Once upon a time in Nexus

[fibericon]

Ah, Nexus. What a wonderful, horrible place. Depending on who you are, it might be one of the safest places in creation. The alternative, however, is much more likely. Some districts are well guarded. Cinnabar, where you all find yourselves, is one of them. This is where the mercenary companies call home. For that reason, other businesses love it. Funny, that.

A new tavern has opened up, not too terribly far out of your way. What's notable about it is the rumors, and the very strong suggestions from others to pay it a visit. Hey, if they're so well off, maybe they need a guard or two to protect their interests. Can't hurt to have a look, at least.

It takes hours to traverse districts in Nexus on foot. There's no way you can cover the whole city to peddle your wares. Some districts would be a waste of time anyway. The nobles would hardly spare you a glance, and the other end of the spectrum has little in the way of disposable income. That brings you to Cinnabar. Curiosity grips you, and you follow the crowd to a disproportionately popular tavern. An intoxicating melody calls you inside.

Talk about a caste system. Sure, no one will admit it, but come on. You know what's a great place to lay low? Firewalker district. No one will look for you there, because no one wants to be there. And after a very brief visit, that includes you. And you thought the stories were exaggerating. Cinnabar seems like a dangerous proposition, but acting like you belong goes a long way. And that's one hell of a crowd. Yeah. That'll do.

Rumors are a beautiful thing, aren't they? You've made a living on rumors. They're perfect - just reliable enough for word to get around, and just deniable enough to keep you out of trouble. But more often than not, rumors have a glimmer of truth, right at the root. It's the pretty little spark that gives them life. And today, you've heard a very interesting one. One particular tavern is... unnaturally popular. Brand new, even. Only one way to find out what's really going on in there.

You all arrive at a mid-range tavern in the Cinnabar district. It's rather a lot more crowded than you would have suspected, and you find yourselves jostled together at the entrance. A waitress quickly ushers you all over to a table, and you find yourselves sitting with total strangers.

A long-haired blonde girl. She cleans up nicely, but her hands tell a different story. She clearly knows what a hard day's work is like.

A decently dressed man with auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. He doesn't appear to be a man of means, but clearly puts an effort into his appearance.

That's a lot more than can be said about the very rough looking mercenary at your table. Soldiers usually have ten minutes or less to clean up, and it shows. This man is armed, and making no attempt to hide it.

And then there's her. A red-haired girl in rags. Something is very much off about her. This is the most beautiful woman you've likely ever seen, with very long, very well kept hair. From a distance, you'd likely never notice, but being this close, the disparity is jarring.

A gorgeous woman steps onto the stage in a silken evening gown, the silver shimmering in the light of the many torches lining the tavern. In fact, her beauty, in this tavern, at least, is contested only by the red head at your table. She sits in front of a grand piano and begins to play. Despite the rowdy environment of the tavern, her voice carries when she sings. You have never, in all your lives, heard a performer this amazingly talented, and the more you hear her play, the less you believe that you ever will.

She sings a tune that resonates with the patrons – one of celebrating the weird, the frowned upon, the disallowed in the realm. Rejoice, for you are in Nexus, the city that despite all their howling and cursing and threats, the dynasts cannot touch. You are here, you are real, and you are alive. Tell the dragon bloods to take their attitudes, their laws, and their jade, and stick them in an orifice of their choosing. When she finishes playing, she does so to uproarious applause and red-faced laughter. She steps down from the stage, and exits behind the curtains.

A few minutes later, a man emerges from behind the curtains. A very well dressed man, in silver robes. More silver. More beautiful people. What the hell is this place? The way he moves through the crowd, speaking to employees and patrons alike, suggests he's the owner of this establishment. He stops at your table, and hardly gives the rest of you a second glance. Of course. Why would he? There's only one person at the table in his league.

He looks down at The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East and offers a warm smile. "A ruby in the rough, if you'll excuse the metaphor. But people like us don't stay down on our luck for long. Why don't we... get you something nice to wear?"

He extends his hand to her.

[Hypersmith]

With little better to do, Milwe casts casual glances at the odd mix of people he's put in with. The blonde seemed like a fine type. Nothing interesting, but that was a compliment around here. The merc merits a second, closer glance, but since he seemed uninterested in Milwe, Milwe was uninterested in him in turn. The chances were slim a merc had been hired to chase some local criminal down this far, but it's better to be safe than sorry. The ragged beauty was truly unsettling though. People like that didn't exist in rags for long. It was only a matter of time till this attracted some sort of attention. Probably from some noble or other man with too much money on their hands.

The song actually hits a bit of a soft spot for Milwe. The fact people could sing this sort of thing at all was a good sign. A sign things were slightly better. Though, looking at the silvery man walking around, the rich and poor still seemed to play the same game. The thought makes him rather bitter, and he considers slipping a hand into the owner's pockets as he passes the table by - except the man stops at the table, and speaks to the other redhead.

There's the attitude. "People like us." Milwe slips his hands off the surface of the table, gripping his knees instead. He needed to lay low. He had to learn to ignore these idiots, or he'd get into more trouble. He drums his fingers rapidly on his knees to keep them busy. They really seemed to have a mind of their own sometimes. He mumbles under his breath. "I hope she has the voice of goat."

[Elfbird]

Even though Ophelia comes through Nexus for a couple weeks every year, she can't help but marvel at its splendors anew. Both the towering, sprawling city and the towering mountain over sprawling plains are awe-inspiring in their own respects, and yet they are very nearly polar opposites from the inside. The city is simultaneously invigorating, inspiring, and deeply terrifying to her. The annual pilgrimage renews her soul as much as her storehouse.

Having packed up her wares for the day and secured them at the usual place, she wandered back out in search of dinner, and found herself lured by the crowd and siren song to this particular establishment. She found it, much as everything else, overwhelming in the best way.

Her initial impressions of the people seated with her are generally favorable:

The rough mercenary looks honest - he doesn't try to hide what he is, even if what that is lacks glamour or refinement. He could be a little scary, but it's easy to imagine him fiercely protecting those who own his loyalty, like the surly warrior with a heart of gold from Father's stories. His kit looks pretty nice - most folk probably wouldn't notice against that sour visage, but Ophelia has the eyes to appreciate it, and it tells her he's both good at and sincerely cares about what he does. She'd be honored to have something of hers in his care someday; if anything, his sidearms look a little on the shoddy side. Or maybe he could use a helmet with a nice full-face mask...

The decently-dressed man is a little hard to read. He could be a common businessman, or tradesman, or perhaps - just maybe - the heir to some kind of status, living in secret in order to protect himself and his family while he gathers supporters before making a dramatic reappearance to stake his claim. Some kind of pendant would be good - it'd pull the outfit together, or make a secret identifier for his followers and potential allies.
--He seems a little nervous, kinda like she probably does. Maybe he's come from afar too? Just because someone lives in populated areas doesn't necessarily prepare them for the behemoth that is Nexus, she imagines.

The redhead in rags - she's either a princess or a witch, no two ways about it. People who look that amazing can't be ordinary - that's the kind of face that shapes stories around it, launches a thousand ships, throws a kingdom or three into conflict over who will marry her. Of course, nobody in the stories ever cares about the person behind the pretty face. Nothing Ophelia could make would do justice to this one - what she needs is a sword worthy of her legend, that can help her remind people that she exists as more than a trophy to be conquered and displayed. Maybe one of the recent shadow-swords? Gathering-of-Petals or Scattering-Blossom might do it...
--But why is she dressed like that? Maybe she has a secret identity and needs to keep a low profile? Even if she is a witch hiding from her persecutors, she deserves better than running around in squalor and terror; so many problems could be solved if people just stopped and listened before crying for blood...

The last song entrances Ophelia, but purely for the art and beauty of it - she quickly tunes out the words, absorbed in thoughts of how she might capture and render it as a weapon or piece of jewelry. Something... unusual, discordant, yet harmonious and pure within itself. A jagged or pronged blade, with a soft core and damasked finish? Yes, a sword-breaker, but... no, that's imposing her own wishes for such a beautiful song - this one called for defiance, not peace, and though that's valuable in its own way... Maybe a daiklave...

The song is over before Ophelia finds her way out of her reverie. It's the silver-robed man's arrival at their table that snaps her back; something about him unsettles her, though she can't put her finger on why. Some kinds of beauty are pure and heartfelt, while others are a facade to conceal something damaged or vile, and it riles her craftsman's pride to let such dishonest work go unchallenged.

...But she's the outsider here, and her instinctual distaste could well be her own folly, or a reaction to some other of the city's countless dangers. If this really is a good chance for the girl, it'd be unforgivable to tarnish it with her own boorish paranoia.

...On the other hand, here's a prettyboy trying to get a girl out of her clothes without even asking her name or buying her dinner - she bought dinner from him! Good nature trumps good manners, and Ophelia is standing up before she realizes what she's doing. Welp, committed now.

She walks around to tug lightly on the redhead's sleeve.

"Um, prayin' thy pardon, mah lady. Ah reckon, well, Ah'd present thee with mine token, t' express mah sincere wish that we'll meet again, an' whatever's troublin' thee be nae more t' haunt ye."

Her accent is... strange. Archaic words and phrases intermingled with unrefined dialect and touched with an exotic lilt. The combination doesn't ring of anywhere particular beyond whatever the listener extrapolates for their own satisfaction.

She places a sheathed dagger in the girl's hand, quite insistently. The design is deliberately plain, but obviously of high quality, and the balance and grip are so perfect that it veritably becomes an extension of the wielder's hand. While doing so, she leans over to whisper in her ear, though it's not especially well-concealed.

"If'n milord trieth t'stick thee with his pricker, ye'll have a fair few inches t' return the gesture."

Her gesture completed, Ophelia takes a step back to allow the princess-witch and the silver man to continue their exchange. She's still a little uncomfortable with him though. She bows her head and twists the toe of her boot against the floor - she's not used to having to hide her expressions.

Flower gets Fine Knife!

+1 Accuracy over standard Knife stats.

[Volthawk]

Unlike some of the people he was sitting with, Nazir was pretty relaxed, appreciating the chance to have a drink and a little downtime before looking into any opportunities here - who knew running things on his own would be so time consuming? He could see why this place had its reputation. Good music, good drinks and good staff. He couldn't complain, really. His relaxed state doesn't mean that he fails to look over the others sat with him, though. That's just being smart, particularly since this is Nexus.

The blonde girl gets some of his attention, particularly when he sees her eyeing his weapons. A weaponsmith, perhaps. In that case, it's no wonder she's looking - he had to put a lot of work in getting hold of this sword, previously owned by his commander in Thorns and lost sometime after the battle before re-emerging here in Nexus, but it was definitely worth it. Perhaps it might be worth talking to her, if she's any good - a reliable source of good quality equipment without going through middle men would definitely help give his men an edge.

The other man there doesn't get much attention either. Eyeballing Nazir a lot, but he's used to that. Probably just one of those types who gets nervous around armed people.

The last girl, though...she's something else, all right. Definitely not what he was expecting, in a good way. Will almost certainly not end up being anything to do with him, and he's not sure he'd want to get involved, but he can't complain about having her around, and she did still intrigue him. A girl like that, in her situation, in a place like this...he sensed trouble, but the interesting kind of trouble, the kind that led to opportunities rather than just a knife in the gut. Nazir sighs ad he thinks this. So he still hasn't decided about her. No matter, it shouldn't be too important.

When the owner approaches, Nazir looks over and gives the man a nod, although he lets this business with the pretty girl resolve before he tries to start a conversation. The other girl's lack of subtlety in her attempt to help the other one gives him causes him to grin. He could appreciate the sentiment there, but this sort of thing was not her speciality. Not that it was his area either, of course, but if stepped in he'd be a lot less subtle than that. Not that he felt he had to yet, but he would if things went wrong here.

[Vrock_Summoner]

Flower was... adjusting.

Being in a new city was an interesting experience, at least. She’d spent her entire life mostly confined to her home city of Thorns, barring, after the city’s sacking, a few excursions into...

Well, some memories are best left in the past. What matters is what she got out of it.

This really is a lovely city, though. She doesn’t regret coming here. She *does*, however, miss the feeling of having her needs provided for her. The current situation simply won’t do. Even the forest provides more than this urban environment can, at least until she can find a proper client. She’d gotten very used to being invited into the shady underbelly (more literally than most) of Thorns, so now having to find those clients with fewer scruples is something she rather lacks the skill set for.

Also, she’s hungry.

On that note, a very special scent catches her nose. Oh, good, she finally found it - this tavern’s booming popularity should make it an excellent hunting ground for the idly wealthy and those weak to a pretty face.

...................

Flower looks as delicate as her name would imply - her gait is graceful, her posture proper, and she’s thin and pale as one can look without appearing unhealthy. You’d think she’d never seen the sun, much less hard labor, yet it’s hard to imagine how else she’s gotten by - by all appearances, she doesn’t own a single thing asides from the clothes on her back, and even those are... ungainly. At least she’s kept clean, but asides from that, “entirely down on her luck” seems an excellent descriptor.

She had hoped she could single out some shmucks to swindle a meal out of - groups of mercenaries are easy prey - but go figure the place was so packed she had to have her seating assigned for her. While the music is starting up, she takes a moment to survey those she’s been seated with - at least they appear to be of moderate means. Maybe she can still make something work...

Lessee... Blondie is eyeing everything - maybe a merchant? Who knows. At least the men are a bit easier to read. A warrior - moderately wealthy, going by appearances, which, let’s be honest, he’s otherwise lacking in - and... just what she’s looking for. Boy howdy, is he dressed to impress... and impressed Flower is.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the owner appearing to address her directly. She can’t help but notice he’s handsome, but shuts it out of her brain. It’s time for focus. Hot guy is hot, but so is fresh food, and that urge is strong enough to wash out the other for the moment.

Flower flutters her eyelashes a bit at the owner while looking him up and down - sizing him up, truthfully, though she veils this under the guise of being delighted at the attention. Her inspection is rapidly cut short by Blondie, who makes herself the antithesis of subtlety and... gives her a knife?? Well, it’s a nice knife at least, but right now all it’s cutting is her ability to play helpless.

Not that that will stop her from trying, of course. She smiles warmly and gives Ophelia a quick, grateful ”Thank you, it’s positively lovely, though I hope I shan’t be needing it!” Unfortunately for Milwe, her voice is soft and silky; not particularly goat-like at all. Then she puts the knife to her side and turns to the owner to put on her best performance.

She reaches her hand towards his. ”You look like the sort of man who ends up with trophies when he puts his mind to something,” she compliments, as their hands meet, but she trails her fingertips on his palm rather than take his hand. ”And I do have some experience at looking pretty on display...” she continues playfully, then pulls her hand back, resting it just above her stomach, as her face takes on a mournful look. “Unfortunately, while I was drawn to the sound of music, I’ve not a penny to feed myself. I’d love to go with you, but I feel so famished I can hardly stand...”

She’s being a little overdramatic. She charmed her way into some bread for lunch, so she’s hardly immobilized with hunger. Still, she’s been eating poor people food for days and whatever the forest could provide for longer before that. She wants real food, and she hopes amplifying the message will keep him from being squirrelly about it.

[fibericon]

If The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East is being overly dramatic, she's picked the right audience. The man in silver offers an almost predatory grin in response, his gaze lingering quietly on her for a moment before he speaks up again.

"But of course. There's nothing quite like a proper meal. I shall see to it at once."

He gestures to one of the waitstaff, and leans over to speak. It's difficult to hear over the noise in the tavern, but the waiter quickly nods and scurries off.

"Now then - your table will be attended to shortly, but I must take a short leave. Do enjoy your meal, and try not to run off before I return. It would be tragic indeed to have you slip through my fingers."

He offers a flowery bow before he departs. While he continues to make his rounds before stepping backstage again, none of the tables receive quite the attention yours did. It isn't long before a feast is brought before the four of you. Unless the redhead is hiding a tyrant lizard under those rags, this meal can't possibly be for her alone.

