged her life to protecting the Oracle, and the one who had hired Hawksmoore. For most of their lives, they had never stayed in one place for too long.
The townspeople, even in their drunken haze, knew there was someone special being stowed away there - that much was clear by the mercenaries keeping everyone in check near and in the tavern. Whether they believed if it was the Oracle (and if they actually believed in the Oracle) or if perhaps just some wealthy aristocrat too ashamed to reveal her true identity - or if the mercenaries had kidnapped her under other orders? - Serana didn't know or care. People didn't seem to care enough to ask her, either, when she would leave the cellar for fresh air. The attention she called to herself was subtle. To a foreigner, she wouldn't look much different than the domestic. But among the townsfolk, she caught curious eyes.
The linen she first wore arriving to Zarrij had served as a dress and a robe as it united dissonance: noble and lowly pilgrim. The silhouette was luxurious enough to hint at noble features. The volume sleeves weren't fit for work, and they, along with the hood, were semitransparent and of thinner material. Yet the gauzy linen bore the color of dust and pale desert sand. Was she just some poor girl caught up in trouble? Was she a lady of high degree undertaking a pilgrimage to sacred sites? Was she the daughter of the desert winds, as some legends told?
Some of the stories were quite interesting. But whoever she was, what she certainly had was secret and purpose. And the stories didn't stop when she had done away with the robe-styled dress and outfitted herself with the raggedy clothes commonly seen in the desert.
She wore a hijab. That didn't seem to help.
Unfortunately, it seemed the thriving desert dwelling was no exception to their usual length of stay; the time to leave had come. Something - someone had called Serana to him - a pale man washed ashore near the Lion's den. It didn't take her, Aliya, and a mercenary long to cross to Thaik Prijan. No eyes looming over them, the Oracle allowed herself to be guided to him, curious to his purpose.

"You sure he's alive?" Aliya asked. Despite Serana's certainty, she found a stick. She had to make sure for herself.
 


180058
Rasheeq el-Yousif
The silence stretched for a few, tense moments as Rasheeq stood, his men waiting not-so-patiently in their saddles, weapons still bared. It quickly dawned on Rasheeq that this lady was, in point of fact, not the commander or leader of this party. Curious. Though even if his eyes had been what they were in his youth, as Rasheeq gazed out across the horizon he could not make out the exact nature of the ship that lay out further at sea, a mastless brown-black mob to his poor aged sight.

"What shall we do with them?" Asked one of Rasheeq's men in Prijani.


"Hush," Rasheeq snapped, much to the fear of the beleaguered sailors in front of him.

Casting the group an apologetic glance, Rasheeq assumed his charm once more, beaming at them as he spoke. "My apologies, my associate was simply asking which one of you would be the most senior in command."

"That'd be me," said a man towards the back of the crowd, jostling his way towards Rasheeq, hand placed squarely on the palm of the sword at his side.

Rasheeq's men lurched forward only to be steadied by Rasheeq's raised, wrinkled hand.

"My there's no need for swords," Rasheeq said, tutting. "Besides, I count two more swords in your party to my, what? Six? Be wiser around a lady, it's unbecoming to act a fool in her presence."

The old man cast a twinkling smile to the lady as the so-called commander stepped back to a safe distance. Rasheeq's men relaxed as he began to speak, removing his hand from his sword hilt.

"I'm Joncyn," the man stated matter of factly.

Rasheeq waited for him to continue. When he did not, he fought the urge to sigh and nodded, smile etched on his face - if perhaps now a bit less genuinely.

"You have the honor of speaking to Rasheeq el-Yousif," he finally replied. "It appears the storm marooned you in this strange land with nothing but the clothes on your back. My, you should count yourself fortunate worse kinds than us found you stranded here. Awful things happen to such beautiful women that wind up along these shores, of that I can assure you."

This man - Joncyn - paused. Without waiting for him to speak, Rasheeq continued.

"There appear enough of you for each of you to fit atop these horses," the old man went along, noting the surprise on the faces of his men as he spoke. "We shall take you back to my estate, on the condition you surrender your weapons here. We shall surmise who sent you, and for what purpose. If your story sounds plausible, we shall, of course, allow you to continue along your way."


Reynard Gilpin
The first thing Reynard remembered feeling was salt and fire. It burned everywhere - his eyes, his tongue, his lungs, his skin. As he jolted to consciousness it felt as if the world had been replaced with naught but salt and fire. He lay on the damp sand, motionless as the waves urged his limp body closer and closer to the shore proper. Every pass brought with it a new wash of burning agony. His head pounded, and with each lurch forward Reynard risked the nausea in his stomach broiling over.

