This One Realm: Chapter 2 "So What Now?"

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  1. Midnight, July 8th, ATS 1125
    The Colossi Palace

    The Skies of the Low Realms are littered with lightning bolts, thunder, and the piercing chill rain of the Waterfury, as it's moment or piece subsided, and returned to an ever churning storm of unnatural hate, and violence. The pursuit of the Tourniquet has slowed due to the increasingly power of the storm in part to Ku-Jon's first attempt of harnessing the 'Gem of Tempest.' The winds pelted against them, and send their pursuers to the ground beneath them, and others... who weren't as fortunate... down into the skies until they were claimed in the void.

    They make for the lowest of the Low Realms... A place known to both Ku-Jon, and Kargon. A safe haven that they've used on many occasions... Jolinark or as it's better known... "Bandit Bluffs." A small gathering of the world's worst who've chosen the most inaccessible of places. The town itself is little more than shacks perched along various cliff edges that over look the void. One false step will send you falling for hours before you are caught in the spinning vortex of the Void, and rip apart, soul, mind, and body.

    They now fly through the heavy thunderstorm of the Waterfury on their way to Bandit Bluffs, and more specifically... The Greasy Spoon. A tavern of ill reputation. The kind of place where you would go if one sought to disappear, and hide for a time.


    "Bring Captain Elanore, and Lieutenant Alyss to my quarters!" Sindar commanded a lowly foot soldier as he stormed through the castle halls. The castle had been closed off, and put under heavy guard after the king's assassination, and so far the soldiers had done their best to keep the king's gruesome death a secret... Sindar only hoped that they could play it off as if the king passed away in a more peaceful manner. The Nobles would be his biggets concern, and he was sure that he could handle that once, Elanore got her ship into the sky to track down the murders.

    As he rounded the corner, one of the King's advisors approached him, while holding an old book bound in leather. "Sindar... I must speak with you."

    "I have no time for your political banter... I have criminals to find, and countless other tasks that must be attented to. If you wish to bore someone with stately manners, then either pass word down along the Sheriffs of the court, or wait until I have had a moment to collect my thoughts, and make sense of this mess..."

    The elderly man, stepped before the general, and put his hand up in order to stop the man from continuing forward. "You do not understand, Sindar... with the king dead, and Oralia not present to assume the throne... we must choose a steward for the kingdom until we decide what is next. This matter is more important than yo-"

    His words were cut off as Sindar grabbed him around his collar, and lifted him from the floor slamming him against the wall. "Listen here you old fool! Our king is dead, and our queen missing! Those responsible are free to roam the skies unhindered of their crimes, and our people are in the dark! I will not begin to think of which one of you old husks will seat their ass on the throne until those responsible for his majesty's murder are caught, trialed and executed! Do I make myself clear Lord Alunda!?" Sindar then let go allowing the man to fall to his feet, then to his knees.

    "Y-yes, General Sindar! I just... I only want to ensure that this tragedy's effects are minimized! The people will panic."

    "Tch... the people will stand strong, and know that their king will be avenged... I have never failed in my duties, and I will not fail my lord in his death... And I return Oralia to us." The man then began towards his quarters with renewed vigor, the flame of justice burned hotter in his soul.

    The Low Skies


    The hacking coughs that had plagued him since he'd blacked out from the Grand Hall in the Colossi palace seemed to have finally subsided, but Zagara still turned, and thrashed under the blankets of the bunk he had been placed in when they'd took to the sky. His skin burned with an unholy fire, and amidst his thrashing, he spoke in strange spidery words that made no sense to those that heard him. It sounded like magic, but those who understood the language would get the feeling that the words hadn't been spoken in thousands of years.

    He then suddenly opened his eyes, sat up, and he stared at the ceiling with a feverish look in his eyes, their light having long since died, and no longing spinning, leaving only viridian iris' fixed on the wooden planks above him. "Zofu Del Mah.... Jolinar agrest zokempt abashtu ungafen...." he said in a whisper, and then fell back against the mattress, and closed his eyes.

    The man's breathing seemed to ease, and his thrashing slowly ceased... it was as if he'd fallen asleep again, but then he stirred once more, and slowly... groggily opened his eyes. Their light was now present as a pale glow... the iris' were spinning once more.