Some of this food you don't recognize. It appears foreign, which suggests that a rather lot was spent on both the chef and the ingredients. It's largely out of your means, however, to even begin to recognize most of what's on display.

Ostentatious much? A free meal is a free meal, but this guy clearly just throws money at everything. The gold leaf gives it away. Sad thing is, you'd be willing to bet this usually works for him.

These ingredients come from afar. You know, because you immediately spot something native to Thorns. The logistics of keeping ingredients from afar - expensive ones, at that - from spoiling along the way is staggering. A lot of time and money went into this, and it's likely more than the profits from a place like this would justify.

You immediately realize that this feast includes food from all over creation. There are no substitute ingredients, and the ingredients wouldn't stay good over such a long way without supernatural assistance. They wouldn't grow here if introduced, either, and the animals the meats came from could hardly be bred here. There's no two ways about it - artifacts or sorcery must be at play. If you weren't suspicious of the owner before...

The feast attracts a bit of attention from the surrounding tables, but eyes soon return to the stage as the performer steps up again. A more mellow song this time, a tune that wafts through the room and quashes the rowdy atmosphere. Quiet, subdued. In this environment, one person stands out.

A largely unaffected dragon blood - obvious by the jade smashfist covering one hand. He doesn't seem to mind the previous song about defying the dynasts, nor does he seem to be particularly calmed by the current song. A large man with short red hair, who, when standing, is very likely towering significantly above the average person, with a girth to match. The empty plate suggests he's eaten, but his attention is focused on the alcohol at the moment.

This performance continues for a bit longer than the last, and when it ends, it takes time for the patrons to start making noise again. The waitstaff is very attentive of your table, and your glasses are never given the chance to empty.

[Elfbird]

This ain't right.

Ophelia had returned to her seat after the man departed, making smalltalk with her tablemates until the food appeared. She partook at first, when it was more fancy than extravagant, but at a certain point, her social anxiety and growing sense of unease and the unaccustomed richness of the food killed her appetite entirely.

She stands once more, setting her knife and spoon down firmly. (They're really very nice utensils - too nice to be ordinary craftsmanship. There must be some gimmick to this place, and if it's of the same caliber as the magitech she learned from her parents and Gunny, she could hardly pass up the chance to study it.)

(But that's besides the point.)

"Dear companions: fair fate and good fortune hath this table blessed to-night, surely as our hosts be thus favored. But we four ain't th' only folk here who've earned a li'l respite,"
She eyes the mercenary.
"Nor fallen on hard times."
She turns to the redhead.
"Now, I ain't used t'much, but food so fantastically rich taketh but small t' fill me; aught more an' I'm like t'be gassy as a swamp when next dawn riseth. So long as the house seeth fit t' burden our table overmuch, reckon I'm gonna sleep better on a full heart than a full stomach. So, beggin' thy pardons,"

Ophelia reaches across the table for a couple platters that the others have already had servings of, then starts offering them to other tables. She's not too picky, but favors the more quiet and poor-looking patrons over those who get rowdy and grabby at the prospect of this rich fare. The important thing is to do it herself - to ask the waitstaff to divert their table's gift would be rude and pretentious, but making the effort to share their own good fortune is an act of humility. Her parents came from great means and learned to live on so, so little; she really doesn't need more than what she's accustomed to at home.

Once she's satisfied that her share of the feast has been passed around (and hoping her dining companions felt inspired to follow suit), Ophelia allows herself a bit of indulgence and, seeing no guards or wards, shrugs and steps backstage - not sneaking, just not making a big deal of herself. The first thing she does there is look around for any obvious signs of magitech or, even better, First Age devices to get a closer look at. If there's nothing immediately backstage, she'll wander toward the kitchens.

[Volthawk]

Nazir's pleasantly surprised by the richness of food on offer, and soon gets stuck in. The blonde girl getting up takes his interest, and he watches her give out food as he eats. He could understand the sentiment, although when it came to giving away food his thoughts were more on figuring out how to get this stuff home for his men rather than giving it to the other patrons.

Then she starts snooping around. Nazir sighs. He has no idea why she's doing that, but he knew enough to know that it's not the best idea to start poking around the back of a Nexus business, lest you find worse than you bargained for. Nonetheless, he did need to find the right people to talk to for his own business, and he did want to talk to her about establishing a deal for her work anyway, so Nazir gets up and follows the girl.

[fibericon]

An amazing feast, to be sure. But something's a little off. Not the food, not the service, but something else. You feel like you're being watched. And just when you lean back, your bellies filled, you realize it.

The second you finish your feast, the song ends. The performer is looking at your table. She quickly ducks behind the curtain and goes backstage.

That backstage area is full of crates. Wooden crates, unpacked, stacked to the ceiling in some places. Other places have only one or two stacked. No sign of the owner back here.

Wanderin' around to see where the tech might be!

Aside from the crates, the area is completely bare. The kitchen is well staffed, and very clean. A single chef glances in your direction, and with no hint of personality or emotion, simply says, "Please leave. You don't work here." He goes back to his work without giving you a second glance. The equipment here is just as nice as the utensils, but there's no hint of where the ingredients are stored, unless they're in crates backstage.

"Ah, pardon me then..."
Ophelia crosses the kitchen to the back door, in case there's anything interesting out back, and passes by the stoves just to check if they run on wood, coal, or... something more interesting. Her nose is pretty well accustomed to the nature of different fires and fuels.

"Or", indeed. This fuel is imported from the south - firedust. It's not the most expensive thing here, but it's rarely used for cooking.

Out back is literally nothing... this place doesn't appear to produce waste?

Ophelia's search raises far more questions than answers. The sheer gaudiness is starting to make her feel queasy - this level of excess...!
It's also completely mismatched to the economic status of the rest of the district, which she's well familiar with from her long days at market.
But for all that she's finding, none of it leads to answers about the source nor the kind of technology she's interested in, so she archives the data and returns to the back stage area to take another look at the crates, or ask some questions if she happens to run across anyone who might answer.

Not long after you pop backstage a second time, you hear a woman's voice behind you.

"Forward, but I like that."

It's the performer. Unlike the man who spoke to The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East, she makes no attempt to hide the predatory gleam in her eye.

Ophelia recoils slightly, but recollects herself. She's not sure who she's standing up to, or who she's standing up for, but this place is almost certainly nothing upstanding.
It's also full of opportunity.

"So amazing are the products and means of which mine humble eyes hath borne witness in this place. Wherefore cometh and goeth these things? I'm a mite handy at the forge, and if any magitech be in thy possession, 'twould be mighty fine if'n I might behold it."

The woman blows air through her nose. "I'm seeking something, yes, but not employees. I don't suppose you speak Old Realm, then? I find Low Realm to be dreadfully guttural. Those who work the old forges often speak an older language."

"'Fraid mine way o' speakin' is a hodgepodge; apologies if'n it offends ye, but ain't aught t' help it."

"Unfortunate, but..." She takes a couple of steps toward you. "Why do you care about the origins of my mundane? There is something so much more interesting you can become than a simple tinkerer. If only you'd let me ravish you." Her eyes flare wider, and it feels more like a threat than an attempt at seduction.

Ophelia takes a step back, more for defense than fright. Later she can contemplate this moment and realize how truly and stupidly over her head she went.

"P-pardon, ma'am! Thy flattery is great an' all, but I'm not rightly into that...! Mayhap I ought come back when things're less hectic...?"

"Oh no, my dear. This parlor of mine is like the guild: you can get in, but you don't get out. Now, let me rephrase..."

Her right hand twists and contorts, growing talons. The silver makes more sense now. It's not silver - it's gossamer. This woman is a raksha.

She lunges, swinging wide with razor sharp talons. You barely avoid the strike, her attack coming close enough to brush against your eyelashes.

Ophelia backpedals into a stack of crates. She did plenty of martial drills with her father, but that's a bit different from being suddenly attacked by a pretty lady with a demon's talons.
"C-can't we talk about this more? Curiosity killed the cat, eh...?"

The scene Nazir stumbles upon is... something, alright. The pianist has Ophelia backed into a corner. Only... the beautiful woman you saw onstage has one hand twisted into a horrible mutation with talons. She lunges at Ophelia, her talons ripping through cloth but thankfully not flesh... yet.

"All you have to do... is agree. Let. Me. Ravish. You."

There's that word again. Why does she emphasize that word?

Ophelia spaces out for a moment, getting lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts despite the incredible inappropriateness of that to this situation.
Meanwhile, her body moves on instinct - maybe there was something to those drills after all.

When she comes back around, her eyes go wide and she absentmindedly fishes in her belt pouch for a handful of jade talents - if she even has any left.

There's no way past her. Nothing Ophelia can fight with. She's going to die here, alone - well, she always expected to die alone, but of old age or sickness, not bloody combat - in this back room of a bar in Nexus that probably isn't even real.

Clutching whatever jade she found to her chest, she draws in a deep breath...

"RAAAAAAKSHAAAAAAAA!!"

Nazir's usual rapid reactions are slowed somewhat by surprise at the situation in front of him, but by the time Ophelia screams he's back with it, running over and drawing his sword before slashing at it twice. The fact that it's a soul eating monster doesn't seem that concerning to him.

The woman fails to take Nazir's first attack seriously, and is struck directly. Her flesh doesn't give like one would expect - especially not with the craftsmanship on his blade, but he does draw blood. She lets out an inhuman shriek and shrinks back, deflecting the next strike against what feels like tough hide.


After Ophelia wanders off, and Nazir follows a few minutes later, there is a blood curdling shriek from backstage.

"RAAAAAAKSHAAAAAAAA!!"

The dragon blood stands up, and strides with purpose toward the curtains, while the rest of the tavern devolves into murmuring. He's had a bit much to drink, but he's still a dragon blood. Regardless, The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East in particular, knows that a lone dragon blood is nowhere near as strong as their kind is intended to be, and contrary to popular belief, facing a raksha in single combat is a good way to meet your end.

[Hypersmith]

Milwe presses a hand to his forehead at the show between the redhead and the owner. There was no way this was happening. Maybe she was just trying to scam him. He perks up. That would actually be pretty appropriate. Yeah, there was no way someone looking like her would be so down on their luck they would be forced into rags. So she was probably dressing in the voluntarily and making some more coin off the dirty folk. That was a sentiment he could appreciate, though he wouldn't have the patience to play through it all, honestly.
A free meal is very much a free meal, and Milwe tucks in voraciously. He quickly puts away more than enough for a normal person, and keeps going. It gets a little unsettling past a certain point. Someone who eats this much shouldn't be this his size.
For Milwe, it's the poor combination of days spent on the road foraging for food, and whatever the hell they had tried to spring on him during that trap back home. He didn't pretend to understand who he had pissed off, but when people start waving their hands at you and your vision starts flashing, it's usually a pretty good sign to run. The flashing stabilized after a while, and he could actually see better thanks to it, but damn, he was always hungry now. It would be a good change of pace to sleep on full stomach.

Still, when his table-mate starts giving out food, he feels more than a little ashamed. He really should have taken the initiative on that. He'd have to remember that he didn't have compatriots around to keep him straight - and that was no excuse to stop doing what's right. He jumps up and starts distrusting the food as well. He's not picky about sticking to just his share. The slim pretty thing probably wanted to stay slim, and the other two weren't even around anymore.

Catching a break in the distribution, Milwe's instincts tell him something is off about the woman watching them. Maybe it was time to leave. He stands to make his way out when the cry comes up from the back room, and the dragon blood starts making his way inch the back. Not to be outdone, Milwe reverses direction and starts following him, undoing his top few buttons and reaching into his shirt to loosen the chains wrapped around his body. He grabs the weighted end and pulls, efficiently wrapping the extra length around his forearm, but leaving plenty of length for him to swing about freely. The heavily weighted end whirrs in the air, clearing a few feet of space around him as he makes his way into the back. He eyes the jade smashfist. It would be good recompense for helping the guy out.

[aturtledoesbite]

Around this time, the tavern's doors fly open. In walks a hulking behemoth of a man. A scar over his left eye is partially obscured by an eyepatch; his beard is scraggy and uneven, shaved only by the swords of those he fought; his tri-cornered hat and doublet are tattered from long use both on the sea and in battle, but clearly well-made to still be functional even now; the smell of sweat and the sea announcing his presence far before his visage does. The most eye-catching piece, however, is the massive double-sided greataxe strapped to his back, its edges gleaming in the light, appearing sharp enough to cleave steel.

Anyone who's heard of pirates knows who he is: Bilebeard the Scourge, Captain of the Cursed Wind.

He pushes aside anyone who gets in his way as he makes his way over to a set of tables where what looked to be a group of seafarers had accumulated. Upon closer inspection, however, they're also clearly pirates. Without warning, he picks up the nearest pirate by the collar, setting them up and giving them a direct punch to the gut, likely breaking ribs.

He speaks to them, his voice deep and gravelly. "Do any of ye bilge rats wan' t' explain t' me why none of ye've been back t' th' ship all day?"

It's quiet for a long moment. Eventually, one of the pirates, who looks scared out of their mind, finally speaks up. "Uh, well, Cap'n, you se--"

"I don't want t' hear yer excuses!" He grabs his axe. "Start gettin' a move on before I chop off each of yer filthy heads!"

Slowly, the pirates begin to shuffle out of the tables. Before they get far, however, they're interrupted by a high-pitched scream.

"RAAAAAAKSHAAAAAAAA!!"

The Wyld. Of course the Wyld was here. Bilebeard hated dealing with the Wyld. He looks to his men, who had frozen after hearing the exclamation.

"What are ye rats waitin' for?! I didn't tell ye t' stop!"

As they slowly start moving again, Bilebeard makes his way to where the scream came from. Call it recklessness, but he had a gut feeling it'd pay off this time, and his gut hasn't been wrong yet.

[fibericon]

As the dragon blood enters backstage, his anima flares to life - a screaming phoenix, white at its core, fading to orange by the wing tips. He lunges toward the raksha, but his drunken punch is easily dodged.

Her back to Ophelia, the performer flings both hands forward, releasing two handfuls of confetti...

The tiny bits of paper tear through the air, whistling past Nazir's ear. It's impossible to avoid them all. His armor helps, but the razor sharp squares tear through flesh. The dragon blood next to him is similarly hurt, but the scene is far worse beyond the curtain.

The curtain is torn to ribbons, and throughout the tavern, patrons and waitstaff are cut down. A waitress tries to crawl toward the door with one arm. She won't make it that far.

Milwe has about as much warning as one could hope for, but the air is filled with these things, and he finds himself gravely injured by the razor sharp confetti.

The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East barely has the opportunity to avoid the worst of it, but the cold rush of fear brings back memories of an all too familiar situation as her blood hits the floor.

Bilebeard the Scourge feels one - just one - tear through his stomach and out his back. Another would have killed him. It's enough to piss him right off.

This woman has just murdered dozens of people as collateral while attacking two.



As he feels the raksha's attack slice through him, Nazir grimaces, but stands his ground. He can't just run, not now.

The last time he came up against monsters like this, enemies of Creation, he fell before he could make a difference. He wouldn't let that happen today. He wouldn't let so much destruction happen again without doing everything he could to stop it.

Suddenly, he feels...different. That even with his skill, he'd been doing this like an amateur. Like he could be better. Much better. He barely notices the explosion of anima around him, the room filled with white and red light and the image of a golden predator, swift and agile, surrounding him. He just focuses on the surging Essence inside him, his weapons and the raksha in front of him, and everything seems to just get slower. With superhuman speed, and with effortless precision, he sheaths his sword and draws his bow, firing four arrows in rapid succession, his newfound power making even this easier than he remembers.



As the curtain is torn away on the scene of carnage, unremembered visions of fire and soldiers and inexorable death flash across Ophelia's mind until something snaps inside of her and the ground falls away, dropping her into comforting darkness.

A drop of water; it splashes, igniting into blue flame; a breeze scatters it back to nothingness.
(Back in the tavern, a casket of rose-gold light forms around Ophelia.)