Minutes passed as the captain lay, now the edge of the waves' reach, groaning and fumbling blindly around, feeling slightly less damp sand to his right. With a grunt of exertion, he clawed his way to the dry, warm sand, only just now becoming aware of his soaked and likely ruined clothes clinging to him, driving the sand over every inch of his body where it added its rough scrape to the stinging of salt water into raw flesh.

Reynard rolled over and heaved, but only water salt water came up. Coughing and spluttering, Reynard discharged the salt water in his lungs and let out a rattling, raspy breath of fresh sea air. He knew he could not drown, as it had been since the Sea had blessed him years ago, but this had been an unwelcome test of such an ability, one he could have done quite well without.

Once Reynard felt his muscles heat up in the sun, no longer freezing cold and stiff from the fierce embrace of the ocean waters, Reynard rolled over on his back and forced his eyes open. The air and wind seared his pupils, still tender from their exposure to the salt water. Immediately Reynard was greeted with a fountain of tears streaming from his eyes as he maneuvered himself to his knees, head still pounding. His head swayed, the veins in his temples thudded erratically.

"Fuck," Reynard managed to spit out, feeling a little more salt water fly over his tongue and out on to the sand as he cursed.

The captain looked around with his teary eyes, unable to wipe them dry, attempting to gain a sense of his bearings. He spotted a bluff to his front, the sea to his back. The sand here was black as night and porous. Tufts of dune grass shown like green splatters. The sun hung high overhead. He saw no ships, no sails. Nothing. Not a thing. Bemoaning his fate, Reynard paused as he heard footsteps rustling in the sand.

"What's that? Wh-Who's there?" He spluttered, looking about.


 
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K h e l i d a

The leader of the men had charm. On another day, perhaps Khelida would have held the man's gaze, returned the smile. But underneath the charm was still a threat, and after the night her and the crew had, she had no interest in playing a coy lady. Other than being promised to another man, now she was just exhausted with nerves keeping her awake, and she couldn't keep fingers from fidgeting.
"You have the honor of speaking to Rasheeq el-Yousif." She glanced to a number of the pirates' faces. Should they know his name? Should she? Had she read about him? She never had the best education, so how big of a failure was this lack of knowledge? He was important enough to have his own guards and estate... to allow them to leave this land after he was satisfied with their story.
Khelida straightened once it was agreed to hand over their weapons. Brown eyes scanned quickly over each of the men and their horses. As much as she didn't want to ride with any of them, dry clothes and hot food sounded more than wonderful. Eventually she caught eyes with the leader. Though she looked away, she wasn't sure if it had been a mistake.

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S e r a n a

A figure sat on the sand, a man of golden hair and soaked from head to toe. He called out to them, maybe just slightly delirious, and Serana met eyes with Aliya. Alive enough for her? She rolled her eyes in response before swiping locs of hair behind her, still hanging onto the stick.
"You there," the mercenary - whose hair went all to a scraggly beard - called out, brown eyes squinting in the sun. "Your name!" It wasn't so much a question as a demand. Serana stepped around the mercenary as she picked a leather pouch from her waist, eyes focused on the other male. His skin was raw from the ocean salt and sun's rays, clothes likely needing a miracle worker to repair them. She knelt in front of him, sparing the pain of having to look up towards the sun with his sharp features, and offered the pouch of water.
"You are lucky to be alive, son of the sea." Her common tongue was laced with an accent rare even in this kingdom, though considering his journeys as a pirate, he may have heard before.
 


Rasheeq el-Yousif
Rasheeq fought the urge to huff as none of the men appeared to recognize him. He kept a smile plastered to his face as the sailors surrendered their assortment of weapons at the feet of his guards, who collected them and strung them to their saddles before ushering the men atop their horses. The aged man watched with some amusement as one of the larger sailors - a man at least twice the size of his companions - struggled atop a horse, hanging almost halfway off the sides of the steed.

Rasheeq urged his horse into a trot towards the young lady, beckoning for her to come atop the horse, stretching out a supportive hand. All around him, his men had begun their slow trot back towards the base of the foothills, back towards home.


"Fear not, my sweet lady," he remarked, watching as his men went along before reverting his attention back to her. "My word is more reputable than most you'll find here, as I'm sure you'll soon learn. Now, come along then."

Reynard Gilpin
Reynard snatched the water pouch with the fervor of a possessed man, chugging half of the pouch's contents before leaning back and sighing, wiping his face with the back of his hand. The stinging in his eyes had abated enough for him to wipe his tears away and see, albeit still blurry around the edges. The pounding in his head abated as the water fell to his empty stomach, if just so. He noticed then that his sword had been lost at sea before realizing that, like it or not, he was at the mercy of this woman and her companion.

Appreciative of the woman blocking the bulk of the sun's angry glare, Reynard raised a hand toward the mercenary as if to delay having to answer the man's question while a bout of nausea crashed over the captain. The nausea abating, Reynard swallowed hard and spluttered out a ragged breath.