  2. John

    "We will. One last thing, the rooms that they will be staying in. Were the modifications I instructed taken care of? Jason had a point, they weren't rooms, they were cells."


    He chuckled at her being adorable again.


    He squeezed her before letting go as well. He sighed. "I guess I've got to go now." He set her on the seat cushion next to him. He caressed her cheek and gave her a kiss.
  3. *Momentarily revives*

    Kate. For the love of all that is fluff, please...I'm trying SO HARD not to ship them and you're making it HARDER FOR ME. Omg. I just. I can't handle. Mah hart. Ma sole. It's gone Cheezus.
  4. John

    "They love each other, besides if their situations were reversed, he'd have done the same. We also need to hope that Blizzard doesn't find out about Ray."


    He stepped in front of her and held her cheeks in his hands and looked into her eyes. "Hey, that's nothing to be ashamed of. We had just gotten captured by a shadow organization and woke up somewhere unfamiliar. Fear is the correct response to that. And I promise, I won't snap any necks in front of you, if at all." He leaned in and kissed her forehead.
  5. "Dangling and cursing, as Kargon is apt to do." Both Prestadeth and Oralia turned from the struggling first mate to the door of their cabin. Ku-Jon stood flanked by two crossbowmen, each leering as they lay their eyes upon the two women. If the captain was aware of these lecherous gazes, he certainly didn't seem to care. Before Oralia could question the pirates' presence, Prestadeth had her curved blade tickling the nape of her smooth neck. Oralia squeaked before falling silent, trying not to swallow in fear of being cut.

    "She is my prisoner," Prestadeth stated coldly, eying the two bowmen, "Will you part with such a valuable asset?"

    For a moment, Ku-Jon's face darkened. The last he'd been lectured by a woman, he'd left her broken in the seedy inn he'd found her at. Years ago of course, but the elf's petulant tongue boiled anger beneath his heart. Grinding teeth against teeth, Ku-Jon bent behind the crossbowmen for a moment and returned with bundles of satin and wool within his arms. He hurled them at the elf, the warrior quickly ducking underneath the barrage and sliding sideways with a terrified Oralia dragged along for the ride. It took her a moment to recognize the selection of almost eight different dresses of various style and value. Careful not to let confusion soften her gaze, Prestadeth glared up at Ku-Jon and sneered.

    "I won't dress for your amusement."

    "You'd amuse me more to undress,"
    Ku-Jon quickly responded, replacing a grimace with a lewd wink "But your garb is hardly necessary for where we're going and our little princess is like to be recognized without a drastic change of appearance." Dismissing the pirates beside him, Ku-Jon crossed his arms in the doorway as though in a match of stares against the elf and the frightened Oralia. Unfortunately, the enmity of the moment was broken as whoever had been dragging up Kargon had relinquished to his weight and let the drunken mate bounce around outside the window again.

    "Where are we?"

    "A haven of profiteers and looters," Ku-Jon answered callously, running a finger along the top of the door and flicking away dust, "A slice of cutthroat away from the long arm of the law to make repairs and lay low."

    "Then why the dress?" Prestadeth queried

    Sighing exasperatedly, Ku-Jon thumped his fist heavily against the wall beside the open portal. Oralia jumped, the knife tracing a thin red line across her throat, and she squeaked again in pain. Prestadeth didn't move.

    "Tourniquet is on her last legs and we can't risk anyone outside the crew discovering Oralia. We leave the Tourniquet for repairs and embark on another ship."

    Prestadeth said nothing, already formulating possible strategies to rid herself of the crew and renew her questioning of Zagara.

    "Try to escape and I'll run you through."

    "I'll part your head from your shoulders before you draw your blade."
    the elf promised mirthlessly.

    "Glad we had this conversation,"
    Ku-Jon finished, turning and slamming the door "Long eared, thin skinned bitch..."

    Prestadeth waited a few moment after the captain had left and let Oralia out of her grip. The princess remained where she was, a bit too frightened to move and her captor stared out the port window past the thumping Kargon and onto the mess of poorly made shanties below her. A haven of bandits indeed.