She remembers her parents; how she grieved at their passing, how she mended, the warmth that remains inside her.
How she sought for help and how it found her.
(Four swords pierce the casket through.)

A hammer stroke echoes, rippling the blackness like water. A blue flame bursts to life.
Others join it, until they fill the void like lanterns on a river. Like the stars on a clear summer night.
(The flower engraved on the casket's face blossoms.)

The motes of flame gather and flare into brilliant golden-white, washing out everything.
(The casket, swords, and flower shatter into shining petals that fall endlessly around Ophelia.)

Ophelia returns to consciousness, but in a trancelike state. Seemingly oblivious to the combatants before her, she begins a simple dance, rocking and turning on her heels as she casts the pieces of jade in her hand to the four corners, one directly below her, and one into her mouth, chanting quietly all the while. The old language of the prayer sounds far more natural on her tongue than her regular speech.

"She Who Hears Lost Voices, I call out to thee. We suffer; we grieve; we struggle for hopes beyond our reach. Please, come be with us now; answer our cries with comfort, our pain with mending, our hopes with the means to grasp them. I offer these words and this flesh in exchange, for ours are the voices of the lost, and none else shall hear them."



Bilebeard pauses from the ribbon. He didn't have to turn around to know some of his men weren't getting up from that. Had he tried to leave and ignore the raksha, he figures that all that would've done is left the razor to strike his back instead of his front. He was gonna pay the injury back if it was the last thing he did.

He wasn't paying attention to the fact that several people nearby, himself included, had started glowing with golden light. Nor was he paying attention to the grand galleon forming behind him, his anima flaring up with light for all to see. No, his focus was on the raksha.

"Get yer Primordial-damned hands off my crew!" With that, Bilebeard grabs the nearest table and hefts it at the raksha. He didn't expect it to hurt the Wyld thing, and he wasn't trying to; it would, however, provide just long enough of a distraction as he runs up and swings his axe horizontally through the table and into the raksha, then spinning around to swing the axe again, this time slamming it downward!



The flurry of confetti is a clear danger, but sometimes there's nothing you can do. It fills the air, scoring Milwe across the chest, back, and arms, face, and legs. He avoids being pierced by any, twisting sinuously across the ground in nothing but regular clothes. He emerges on the other end, tattered and bloodied, but alive, which is much more than can be said for most of the tavern behind him.

The dragonblooded who got in ahead of him is still alive, anima flaring in combat, but Milwe's attention is elsewhere. The driven focus of survival, of vengeance, is broken by the idle and absurd thought that he didn't know where to get clothes in this city, but the owner's set wouldn't fit badly at all.

That utter certainty in survival, in a victory so complete he could wear the clothes off his opponent's backs, brings clarity like never before. Thousands of hours of polishing method and technique seem dull before the possibilities before him now. And like that infinite, radiant light, the air behind him becomes a kaleidoscope of interconnected arms, twisting, grasping, folding into themselves and unfurling out of open palms. The Raksha's eyes flicker towards him, and his fingers twist in front of him, drawing another complex pattern out of the air, leaving an afterimage of his own arm among the infinite more, and the imprint of shadows in the wake of their movement.

His chain strikes, once, twice, it's strong arc finding gaps between the chaos that is erupting around them.



At first, everything is hellish and chaotic. The pain and fear blares through Flower’s mind like an alarm, images flash of the massacre at her hometown, this is what she’s been fighting to get away from, it’s not enough, she has to survive, run, run, run-

The air suddenly hangs still, as if time had frozen.

Every time something like this happened, she ran away. Again and again and again... if she runs again now, maybe she’ll stay alive, but will she ever be able to stop running?
If she doesn’t stop this horrid bloodshed now... then she’ll just have to watch. Again and again. Friends? Family? The world doesn’t care how she feels about them. They’ll all become victims. Death follows her everywhere she goes.

Not anymore. If she can’t outrun death... Then she’ll just outsmart it.

A thread of silver shimmers around her, branching out and connecting with itself in intricate geometric patterns spreading all around her, forming more precise and beautiful arrangements than the world’s finest stained glass, while with each time the threads touch one another to form a new shape in the ever-expanding pattern, an eerie yet serene wailing can be heard, each stacking upon one another like a ghostly choir joining in singing the heartbreaking story of their collective deaths.

She scans the room. Her analytical ability is like it’s never been before - she understands everything. Tablecloth... wooden table... 190 proof alcohol... If she wants to stem the tide of injury at this scale, she can only afford to spend roughly a second and a half per person. Earlier today that would’ve seemed completely impossible. But now...!

She twists on one heel, bringing her other leg up and smashing it down into the table next to her. Wood splinters, shreds of tablecloth, and the spillage of the broken alcohol bottle fly up to where Flower can reach, positioned carefully not to land on anyone when they inevitably fall. Reaching in deftly, Flower soaks a napkin in the alcohol with one
hand while the other grasps a perfect splinter, which she pierces through the torn tablecloth to retrieve its threads. Continuing her smooth whirling movement, she turns to one patron with a massive gash on his abdomen - almost assuredly fatal, given time - and cleans out the wound with the reg while immediately following that hand with the makeshift needle to sew up his wound.

Not missing a beat, she uses her still-airborne foot to toss herself a straight chunk of wood while swirling towards the next patron - one with bone protruding out of their mangled arm. She uses the wood block to push the bone back in and quickly ties a strip of cloth around it, to keep everything aligned. She repeats the sewing technique on someone whose right cheek was torn through, then turns to her final patient for the six-second period, a man whose leg was completely pierced through. She doesn’t have time to see if function can be restored - just gotta stop the bleeding… she quickly snatches and wipes the cork from the alcohol bottle before plugging it up to the major hole in the arterial wall and tying it in with the last of her tablecloth strips.

It’s at about this moment that she realizes everyone else staring at her with particular panic, and also notices that she’s radiating a tinfoil math test. Hrm… That’s weird.



The jade burns away from Ophelia's grasp, and there's a rush of air in the other room.

There is a ringing in The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East's ears, and a voice from everywhere at once floods her mind.

Faster than me? Curious… I'll share, this time.

Those bystanders with survivable wounds have their flesh healed in a matter of seconds as a waifish apparition floats through the tavern. Many were dead before they hit the ground. More would have bled out in the time it took Ophelia to complete her prayer, if not for the lunar's interference, and her wounds are closed as her reward.

Under the flurry of attacks, the raksha summons a cyclone to protect herself, the rapidly moving air deflecting blows… but it isn't enough against the chosen of the sun. Milwe strikes the final blow, and she falls - unconscious, but alive.

The goddess floats backstage, and heals the wounds of those exalts that chose to fight. But when she reaches Ophelia, she takes her pound of flesh. She lays her hands on Ophelia, and a searing pain grips Ophelia's arms. Her veins blacken. And just like that, the goddess is gone.

Nothing for free, solar. Welcome back.

The dragon blood backs away from the solars, gritting his teeth and taking a defensive stance. "Anathema."



Milwe takes advantage of the serene moment of healing to reassess the situation. That merc turned out to be rather terrifying effective, as well as that fellow with the greataxe. Both had risked themselves for these people, so they couldn't be all bad. He flicks his wrist, aware of every link in the chain as it swings about to recoil on his forearm, and turns back to take stock of the death - and how little of it there is. The beauty from earlier, and the blonde, seemed to have things under control - there was the matter of the spirit who was flitting about healing the rest.

Thankfully, that rest includes himself. Though his only set of clothes are in tatters, it's good to experience the fullness of his being with a fresh body, including the rather dizzying arms that continue to swirl behind him. He gets the feeling he can stop it when he wants to, but why not enjoy a little spectacle. When the apparition scars the blonde with black veins, he snaps into a bit more of an appropriate mindset. Whatever was going on right now, he needed to be alert.

Upon hearing the Dragon Blood, Milwe widens his stance and faces him. He speaks aloud, so those behind can hear him. "Come now. Surely Raksha are more Wyld than anathema."



The Dragon-Blooded's reaction gives Nazir pause while his wounds are healed, the short battle not giving him much time or reason to stop and think about what happened. He doesn't need much time to think, though. Sure, he knows what the scriptures say, but he also knows how he feels and what he did. He knows that despite what is claimed, if this is being Anathema, then they are wrong. He's no demon or enemy of Creation. If anything, now he has the power to take on the true enemies out there, and fulfil his ambitions and desires for justice, and he wouldn't let the fear and misunderstanding of others stop that. Nonetheless, facing a dragon for no strong reason isn't what he wants here, not if he can help it.

Putting away his bow with the same ease he drew it, Nazir looks at the Dragon-Blooded and grins. "I think something has been misunderstood here. I'm still me, just better. I don't expect you to believe us, but know what you've seen, that facing me-" He pauses to look at the others, realising that its also happened to them. "Facing us would not be wise. I'm not your enemy, but I will fight and win if you force this. Let's just part as the warriors who slew a raksha. What do you say?"



Ophelia reflexively cries out when She Who Hears Lost Voices takes her price - in the past she'd offered blades instead of flesh - but she doesn't resent it. All in all, it's a small thing in exchange for the amount of life and suffering that was spared. It hasn't quite sunk in yet the caliber of miracles that the four tablemates and the newcomer just performed.

Clutching her arm, the shining petals falling around her beginning to fade, Ophelia addresses the dragonblood as well.

"My thanks, ser, and the thanks of each life thy valor this night preserved. Ain't it not better t' end things on a high note than t' sorrow our victory turn? Fain I'd buy a round of drinks, if'n the kitchen yet serves."



Bilebeard prepares a finishing blow on the downed raksha, before looking around and noticing all the glowing people. Including himself. He's certainly never felt this strong before.

He could get used to this.

With the Dragon-Blooded's reaction, he leaves the raksha alone for the moment, turning to him. "Boy, ye wouldn't have stood half a chance against me five minutes ago. Now it wouldn't even be worth the fight. Why don't ye just keep walking?" His axe is poised and ready to strike as he speaks.



The dragon blood glares at Bilebeard the Scourge momentarily, but he ends up following orders well enough. He spares a moment to sneer at The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East on his way out. In a low growl, he speaks, seemingly to himself, but the lunar is both close enough and sensitive enough to sensory input to hear.

"Gather your troops, sister. Call the Wyld Hunt and meet me at the gate. There are five of them."


The people in the tavern that yet live are starting to regain their bearings enough to be terrified of the light show. Those who can run do so. The cries of "anathema" begin to spread.

And now, with full iconic animas, you find yourselves with the daunting task of escaping a city full of people who, for generations, have been taught you're demons. Both sneaking away - with the beacons that give your position for miles - and cutting your way out seem to be insurmountable tasks.

Eventually these animas have to fade... right?

[aturtledoesbite]

Bilebeard watches the Dragon-Blooded leave. Blasted Terrestrial, thinking he owned the place. He picks up the raksha, slinging her over his back. Then he looks to the other Exalted.

"I'll be headin' back to me ship. If'n ye follow, ye'll either be gettin' dropped off somewheres or put t' work. Or ye're welcome t' try t' escape Nexus on yer own."

With that, he starts walking off, though is quickly interrupted by his crew.

"C-c-c-cap'n, you're a...you're a demon!"
"No, boy. I ain't no demon. I'm worse, an' ye knew that the moment ye came aboard. Now, all of ye, run ahead an' let 'em know to get the Cursed Wind ready t' sail. We'll be takin' off as soon as I'm aboard."
"A-aye-aye, Cap'n!"

The crew members run off. At odds with the tense situation, however, Bilebeard doesn't run. Instead, he calmly starts walking toward the inner docks of Cinnabar.

[Hypersmith]

Though Milwe is disappointed to watch the dragonblood go, there isn't much he can do without making all these people freak out even more. You know, considering that, it would be... weird explaining this to his folk. Well, the show was over, and he still had no way to talk to them, so there was no use worrying about that now. Instead, he takes a moment to watch the other anathema and what they're doing -

"Woah, slow down there captain." Milwe calls out to the man with the greataxe, trotting to catch up to him. "I've known you for all for all of a minute and I can tell your heart is damn near gonna explode. Relax." He's far more comfortable with other folk who are outside the law, and now that includes all his tablemates, he calls out to them jovially. "I get the feeling most of you aren't used to being hunted down like dogs. Come along with me, lets hitch a ride on the boat and I'll show you the ropes." He chuckles at his own joke.

[Volthawk]

While some of the others talked, Nazir wrote, making a rushed note - his literacy was an edge, and one he occasionally made use of. He wasn't exactly a good writer, but the person it was for should know him well enough to make out his writing by now.

The note is fairly straightforward - the only friendly communication being a brief confirmation that it's Nazir, including a reference to a shared past in Thorns with the recipient, before getting into the actual orders. They say that the recipient should arrange for one of the 'old scales' to meet him at the dock, and then arrange for the rest of the troops, and their company's supplies, to be moved out, so they won't be connected directly to Nazir, in whatever way they see fit, and to lay low until Nazir returns. Pay should be given out as usual, and smaller jobs should he alright, so long as the people after Nazir don't make the connection. He advises being cautious of the Dragon-Blooded, but doesn't explain the whole situation, as Nazir notices all his potential messengers running off.

He grabs one of the ones who took a little longer getting out, before looking over at the pirate captain. "If we're working together, I require this man to deliver a message. In exchange, I will have a scale of elite soldiers waiting for us there." With no complaint heard, Nazir turns back to the crewman, explaining where his base of operations is and what his second in command looks like. He then hands the man the orders and his sword, partly as further proof and partially as something symbolic, given the part it played in Nazir's image as the leader of the company and the link to Thorns and the past. Once the man has both in hand, Nazir sends him off with a quick piece of advice that going somewhere else with the sword and information would not be wise, given that would also be getting a hundred highly trained soldiers cause to hunt him down, let alone those present here.

Once the man has run off, Nazir starts walking with the others, slightly adjusting his equipment to make it more comfortable and easy to get to now the sword was missing. Naturally, though, his orders also asked for the blade's return along with the scale of troops (symbolism aside, it was a damn good sword, and he'd need it in whatever came next). He looks to the others. "We haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Nazir."

[Vrock_Summoner]

Okay... Cat ears. Tail. Whiskers. Hrm.

Flower had read more than enough to know exactly what was going on. Forget this silly Anathema business - she knows too much to buy into that propaganda. Hell, she’s seen what she is before, and she didn’t like it one bit. That Lunar cow (literally and metaphorically) who clung incessently to the Mask’s right-hand deathknight... Apparently that’s a thing they do. Their bonds to the old Solar Exaltations live on and on through reincarnation cycles, no matter how close or far their destined mates may be reborn, and no matter what shape they’ve come to take. They even lasted through what the former Primordials of both sides did to their shares of the Solar Exaltations, so now a bunch of Lunars have goo-goo eyes over the enemies of Creation...

Oh god.

Oh god oh no oh crap.

What if Flower’s mate is an Abyssal!? That would be so horrible! To refuse the allure of the Abyss, only to be dragged back towards it! Oh, nothing could be more unfair! That’s it, then. No matter how strong it is, she’ll resist the feeling. Flower is her own Lunar. Flower goes her own path. Flower always looks out for number 1. Flower is-

Her eyes drift to the leaving Milwe, and Bilebeard, and Nazir-

Her eyes lock on with laser-focus. That glow... That anima... He’s...

DON’T LET HIM LEAVE

Oh, come on, we were just over this, remember #1 and-

DON’T LET HIM LEAVE

Really, please, I change my mind, I’ll take the Abyssal, at least most of them were hot-

HE’S THE ONE, FOLLOW, HEEL

There’s literally a more likable Solar right next to-

HE’S GETTING AWAY GO GO GO FOLLOW RUN OBEY DON’T BE LEFT ALONE...

... WYLD HUNT WILL KILL YOU

... Fine, at least you’re making a good point this time. But if he doesn’t make a good impression, I’m macking on the handsome one instead.