"I'm Reynard Gilpin," he managed to croak, looking first to the woman then over to her companion's hazy outline over her shoulder.

He attempted to continue, but coughed as the words seemed to hitch across the back of his raw throat. Grimacing through the coughs, the violent motion sending fresh pain through his skull, Reynard paused before mustering the ability to speak again.

"Aye, I'm lucky," he wheezed, perplexed by the woman's accent. "Where the fuck are you from? Why are you here?"


 
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K h e l i d a

Well, the decision was made. Khelida hesitated in taking the man's hand, but eventually did so as she climbed atop the horse. It was clear that she was uncomfortable, but less so if it was due to the fact that she hadn't ridden a horse for a long time or if it was because of the stranger's presence. Either way, they soon began to follow the others, trekking up the sandy hills. She supposed they should at least be grateful that they didn't have to walk after everything. The air was hot and heavy in her lungs, more humid than that in her home city of Lanark. It reminded her of how it felt on busy days in the markets, when the crowd made it hard to breathe. Everything there seemed to be made of stone or steel, and while it had its beauty, Khelida never felt at home.
But the sight of a large building nearly perplexed the young woman before she looked to the leader. "By estate, you meant..." Her gaze went back to the white stones mounted atop the winding path of the hills, composing what could be considered a castle... or maybe a palace? Had they found themselves in the territory of royalty, or was this Rasheeq simply a powerful figure, a wealthy one? "What is the meaning of your name here?" She asked, looking to him once more.

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S e r a n a

Aliya chuckled to herself at the sight of the man chugging, knowing that there was a good chance he'd vomit it all up. One thing she learned was that it was always better to sip. Another was to not care too much about pirates, but it seemed her and the man of the hour were both out of luck as she saw the look of nausea cross his face. Serana didn't miss it either as she continued to observe him.
"We've come to rescue ya," Aliya answered him, hands on her hips. "Doesn't matter much where we're from, but if ya can stand now, we can take ya back wit' us. There's more water. And shade," she tried to persuade, raising her brows and smiling. Serana looked up to her and stood, taking the pouch back from Reynard.
"Maybe luck has little to do with it," she said, meeting his eyes for a second before the mercenary stepped closer. "Ferdinand here can help you to the boat. You're not our prisoner, Reynard Gilpin, but you'd likely fare better with us than with the owner of this land."
 
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Rasheeq el-Yousif
Rasheeq chuckled at the girl's question as the group's horses trotted along the hilly path through the ruined sea wall and towards his estate. In the distance one with keener eyes than Rasheeq's might spot the city at large, though from here it was scant more than a hazy outline on the horizon. He turned his aged head around to better meet the girl's gaze.

"Some men are born to power, others take it," Rasheeq stated matter of factly. "Others buy it. I chose to buy my place."

The party continued along a narrow and lonely road flanked by long, swaying sea grass growing in the dunes that eventually gave way to loose and arid soil. Here the horses hooves began to thud more against the packed earth than slide across the looser grains of sand. Rasheeq shut his eyes and breathed in his last of the salty sea air, the scent already fading along his nostrils as they continued on.

The structure up ahead became clearer as they approached - it was a grand, if rather plainly decorated mass of white sandstone. Decorative walls flanked its on all sides, cornered with watch towers carved crudely into the visage of snakes. The palace - for palace it was, and not at all a defensive fortification - started wide at its base and narrowed into a spire, trees of paradise peeking out over the low walls.

"Welcome, my lady," Rasheeq chuckled, his tone boastful as the horses halted at the estate's gates. "Let me show you what the el-Yousif name truly means."


Reynard Gilpin
Shade sounded nice, Reynard mused as he fought back a fresh wave of nausea. He could feel bile coating the back of his tongue as he hiccuped and swallowed back the meager contents of his stomach. Though, he admitted, anything sounded better than being stranded, drenched in salt water and covered in a thick layer of damp sand. He could feel it caking across his face and clothes now in the sun's light, making it painful to stretch and move his joints as the sand broke apart.

"Rescue me? HAH!" The captain chortled, spluttering as instantly as the laughing began. "And what indicated I might be in a spot of trouble, 'huh?"

He sat there coughing and laughing for a moment before rousing himself to his feet, waving in place as blood rushed to his head. He fought the oh-so-tempting urge to collapse back to his knees and clutch his pounding head for fear of appearing weaker than he had before this strange woman. Had she mentioned something about a boat? He hadn't heard. Only now her companion was approaching him, gently enough grabbing the captain's arm and guiding him to a small vessel.

"If you won't tell me where you're from," Reynard began he limped alongside his temporary captors. "Then at least tell me where we're going."