    Rakdar poised over the unconscious Zagara as if scrutinizing his body for something to stitch. When no wound presented itself, the pirate poured the contents of a waterkin onto the mage's head. Spluttering, Zagara opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room. Still weak from the short duel with the Magi, the mage could do little more then cough and struggle weakly against the rope holding him to the frayed cot.

    "Awake then?"

    Craning his neck as far as it would allow, Zagara just barely caught the face of Ku-Jon looking down at him. Neither angry nor content, the captain of the Tourniquet scrutinized his face.


    "You're aboard my ship, The Tourniquet, and we are making our descent into somewhere safe for repairs and a likely change of vessel."

    Zagara shook his head weakly, trying to make sense of his current situation. He loosely remembered being picked up after his final spell, but the remainder was a blur. "" He croaked at last, struggling against the ropes again. Ku-Jon said little at first, nodding at Rakdar to pour water down the young mans throat, prompting his immediate coughing.

    "No magi here, mage..." the last word was said distastefully, as though a foul taste had offended his tongue. "My name is Ku-Jon Bokor, captain of this ship and you'll be released when I'm confident you have enough wits about you to answer a few questions I have." Laying a hand on Rakdar's shoulder, the captain crossed to the door and paused, turning to Zagara with a narrowed gaze. "I saved you from the noose back at the castle, I ask you at least have the decency to afford the same mercy on my crew. Don't make me regret taking you aboard."

    With that the captain left Zagara to ponder on his current fate, ascending toward the deck.

    "I'll gut the lot o ya, damn purple bellies!" Thrashing on the deck, Kargon had been pulled up for the fourth time this morning. Ku-Jon smiled as Bill Garrun got a face of fist that sent him staggering against the fractured mast. It was remarkable how much he'd missed these simple times of drunken revelry, and how quickly they'd faded during his imprisonment. He was having so much fun he even let it go for awhile longer, Ike Ulfran taking a thrashing knee to the chest which sent him pitching against the railing and Bill rejoining the fray to land a solid punch in Kargon's jaw. Rakdar's prescence with Zagara was all the assurance the captain needed to know Kargon had been stitched up. Still, by the rate of his thrashing he might undo the hard work with a few short moments.

    "On your feet First Mate Kargon!"
    The captain bellowed, the remaining crew scrambling off the giant as he struggled to his feet. "Report."

    "Traitors cap'n,"
    Kargon slurred with a glare, bloodshot eyes bouncing between crewmates. "Bill's a leadin a mut'ny." Ku-Jon nodded thoughtfully, nodding at Bill to perhaps take his duties below deck for now. When Kargon took to the drink, his accusations were backed by little self control.

    "I'll handle it,"
    the captain assured, placing a strong hand on his comrade's shoulder "Sit and let your wounds close up, I'll need you when we make port."

    "Aye," Kargon muttered, sinking to the deck to tug at the rope around his leg "Ye can count on me cap'n..."

    Ku-Jon stepped by him, leaving the drunken first mate to sort the truth from delusion and made his way to the wheel. Ambrose Gobchik steered the Tourniquet with the same mastery he had when he'd been first hired by Ku-Jon. Of the crew, Gobchik was perhaps the most mysterious. A man who neither ate nor slept, his origin and species remained an unknown conundrum not even Ku-Jon could figure out. No doubt Ambrose would have answered these questions if asked, but without a tongue he hadn't the means to speak. Bill Garrun came aboard with Ambrose at the beginning and maintained his tongue had been taken in a bar by Castigation crewmen when he'd spoken ill of Captain Elanore. While Ku-Jon was inclined to believe Bill, the man also had a habit for telling strange and fantastic tales without being prompted. Needless to say, even without speech or the learning to write, Ambrose was an asset nearly as valuable to the Tourniquet as he or Kargon. In the years Ku-Jon had captained this ship, no man had steered it but Ambrose...and Ku-Jon was inclined to keep it that way.

    "Begin the final descent Ambrose," he commanded, looking out over the rail and across the ramshackle city. "Easy as you can, can't let those swindling hogs know we're limping."