Flower pulls herself out of her thoughts and goes running after Nazir and Milwe. “H-hey! Wait up! You can’t go leaving a defenseless girl alone, can you!?” She pants as she catches up, joining in with them. “I’m The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East... You can just call me Flower, though, if it’s too much of a mouthful.” She smiles sheepishly.

[Volthawk]

When Flower approaches, Nazir grins, looking at her, then at Ophelia then back to Flower. He was pretty glad they were coming with them (at least, he hoped Ophelia was also coming) - they apparently had skills he'd need, and they were in the same situation as the rest of them and while things were figured out, numbers brought safety (particularly now they were all connected by this event - he couldn't just let them go out there alone to die). He definitely couldn't complain about having a woman that looked like Flower around, in any case.

"Of course we're not leaving you two behind. No, I don't make a habit of leaving defenceless girls unprotected, so I'll protect you - if you need it now we're...like this. I just wanted to give you the choice, as when people work with me, I want to know it's their choice. Good job with the medical work, by the way."

He pauses, thinking over her name. "Flower, huh...that part fits you, although I don't see how you're wilting. Quite the opposite, in fact. What does the 'Twice-Conquered East' mean, though? Only place that comes to mind is Thorns, and I would've thought I'd have heard if a girl as impressive as you got out with the rest of us..." He trails off in thought, trying to figure it out. He was evidently overestimating the breadth of his contacts, and apparently still hadn't noticed the ears and tail.

[Elfbird]

Ophelia remains frozen through the Dragon Blood's departure and the tavern at large picking itself up to leave. As the haze from her trance and the pain in her arm begin to subside, recognition begins to trickle in, leaving her equally dumbstruck.

A... an actual god hast answered mine actual prayer with an actual miraculous appearance.

Those people art glowing. I'm glowing. The Raksha gaveth our table magical food and now we art glowing. No, we've Exalted. The Raksha gaveth our table magical food and now we art Exalted. Anathema to the Realm, heroes to the people, veritable gods among mortals, crossed from the verses of legend to the room before mine very eyes. Was it the food...?

Mine fellow Exalted art departing. Mayhaps I ought not dally he-- Nazir? The Nazir Taran, the Dawn King?! I wouldn't have thought a legendary swordsman would look quite so... Oh my! The Cursed Wind belonged to Captain Bilebeard the Scourge, didn't it? The treasures he must have... maybe even artifacts! From the First Age! Yet to attach myself to such a man... Oh, I shudder to think... Perhaps if I attach mineself to the other lady... cat... person... we might vouchsafe each other's innocence...?

Seeing said redhead running out of the tavern, Ophelia finally shakes her reverie and scrambles to catch up to the group, aiming particularly for where Bilebeard and Nazir walk at the fore.

"M-Milords! Ophelia Knight, master bladesmith, at yer service! Er, ah, well, I make lotsa things, but blades art mine specialty! Pray allow me attend thy legendary selves; ye won't regret it! That is, uh, if'n we might swing by Mt. Calista in th' northeastern plains t' collect mine tools...?"

[Vrock_Summoner]

Flower’s face freezes, her eyes seeming to run dozens of calculations to process what she just heard, before she loudly responds, ”You’re from Thorns too!?” She shakes her head, trying to compose herself. “Er, sorry, I, uh... didn’t ‘get out of there’ with anyone. I actually only escaped naught but two weeks ago. But... wow, another survivor... Who’d have imagined...”

[aturtledoesbite]

Bilebeard doesn't slow down, but he wasn't particularly going fast to begin with. Looks like all these Exalted are coming. The Cursed Wind is going to be lively for a while, won't it? At least the mercenary-looking one can bring men. And this...bladesmith girl; would be much cheaper to have weapons made on the ship than buy them. The one with the chain did pretty well against the raksha. And the silvery one...well, she's quite the sight, ain't she?

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"I be Captain Bilebeard, of the Cursed Wind. The docks be fairly close...for Nexus, at least. Now that we're all acquainted, I didn't make it here by lettin' Imperial bastards have enough time t' set a trap."

With that, he picks up the pace, starting to run toward the docks.

[Hypersmith]

Milwe shakes his head. It was an odd time to start introductions, especially with all the blazing auras around. Still, can't go missing out. He nods amicably to Flower. "Flower will do just fine. Imagine trying to shout your whole name out when you're in trouble. It's a recepie for more I tell you." He grins as his eyes flick over the tail and ears. "Flower is just the sort of name people give cats, isn't it? And cats are a thiefs best friend. If you listen, they'll teach you how to walk quietly."

He easily keeps up with Bilebeard's pace and manages to speak at the same time. "I'm Milwe, of Chiaroscuro." Then smiles at Ophelia, amused at her excitement. He didn't know any of these people, and he was a known and wanted thief lord, so she was probably talking about him. "I'm surprised my name has made it this far already! I should pay more attention to who I rob. And hey! Bilebeard - I actually made it here because they laid a trap for me. Hah! Though this one does seem like it could be more serious...

[fibericon]

The streets clear in front of you. And behind. And to the sides. Most people never thought they would have to witness something like this. Doors and windows are slammed shut. Screams of "anathema" carry throughout the area. Mercenary companies aren't going to engage you without being paid to do so, at least. That only leaves the city guard.

By the time you reach the docks, your animas have died down to a coruscant aura. At least now, you're only visible for blocks instead of miles. Still, stealth is impossible. Guards spot you coming and blow their whistles. It isn't long before those in the area have assembled against you. Saying the guards of Nexus are underequipped and underpaid would normally be a bad joke, but against five exalts, they absolutely are. This is especially true when Nazir's elite join him.

A scale of city guards versus a scale of mercenaries, four solars, and a lunar. There aren't a whole lot of ways this goes. Their commanding officer steps forward.

"We've received word of the death you've left in your wake, anathema. Even as we speak, more of the city guard are mobilizing. You'll never make it out of Nexus. You're only making it worse on yourselves. Surrender quietly, and it'll all be over."

[Volthawk]

Nazir's grin becomes a smile when Flower says she's from Thorns, nodding. "More than just me. I was injured in the battle for Thorns, and when the battle was lost my men were able to get out. They and another scale then became the basis for my company, building up resources and men with the hope of eventually retaking the city. I'd always dreamed of it, but never thought I'd succeed, not until now. With this power...I think it might be possible, with time and effort."

The reactions of the townspeople doesn't bother Nazir much - it's what he expected, but he knew the truth. The reactions of his soldiers were more or a concern, but with their history it didn't take long to get them back on his side and following his lead. They also remembered to bring his sword, which Nazir appreciated. With his men behind him, he felt much more comfortable about what was to come.

When the commanding officer steps forward and sets out an ultimatum, Nazir chuckles. This man's bravery was commendable, but you didn't need Nazir's understanding of battle to see that the guards were vastly outmatched. He looks to one side at Bilebeard before stepping forwards, expecting the pirate to join him - after all, the man had proved quite good at this before. Really, he expected the pirate to do most of the intimidation and although he'd help, Nazir mostly wanted to get closer in case things became violent. With a gesture, he orders his men to be ready for combat, if they fail, then starts talking.

"We have not killed anyone today. The raksha you see unconscious with us is the one who killed them, and was defeated by us. I'm happy for that to be the last battle today, but only if you stand aside. If you don't, then I won't insult you by explaining what will happen next. I'm sure you're wise enough to see the result of battle here."

[Hypersmith]

Milwe walks forward couple steps, hands raised, and stops nearby Nazir. Then his face splits into a wide, wide grin. "Oh this is gonna be fun"
He waves the captain's scabbard in one hand, and his helmet in the other. He doesn't seem to have moved. To all appearances, the captain's things simply left his person and appeared in Milwe's hands. He drops them on the ground, still beaming. "Listen to the dangerous guy - Nazir. Just pretend you didn't see us!"
Stealing from plain sight spirit 5 motes +1 mote to avoid adding to Anima.

[aturtledoesbite]

Bilebeard looks at the guard captain and his men. Then he breaks out into laughter.

"Ga-ha-ha-ha-ha! I always thought workin' in Nexus was a job for th' suicidal, but I didn't expect t' see an entire scale of 'em line up t' die!"

He shifts the raksha over to his other arm, grabbing his axe with his now-free left hand. He didn't need two for this rabble.

With a toothy grin (well, as toothy as he can get considering he's missing a few), he continues, "Now...which of ye wants t' be first?"

[fibericon]

The captain draws his sword... or he would, had it still been on his person. It seemed to suddenly dawn on him what magnitude of threat the solars posed. After all, a difficult fight was one thing, but they could remove his ability to fight altogether.

"Fine. You get on your thrice-damned ship and get out of Nexus, and we'll have no reason to pursue you."

He orders his men to stand down, and they make way for you.

However, not everyone is as intent to let you go. On another ship at the docks, the apparent captain is watching you intently. You can't hear him from here, but you can read his lips:

"They're exiting through the docks at the inner pool. I'll disable their ship as soon as they clear Nexus."

[Elfbird]

Ophelia is at first horrified at her new companions' generally violent ways, but in the exchange with the guard captain comes to realize that this is their way of resolving things without fighting. Father had liked to say that the greatest warriors need never draw their swords. Her respect for the rough-looking men increases substantially.

On the way through the parted soldiers, Ophelia somehow notices the other captain's gaze above all the other sets of eyes on her. The scenario instantly captures her imagination: Bilebeard the Scourge's fated rival, sick of always being one-upped by the Pirate King, casts aside his pride and allies with the city's forces and the Wyld Hunt for the chance to take down the Cursed Wind. Little do they know that Nazir Taran has come aboard, and with his bow as true as his sword, the poor captain will be sent running once again...

She stares at the Dragon Blood captain for so long that she realizes both that he is speaking and that she can read his lips. She was sure she couldn't do that before. Another of the many powers of the Exalts...?

"Captain Bilebeard, sir," she whispers with all the subtlety she showed when giving Flower her dagger. "That boat o'er yonder means to pursue us. Dragon Blood magic, I reckon. Mayhap we ought dissuade them a'fore settin' sail? 'Twould be a fine prank for Lord Milwe t' have off the captain's pants, methinks - though might incense as sure as belay."

[aturtledoesbite]

Once they're on the Cursed Wind, Bilebeard looks over at the ship Ophelia points out. "They think to outsail me, do they? Hah! None of 'em could catch me in a fair fight, I promise ye that. Though...it ain't a habit o' mine t' play fair."

He pulls aside one of his men, telling them to go fetch a few of the flaming arrows they keep stored. With them, he walks over to Nazir. "Ye've a sharp eye with that bow, yeah? Once that ship hoists anchor and's out o' th' dock, use these t' take care of their sails. That'll keep 'em busy long enough t' lose 'em."

[Hypersmith]

Milwe clambers aboard the Cursed Wind and begins looking up towards the rigging immediately. Ophelia mentioning him brings his attention back for a few more seconds.
"I can't do much do much from here. You'd need to bring me right up to their boat, put us side to side to be able to do anything. Even then, I don’t think I can get the pants off someone a little more aware, like him."
He starts eyeing the rigging again, and undoes his chain off his wrist. "So he's all yours. Anyone fancy a climb? Flower? Cat instincts kicking in there?"

[Vrock_Summoner]

Flower pokes at her arm in the spot where muscle would be if she weren’t just skin and bones, and laughs sheepishly. ”Sorry, handsome. Cat or no cat, I’m a nerd, not an athlete. I’m not even sure I can lift my own body weight by my upper arm strength, much less climb with any speed...”

[Hypersmith]

Milwe's eyebrows shoot up. "No climbing? You're missing out! Here, let me show you." He scoops Flower up before she can protest, and with a running start, dashes up the mast, stopping at the top and setting her down. He's grinning like a madman.
"Ain't this great?!"

1 personal mote spent on wall climbing technique.

[fibericon]

Once the enemy ship has started moving, Nazir looks over at Bilebeard and nods, before looking back at the ship. He draws and fires the bow with incredible speed, so much so that observers only notice that he's fired once the arrow is already in flight, tearing through the other ship's sails and setting them alight.

Nazir nods, satisfied with his shot, before looking back at Bilebeard. "Will that do?"


Bilebeard surveys the burning sail. "Aye, that'll do." Looking up at the two monkeying around the top of the rigging, he grabs a spyglass and tosses it up there. He yells up there so they can hear, "If the two of ye're gonna lounge about up there, make yerselves useful 'n' keep an' eye out!"


The dragon blood stomps the hull, and wind spirits coalesce around his ship, making the waters choppy. His crew pours out from below deck, and provides covering fire with longbows. The arrows go over the heads of the crew, making them duck reflexively, before you all realize that was the point - they're buying their commander time.


Ophelia had always found prayer to be a source of familiarity and comfort. Often she felt unseen gods and spirits were her company and comfort, especially when she and her parents butted heads and after they were gone. Tending the ancient shrine they made their home near proved a soothing break from the workshop, and making weapons to offer there gave her purpose and drive to perfect her craft.

Today was putting her in an especially prayerful mood.

"Captain! They're summoning wind spirits! If they repair the sail, even the Cursed Wind won't outrun them! I'm going to try something!"
Recalling the stories of another god, one to whom she prayed to relieve her parents' nightmares of war and the pains of hungry summers, Ophelia walks to the side of the ship and spreads her arms wide, sleeves catching the wind, and performs a series of semaphore-like kata - though any actual semaphore meaning is coincidental. She calls her prayer strongly into the wind, that it might be carried off into the heavens.

"He Who Flies on Ocher Wings and Plucks the Cactus's Thorns, we cry to you for succor! If these ships clash, many will die in vain, for no crime greater than following a foolhardy leader! Spare us this suffering and open the way to life!"
She speaks the final part quietly, from the heart instead of from the diaphragm, while drawing her last dagger from its sheath.
"In Your name I pluck the first thorn."
She points it toward herself - a symbolic rather than threatening gesture - and then tosses it overboard for the wind to catch.

The formal part of the prayer over, she turns and dashes across the deck, grabbing at arrows that stuck in the wood until she reaches the opposite rail, and tosses those over as well - the "plucking of thorns" to disarm the metaphorical cactus and access its life-giving flesh and water. Though He Who Flies comes from the desert, her parents taught her that He has just as much place on the arid plains where she grew up - and, it would follow, on the sea where drinking water is scarce.


The results of Ophelia's prayer are subtle... to everyone other than Bilebeard and the dragon blood captain, who both know exactly what just took place. The tides had spontaneously turned against the other captain, who would now have significant navigation issues to avoid scraping his ship on the debris and rocks at the bottom of the canal.


Seeing the other ship losing distance, already out of range of his men, Nazir steps forwards, leaving his officer to handle the men as he moves to the rear of the ship, perched on the edge with his bow in hand. The other ship was far, but his bow could handle the distance and he could handle the difficulty of the shot.

When he focuses, the world outside still slows down to him, and he uses that as he watches the enemy ship, picking out the captain and getting used to the movement of the ships. When he's ready, he fires a barrage of arrows in rapid succession aimed straight at the captain - three to put him off guard, followed by a final carefully aimed arrow intended for the dragon's skull. Around him, his anima starts flaring anew, reinforcing the message being sent - the captain is outmatched.


The spirits surrounding the captain attempt to knock the arrows off course, and for the most part, they succeed. The final arrow cuts through his defenses and strikes, leaving him wounded in front of his crew.
He shrugs it off for now, grimacing at the arrow in his shoulder briefly before turning to his troops. He rallies them to douse the flames, all the while losing precious time as Bilebeard's ship gets further away.


But the dragon blooded vessel never makes it out of the canal - at least not in time to catch up to the rest of you. Once out of sight of the docks, you hear a voice from atop the captain's cabin.

"Jesters of the sun king. Plaything of the fickle moon."

A woman in a grey fur cloak is perched atop a ledge, looking down at the party. Strapped to her back is a bow and quiver. What you can see of the rest of her clothing appears to consist of simple leathers, but Ophelia can see the truth - every part of this woman's attire and equipment costs more than the average person makes in a year. The cost of the cloak alone could have fed a small town through the winter.

