Penance eyes Nimlaidas warily, looking askance at the bottle the other man holds out to him.
"...what's that?" he asks in a low mutter. "I can, uh, swing my sword just-- just fine."
Adjusting his lenses once more with his free hand.
"Green Tea, it has a number of health benefits. Sustainable energy among them."
Penance squints at the other man. It's been a while since their less-than-smooth first meeting with each other, but Nimlaidas has proven himself useful and knowledgeable since then in the fights. Maybe he ought to just take this in stride.
On the other hand, Penance doesn't trust too easily.
Ah, what the hell. He shrugs, and takes the flask. "Cheers, then. We'll have a tea party."
Bottoms up!
Before the woman walks away she says, "Sure thing. My name's Jaavela, you know where to find me." Jaavela runs one hand down the big half orc's arm, smiling wickedly. She licks her lips, then walks away, perhaps swinging her hips a little more than strictly necessary.
Devram chuckles as he watches the woman proposition Penance. If the half-orc didn't want a tumble, maybe she would want other company. Having recovered from the stress of the fight, the Aldori walks over and inspects the bodies of the hags. He grimaces at their ugly faces, but checks to see if they had anything valuable on them.
Emerion takes back his flask when Penance is done. Going back to searching the bodies and studying the hags. It was clear to Penance that Emerion was simply trying to help, he seemed to have some experience with women. At least in the nature of such encounters.
________________________________________________________________________
Penance watches Jaavela go in the dazed way that that young men have always watched experienced women go.
He shakes himself when she's out of sight, clears his throat sheepishly, and busies himself with the important business of wiping his blade clean.
"Nimlaidas, you got anything you wanna harvest from these before we kick 'em off into the drink?"
***
I need to be able to face whatever comes, Abadar-- to use my sword properly, to wear my armor, to hit hard and drop dangerous things where they stand.
~~What you need is faith that I will provide for you.
I've got faith plenty. Reward it already.
~~Return your strength of body to you, you mean.
Of course that's what I mean!
~~Ah yes. So you can get on with the important business of sleeping with the crew.
Penance scowls at the swinging key. It ain't just that, and you know it. Anyway, I don't remember ever promising you I'd never touch a woman! You've got the wrong servant for that!
The niggling voice seems to get louder, in his head.
~~PROMISES. You promised me thusly: to root out corruption. And yet you follow the orders of the Aspis Consortium. You promised to serve order, yet you have bickered with your fellow agents out of pride of self. You promised to uphold my justice-- yet you hesitate to even acknowledge that you serve me, and treat my name as a curse to those you meet! Let us talk, my servant, of PROMISES.
The key burns hot in his fingers. Penance flinches.
...alright. I know the Consortium isn't your idea of order. But... I owe them a debt. You want me to honor my debts, right?
~~To honor one's debts is good. To owe debts only to the honorable is better. You are my sword, Penance: I have purchased you from your past. Be therefore jealous of what hand you permit to wield you.
Penance has no ready answer. He closes his eyes, curls his fingers around the key and lowers his hand to his chest. Sleep comes fitfully: he dreams of the soldiers dead in the brine dragon's attacks, and he dreams of Jaavela's parting smirk, and of his father's blood all over his mother's hands, and of a key that weighs as much as all the world.
But in the morning, there's a prayer itching the back of his mind that he doesn't recall learning back in the temple of Nex. Cautiously, he recites it while kneeling in the cramped cabin... and feels a trickle of strength running back into his muscles.
Penance puts the key back around his neck. He goes to tuck it inside his shirt, as usual-- then hesitates. Maybe better... for once... to let it show.
Iliante holsters his revolver and staggers over to Yamakawa Shinjuko. "Lady, that was awesome. Maybe you can teach me how to do that?" His mind is too filled with nightmares and hags to think beyond the combat and skill.
Much later, he refills his revolver's cylinder with bullets from his store.