    Ambros nodded, knotted dreadlocks swinging around his dark face and Ku-Jon grinned his approval.

    Bandit Bluffs...a nostalgic sight and it hadn't changed at all. Same men grubbing for copper, same pirates spinning yarns of dubious stories, and same wild desperation so plain upon each resident's face. Home for a pirate and yet a dangerous place for those with blood to be spilled. Letting the rail hold him up, Ku-Jon's face contorted in pain as whatever pushed inside him found a new grip on his ribcage. Curse of Nocta Syr, the shadow trying to pull him back perhaps...either way, Ku-Jon had lived long enough to know death when he felt it.

    Just a little longer, just needed to get a few more things done...see the sun a few more times.

    The pain subsided to a quiet throbbing in his chest and the captain sighed. Who knew how many sunrises he had left, how many voyages were still in his bones. Regardless, he would need to ask Zagara of his magic before he shuffled off the mortal coil...maybe spin some ruckus on his way out.

    Live fighting and go our thrashing.

    Summary: Descending into Bandit Bluffs and Ku-Jon visits the crew. Prestadeth and Oralia are to disguise themselves, Zagara is to recover and answer questions...hopefully not kill the crew, and Kargon needs to sober up.
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  6. "Flea-bitten, half-witted lech," Prestadeth finished the insult with a few choice words in her own tongue before turning her attention back to Oralia. Her eyes quickly swept over the princess's form, before she spoke.

    "I do not take pleasure in taking scared little girls hostage," the elf picked up a tattered blanket from her cot, then draped it over the window, hiding the swinging Kargon from view. "However, we are here and our situation is very delicate."

    Prestadeth had found herself between a rock and hard place. Down the hall lay Zagara, the man who had aided in her escape, and carried the shade of her father with him. At the moment, she could not get to him without leaving Oralia alone, and therefore at the mercy of these lowlife's. She had to find a way to get them both out of here, and soon.

    "Know this: there is no escape from this. I have no doubt in my mind that these men will slit my throat and take you for their own uses the first chance they get," Prestadeth sorted through the pile of dresses, a scowl creasing her brow at the frilly, impractical things. "I don't think I need to tell you the things these men are capable of doing to you once I am gone." Prestadeth withdrew a red dress with short sleeves, and was wove from a light material.

    "As my prisoner, I can guarantee that you will retain your womanhood, and that you will be treated well, so long as you do exactly as I say." Prestadeth's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment, before she began to undress.

    "Any disobedience, or attempts to escape me will only award you great pain," the elf slipped the dress over her head and pursed her lips when she saw that the hem of the skirt went way too low for her tastes. Honestly, how did human women manage to move about in these things?

    Prestadeth was determined to escape while the pirates were busy switching ships, but exactly how and when that was going to happen was still a mystery. The good captain had made sure the elf had been kept oblivious to the comings and goings on his ship. Their only real hope for escape was to wait for the opportunity to present itself, she supposed.

    The sound of ripping fabric broke the brief silence between the two women. Prestadeth had ripped the skirt so that the hem was now just below her knees; much easier to move about now.

    "We will not remain in the company of these men for long, be ready to run, or fight, at any moment," Prestadeth finished by tying her black leather belt around her waist, and slipping a few of her extra darts into her boots.

    "For now, dress yourself and bind your wound." Of course, she was referring to the small, self-inflected cut across the girl's throat.

    * * *

    The Colossi Palace.​

    By the time General Sindar had reached his quarters, he found Alyss Greenkey standing in the center of the room, illuminated only by the few candles burning on the table. The lieutenant saluted her general crisply, before her demeanor relaxed slightly, the corners of her mouth arched in a barely perceptible, mirthless smile.

    "Forgive the intrusion, sir, but I could hear your command from across the palace," the half-selkie had long abandoned the ornate armor she wore for the celebration in favor of the simple uniform underneath. It had been a long night for the both of them; Alyss had to swallow her regret and shame for having allowed their king to be killed and their future queen to be taken away so easily. There had been much work to do.

    Now she waited, regarding her general expectantly, for his orders.