Orange hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, but even this isn't as it seems at first glance. Her appearance is immaculate. Nary a grain of dust even on the bottom of her boots. Not a blemish, not a scar or birthmark dots her flawless skin. Her very presence commands the attention of everyone onboard. The mortals among you have been stunned completely to silence. The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East feels a brief pang of jealousy at being outdone.

"You have defeated an enemy of mine, but it yet lives. I must ask your intentions."

[fibericon]

As you drift to sleep, something comes to you in the night. Something pointy and rude, jabbing you in the ribs. A small voice to your left does its very best to be gruff.

"En Garde, foul creature! I, Bilebeard the Second, challenge you to single combat!"

Ophelia sleepily waves an arm in the vicinity of the disturbance, reflexivly grabbing at it while her brain is busy pulling itself out of the mire of overload-induced sleep.

Your hand hits upon a mess of hair, and there's a yelp just before the owner jumps away.

"Just as I expected from such a horrific foe - terrifying reflexes, even whilst pretending to sleep. Your trickery will not work on me!"

"Nnnh...? Milwe said demons would cometh..."
Ophelia rolls onto her back, curiosity mingled with alarm the growing force that would wake her up.

Now in sight is a small child, in similar (though notably better taken care of) clothing to Bilebeard's. She grins confidently, placing her hands on her hips - one of which is holding a wooden sword.

"Demons? Oh ho ho! Your backup won't save you!"

Ophelia pushes herself to sitting, one hand propping her up while the other rubs her face. Her nausea has subsided to a bearable baseline, and interest in the immediate situation pulls her mind away from more difficult thoughts.

"Art thou mechanical or biological...?"

Her expression changes to confusion, and she scratches her head with the point of her sword.

"Huh? Speak Low Realm!"

"Apologies. Thy body, is it flesh an' blood or wood an' metal?"

"Um... flesh and blood. You're weird. And you're not fighting me, so... I'm Bilebeard the Second! The true captain of this ship! You must be a stowaway!"

"Ophelia Knight, master smith. 'Tis a pleasure. Th' bigger Bilebeard invited us aboard. Thou ain't th' same person, art thou? Doth Captain Bilebeard shrink under th' moon's light, thus accessin' like a ghost the tiniest o' holes in every lair he's plundered...?"

"Um... I think you mean my dad. I hid below when everything started happening. Uh, only because there would be no one to sail the ship if I went down, of course!"

"I see. Mine condolences then."
Ophelia lays back down on her side, using one arm as a pillow. With the potential danger allayed, she slips back toward slumber.

"Hey!" She jabs with the wooden sword again. "You need to earn your keep if you want passage on my ship!"

"Nnng..."
Ophelia rolls away from the jab to her other side, then sits herself back up.

"Thou wouldst have me... play with thee? Ain't it past thy bedtime?"

"Well... no one told me anything, so... okay!"

"Very well. Ah reckon Ah can manage a yawn game or two..."

She dusts herself off and rolls into a polite kneeling position.

"What wouldst the dread little captain bid of her captive Anathema?"

The child offers a highly exaggerated gasp.

"Anathema?! It's worse than I thought!" She gestures wildly with her sword. "All men on deck! Man the... heist... sail... rafters! Fire!"

She has quite a ways to go before she can take over for her father.

Ophelia makes a show of being blown back, falling in slow-motion from invisible cannonfire. As she goes down, something lights up inside her: the innocence radiating from this child, the sense of purity in playing with her. This is something worth protecting; something worth reshaping the world for.

As she comes to a rest on the floor yet again, that inner light overflows into the outside world. A rose-gold casket of light forms around her, then is transfixed by four swords. As she rises again, a rose engraved on the lid begins to blossom. She stands on her hands and knees, and the whole ensemble shatters into a perpetual shower of shining petals around her.

"Thinkst thou thy arrows and cannons shalt vanquish Anathema? Come, Bilebeard the Second, come and show thy valor!"

She raises a clawed hand - really a catlike gesture more than a threatening one - and waits for the girl's reaction. She's not entirely aware of herself, her sleepy mind drawing from half-remembered stories and games she and her father once shared.

Her eyes go wide at the display of essence, and she forgets what she's doing momentarily. All she can do is stare entranced, but it's a far cry from the reactions you received in Nexus. Perhaps the lack of carnage had something to do with that. Or perhaps... your anima, on its own, simply doesn't provoke the same reaction. She takes a step toward your light, but then, your continued performance snaps her out of it. She giggles and lunges forward, stabbing repeatedly in your general direction.

"Ah! My foe yet lives! Hyah! Take that! Hehe!"

Ophelia bats at the sword as it comes near her, making an effort to alter her giggles into evil laughter. When an opening presents itself, she lunges forward between sword blows...

...And boops the girl gently on the nose, mindful to show teeth when she smiles widely at the cuteness to maintain the veneer of menace.

She leaves herself open while transfixed by the moment and the girl's adorable face; when the sword inevitably comes back, she takes the blow and falls aside with a dying gurgle.

"Doth thou... see now, Bilebeard? Through valor an' wits... an' a kind heart... thou hast undone... what no armies..."

She reaches out for a final boop.

"...couldst..."

She falls still, even holding her breath for a dramatic beat to allow the girl her reaction before breaking character.

She jumps up and down wildly, cheering and laughing. "Yay! This is my greatest victory ever!"

After an appropriate wait, Ophelia bursts up from the floor, both arms raised so that her sleeves flop down in her face.

"AH AM HEALED! Praise Bilebeard th' Hero!"

She then settles back down and lets herself laugh sincerely along with Bilebeard the Second for a while. That does more to soothe her own spirits than any amount of sleep could have.

Bilebeard the Second stretches and yawns. "Ignore that... I have plenty of..." Another yawn punctuates her sentence, "...Time before bed."

Ophelia reaches over to ruffle Littlebeard's hair, calling her bluff.

"Y'know, little girls have'ta get lotsa rest t' groweth big an' strong. Show me where thou wouldst sleep an' Ah'll tuck ye in, okay?"

"I'm already big and strong... but I guess I can be bigger and stronger..."

She starts wandering off toward her own room - a very small area closed off from the rest of the sleeping quarters.

Ophelia follows her, and tucks her in snugly as promised. The warm feeling in her chest reminds her of her mother, with a sort of bittersweet tug that she's only half aware of.

"Thou art a very special person, Littlebeard. Ah'm mighty glad t' have met thee. Mine thanks."

No response. She's out like a light.

Ophelia softly hums a little lullaby anyway. Before she knows it, she's passed out sideways on whatever surface saw fit to catch her.

When sleep takes you again, you find yourself in featureless surroundings. A man stands before you - largely human, save for his four arms. They bear a lance, a shield, a laurel branch, and a horn. The blazing iconic anima is unmistakable. This is the sun - The Unconquered Sun. Your patron. The greatest of gods. And he has seen fit to bestow you, personally, with a piece of his own power. But you know, as he looks upon you with the warmth of his glow, that he sees the weakening of himself a small price to pay for empowering you.

Ophelia quickly glances around and dusts herself off - a nervous habit related to her profession and being unaccustomed to presenting herself around other people, let alone important ones - then drops into a bow with her forehead on the indistinct ground.

"T-T-T-Thy Radiance!"

"No no, there's no need for that. Please rise. We have much to discuss. It is good to see you finally ascend to your true beginning, Ophelia. You aren't the first of my chosen to return, nor will you be the last. In fact, some have already lost their way. And it just breaks my heart to look at all the pain they've caused. People condemned as creatures of darkness, crusades in my name, as if I've ever advocated genocide. But you can't help them all. You have your own circle to protect."

Ophelia, bewildered, does as told and rises. She unconsciously finds something she can understand and latches on to it.
"Th-thy shield an' lance... Mayst I study th' craftsmanship?"

"Of course. They were made by mortal crafters, after all. I've taken these symbols as aspects of my being. But you may yet bring more than war."

Ophelia absently nods. Something about the experience prompts her to open her heart while her mind is busy reeling.

"The First Age was a golden age, full o' wonders an' beauty both technological and o' th' human heart. But peace an' luxury gave way t' vanity an' greed; th' world we haveth now art the price of our failin's. Can we have learned from our mistakes an' recover the utopia we lost, but better for our trials...?"

"That is up to you and yours, and the others may well need your help to get there. Nezir is a proud warrior, but legendary is the rage of a dawn caste. Point his blade in the right direction. Milwe will carry a burden none can help with. Sometimes, understanding is all we can offer. Bilebeard… well. He means well, and he's more than he seems. And finally, the lunar you're travelling with: lunars were always meant to stand by the side of solars, but do not ever mistake her for being under your thumb. Luna is nothing if not clever, and I fear The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East will make a grievous mistake my own chosen once made so long ago."

"...Why me?"

"You're of the zenith caste, Ophelia. A priest. Among those closest to me, and those expected to carry my own will to creation. Yes, The First Age has come and gone, and there are those who call today 'The Age of Sorrows', but perhaps this new age can outshine the last. It will take great care on your part, but I believe in you. After all, exaltations do not simply choose people at random. Ah, but that look of concern...

You're young, Ophelia, but a lot is expected of you. You will be expected to guide your circle, but at the same time, never make them feel that you seek to control them. You aren't the youngest solar - there have been those that exalted before their teenage years. And a small child with the power to decimate an army is far more frightening than an adult with the same power. Be wary of how people perceive you for this reason.

It's much to take in, and much to overcome. Any mere mortal would have faltered long ago. But you are no such thing, are you? Look at your hands. Look at how hard you work. Look at the pain you're willing to endure to make this world hurt less. These are not the acts of a selfish girl."

Ophelia nods, numbly at first, but with growing acceptance.

"...Ah can do it. Ah can remind th' others that every battle is for th' sake of buildin' a world where Bilebeard the Second, and th' Third an' Fourth, an' people like her (and me) can grow up happily. And when the swords are lowered an' the fires die down, mine hammer shalt be th' first at work t' raise up th' foundations o' that world."

...Her confidence and resolve are somewhat out of character; she'd likely be a lot more hesitant if this weren't a dream and the Unconquered Sun weren't standing right in front of her.

He smiles again, having seen what he was looking for.

"Come see me during calibration, at the Circle of Meetings. I suspect, you will have much to teach me."

"Eh...? A-Ah'm not sure what thou meanst, but if'n ye have tools Ah can try t' calibrate thee right now...?"

"You'll know." And just like that, he's gone.

Ophelia is left with her confused thoughts, which quickly spiral back into dreams of the less lucid variety. Clockwork pirates march on a tiny fortress, which she cackles over menacingly while bearing the Unconquered Sun's lance and shield. When the pirates overrun the fort, the arms melt into golden puddles and she bends over to work with a toothpick-sized hammer and pliers.
When she's done, the pirates are dressed in soldier's regalia and patrol the fortress rather than assail it, and everything is glided. Others have come to watch her work, but when her mother and father appear with a pony and a Warstrider - both also gilded - she runs away from the growing crowd to greet those them.

It gets weird and fuzzy when the sun reaches down tendrils of fire and tickles her until she can't breathe, then flares her Anima and suddenly has the power to braid the tendrils together with moonbeams which harden into beautiful blades for the mole-men to eat.

[Hypersmith]

You're woken up by a sudden noise. A deep voice very near your face. "Welcome back." A cat sits on your chest - black as the night sky. Even its eyes are completely pitch black.

Milwe lays still, desperately wanting to close his eyes, but knowing it won't make a difference. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight rise and fall with his breath. He breathes a quick question. "It's time, huh?"

"Not yet. This is just a friendly visit. Did you enjoy the gifts I gave you? You may have not yet realized it, but you can do things your brethren cannot. That was my gift to you. But as the petty goddess told your sister: nothing for free. Though such sacrifices are beneath me. To wound an ally is to make them less useful, or worse, shorten their lifespan. No, that won't do at all. I do want to see you succeed in all facets of life, after all."

"There's going to be a price to pay sometime. Things like this don't just happen. I've become, within a day, enough a thief to do what it would take me and twenty -no- forty men to do before. So when it's time to pay the debt, you'll be there. I hate the Order, but I see no lie."

"Oh, is that what you think this is? Curious. The propaganda machine is well oiled, but... oh, but that gives me wonderful ideas. Let me explain: I can't exist in the daylight. This complicates matters for me. There are certain things I need done that, as a result, I'm simply incapable of doing. Ah, but you have your own worries at the moment. Burdening you with mine simply won't do. Without your focus, how can I expect your success? I will wait for you to… settle. Don't make me wait too long, solar. Just know that your aid will be required."

A nervous smile snakes across Milwe's lips. "What, and the fact one of the Wretched is approached by a being that can't exist in light is meant to be reassuring? Ah well. Waiting more won't help my focus, it'll drive me insane. What do you want me to do?"

"You misunderstand. The solars are glorious. I cannot exist in the sun, because I am its shadow. But I digress. What do you know of the calendar spirits?"

"I didn't even know the calendar had spirits."

"Oh yes. I suggest speaking to your priestess. She would give a more... objective viewpoint. I seek to bring them under heel. Where they belong."

"I'll ask her I guess. And how am I supposed to help you do that?"

"Certain satraps favor them. Care to steal a province?"

Milwe shifts a little. The thief in him thought nothing was more exciting. The part that wanted to see justice meted out was still uncomfortable. "If I stay in charge of it once you're done, it might be tempting."

"I wouldn't dream of being in charge of it. That sounds like the sort of thing the lawgivers, like you all, would do. Well, the seed has been planted. Until we meet again." With that, the cat dematerializes into a wisp of smoke before vanishing completely.

Milwe grits his teeth to resist the urge to shout in frustration. It would have been easier if it was just possession and a loss of his will. He continues to bite down, hard enough that a tooth cracks - he reflexively opens wide at the pain and hisses, then sits up and cradles his jaw for a minute, thinking.

"The lawgivers. Glorious solars. Propaganda. Gifts, and free will. All so nice if true."

He lays back down, but the worries overwhelm him now, so he lays in the darkness, unable to sleep, watching till the first rays of light announce the return of the day. For a moment, he wonders if it would burn him away to smoke, then nothingness. Eventually, he makes his way to the deck. It was time to clear his mind.

With the chain and sai down on the ground in front of him, he stands with his feet wide apart. Slowly, agonizingly so, he begins the first motion of the Kata, sliding one leg back to center mass, bending the other knee, twisting the hips, lowering the opposite hand to strike, raising the other to maintain balance. Partway through his exercise, the sun has risen, and he smiles despite the sweat at the effort of maintaining his pace.

[Elfbird]

Ophelia wakes up on the floor again - either the ship rolled her off or Littlebeard kicked her off.
Her body is stiff and vaguely nauseous, but her heart and mind feel exceptionally refreshed. Not unlike the anticipation she feels before setting out for Nexus every year: a grand adventure is on the horizon, this one unlike any she's undertaken before, and yet all those adventures in her youth were like preparation for this one and all that might follow.

Of all the stories her father passed down to her, which she in turn will pass onto the next generation, some of them will feature her now.

Her spirit thus inspired, she eases her body into motion and finds her way up to the deck, grabbing a mop along the way. She greets Milwe with a smile and bow, stands a respectful distance away, and begins her own warm-up with the mop standing in for a spear. Her style is much simpler and less intense than Milwe's kata; it resembles military spear drills more than anything, but with non-martial dance movements thrown in. The effect is graceful, certainly, but somehow a little childish, lacking the refinement of either a true soldier or dancer.

With her back to the rising sun - to avoid blinding herself - her elongated shadow flies across the deck in exaggerated motions that make it appear to spar with the shins of Milwe's equally long shadow on the other side of the deck. It's reminiscent of Blackbeard the Second coming up so short against Ophelia last night.