_______________________________________
Shinjuko tilts her head slightly in an expression firmly between inquisitive and appraisal. Her eyes examine the lithely built undine before her—one to whom she has seldom found occasion to speak to on the voyage—for several moments, answering finally seconds before her silence infringes on the domain of rudeness. "Perhaps. It shall ultimately depend upon what specifically you are referring to. The techniques of the Yamakawa bushi-mahotsukai shall remain closed to you indefinitely, I'm afraid. Should you seek the capacity to end your foes with cunning and swiftness instead of strength of arms..." Another hint of appraisal creeps across her face.
"I offer him not the secrets of our people, Amarugamu; merely the opportunity to hone what he already possesses."
"Jin!" Noriki no meiyo grows silent in her mind, though Shinjuko seems momentarily surprised at her own very verbal outburst. For a hint of a moment, Iliante swears he sees a tinge of red take her cheeks.
"I cannot teach you how to fight as I have this night, Iliante-san. But I shall endeavor to impart unto you a worthwhile pursuit I too carry by right of inheritance from my ancestral home: the perfect strike. I have heard and heard of many Avistani who uphold a simple, misleading mantra: strike first. Advisable, but not of substantial merit on its own. Speed is required; elegance and grace are required; reflex is required. Being faster than your enemy is simple—I shall teach you how to strike the first true blow, regardless of who acts first."
The next day, Penance notices Iliante moving a bit gingerly around the ship-- he recognizes the feeling.
Giving the fish-man a nod, Penance joins him at the rail, looking down into the water.
"Still feeling the whammy those witches put on you, eh? Me too," he rumbles. "If you're feelin' rotten tomorrow morning still, come grab me-- I think I can do something about it."
A pause, and Penance adds on grudgingly, "Well... Abadar can do something about it, I mean. You know. If you want."
Later that day, Devram interrupts Shinjuko and Corridan. "You're speaking Tien, yes? I recognize the sounds from traders my father and I met years ago. I wonder if you would help me learn some words. If we ever get out of this, it could help with some of my trade business. I've always been fascinated with the stories of the Tien land."
“So, Master Valkeri…” says Telemakos to his bunkmate once the commotion for the battle settles “I guess the trading and tailoring business in Katapesh attracts the… less recommendable sorts, for you to be so skilled in combat!” he says, referring to the display of kicks and hits that the tailor showed against the hags “I’m willing to bet you took some serious self-defense classes! Myself, I tried it once in Absalom, a Vudrani opened an Academy to teach unarmed fighting – it was very exclusive, you see, no mercenary fighting school, you see, it was a classy training for gentlemen but… it wasn’t for me, I found out…” he cracks his shoulders “this old limbs aren’t made for punching, I’m afraid!”
"You are too kind," Corridan replies, all smiles and modesty. "But I think my strike against the hag was more luck rather than skill. Although you are correct, I have taken the occasional self-defense lesson. But it was more out of a fascination with such things than an actual need to defend myself from unsavory sorts."
"But what about you? Considering what you are capable of, you hardly need to learn to fight with your fists."
"Well, it is certainly a... fascinating land with equally fascinating people," the tailor remarks. "I am only half Tien on my mother's side, but I have spent my share of time there. Certainly enough to speak the language fluently."
”Thank you. I would learn what you would teach me,” Iliante replies to Shinjuko and continues after a slight pause. ”I’ve always preferred ranged combat to melee, especially after I was introduced to revolvers. But sometimes, you can’t avoid getting up close and personal. Every fighting technique that I’ve seen, except for yours and maybe Corridan’s, favors brute strength over quickness. So how would like me to address you, and how should we begin?” He wears a spiked gauntlet on his off-hand and a boarding axe, two light weapons.
_______________
The next day, Iliante gingerly limps around on deck and unusually stays out of the rigging . He replies to Penance’s offer, ”Thanks, I appreciate that. I still can’t believe how ugly those hags were. Some things can’t be unseen.”
_______________
Day two after the hag attack, Iliante continues to slowly move around on deck and again unusually stays out of the rigging . He says to Penance, ”I still can’t shake that ugliness. You offered to do something about it?”