  7. Oralia shifted uncomfortably where she stood, unsure if the elf woman was going to be as helpful as she claimed. Especially now that there was the sting of a small scratch across her throat where a blade had been. Her fingers touched the spot, drawing back with a line of blood. With her sleeve, she pressed it against her neck and held it there a few minutes while she debated the situation.

    Could she run? Probably not. This was a ship of pirates and though she wasn't entirely sure just how bad they could be, Oralia could recognize the danger by the tone of the elf's voice. She didn't want to find out the hard way. But to trust this woman who clearly would turn on her like a switch?

    Checking again to see if the bleeding had stopped, Oralia shifted slow and wary to take one of the dresses. She retreated out of arm's reach to one of the corners so she could undress and switch her clothes. The dress was made well and pretty. Not something Oralia would have chosen to wear, but the thought of keeping these blood stained clothes...! She had them off and tossed aside before she pulled the fresh clean dress over her head and laced it up tight.

    As an after-thought she pulled the petite tiara off her head and looked at it. The man said they needed to be disguised and not recognized. The tiara was a symbol of who she was and most certainly a give-away. She wanted to be found, but then again... what if the wrong people found her?

    Slowly and with some regret, she set the tiara aside on one of the tables. It would be better not to have anything on her that'd make it harder to escape. As soon as she thought of an escape plan.

    "Um... What is your name..?" she asked softly, barely even able to squeak out the words above a whisper. At least she should know who her captor is!
  8. Carrie

    She asks me if I want to call Samuel and my heart is pounding mercilessly against my chest, sending more pain down through my ribcage. "G-get him to check on the other children okay? D-do a headcount...oh God..." I grit my teeth together. I could really do with some sort of pain reliever. I'm just glad that Quinn no longer has to feel it. But I feel with the intelligence she does possess, she'll know exactly what happened to her and why. I mean, I suppose it doesn't take a genius.

    "D-don't tell him about this..." I ask of her weakly "I'll be back by the time you finish a headcount...I-I'll organize a-a meeting a-and we will discuss what to do..." I hold my hand below my chest to cradle the pain "I-I just need to get treated..."
  9. So I've messaged you all individually, but only because I forgot we got this place for everyone to discuss. My bad!

    As said in the interest thread we do have a first quest lined up for players involving the soon-to-be-opened Yautja Prime, but that won't start just yet. I want to give you all a little time to really get into your characters and have fun before getting into it, because that will be a little intense.

    I posted my character Damagi on Toriyama in a martial arts tournament. If you all want to start off there watching her (for whatever reason you can think) or elsewhere let us know!

    We have a few sector threads up already, but can make new ones if you want.

  10. If the flashes of lightning hadn't revealed the Tourniquet to the people of the bluffs, the loud singing that now emanated from it would have sufficed. Gliding in to an open spot on the docks, the ship settled into the proper position and began the docking procedure. In short time, there would be pirates streaming out and stretching out their newfound land legs, some glad to be off the flying ship, many more sad to leave it. Several bandits began to funnel in to the pirate ship's spot on the dockyard, ready to try their luck at taking some ancient artifact or long-lost treasure for themselves. More than likely, those who tried would come out sans one of their arms, but for the wary thief with good timing, a pirate was the second most valuable mark in the world, second only to military officers.

    "So you see," Cassandra said, seated on the railing of her own ship, "if they were up to something, they would have come in quietly. If I know my stories, the pirates could have come in unnoticed if they wanted, but they don't want to go unnoticed, so they clearly have nothing to hide."

    "Wha'ever ye say, miss," Stanley said slowly, sitting with his back to the ship's raised gangplank, "but I still ain't movin'."

    "Come on, Stan!" Cassandra pleaded, hopping off the railing onto the deck of her ship. "I'm just going to take a look. They're not going to shoot me for staring."

    Stanley huffed. "Starin'? Yah, sure, definite way te not be suspicious-lookin'."

    Cassandra walked towards Stan, her stride full of purpose. "If you aren't letting me off the boat tonight, let me see them in the morning. They'll still be here then, right?"

    "Don' know, don' care. Go te bed!"