[Hypersmith]

Milwe keeps his concentration on perfecting the movements of the Kata. Though he notes Ophelia's presence, keeping his balance at such a slow pace consumes too much of his concentration to do much else. Despite his best efforts at stalling, the exercise comes to end, and he walks back and forth a little on the deck to limber his legs with quicker movements. He watches Ophelia's form out of the corner of his eye as he does. There were better ways it could be done. A proper weapon would do wonders to correct the overcompensating step there, and there were a few movements that looked pretty, but wouldn't serve much purpose in working the correct muscles. The kind of thing a supernatural being could afford to do.

His attention locks onto her shadow for a few moments, it's movements impossibly fast and light, flickering across the deck and back, a caricature of her form. He smiles at the greatly elongated mop's form, picking up his own weapons. A prettier exercise could be a good opportunity to study them more. He gives his chain a few experimental swings, then tucks it away, picking up the sai instead. He moves to put his back to the sun and stand closer to Ophelia, careful not to intrude on her space, but closing the gap between them significantly nonetheless.

He spins the weapon on his palm, then allows it's momentum to translate to his index finger. It loops around it despite his touching only the blade, as though defying gravity. He gyrates his hand to keep the weapon going, even transferring it to spin on different fingers, even his wrist at points - he begins stretching his arm out to begin a basic Kata, this time at an accelerated pace. He speaks to Ophelia with ease, and a tad of merriment to his tone.

"Good morning! We're all still possessing our senses, the sun is rising, and I have wonderful new acquaintances to spend time with. Now that it's a little calmer, how about we take a moment for proper introductions over some breakfast?"

[fibericon]

When Ophelia explains the location of her home to Bilebeard, it becomes obvious that she'd have had a lot easier time getting to Nexus by ship. West along the Yanaze River, north along the River of Tears, and finally East to the end of Avarice River would bring them within a few hours walk - at the cost of about two thousand miles of sailing. If the more direct route - about a thousand miles across land - sounds faster at first blush, you don't know Bilebeard's ship. Not to mention the fact that Ophelia can probably curry some favor with certain spirits to get the ship going even faster.

The major downside to this plan is obvious - once you're at the end of Avarice River, there's only one way out. If the wyld hunt decided to put up a blockade, you might find yourselves in trouble. Of course, Bilebeard is feeling plenty confident about the ship under him - even moreso than usual. Whether everyone else feels that way remains to be seen. Either way, the party has a non-trivial amount of travel ahead of them, and the perils of the wyld hunt to battle.

What will it be, celestials?

[Volthawk]

In the morning, Nazir eats as he works, studying the maps Bilebeard had of the area and thinking. When the others start arriving to eat, he calls them over to join the planning. His first question, though, is for Bilebeard.

"Bilebeard, you've had encounters with the Realm's naval forces, right? If we were to sail there and they did attempt a blockade, do you have any thoughts on where they'd be, roughly speaking?"

[fibericon]

It takes several days to make your way up to the end of the Avarice River. Moving toward the limits of Hawkrider Range on foot is a lot slower, especially when you get to the mountainous region. Granted, the mountains in this area aren't much, especially not for the likes of you. Ophelia leads the group through a final mountain pass, and her childhood home comes into view.

Only this time, it's different. There's a pulling at her chest that she never felt before. She's almost forcibly drawn home. Something has changed, but it's not here. It's her.

[fibericon]

It seems that the wyld hunt didn't know to head them off at the pass, because Flower and Ophelia make it to their destination without issue. The front line is quiet. How much time would the three be given to prepare? Hours? Minutes? Would it matter? If the wyld hunt is marching an army, they're well and truly far behind.

An arrow sails out of nowhere at Nazir's head, and his blade comes up to bat it away before he even realizes it's there. Five dragonbloods have approached from your right - two of which you've seen before. The man in the tavern and the ship captain.

The large man with short red hair that you met in the tavern stands at the forefront, wielding a jade smashfist, and clad in a reinforced buff jacket. Directly to his left is a darker skinned man with a shaved head. He's short and stocky, clothed in a reinforced buff jacket, and carrying a dire lance. Slightly behind them and to the left is the ship captain, wearing lamellar and carrying a wavecleaver daiklaive. Behind them are two women - perhaps one was the sister mentioned? One has disheveled brown hair, barely reaching her shoulders, and an olive skin tone, that almost seems to have a green hue to it. The arrow may have come from her - she carries a long powerbow, and wears a reinforced breastplate. The woman on her right is lithe and pale, her long, bluish blond hair animated by a slight breeze only she can feel. She carries a simple longbow, but also a reaper daiklaive, and wears lamellar.

Nazir identifies the olive-skinned woman as Violet Forest. She's a Lookshy native with a large family (though that goes without saying). More importantly, she commands a full talon of strictly disciplined soldiers.

The battle rages on for an extended period. Bounteous Ox and Violet Forest focus their attacks on Nazir to keep him away from Diamond Knife Maiden. Violet Forest's anima springs to life - a massive, blooming hellebore. But Nazir's skill proves too much for either of them to land a blow.

They didn't need to.

Diamond Knife Maiden makes the Sign of the Hooded Headsman. Her essence congeals into a barbed chain, and in the blink of an eye, shoots toward Bilebeard. His severed head hits the ground, and the reality of the wyld hunt becomes much more apparent. No peace talks. No white flags. No mercy.

But the solars eventually wear down the dragon bloods, and summarily execute them. Poisoned, injured, and exhausted, they now have to inform Bilebeard's daughter of his demise.

[Volthawk]

Nazir leaves the site of the battle without doing much to it, preferring to get the others and just take a moment to recover before having to deal with it all - they'd probably know what to do with the bodies better.

The scene that meets him - someone in some kind of magitech armour, armed with a golden spear, and Flower - was not quite what he expected, and his dulled wits means he takes a little longer than usual to respond, deciding to be more cautious after what he just went through. His eyes focus on Flower, the fatigue and injury not quite stopping him from noticing that she seems fine and alright with the other person. He doesn't, however, catch on that Ophelia is absent or make any connections along those lines quite yet."Flower...what's going on here?"

[Hypersmith]

Milwe takes a moment to wrap his chain around himself. The weight feels more like a burden than a comfort at the moment, but such is the nature of these things. He trudges along behind Nazir, mumbling to himself about fixing his clothes and taking in the girl, getting her back to the desert to meet the rest of the family, finding the time to take care of her and fight whatever was wrong with him, hope it didn't get worse with -

He almost bumps into Nazir, and sensing the tension and seeing the armor, pulls his Sai from his belt. He gives Flower an apologetic shrug and tired grin, but his heart isn't in it and it shows. It shouldn't be that bad. Hopefully. She was frail enough to go down quickly.

[Elfbird]

Ophelia sprints the last few hundred meters across the plain to her home. Though it's scarcely been a fortnight since she left, so much has happened - so much weight placed on her shoulders - that it feels like a lifetime since she worked the forge.
The moment she sets foot within the mountain kami's domain, she's wrapped in a feeling of comfort - you will always have a home - but it's juxtaposed with a feeling of tension, of movement. This is her home, but it's not where she needs to be right now. Her steps and gestures are filled with that impetus even as she enjoys the dual familiarity and novelty of showing Flower - her first-ever guest - around her humble house and workshop.

After the tour of the living areas, Ophelia asks Flower's help with "somethin' mine father left me" and leads her into the catacombs inside the mountain proper.
She touches the rough-hewn walls fondly, and begins speaking in a strange mix of prayer language and casual conversation - perhaps as one might speak at a loved one's grave.

O Heart o' the Mountain, I thank thee for watching o'er mine hearth and home. Thy kindness art more comfort than I can rightly tell. So much hast transpired: I hath fallen into companionship with the legendary Nazir Taran and Captain Bilebeard, and a secret prince and princess of the old Thorns which Father spoke of, and together we Exalted - Exalted! - and now flee the Realm as anathema. Alas that I have aught to offer thee, but surely I vow to return and repay thy long faithfulness ere I own the means of which. And... here."

Ophelia stops at a blocked tunnel and, with some effort, pries loose a certain rock that causes the rest of the blockage to collapse, revealing a small chamber where stands, under a dust-covered canvas tarp, a suit of elite magitek armor.

"Lady Flower, 'tis mine great pleasure to introduce thee to Gunny, mine father's old Gunzosha Commando powered armor from the olden days and the chief laborer of these mines. By mine reckoning, we shall have great need of his strength in the coming months, and I sense mine Exaltation qualifies his operation at... rather less of a price... Then, may I beg thy aid at arming?"

. . .

Ophelia sighs contentedly inside the Gunzosha. Attuning was far more comfortable now than the time she used Gunny to rescue her father from a mining accident. The gentle weight on her limbs, the easy strength behind them, and the growing warmth of the padded inside all recall to mind her father's embrace. After another moment's relaxation, she urges the machine to life, using the walk back out of the mountain to familiarize herself with its characteristics like a new and precious tool in her hand.

The helmet and breathing apparati distort her voice, making it sound cruel and impersonal if one isn't familiar with the cheerful tone beneath her formal dialect.

After starting to pack up the workshop's more portable components, Ophelia leaves Flower to the task for a moment to check on the old shrine. Something had been nagging at her, that feeling of being called - it wasn't satisfied by merely coming home. The gilded spear that had been there since before her family arrived...

Carefully ascending the wooden stairs in the heavy Gunzosha, and opening the door as gently as possible...

Images of The Unconquored Sun's golden spear transposed themselves over the orichalcum direlance enshrined before her. The tug at her heart physically urged her across the floor, which groaned terribly but bore the weight. The lance felt as natural in her hand as the Gunzosha itself, and drew upon her essence in much the same way. This is the moment all of us have been waiting for, she felt: the shrine and the lance and Heart-of-the-Mountain and all the forces that conspired to lead Ophelia to this point in her young life.

Ophelia Knight, The Heart at the End of Sorrow, chosen priestess of the Unconquored Sun. I'm awake now.
As Ophelia leaves the shrine and glances back to see what might be taking the men so long, Gunny's enhanced vision shows her the flared Animas and bloodsoaked grass that mark the finale of their battle. Unsure of the circumstance, and her elation subdued by the reality of pain and death, she marches back to Flower's side and stands guard against any further unseen assailants.

"Lady Flower," she says quietly in that harshly reverberating voice, "there has been battle, and much bloodshed. Make ready to treat our returning champions; the entirety of the workshop is at thy disposal. The forge is set, should thy arts have need of fire or steel."

She reacts warily to Milwe's halfheartedly hostile approach. To be under compulsion, or some manner of bargain or betrayal, and Captain Bilebeard's unexplained absence... She hates to think such things might be true, but there is precedent in story, and the gravity of recent events urges her to almost uncharacteristic caution.

"Ser Taran, Lord Milwe..." she echoes, "art thou well met?"

[Vrock_Summoner]

Flower quickly puts up her hands in a show of non-aggression and stands between the armored Ophelia and the other two. ”Hey, easy, you guys! It’s just Ophelia. Her father owned this suit of armor. Put down your weapons, please.” After the brief moment of panic to go with her explanation, a wave of concern washes over her face. “Holy carps up a waterfall, you guys are a mess. Please, step inside, I can treat your wounds. Where... did Bileeard get...?”

[Hypersmith]

Milwe watches carefully. It takes him a little longer than expected to notice that it isn't just a suit of armor in front of him. The Sai would probably be less than useful at getting through the joints of that thing.

He was spent anyway. If they were hostile, he was dead. He leans against the door frame. The wariness is still there, but it's overshadowed by fatigue.

"I'll talk to his daughter later. She'll probably need some time. We need to clean up the fight and bring him back to the crew to convince them to leave."

He still grips the Sai in hand as he takes a couple steps in and lies sprawled on the floor.

"If that thing is as strong as it looks, I'm officially asking to be carried back to the ship." His attempts at humor aren't accompanied by much of a smile from him.

[Elfbird]

Ophelia waits for a long breath. When it's clear that Milwe's collapse is no ruse, she leans the lance against a shelf and gingerly lifts Milwe up onto a cleared table in full sunlight.

"Lord Milwe, I shall carry thee and Ser Taran both, but anon must Lady Flower tend thy injuries. The health of the living before honor for the departed. Captain Bilebeard, doth he lie wounded yonder? Shall I fetch him, or ferry Lady Flower thence?

[Hypersmith]

Milwe sighs at Ophelia's further questions, then looks firm at her then Flower, holding the gaze.
"He passed quickly. Beheading."

[fibericon]

Flower of the Twice Conquered East recognizes the signs of poisoning on the spot. More than that, the sickly sweet fruity smell is unmistakable. This is from a wood aspected dragon blood. Strong men have died from brushing up against a dynast at the wrong time. Of course, Thorns knows. How they managed to distill paraldehyde from a dynast's anima is... something you don't want to think about. But at least it helped you learn how to treat its toxicity.

With Nazir and Milwe bandaged, they should heal rather quickly of their own accord. Another perk of your new status.

But something else occurs to you all. Violet Forest led an army in life. Citrine Mind Sage captained a ship. Bilebeard's crew may be in trouble.

[Volthawk]

Nazir just responds to the explanations with a nod, relaxing a little as he comes inside, taking a good look at the armour as he passes Ophelia. As he gets patched up and has the opportunity to recover and think more clearly, Nazir offers a more explanatory response to the girls' questions.

"We were attacked by five dynasts. Their sorcerer killed Bilebeard, but we managed to kill them before they killed us. While Bilebeard is coming back with us, to let the crew deal with him as they will, I'm less sure what to with the dynasts. We'll need their jade, and you two can figure out what to do with their bodies. It can wait until we ensure our people are safe, though. I've heard impressive impressive things about Violet Forest's troops, and while my men are damn good, they'll be outnumbered. I can't let them handle it alone."

[Hypersmith]

Milwe sits up sharply at the talk of further battle. "The kid! What are we doing wasting time here?

He pushes himself to his feet, heading for the door with great intent, regardless of his injuries.

[Vrock_Summoner]

”Woah there, hotshot! Ease up on the racing into danger, I just stopped the ‘bleeding to death’ thing!” She rushes over and catches him, then looks at the other two with an edge of sorrow in her eyes. “Look, I can carry Milwe. We’ll pick up... what we need to, from the battlefield. I hate to ask, but, Nazir, Ophelia, can you two rush ahead and try to deal with things at the ship? I think Milwe and I would just get killed at this point...”

[Hypersmith]

"They couldn't kill me then and they got the drop on me, what makes you think they can do any better now?" Milwe pouts. Even so, he stops, looking anxiously at Ophelia and Nazir. "Big and scary, both of you. Don't get full of yourselves and forget the kid. I'll be there quick."

[fibericon]

The scene at the end of the river is tense, but may yet be salvageable. Bilebeard's ship is blocked in, and the troops on either end are in position for battle. Because they're all well trained and not random thugs, they haven't started fighting without orders to do so. Bilebeard the second is nowhere to be seen.

Violet Forest's troops stand out from Citrine Mind Sage's crew. If one of the former falls into the water, they're sinking all the way to the bottom. That said, with a sizeable compliment of archers, they might not even need to board Bilebeard's vessel to take out the crew along with Nazir's men.

[Elfbird]

Running full-tilt across the plains of her homeland, Ophelia and Nazir trace back toward the ship. With the swordsman's strength and a moment of spoken coordination, Ophelia vaults onto the deck of the Cursed Wind, landing with a thunderous impact. She takes a strong stance, first surveying the Cursed Wind's own soldiers and crew and then facing the other ship, pounding the deck with the butt of her orichalcum direlance to build atmosphere.

"Hearken to me, gathered warriors! Hear me, thou proud soldiers! Listen, and flood the sea with thy tears!

"Thou callst this the Age of Sorrows. And why? A young girl hath lost her father this day! Yon harriers and soldiers hath lost thy beloved captains to Death's embrace! You! Hast thou parents? A wife? Children of thy own? Shall they too not weep for thee?"