"I hear you. Gonna see those 'girls' in my dreams, and not the good sort of dreams," Penance says.
The day after, when Iliante seeks him out, Penance nods. Alright, now's the time to test it... it worked for him, but Abadar has a weird sense of humor sometimes. He cracks his knuckles, and rests one hand on Iliante's shoulder.
"Judge of the Gods... return to this man what's been taken from him," he says in an awkward mumble. He's never tried this. What Abadar does for him is one thing, but putting himself forward like a priest? It rubs him in all the wrong ways.
But a promise is a promise. "Make whole his spirit and flesh; return to him the, uh, the fullness of perfection..."
It sounds stupid. Stupid prayers. High-flown, fancy language. Penance really hopes it works, or he's going to look like every stripe of idiot.
The key hanging from his neck blazes with sudden heat that ripples down his arm and into Iliante's shoulder. Penance knows it's worked-- he can't help a surprised grin at the undine.
"Son of a hag, it worked-- uh, I mean, 'course it worked. There you go. Right as rain, or... something."
*
The vitality surges through Iliante restoring what the hag ugliness sapped. "Thanks. That feels so much better," he replies.
"You seem surprised it worked?" Iliante asks.
<< | | >>
After a few minutes of after battle work, the group of Agents and the crew return to their sleep. Most of the mercenaries weren't even aware that something had happened until they heard Iliante's gunshots, and were too late to arrive on deck to be of any use.
The next week is relatively uneventful as the Breath continues to draw nearer to the Hungry Mists. Iliante trains with Shinjuko, while Penance gets up the nerve to go learn what it means to be a man. By the end of the week, he can't believe he'd waited so long. Sex was awesome. The mercenaries grow steadily more drunk and bored as the time aboard the cramped, extremely hot ship drags on. More than once the Agents find themselves mediating disputes between their underlings.
The next Fireday, Captain Wangerre invites the Agents to dine with him privately in his cabin. There is barely enough room for all of them around the table he lowers from chains attached to the ceiling, but they manage to make it work. There is fresh bread (a shipboard luxury), the day's catch of fish and the ever present salted pork on the table, as well as two bottles of Chelaxian wine opened and ready for consumption. Once everyone is seated, the captain finger grooms his mustache unthinkingly before he begins. "Agents! Let this meager fare be a celebration of two things. The first, your presence on this voyage. Without you all I hate to think how many men and women I would have lost in to those monsters. Secondly, let us celebrate the imminent end of our voyage. We should reach The Hungry Mists and our rendezvous with Besmara's Bounty around noon tomorrow." Wangerre pauses to grab his wine glass, "To the Consortium! May we all grow incredibly rich!" he says, raising his glass in a toast.
Devram raises a glass to the toast, but doesn't say anything. He looks around the room for others' reaction to toasting to the Consortium's health. With the way Aspis operated, he wouldn't be surprised if others shared his lack of enthusiasm.
Devram was just itching to get off this damned boat. Penance had now added mumbling prayers to his snoring at night. Thank god for the Jaavela. It at least got the half-orc out of the room a few nights. He couldn't tell if the man's mood had improved.
The Aldori pours himself some wine and takes a sip. Well at least there's some small comforts left. Small chance this stuff will last once we land. I wager we'll be drinking moonshine before the week is through.
After the toast, Devram asks the captain, "What can you tell us about the Bounty and her crew, Captain? And are you to follow us through the mists?"
The week passes quickly for Iliante under the strict tutelage of Shinjuko. He learns the power of quickness and how to apply it in melee. Their bond as student and sensai extends to socializing with Iliante sharing the complete depth of his background.
______________________________
At the party, Iliante raises his glass to the captain's toast and takes a sip for social acceptance. However, the toast unintentionally highlights his separation from the team. First, he only became an agent for this mission. His true loyalty is to Alkenstar not the Consortium. To provide a metaphor for this duality, Iliante sips the valuable wine that he knows poorly affects him. The desiccant nature of alcohol makes it difficult to digest for his kind, but his years aboard ships have trained him to stomach a bit.