    Cassandra briefly considered leaping over the edge of the ship, but it was currently hovering in midair, and it was the middle of the night. It would be easy to misjudge her leap, and that'd be the end of her. Nothing else to do then but to wait until the morning sun or sneak out when Stanley was asleep. With this in mind, she walked below decks to her room and sat at her desk, where she'd have a good view out her window of the dark silhouettes creeping out from that strange pirate ship. If they were still around, she'd have to make a point of visiting the pirates at first dawn.
  11. [size=+2]Zagara[/size]

    Laying there, with his face, hair, and collar soaking from the abrupt awakening, Zagara fell silent as Ku-Jon left him to the care of Rakdar. Finally he spoke, with some renewed strength to his voice "Am I to be freed, or am I simply a captive granted with the benefit of no bars?" The mage had a vague recolection of being carried a distance by Ku-Jon, but the pocket of when he entered the grand hall until then was still wiped from his mind... it felt as if he'd been dead for those moments, and awoke to a different time, and day.

    "The elf... What did you do to Prestadeth? She has nothing to do with me, or my actions... if you have her, let her go." Zagara said softly, as he pulled against the ropes, and secured the knowledge that he wouldn't have the strength to break them... yet. But the magic wouldn't come to him. He was exhausted in soul more than body, and when the magic burned as hot as it had... the soul was often left gasping for air... and for rest. He could wiggle is feet now, and so that gave him some reassurance. Focusing his eyes on Rakdar, the spinning iris did nothing, but take him in, as well as what he could see of his environment... it smelt like ill deeds, and men who fed on it.

    "We're not on Fomura anymore... are we?"

  12. Greasy Spoon


    In the back corner of the tavern, past the ruckus and the flying objects, the loud laughter and the dirty jokes, the cloaked figure sat. The hood down so low, one could only see the tip of a chin, the figure's head inclined toward the small harp cradled in its lap. The mask it wore to conceal its face was pure black, simple, but sometimes it seemed to shimmer in the dim light. There were five holes: two for the eyes, a smaller pair for the nostrils, and a single slit for the mouth.

    Lyseth sat on a small stool. None of the patrons took notice of her and she was fine with that. The owner didn't care one way or another. But the stranger continued to pay for drinks and food she ordered and so long as the money kept coming, that's all that mattered. Fortunately for him, Lyseth believed in settling one's debts and never owing anyone anything. The gloves she wore on her hands were thinning. She could feel the strings through them which meant she would have to patch them up again.

    From behind the mask, she closed her eyes briefly. Sleep was fleeting but she could catch a few moments. So long as she kept plucking on her harp, no one would notice and feel obligated to pounce while her guard was down. They were wary of the stranger, those few who hadn't seen fit to outright ignore her. A slight smirk crossed her face.

    Be wary, she wanted to tell them. And never let your guard down.

  13. There was a look of surprise on Oralia's face. Whether she was kidnapped or rescued, who didn't know the Princess of Formura?

    "..Oralia." she responded with some hesitation. There was no reason to lie.

    Oralia watched as Prestadeth cut, shifted, strapped and stashed. Things that were probably normal to the elf, but was fascinating to the Princess who had never seen anyone try to hide that many weapons before. Oralia even tilted, attempting to see how Prestadeth hid the knife under her skirt and yet still be able to walk around with ease.

    Sounds of a pirate shanty soon echoed down to their rooms below. Instinctivly, Oralia shifted a pace or two closer towards Prestadeth as she glanced up at the cieling. She swallowed.

    "Is.. um... Are you a warrior or knight, then?"

    Sweat, blood, unwashed bodies, rotting food and rather potent stale beer. Such are the delightful smells that greet you in the Greasy Spoon. The noise is almost deafening, a medley of drunken slurs and yells mixed with the shattering of glasses and the occasional squeal as someone gets stuck by a knife and dragged outside. On the edges, in the dark corners do lurk the various mysterious entities, the sort of people I have a theory just like to sit about in bars, lurking and looking mysterious, in the hope that someone asks them what the hell they're doing.

    And then there's me. A funny little man in a maroon greatcoat, sitting at the bar surrounded by a horde of drunken pirates and sailors of the disreputable type. Seems downright stupid, right?