Moving the heart of an army is not so different from moving the heart of a god, Ophelia thinks. She lets her own heart spill forth, without disguise or restraint, in hopes that the flood of emotion will reach her audience. So caught up in the moment and act is she that she's oblivious to her anima banner flaring enormously in response to her passion.

"For what but petty hatred and ignorance doth we lay good people low? You! Art this the legacy thou wouldst give the world? To compound sorrows upon sorrows everlasting?! To leave broken hearts and broken homes in thy wake, who for want of love shall break yet more?! Nay, the Age of Sorrows shall not end - unless we end it! Here and now, each weapon cast aside--" she tosses her own lance away, rolling across deck until it hits a mast-- "--is a dozen lives saved! A daughter who shall see her husband again! A wife who shall weep for joy instead of grief! Go, then, and by thy own hands shape the world all our children and grandchildren shalt know! The future is in thine hands!"

Ophelia, finished, lets her gaze linger on the far deck for a moment longer, then turns her back and waits. Whatever happens next must be their own choice, not one made under the gaze of a demigod who could smite them for disobedience.

The golden age I want to bring about... I can lead, but not command. The First Age was lost by the hubris of gods; it can only be regained by the compassion of mortals, shared the world over. Then, how can I mend the wounds that have lead to this...?

[Volthawk]

While Ophelia steals the show with her performance, Nazir acts with relative subtlety, moving towards the ship and signalling for his men to help him on board as he tries to put the pain, renewed by his role in Ophelia's acrobatics, out of his mind.

Once aboard, he reassumes command over his men, ordering them to stay out of sight as much as possible and prepare to return fire if things kicked off. It wasn't that he thought Ophelia would fail, exactly, more that he'd lived through enough to prepare for the worst in situations like this and to not put much faith in people trying to bring peace. Some had tried that in Thorns, and many of them were the first to die.

[fibericon]

When Ophelia appears, the troops seem ready to attack, but they hesitate. That proves to be enough. Her speech moves even the most hardened combatants to tears. Some of the crew had been with Citrine Mind Sage their entire professional lives - and Violet Forest's troops could claim the same. But now their commanding officers had been slain in a fight they'd picked. Because they picked the biggest guy in the room one time too many. And for what? An old wives' tale?

The dragon bloods had always been prepared to die in battle, but had their children been prepared to lose a father? A mother? The battle scarred men and women present had sworn to live and die under Violet Forest's command, but they had never expected to outlive her.

What a terrible day for rain.

[Volthawk]

As the soldiers hesitate and stand down, Nazir rises from his cover and just looks for a few moments, somewhat in disbelief as he comes to the realisation that it actually worked. She'd done it. He turns from the other ship, heading below decks and giving his men a final order.

"Stand down. It's done, the battle's over. Return to what you were doing. Ophelia, I trust you can handle things with the other ship, now they're listening to you?"

Once he's below decks, Nazir busies himself with his next task - finding Bilebeard's child. He was not looking forward to the conversation that was coming. He'd done it before - this was nowhere near the first time time someone had died fighting by his side - but children being involved just made the whole thing harder.

[fibericon]

Below the deck, Nazir has little trouble finding the child. None of the crew had been hiding out there, after all. In a dark corner, he finds a small child in a fetal position, pointing a wooden sword up toward him. She stares wide-eyed at the solar, failing to present as a threat.

"Where's my dad?"

[Elfbird]

After Nazir's troops stand down and Citrine Mind Sage's ship shows no signs of hostility nor departure, Ophelia returns her attention to them. Removing her helmet, to let her golden hair and natural voice voth flow freely, she walks to the Cursed Wind's rail to speak with the other sailors and soldiers further.

"How glad art I that mine feelings reached thee true. If thou hast aught to hasten t'waed, wouldst thou fain speak together of thy futures...?"

[Volthawk]

Seeing the child in front of him, Nazir feels...worried about their reaction. It wasn't something he was that used to, but the situation here was different to when he usually had to talk to people about one of his men dying - perhaps it was because Bilebeard hadn't signed up to be under his command, perhaps it was the way that Exaltation changed everything, or maybe it was just the fact that he would likely be around the child for a while longer. He wasn't sure why this felt different, and it was the first time since the tavern that he'd felt unsure of himself. Strange. Nonetheless, he took a moment to think before making his attempt, trying to appear sympathetic and non-threatening.

"While we were in the field, we were attacked by the Wyld Hunt - a group of Dragon-Blooded. We fought back and defeated them, but not before your father fell in the battle. I'm sorry. The fighting is over, and he's being brought back to the ship now."

[Hypersmith]

Milwe silently focuses on walking most of the path back to the battlefield. It's not a bad trek, but the wounds give him a good excuse not to have to lift anyone's spirits. He looks generally tense, tapping at his bandages every once in a while to make sure they're tight and unstained. Finally, the battlefield draws near, and he breaks the silence.

"I hope they're not being too rough with breaking the news to her."

Flower seems startled by Milwe’s voice, but then she nods. “Yeah... It’s really awful how that happened...” She can’t help but look down as she continues on. “This early on, and we’ve already lost someone... It’s... horrifying. I don’t really have any family to leave behind, so it’s not the same, but still, just thinking about it...”

"It happens all the time, but it never gets any easier to explain to the kids. At least when they're as young as she is the grudge is a little easier to let go." He rubs his neck and sighs. "It's our lot in life to kill and be killed. Hope you're ready for that too, what with the crazy visitors and glamor. That's all good and nice, but you look at that body down there and remember it, because it's people like that who'll be your family."

Flower sighs, and in spite of herself, a small smile appears on her face. “It’s weird, you know, I don’t think I’ve ever dealt with death the same way normal people have. My relatives were... well, all of them up through my great-grandparents were set to outlive me, and probably whatever grandkids I had too. Except then most of them did die, but by that point... when somebody’s ghost is around all the time, it’s kinda like you didn’t even lose them.” She shudders a bit and holds herself, shutting her eyes tight and forcing what was likely a sob into a laugh. “Dragons’ breath, I reanimated my parents’ bodies! It didn’t... feel like anything at the time. Maybe kind of hollow. But now, for all my power’s grown, I... I can’t fix this. Bilebeard’s just... gone.” She stops and sighs. “Sorry for... droning on. And... being a monster, I guess.”

Milwe stops dead in his tracks and looks hard at Flower for a long moment. His mouth moves to form several words, but he stops short each time. Eventually he just turns away from her, looking a mixture of angry and upset. "Well. It's fine. I don't know anything about stuff like that."

She looks at him sadly. “... I’m pretty sure you do. Maybe not the specifics, but... Being a kid, doing what you have to to survive when everything has gone to hell? You’ve clearly met enough orphans to know all about that. There’s no time for ethics when you have to steal food. I didn’t want to learn, but... it was that or become another body. And now I can’t put it back in the box.” She sighs. “... Thank you anyway. I honestly expect Nazir to kill me himself. He actually got out in time to avoid the worst, so his perspective is... different.”

"I know about stealing. This is - forget it. Just forget it. This is life now. Are you human at least? I mean, it would explain some things."

Flower looks deeply hurt for a moment, but regains composure as quickly. “Of course I’m human. If I weren’t, I couldn’t Exalt the way we all just did. Even the deathknights have to be recruited alive, and death is their entire thing. I’m not sure why, but... that’s just how it seems to work. Though, I guess, as a Lunar... I guess I could count as much as an animal, now, if you wanted to look at me that way.”

Milwe twists a strand of hair around his finger and sighs, refusing eye contact. "I just need to make sure because none of this makes sense. Not to me at least. Comes naturally to you. That's all."

“This isn’t coming ‘naturally’ at all,” Flower protests. “I kind of clinically know what’s going on, but it’s still driving me crazy. I’ve kind of been trying to avoid this my whole life, and for the trouble I ended up with the worst possible version of it. I just...” She pauses. “.... need to stop complaining. Be useful. Stay alive. I’m just... trying to do that.”

Milwe nods and forces a wide grin. "We're going to do better than that."

Flower gives him a curious look. “Big plans?”

"Underway. Just need to get back to Chiaroscuro. With this new stuff, I can start killing the dragonbloods instead of avoiding their caravans." His grin becomes a little more natural. "becoming king of the heap there seems a lot more attainable this way."

“It’s that easy, huh?” Flower raises an eyebrow. “I’d think you’d at least want to train first or something. You and Nazir almost died against a few of them, how do you expect to handle a whole city?”

"I'm not gonna be alone. I got my whole family supporting me back home. That includes all of you. You've got no homes, so I'll gladly welcome you. Bilebeard's men too, if they'll take me. Besides, it's about the financial power as much as the fighting power. We've got a foothold there already." Milwe speaks seriously, but the grin lingers.

“Financial... Foothold...?” Flower looks a bit sheepish. “Heh, I think it’s my turn for not really following along. But you’re confident, and you seem to know what you’re talking about. So I’ll throw in my full support.”

He nods his thanks. "I can teach you to pickpocket. If you can become a rat or mouse, you won't have to endanger those dainty hands."

Flower considers this. “The Sacred Hunt is complicated. I don’t think I could take the form of something that small the way I am now. But I’m sure I can learn once I have more experience.”

Milwe nods, though he looks uncomfortable "... You're sure we're not all going to start losing our minds slowly? Demonic possession?"

Flower waves her hand nonchalantly. “No way. If anything, we’re far more able to resist demonic possession now than when we were mortal.”

Milwe doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't comment further.

She gives Milwe an interested look. “Feel free not to answer if this is too personal, but... If you did think you were going to be possessed, would you let the Realm kill you?”

He frowns. "Nah. I'm dying on my own terms. Not gonna give them the pleasure."

Flower nods, satisfied. “Alright.”

"And if you're wrong? Got any plans for what to do if something you don't know about starts ordering you around and you can't help but obey?"

Flower shrugs. “Well, sure. My first priority when I figured out I had the curse of Luna was to figure out the necessary Essence pathways to expel all external influences from my mind. With the experience my old training already gave me in Essence manipulation, it actually wasn’t that hard. But if that doesn’t work... then what other kind of plan are you expecting? If I can kill myself, I will. If it can stop me from pushing it out or killing myself, then, well, what kind of plan are you expecting me to have? I don’t see the point in worrying about unlikely problems designed to exempt their own solutions.”

Milwe blinks slowly. "I agree. But that doesn't mean it's not something to think about. And be prepared for."

“Sure, sure. Speaking of which, if you’re so paranoid about it, maybe I could try to help you learn how to use your Essence to resist mental attacks the same way? I’m not sure how much different our methodology might be, since we’re different types of Exalted, but... can’t hurt, right?” She offers.

He stops short and rubs his neck again. "Might be a little late. I had something show up a few nights ago. Said it gave me what I have, and I'd have to pay someday."

Flower immediately swivels on her heels and looks Milwe dead in the eye. “I’m sorry, what?”

He shrugs and attempts a half-grin. "You heard me."

“What kind of creature was it? Do you have any reason to believe it was telling the truth?” Flower pries, an intense curiosity in her eyes.

"It was a black cat. Had a deep voice. And it showed up the night this started, just like it's supposed to." He mimes mutedly with his hands as he speaks

“... Supposed to?” Flower shakes her head. “Look, forget the ‘Anathema’ stuff. What we are has nothing to do with demons. Whatever this thing is, it’s most likely deceiving you. And if it really is planning to possess you, that’s all the more reason to learn to defend yourself.”

"... Yeah. No harm in learning. Can we start from the beginning? Like - what's essenence?"
Milwe raises his hand to stop Flower before she can get started. "It'll have to wait. We're close now. Last bend."
He hobbles onward, eyes grim.

Flower steps into the clearing where the battle happened and looks around. Despite freaking out before, none of this seems to bother her now. “Hm. These are-“ she stops herself and quickly pinches her arm hard enough to make her yelp. “That is... what a gruesome scene. And Bilebeard was... gods. It almost feels cruel bringing the body back to the kid in two pieces like that.”

"I was thinking the same. Is there nothing you can... do? To stitch it together. Not anything else."

“Not really, no,” Flower admits. “I mean, sure, I could just stitch it back on, but by the skin alone... It’d be incredibly fragile, and wouldn’t look properly attached under scrutiny. Good enough for a presentable burial, I suppose, but there’d be no sense in doing it before transport anyway, since it’ll be one misstep away from tearing off again.”

"That's a little harsh on the kid. Anything we can cover it with? I'm sure we can make a stretcher out of the weapons. Some are pretty big."

“That’s... inventive. But possible. Though, given most of them appear to be made of jade... Plus the weight of a body...” Flower pokes at her bicep. “... Really wish I had an animal form with opposable thumbs right about now.”

Milwe lifts the edge of a Daiklave, dragging it behind him. "Maybe a camel? We tie one end to you, I hold the other."

Flower shakes her head. “I don’t just have the form of every animal. I’d have to perform the Sacred Hunt. And I don’t think there are any wild camels around here. Though... Maybe my simhata form will work for this... Alright, let’s try it.”

Milwe nods, quickly tapping his bandages for final check. He watches curiously what Flower will do next.

Despite her worries that the stitching wouldn’t cover up the wound, Flower’s handiwork is quite masterful, and aside from the thin lines of the stitches themselves you’d be forgiven for thinking Bilebeard hadn’t even had his throat slit, much less been decapitated entirely.

Milwe sighs at the sight of Bilebeard lying on the makeshift stretcher. He helps arrange him the best he can. "Thank you for doing this. It'll make such a difference." he sniffles. "I'm not sure how much I can help here. I'll tuck the fists into my belt. Maybe another on my back with the chain. I'll need both hands free to help with the stretcher."

Flower nods. “Yeah, it’s the least I can do. ... Less than, really. If I knew how to fight - in any meaningful way, at least - maybe I could’ve... I mean, I know a little mortal martial arts, but nothing that could’ve...” She closes her eyes tightly. “Dammit...”

Milwe quickly refocuses on her. "Hey. Do what you're good at, don't get hung up on the rest. You can stitch. I can steal. No reason for either of us to get upset we can't do the other."

She offers him a weak smile. “... What I’m good at. Yeah.” She glances quickly at one of the other corpses, then looks back at Bilebeard. “Thanks.” Then she stands up and turns around. “Alright, I’ll need you to tie the end of the stretcher to me after I transform. Ready?” She inhales deeply, and then her form begins to shift. Her new tattoos glow a soft silver and swim around as her body bends and flows and regrows into a new shape - not grotesquely, but with the gentle grace of a stream of water filling a pattern of grooves in rock. Within moments, she’s taken the form of the lion-horse hybrid creature commonly owned by the Dragon-Blooded, the simhata. Flower’s hooves clop nervously a bit, but she seems to grow accustomed to her new form almost as quickly as she changed into it.

Milwe whistles appreciatively, dragging the base of the makeshift stretcher towards his new companion. For a moment he wonders how to lash the base to her before he unwinds his chain and uses it as a makeshift binding. He mutters as he works with the casual air that comes with practice. "Not gonna be the most comfortable. Sorry girl."
He pats the equine rump before catching himself. "uh - sorry about that. Not a pack animal. Or an animal really."
He eyes the claws on her hooves. "I'll be behind you with the other half. No kicking please."

If a horse could blush, Flower probably would. Instead, she chooses to look a bit annoyed and then nod, beginning to walk carefully once Milwe is ready.

Milwe hefts the other end, and loaded with jade, begins the trek back towards the ship. Not a pleasent journey. Milwe isn't weak, but injuries do not aid with he already grueling work. He focuses on the task at hand rather than conversation. Besides, there's little point to conversing with a horse.
He leaves the rest of the bodies as they are. He bears these people no special grudge, and he wasn't sure the effect bringing a head to the child would have. Maybe it would alleviate the pain. In the end, the bodies were going nowhere.

[fibericon]

The second in command of Violet Forest's forces steps forward. He clearly struggles for some measure of composure in the face of Ophelia's charms. After clearing his throat, he manages to speak for those under him.