After the toast, he returns to his steeped green tea and polite conversation.
<<>>
“Oh, I hardly do anything, you know…” says Telemakos with blatantly fake modesty “Really, it is just this gift – I believe it runs in the family – that makes beings dwelling on other planes very prone to comply to my requests. It is a bizarre quality, I’m well aware of that” he shrugs, in a clearly studied display of nonchalance “not an easily understood, or easily marketable, skill, like that of a sellsword or a thug. Still, the beings I summon are pretty efficient…”
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
<<>>
“Ah! I will drink to the end of our voyage! Very much so!” he raises yet another cup half-full of wine “Your skill in sailing and navigation notwithstanding, Captain, these short legs are made for firm ground, not the rolling deck of a ship!”
During the evening, Telemakos entertains conversation with whomever listens to him, sharing his plans of finding rare animals to train in the unknown island, complimenting the wine and food, and all around never shutting up.
Emerion raises his glass with the others, takes a false sip. Putting his glass down, he returns to his flask. Good habits died hard as they said, he never allowed himself to be overcome by drink. More so he never drank what was offered, poison was far to common in his work. What he was glad for was their final arrival, they would have much to do. Not the least of which was gain a foothold and fortify it. He had also been studying up on trap designs. Defense would have great value for the settlement, the more deadly his traps the less enemies they would have to deal with.
After the toast, Devram asks the captain, "What can you tell us about the Bounty and her crew, Captain? And are you to follow us through the mists?"
"The Bounty is captained by an Ulfen man named Bengt Hagebak. He started out as a vikingr raiding down the western coasts of Avistan. Eventually he ended up with a pirate crew and sailed down to the Shackles. I met him in Sargava. He and the crew are salty dogs to be sure. They are much more capable in a fight than my own crew, but I wouldn't trust them as far as I can throw them."
The Captain pauses to sip his wine and twiddle his mustaches. "If all goes well, we'll meet them tomorrow at noon outside the portal through the mists. When the moon rises we'll go through. Besmara's Bounty has the rest of the mercenaries, and the slaves onboard."
(to Iliante) "...no, no, course I knew it'd work! Just, you know, wasn't sure you'd be worthy of Abadar's favor, ha! Good you know you are..."
***
Penance is definitely in a good mood following his rendezvous with Jaavela. Probably annoyingly so. He walks around whistling, and grinning, and slapping people on the back for no good reason.
Fortunately he's lost some of the effusiveness by the time the dinner rolls around. He drinks heartily of the Chelaxian wine.
"To the Consortium!" He's feeling remarkably well-disposed to the Consortium, right now. Heck, he's feeling remarkably well-disposed to everyone, right now.
Goblets clink and Penance rips a piece of the fresh bread into chunks that he pops into his mouth, listening to the talk at the table.
"You've sailed us well, captain; my thanks. I'll toast to those we've lost this voyage as well, but let us look to morning and tomorrow's chances."
He is ready to get back on solid ground himself. "So we'll be sailin' these mists at night... coming to shore at night too?" he asks, his brows furrowed. "I'm no sailor, but is that risky-- chance of hittin' submerged things and such?"
The captain looks openly worried. "Indeed. It is a grave risk, especially for a vessel of the Breath's size. You'll have to take the Bounty ashore, then we can ferry the supplies over with our boats. It'll probably take the whole night, but the passage only opens while the Dark Tapestry is devoid of the moon's light."
Sensei Yamakawa-"sama", an honorific the Tian-Min insists upon in order to warrant her tutelage of Iliante-"kun", is a fair deal less strict as an instructor than many expect. Her methods utilize patience and keen observance through a grueling-bordering-on-boring series of repetitions. The first half of the week, in fact, is dominated by repetitive strikes and various kata—deliberate forms and ranges of movement the young woman assures Iliante will help perfect his technique and focus when it matters most. By the time a week has passed on The Naga's Breath, the pair have only actually sparred twice. The Undine proves a rapid learner, Shinjuko is delighted to discover, with a natural swiftness and sense of balance that she finds easy to coax into appreciable results.