    Truth is, if I had any other choice, I wouldn't be waiting around in such a place. I'd be off somewhere sunny on my own private airship with no-one but a couple of girls and a collection of good alcohol to keep me company. But that's the goal; I need to actually get there, first.

    I can't go back to Caladorf, now, not if I don't want to be killed rather horribly. I could flee to the Mid-Realms, but I'd still have the trouble of people coming after me with the intention to bring me back.

    So my plan's to take to the place where they can't easily follow me.

    It's the sky for me. All I need to do is find myself a ship that'll take me on. Then I'm free and clear.
  15. The beginnings of the shanty made Prestadeth's ears twitch, instinctively picking up on the tune. The muscles in her legs wanted to dance in time with the song, but Prestadeth forced them still.

    Prestadeth paused for a moment in thought over the princess's question. "I am a Guardian," the elf replied stoically, finished with her dressing and hiding of weapons, she had a moment to humor Oralia. "I come from a place far from here, the last haven for Forest Elves from invading forces."

    The Guardian approached Oralia slowly, her eyes traveling up and down the girl's body as she dressed, taking her in once more. The girl had obviously never worked a day in her life, and though her body was supple and lean, it did not have any of the hardened qualities of one who trained to defend oneself.

    Prestadeth would have to remedy that, at a later time. It would simply be too inconvenient to have a hostage who could not hold their own in a battle. Prestadeth intended to take the girl all the way back Istesgal, to keep as a hostage so the human mages would no longer defile the land and take her people. It was a long journey back, filled with danger, and the elf simply could not guarantee the girl's safety unless she knew at least how to handle a blade. But that was for later.

    "I am one who protects my people from yours." That was all Prestadeth was willing to say at the moment. Seeing that the girl was done dressing, Prestadeth commanded in a tone that silenced any further questions: "We should go to the deck, now. Do not stray from me." The door to their cabin was locked, but one swift kick quickly liberated the door from its hinges, and the two women made their way up top.

    The pair made their way to the deck just after the men had finished their song. They stood amongst them, Oralia still close by her side, her gaze flitting about hesitantly. Prestadeth's own expression was impassive as she scanned the crew for a glimpse of their captain.
  16. [size=+2]Kargon[/size]

    "Eeep!" yelped Oralia as she fell over the moment she reached the deck. The Tourniquet came to a shuddering halt, the entire vessel creaking as it locked into port.

    Though port was hardly the most fitting word in the Realms, because airship docks were more like farms now thanks to the cultivation of Vairnigs. These type of aerial barnacles had revolutionised airship travel in the last forty years. The male Vairnigs were like ocean barnacles, in that they grew on the hulls of ships and preferred to gestate in wooden environments. The females, meanwhile, prefered mineral environments and when in contact with males became fused in a sex-grip as tight as a dead man's hand. Not much individually, but when you had a hundred Vairnig couples alligned together it could hold an entire warship in the middle of hurricane. And this was where ports made their money. Vairnig farmers cultivated the female barnacles and allowed them to nest on the cliff-face, feeding them correctly to shape the perfect docking surface. And because every settlement had its own breed of Vairnig, they were able to extract and stockpile the anti-libido hormones from the females which, when released, caused the male and female to unlatch. And thus, dockmasters could ensure that ship captains never left without paying their dues. To try and depart from dock without purchasing the release hormones was just asking to have your vessel ripped in two.

    Everyone knew this of course, except for Oralia... which was why she was the only one who wasn't braced properly as the Tourniquet slammed to a full... sexual... barnacle-encrusted stop. As the princess toppled over, one of the pirates assembled on the starboard side turned.

    Kargon frowned at the sight of the two women. "What...?"

    Oralia got up again, wiping herself down, while Prestadeth blinked back at the bemused pirate.

    "Elf.... what?"

    Captain Ku-Jon walked past him and shouted to the men. "Weigh anchors, boys. You know the drills."

    Kargon went to speak, looked at the Captain, pointed at the women, went to speak again... "Wh... but... who?"

    Boarding planks were thrown across to the barnacle-encrusted shore and half of the crewmen clambered out onto dry land, leaving the others behind to guard the ship. Ku-Jon was at their head, pointing out the silhouette of one of the buildings clustered along the cliff-edge of Bandits Bluff. "There she is. The Greasy Spoon, our mistress for this night! Lead on, boys, lead on!"