"We all swore our lives to the commander, but that's an oath we can no longer fulfill. We have no further reason to continue blocking your ship in. Most of us would default to mercenary work, likely in Lookshy or Nexus. Nexus is closer, and the captain's men have no further obligation to take us anywhere. Truth be told, I don't think any of us really want to, but save an admittedly unlikely desire on your part to take us on, that's all we have left."

The first mate, slumped against the door to the captain's quarters, has her hands laced behind her head, and her knees drawn up to rest on. She is notably less composed, and has no desire to face any of you.


"He fell? So... he'll be okay, right?"

[Elfbird]

"'Tis a day of unlikely occurances, 'twould seem, for we had little hope that thou wouldst join us, yet fain we'll take all among thee who shall come in good faith. Thy kinfolk, too - shall they be safe at home when the Realm learneth of thy old masters' passing? With two good ships and a veteran army, 'tis small trouble to spirit thy people away to frontierlands, as mine own parents once did. Please, speak thy will, and together we shalt make it so."

A thought flashes through Ophelia's mind: without Captain Bilebeard, who will run the Cursed Wind? Can their onetime-foe be trusted, or is Bilebeard's first mate skilled enough to take command...?

The enormity of the situation - of the position of leadership she'd placed herself in - weighs all the more heavily on her heart and mind.

[fibericon]

"None of us are actually from the realm. Most of us have never even been further west than Nexus. But when we joined up with Violet Forest, she promised us the most important battles Creation had to offer. We've fought in skirmishes against the south, against beastmen, and prior to her death, we were slated to march on The Bull of the North. What is it you can bring us to that could even compare?"

[Volthawk]

Nazir is quiet for a moment, still quite unsure on how to proceed, before taking a breath and trying again. This was more difficult than he was expecting.

"No, he isn't. He's...he has been slain in battle. His body is being brought back so you can say goodbye before burial, and then...well, that can be decided later. You should know that he died well in battle, and you should be proud of him."

He then waits for a reaction, unsure if he was too blunt or if he's handling this situation well.

[Elfbird]

"'Tis a great folly of mankind that no age of peace shall be ushered in without bloodshed, but alas, aught is accomplished by denying the present age. Aye, for the nonce we seek shelter, to gather our strength. If thou wouldst be counted among us, thou mayst wage war between the Wyld and the Realm, for all Creation art our ward and treasure, and we needs must driveth back the darkness at ev'ry corner, until the Age of Sorrows is well and truly over and a golden age taken hold in sorrow's place. Wilt that satisfy thee, to overthrow despotic imperials and vanquish immortal chaos for the sake of thy progeny?"

[fibericon]

"If we're to march on the wyld... then so be it. I am at your disposal. But we need a name to swear fealty to."

The first mate of Citrine Mind Sage's ship looks up from her sitting position for a moment before finally standing, and adding something to the conversation.

"It seems you have what you want. We're left with nothing as well. Our captain is dead, and his last order to us is complete. What happens now, anathema?"


Finally understanding, Bilebeard the Second pouts up at Nazir, trembling, and quickly bursts into tears.

[Elfbird]

Ophelia's breath catches in her throat. A name? Master Taran would be ideal, but talking these people into joining what may well be a suicidal campaign for them was her responsibility.

"I... I am Ophelia Knight, The Heart at the End of Sorrow. Though, thou mayst find Sir Nazir Taran's command more to thy liking..."

She takes a few seconds to recompose herself before turning to address the first mate.

"The emptiness in thy voice... Aye, I knowst it well; 'tis the sound of a girl who hath lost someone dear to her heart. There is no mending but time, no filling but companionship. Our captains traded their lives, as it were, and both left loved ones behind."

Holding one hand to her chestplate, she extends the other magitech gauntlet in heartfelt invitation.

"There is another girl with thy selfsame voice this day. Wouldst thou like to meet the captain's daughter?"

[fibericon]

The first mate looks at her feet and crosses her arms.

"I suppose that's only fair. It's not as though any of us have anywhere to go. We can't simply bring a dragon blood's ship back to Nexus and pretend there won't be retribution. If we don't follow you, we're walking home."

While the sailors don't observe the same fanfare - and almost certainly lack the discipline - the soldiers, following their second in command, take a knee. The second in command bellows out across the deck.

"Ophelia Knight, The Heart at the End of Sorrow! From this day forth, we are Violet Forest's talon no longer! It falls on you now, to lead us to glory!"

There is some murmuring from the sailors, and the first mate looks up again. "I'm not going to tell these men to bow. Citrine Mind Sage wasn't that type of captain. My word will have to be enough."

[Elfbird]

"Ah! R-right... And I, in turn, swear to wield and to safeguard thee to the best of mine ability! For the sake of a future we can be proud of!"

She will definitely be begging Nazir for advice later.

Ophelia shakes her head to the first mate, smiling.

"I've no wish to impose upon thy customs, nor hath I need for pretty words nor hollow gestures so long as the heart is in earnest. I should count mineself lucky that we hath met, and yet I know not what forms of address thou wouldst prefer? To thee also, sir lieutenant, what wouldst thou have me call thee? Fain would I learn the names and faces of each of mine new companions; for that I fear there shall be more than ample time whilst seaborne. Of thy needs, pray tell me ere they become apparent, and I shall do mine utmost to service thee and thine."

[Volthawk]

When the child starts crying, Nazir pauses for a moment, thinking. He wasn't a father - perhaps he might have been by now, if things went differently, but they hadn't - and the closest experience he had was with young soldiers - kids themselves, really - when they were finding things hard. When it came to loss...he had plenty of experience there.

Kneeling down, Nazir puts a hand on Bilebeard the Second's shoulder and looks her in the eye. "I know it's hard now. I've been where you are, and I've gone through what you're feeling. I can't make it feel much better now, but I know you're stronger than this - stronger than you know you can be. You'll survive, come out tougher for it and make Bilebeard proud, and I'll be there the whole time, watching your back."

[fibericon]

"I am Snow's Folly," the first mate begins, before gesturing over the ship, "And this, is Dire Straits." The introduction is rehearsed, and lacks enthusiasm.

"And I am Crimson Sun, m'lady. Our forces lack a name."


To say that the child is okay would be woefully inaccurate, but at least she's calmed down a bit.

[Volthawk]

Seeing the improvement in the girl, Nazir starts to get up, giving her a final nod. "I should check on what's happening up on deck. I'll be back with the others later."

He then heads back above deck, taking a moment to look around and confirm that things are still peaceful before walking over to Ophelia. "I've told Bilebeard's daughter what happened, and she's...I've reassured her as much as I can, now it's just a matter of time. How are things going up here?"

[Elfbird]

Ophelia turns to greet Nazir with a mix of pride and relief.

"Sir Taran, allow me to introduce Dame Snow's Folly, first mate of the Dire Straits, and Sir Crimson Sun, lieutenant commander of Violet Forest's old talon. Both groups hath agreed to join us, and given oaths to such effect. I believe we can rely upon them. Hast thou chanced to speak with Captain Bilebeard's first mate?"

[fibericon]

While it isn't quite a burial at sea, there are areas of the Yanaze River that provide the breadth and depth for a respectable funeral for Bilebeard. The fallen dragon bloods, sans Citrine Mind Sage, receive land burials. Though he and Violet Forest are mourned as you might expect, the other dragon bloods' deaths are largely met with indifference. A stranger's funeral, as it were.

In the days that follow, Snow's Folly comes to adopt your former comrade's orphaned daughter. Children bounce back more easily than adults, and having both spent years at sea gives them a lot in common. The child eventually ceases hiding below deck, and is instead frequently found in mock combat with wooden swords against Snow's Folly, swinging from ropes, and running across the deck.

Just after the sun sets on another day, with no fanfare or even warning, Nikito appears on the deck of Bilebeard's ship, looking just as sleepy as ever.

"Alright. Where's The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East?" Grumbling under his breath, he adds, "Could have sworn there was a shorter version of that." Raising his voice again, he adds, "She's the one dolled up in silver and fur."

[Vrock_Summoner]

Flower raises an eyebrow and smiles as she drops down from where she was enjoying the view. ”Flower is the common shortening, sir. It’s good to see you again so soon. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

[fibericon]

Nikito takes stock of the situation, lazily eyeing the other ship. There's a twitch as his eyes narrow. His annoyance is briefly more honed than his usual malaise with the world and everything in it.

"I'm here to warn you about something that already happened. This," he gestures vaguely toward the other ship, "Wasn't supposed to happen yet. Someone is messing with your astrology... or mine. Either way, it means I won't be able to help you with predictions until this is dealt with. I have to now assume it's all tainted. But... you can apparently handle yourselves. This just means my promised visit gets pushed up... to right now."

[Vrock_Summoner]

Flower looks thoughtful. ”I see. I appreciate the attempted warning. But aren’t those errors kind of normal sometimes? I mean, I’m no expert in astrology specifically, but I know my family didn’t put much stock in it, because the powers of the Exalted are almost never accounted for. Y’know, like, the clan would predict a losing battle, even though their magic was surely going to make it a win. Never mind how nobody saw the attack on Thorns coming at all. And this is the Wyld Hunt. So maybe they just had some elemental magic to make the boat and army go faster, or something.”

Then she shakes her head and smiles. “Well! In any case, it’s good to have you here. There’s been so much strangeness in my Essence since I Exalted, and I have all sorts of things I need to figure out. Like, I’m definitely still attuned to the Void, but my Essence seems entirely unreceptive to channeling the spells I’d already learned... I may need to start over from scratch... Oh, but that can wait. Being all business is no fun! Come on, we’ve got plenty of supplies for now, would you like some dinner?”

[fibericon]

"I suppose." It's not entirely clear if he's unconvinced, or simply annoyed at having been dragged out here for any reason, let alone nothing. "We can discuss your plans over dinner, and your necromancy after."

Crimson Sun approaches you and snaps to attention reflexively. There clearly wouldn't be any need to teach these troops discipline. "Sir. I'm told you're the one who will be our new commanding officer. What would you have us prepare for in the immediate future, sir?"

While you're certainly still on the run, it's odd to not have to move your feet while doing it. Above deck, below deck, one ship or the other, it doesn't make much difference - you're stuck in one place. Even if that place is moving. Your wandering eye eventually catches something. It's hard to say for sure what it is from this distance, but there's a glimmer down river. The sun reflecting off something? At this rate, you won't be able to see it clearly for another hour or so.

With both ships seeing a sudden promotion of first mate to captain, there's a bit of unrest in the crews. After all, captain's favorite - dead captain's favorite, at that - is suddenly their boss. Sure, it was a position of authority before, but not like this.

[Volthawk]

Nodding to acknowledge his new officer's approach, Nazir smiles as Crimson Sun asks his question. With the victory over the Dragon-Blooded and the growth of their forces, Nazir had been spending a fair amount of time on the topic, along with practising with the daiklave he had claimed from one of the Dynasts and preparing himself for his expanding command. He looks out over the side of the ship at the river ahead as he speaks.

"In the short term, we don't have much planned. We want to make sure we're away from pursuit, for one thing, although I don't think that'll take long - until we make ourselves noticed again, anyway. We also just need time to adjust and prepare - myself and the the other Exalted are still getting used to our powers, and this new command needs time to settle - when we get the chance, I'll be restarting training and drills so we're all on the same page when we find ourselves in a fight. Past that, I expect we'll come across some opportunities as we travel, and react to them as necessary. I'll also need to gather the rest of my men when the opportunity provides, and I'm sure some of the others will have small matters that need taking care of."

"Once that's dealt with, we can move onto our medium term goals - establishing ourselves properly, putting ourselves into a position where we can claim and hold what we need, and become something greater than just our handfuls of men. We'll then be able to repel those who threaten us, and achieve some real objectives. I'm not sure when we'll reach this point, and it will probably at least partly be decided by the whims of fate or what we find in the short term, but this will be when we can really get to work, even with the additional dangers we'll be bringing on ourselves. I'm interested to see what our people will be capable of once they have the time, resources and equipment. We'll see. "

"Long term..." Nazir looks more serious, paying more attention to Crimson Sun as he continues. "I have a greater cause in mind. I'm sure you know about Thorns, about how the forces of death have begun making moves against Creation. I plan to fight them, and show them that despite the inaction of the larger powers, there's someone here who won't let threats like them stand. I think that's why I have this power, and I intend to put it work. Thorns will once again be free, sooner or later, and I intend for it to be freed by our hands." He pauses, letting the other man think."While things might be quiet now, they won't always be. I expect we'll be fighting some tough battles in the future, and although I'll be fighting there beside you, and we'll train to be the best we can be, I can't say it will be easy. Are you still willing to fight with me?

[Hypersmith]

Milwe lounges on the mast, away from the bustle on the deck below. He didn't understand why the soldiers had turned coast so quickly and he didn't like it. These were exactly the type of men he found explicitly hated. Servants of the dragonbloods who did their dirty deeds. Died for them.

He looks down at Snow's Folly. It stung that Bile Jr. had taken to her more easily than him, but progress was still good. He couldn't deny it made him sharply homesick, thinking about the children and people he had left behind. He trusted them to keep things running, but if the dragonblooded went after them more seriously it could be trouble. As the sun begins to set he feels a familiar stirring of fear in the pit of his stomach. He was heading east, not south, still knew nothing but the basics about what his demon wanted of him. It's getting harder to deny the pervading worry about his situation.

He sits up to catch the last rays of the sun on his back and neck, watching the sea to the east. Nikito is back, but it's difficult to care. Flower was very pretty, Nazir - and surprisingly Ophelia - were busy with the soldiers. But it was all background noise to his immediate worries, which none of them seemed to understand. A glimmer on the water catches his eye. It'll be dark before he can see it clearly - but that shouldn't be the biggest issue. It seemed to be en route anyway. He would notify someone if he had to.

[fibericon]

"Sir! It would be an honor to retake Thorns at your side, sir!"

The light, meanwhile, is flickering and moving away. It's not as fast as the ship. You'll catch it eventually.


Nikito sits down to dinner with a heavy sigh - probably the same way he sits down under any circumstances.

"Your spells don't work anymore. Alright. I'm guessing you had thaumaturgy. Or you had an artifact that let mortals use essence, and someone took your toy away. I do know necromancy, mostly because my solar mate knew sorcery, but it's there. Tell me what your plans are, and maybe we can figure out what would actually be worth the effort to have you learn."

[Vrock_Summoner]

Flower sits down across from him and nods along until near the end, then shakes her head. ”You misunderstand, sir. I was in Thorns for a while after it fell. The deathknights taught me to awaken my Essence and then initiated me into Necromancy... Among other things... so I’d be more prepared once it was time to try and... make me one of them.” She closes her eyes for a moment, shutting down the momentary flash of pain. “So I’ve already completed the Five Ordeals. But... well, I may or may not have considered trying to reanimate one of those Dragon-Bloods that chased us...” She looks sheepish. “But I realized my Essence isn’t working the way it used to. I still feel the Void dragging at me, but this Lunar Essence is scrambling everything I thought I knew about my craft. I don’t think I can cast anything anymore. And... part of me wishes I couldn’t use this power, because I hate what it’s done to my mind... but since that part’s not going to go away now, I really want to be able to use my powers again. Especially since it could help Nazir with his plans to retake Thorns.”

[fibericon]

"Your essence works differently now. Nothing to be done about that. You get your essence from Luna now - you didn't before. Probably seems like a lot of lost time to you now, but you've got a long, long time ahead of you. So, you want to retake Thorns. That sounds like an enormous pain. What you need to understand about Thorns is the sheer scale of what you're talking about. You've seen it up close, but not from the other side. Fighting every single thing is..." Nikito groans and rubs his face. "You're not gonna do that. Necromancy has some wide area attacks that can help, but The Shadowlands Circle of Iron might see you using more subtle methods instead. White Reaper Style is the large scale battle preference for a lot of lunars, but you're probably not interested in that. Anyway, yeah, necromancy. What's your preference, kitten? Infiltration or large scale destruction?"

The golden winking light in the distance blinks out. Your ship may yet still catch up with the source.