Though Iliante is a far cry from having mastered the extensive techniques afforded her through long years of training under Mifune, he has a firm grasp on how to leverage his inherently exceptional agility to deliver precise blows. She offers to continue their lessons and sparring matches, offering substantial praises to her new disciple's potential.
As far as personal information, she remains annoyingly tight-lipped about her own history. She seems willing enough to convey her history with the Aspis Consortium, though any discussions of her father elicit a hasty and polite change of subjects. Despite her best attempts at composure and comporting herself as a skilled duelist worthy of the title sensei, she seems very much the something to prove sort. The stakes of this voyage are likely far more personal for her than material wealth.
__________________________________________________
Shinjuko politely offers her glass in solute to the rest of the Agents and captain seated around the table in stiflingly cramped accommodations. The smell alone of those whose company she is presently forced to share is nearly overwhelming. Many smelled as if they had never seen the inside of a proper bath. She is very glad that her own quarters were of a private variety. Subjecting herself to such odors would have likely dulled her wits after so long a voyage. Such thoughts brood behind a faint hint of a smile as still as her placid visage. The wine, while of adequate quality, is not a luxury she often indulges. She resolves to ration out a single glass for the entirety of the captain's private dinner, unwilling to dull her senses overmuch given their impending arrival at their rendezvous with the other vessel. The bread she savors similarly, though shows no reservation about eating her fill of such a frivolous boon. It is not until the well wishes, back patting, and guffawing has died down that she joins the conversation truly, appending her question to the discussion only after Wangerre has answered Penance.
"Safety is of paramount concern, for the crews and both ships—slave or otherwise. With resources so finite in scope, we must plan every detail with consideration given to all possible outcomes. There is no promise of timely reinforcements; no additional shipments to be depended on if our duress proves great. We should plan carefully the distribution of not only manpower, but inventories; food and water and other supplies. I wish to know to whom the task of such deployments shall fall upon, and what measures are being taken to establish a sustainable foothold upon arrival."
"So Captain Hagebak and his crew will be with us on the island? Is any of your crew coming with us?" Devram nods at Shinjuko's words on planning. "We should get an inventory of all supplies too."
The Captain looks to Shinjuko, somewhat flabbergasted. "Isn't that why you're all here?" Then he turns to answer Devram, "Yes, that's correct. Hagebak and his crew will be there in case you want to sail anywhere, and to maintain the Bounty. My crew will remain with the Breath. My quartermaster can provide you with an inventory. I'm afraid it's quite extensive though."
Iliante pays little attention to Shinjuko's interest in plans and inventories feeling that he can always just swim away if things go bad.
At the mention of the portal through the mists' and the passage only opens while the Dark Tapestry is devoid of the moon's light,' Iliante interests get piqued. He has lived and sailed these waters his whole life and never head of such a thing. At an appropriate opportunity, he asks, "Captain, what more can you tell us about this portal? And how do you know when we have arrived?"
Thinking if he should partake of the wine while raising his glass to share in the toast, Corridan finally decides to take a sip after all, reasoning that if his drink was poisoned, so too would the others' be. Putting the glass down on the table, the tailor leans back in his chair, relaxing and letting the rest of them do most of the talking. Even as a businessman, if there is one thing he does not particularly relish busying himself with, it is the minutiae of bookkeeping and organising an inventory of all people and things. At least the undine's questions seem to divert the discussion towards a more interesting subject.
"Now that does sound like an intriguing question," Corridan comments. "And I am sure it is one of particular interest to our more magically-inclined members," he adds referring to the spellcasters among them. As he finishes, he nudges Telemakos gently, as the gnome seems a little too preoccupied with the food and drink. Practically beaming at the summoner, he says softly, "Right, Mr. Krostumolis?"
"I'm not one for the counting and tallying of items on paper," Penance rumbles. Truthfully, he's barely literate. "Somebody who likes numbers can do all of that."