    Kargon tried to call after the captain, still pointing at Oralia and Prestadeth. "Women...?"
  17. I am working on the police-intro post by the way.
  18. ok ^^ enjoy :3
  19. Alright...I will start working on a post. Sorry for disappearing.... >.<

    And I still have some school work to do tonight sometime, but not much. So I should get a least a few posts done.
  20. [size=+2]Kargon[/size]

    Kargon shoved Oralia into the chair opposite Ku-Jon. "Sit. Drink. Shut up."

    Then he glared up at Prestadeth, who was standing the other side of the chair, never more than arm's reach from the human girl. They exchanged looks, acknowledging the fact that they would gladly tear each other's throats out if given the provocation. "You can just sit, Pointy-Ears."

    Prestadeth's eyes narrowed, but Kargon didn't notice. He turned and circled the table, kicking aside the legs of the other pirates as they got comfortable in their chairs. Then he leaned over Ku-Jon, his shadow swallowing the captain in black as their faces came close to one another.

    "There's plans for a Galgari merchant vessel in the hold. We'll refit the ship to look like it. That means a total redecking of the forecastle." He went to move away, then came back. "And new clamps for the mizzenmast." He pulled away, then came back. "The bowsprit will be a problem, but we'll canvas it for now." He went to leave, then came back. "And see if anyone can mend the Carmot rudder - the bitch is shot. And..."

    Ku-Jon looked up, a single raised eyebrow assuring the First Mate that he had things covered. Kargon stared at him a little longer, weighing him up, reluctant to relinquish the control he had kept for these long years. But finally he clapped Ku-Jon on the shoulder, an unspoken surrender. "I'll get the travel papers."

    He turned, colliding with a wiry dockhand, who was promptly flung into the nearest pillar. "RAAAGH!" the pirate snarled, clearing a way through the other patrons. He made it to the bar in a few quick strides, grabbing a drunkard who was hunched over the bar and sliding him onto the floor before taking the man's stool.

    A miner steps up, finding a space at the bar, his coal-smeared arm catching the attention of the barkeep. With a grin, yellowed and gap-toothed, he makes his order...

    Kargon swung and punched the miner before he got to the bar, flooring him with a single strike. Then he turned back and got the attention of the barkeep. "Tamas, ye fat, balding bastard! Get over here!"

    The barkeep, Tamas, was indeed rather portly, and his long grey hair no longer grew from the scalp but instead left a shiny dome pitted with sweat. Upon noticing Kargon his hesitation was only momentary and then he slung his cloth over his shoulder and moved past the other customers. He brought his swollen, red-raw arms down on the bar and leaned in towards Kargon, the two men ensuring a moment of privacy at the edge of the bar.

    "'eard you were dead, Drowner."

    "Heard your mother was asking after me."

    "She don't do necrophilia."

    "You learning words now?"

    "You should try it sometime, mate."

    "I got a word for ye. Ends in 'oney."

    "You beekeeping now?"

    "No, but I can sting."

    "Stink, more like."

    "Stinkin' rich, so watch your mouth."

    "I'll watch yer purse first, if I were thee."

    "Well you ain't. Maybe why your pork-sword's rancid."

    "Keeping check on pork-swords now, eh?"

    "Yer head's in the gutter, fat-man, just like yer coffers."

    "You gonna change that for me?"

    "No, but I 'ear there's a spice merchant taking charity cases."

    "Sailing these parts, is he?"

    "Leaving tonight, I reckon."

    "Gonna need some wind in his sails."

    "I hear there's a fair breeze."

    "Shit-talk, mate. I heard different."

    "North-north-west at the seventh. Check it."

    "Where you been, Drowner? Ain't winds like that no more."

    "Maybe in the ninth from the east, and he'll say a prayer to the Void spirits."

    "All o' them?"

    "No doubt."

    "Well, I reckon he might make it."

    "What's the name of the ship?"


    "Good forecast."


    The two men parted, Tamas returning to his customers and Kargon lumbering back to the table, burping loudly as he passed Prestadeth.
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