 
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K h e l i d a

Khelida openly smiled. While still wary of this man, she couldn't help the excitement that welled in her stomach as they sat at the gates of the estate. She'd seen the castle of Lanark, but only from afar and certainly never from the inside. As the gates opened and they were led inside, the lady of the group took a look at her pirate counterparts. Some were just as amazed as she was, others perhaps bitter or jealous, and a few nervous. Riches tended to make people nervous. Khelida couldn't blame them.

She didn't wait to be helped off the horse. Eyes were glued to their surroundings. "You say you bought these grounds? As in the palace was already standing?" Eventually her eyes fell to Rasheeq's face. If it had been, how could the previous owners sell it?

They'd probably found something better. There was always something better.


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S e r a n a

"Your ears clogged up, too, are they?" Aliya taunted. "I told ya - someplace with more water and more shade."

With a small smirk, Serana stepped in. "Across to a small island - Zarrij, if you've heard of it. It isn't free of el-Yousif's influence, but at least you won't be sitting helpless on his land." She followed the pair into the boat, Ferdinand taking his rowing position once he was satisfied with his scan of the beach. It would take about fifteen minutes to cross, by which point they would dock and head to a small tavern. Serana was comfortable with silence, but Aliya? Not so much. For now, however, she stayed quiet, save her staring at the pirate as she tried to pinpoint a question to ask. Sometimes all it took was some staring to get people talking anyway.
 
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Rasheeq el-Yousif
Rasheeq chuckled as the lady let herself down from the horse, a servant escorting the beast to the stables as the woman continued to eye the lush courtyard of Rasheeq's estate. Below them was luxuriously tended tamped earth and grass, an almost inky black color in contrast to the dusty and clay-filled dirt they had ridden through. It felt soft underfoot, squishing down ever so slightly with every step.

"No, this palace stands on the grounds of my father's estate," Rasheeq explained. "When he died and my brothers fought over who should claim his lands, I purchased them and built over what had come before."

He stared with weak eyes up at the top of the spire of the palace, unable to help but smile as accomplishment blossomed in his chest and heated him like a warm hearth in the winter. Pride. Pride at having yet another stranger to display the extent of his wealth to.

"Come, come," Rasheeq tutted after a brief pause, beckoning for the lady and her companions. "Let me show you to your quarters. Doubtless you all could use sleep in a bed tonight, no?"


Reynard Gilpin
Zarrij. Reynard knew it, though not well. Where had he washed ashore? He blinked at the woman, nodding after processing her words one by one. Zarrij. He was unsure of where he had landed, but more pressing he had no ship and no crew. Being shipless reminded him of his time on the streets as a pickpocket - of helplessness and a lack of direction. Adrift without a sail, carried by the current.

It was how he felt now, meekly shuffling behind his new-found saviors.

"You mentioned this el-Yousif," Reynard finally said as the trio made it over to the ship, breaking the quiet that had formed between the low din of crashing waves and boots crunching sand underfoot. "Sounds important. How worried should I be that his name means something around here?"

Reynard had been tragically behind current events outside of the Isles, focused so intently on his little pocket of reality. In his youth he had been flogged for not knowing the names of all the crime lords from the mainland, the Isles, and beyond. Now, though, he was as clueless as he had been as a boy.

"I feel like he isn't a kind fellow."

 
K h e l i d a

"Ah." It wasn't a surprise that Rasheeq already had a door open to these lands, but his answer only gave Khelida more questions. Had the estate always been in the el-Yousif name? It seemed he was the most powerful of his brothers, or perhaps it was just that he went after what he wanted. So many questions for a woman full of wonder, yet the only question that came from her mouth was, "Are you the eldest of your brothers?" There was a beat of silence before one of the pirates cleared his throat. The lady looked to him with a confused, burrowed brow before glancing to the owner once more. Oh! That had sounded a tad suggestive, didn't it? "Or sisters?" she was quick to add.

There wasn't much time to answer, however, when a voice piped up from the back. "You mean ta let us stay in 'ere?" Khelida couldn't argue with his disbelief. She assumed they'd be given a barn - maybe something equivalent to servants' quarters. Rasheeq could have sent them on their way, let them pay for their own inn or tavern. But instead he took the time and effort to let them stay in his estate, in exchange for their weapons and a round or two of questioning. "I'm fine wit' it! So long as you have some rum or ale."

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S e r a n a

Serana met Aliya's eyes, knowing fully well her thoughts. Who was this fool? She was used to the younger woman's questioning - not of the oracle's gift but rather the origins of the messages and visions she received. Here was a pirate, rumored around the seas and its ports - and surely not a stranger to the taverns littered near them, at least she assumed - but apparently clueless to one of the most infamous men here. "Yer not very learned for a pirate," Aliya stated. Serana ignored it. "He wears a very charming mask, from what I hear."

"What do you know of these parts?" she asked as she offered the fresh water once more.