He scratches at his jaw, remembers the map the Gold Agent had shown them.
"The little bit of coast we already know isn't much, but the preliminary missions saw marshy bits of shore, thick jungle... I don't care to make shore in any of those areas. Either could hold unknown creatures waiting to ambush us, and it's awful conditions for visibility and for fighting...
"Captain, once we're through this hole in the mists, is it feasible for the Breath and the Bounty to follow the coastline, until we look for solid, open ground to disembark on? I don't want to be ferrying supplies and men right into the middle of quicksand, or a jungle hiding every beast known.
"And maybe Iliante can help scout the water's approach, to see if it's clear of underwater dangers like rocks, eh?" he asks, peering sidelong at the undine.
"Way I see it," he crosses his arms, "the group of us need to get on-shore soon as we can and start scouting and securing a perimeter. Our first real camp needs to be a place right on the coast, for ease of resupply, and if we can scout that from the ships and start unloading there, rather than unloading everything once and then having to haul it by land to a better site, that's a better use of our time."
He lifts a big hand to count off points on his fingers:
"Landing site needs to be solid ground, not marsh. Needs to be fairly open so we can see what's around us, not have an ambush coming outta trees or jungle from a few feet away.
"A source of fresh water would be real handy but beggars can't be choosers. And a water-approach that's free of big rocks or dangerous tides would also be nice. Anything else we should look for?"
"You know as much about the passage as I Master Iliante. I have an extremely precise magical startchart that will allow us to find the right place. After that, from what I understand it will simply open, a broad passage through the Mists."
The captain listens to Penance before responding, "I thought your higher ups had already informed you, there are extensive and dangerous coral reefs around the island. The mapped area is the only part of the coast practically accessible from the passage. I'm afraid there simply is no good place to land. There are several small estuaries emptying into the sea from the marshland from what I understand. Water at least should be in abundance."
Penance grunts. "Marsh it is."
"Perhaps, we should land closer to the hill. It might be the best place to set up camp and give us an advantage over the surrounding area."
"Interesting, Captain. I would very much like to see your magical starchart." Iliante replies.
"Perhaps, we should land closer to the hill. It might be the best place to set up camp and give us an advantage over the surrounding area."
"Interesting, Captain. I would very much like to see your magical starchart." Iliante replies.
"Certainly," the captain replies. "It's nothing flashy, it's simply perfectly accurate. The Consortium has also lent me use of a sort of magical sextant. It takes an accurate three hundred and sixty degree view of the night sky, and projects a flattened illusion of it onto a chart. They've developed it as a way to set up dead drop locations. Once the illusion matches the stars on your chart, you know you're in the right place. Quite ingenious really."
"Wow," is all Iliante can manage as a response.
Telemakos almost dozed off after drinking the wine – his forty pounds handle the alcohol like forty pounds should, which is to say, very little.
Only the talk about the magical portal in the mists awaken him for a second – after all, that’s pretty much all he does, opening portals to other planes.
Then the conversation veers back to inventorying and planning for the approach – which he does not understand much about. He nods, faking a convinced approval, to Penance’s suggestions.
When the captain takes out the startchart, for a second his gnomish sense of wonder pops up again Oooh, Arasmes would love that! “You may say that is nothing impressive, but I disagree. It is a very nice piece of arcane craftsmanship!” then his usual grumpy mood comes back Yeah, that’s better he’s not around. He would have made a fool of himself and of myself as well. Will he ever grow up?
"I'm good with the hill," Penance says with a nod. "If we can get the ship at all close. Damned if I want to land in marshes."
The captain considers the map for a moment. "The only issue with landing there would be time. The way the reefs are it would be a long way to ferry goods from the Breath. It might mean not getting all the supplies ashore before I have to pull the Breath out. Then again building a camp on dry land will be much easier than marsh. We will of course gladly follow your decision either way."
"We may consider landing somewhere that will allow us to unload all the supplies then make a caravan train to the hill area. We can not afford to be without our full supplies."
Emerion chimes in.