R'khan did not take much convincing, that was the first surprise. When Ethysil presented his idea to the captain, with Vilayn sat numb and mute beside him like a corpse propped up in the chair, he watched R'khan frown, the same way it did when the officer of the watch presented him with news he didn't like, then settle his brow into a familiar line of determined resignation.
'You sure this'll work?'
'No, relkhan. Not in the slightest.'
'Very well. Give me time to think on it.'
Three days later, the permanent crew of the Runaway Scamp crammed themselves into Casethar's cornerclub atop the hill. The last of the daylight clung to the walls long after the rest of Blacklight fell into darkness and shone on the river until it burned. The name Firewater for the club had been well chosen. Before anyone could settle in with a glass of its other namesake, however, R'khan stood up on the bar. Although the wood was still gleaming, untouched since the day of Hazil's wake, Casethar didn't bat an eye at the boots scuffing across it. He had an arm around Vilayn's shoulders and seemed oblivious to anything else, least of all the sailors sneaking towards the bottles on the shelf.
'Hold yourselves, lads, I want you clear-headed for this.' R'khan paused, eyes settling on a cheerful, patient smile in the front row. 'Mr Braskan, what is Mistress Morinah doing here? I made it pretty damn clear that this'd be crew only.'
After a long silence, presumably spent hoping his captain would forget asking the direct question, a nudge from Morinah's elbow finally prompted Braskan to answer. He threw in a lazy salute as well, clearly hoping this would win him some favour from R'khan's stony face.
'Well, R'khan... there's this rumour, see, that ya's gonna ask us ta sail inta Oblivion, an' I might a' mentioned it ta Morinah. Only as a rumour, like, but she said if we was then mebbe she'd be useful, seein' as she works with all that Daedric shit.'
Everybody else in the room leaned forwards slightly while R’khan rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Gossip spread through the crew faster than ataxia. It took the wind out of his sails somewhat, but then again, they had heard the rumour and turned up to the meeting anyway, which at least meant they hadn't dismissed the idea out of hand. He cleared his throat.
'I don't know how you does it, but you ain't far off. Most of you knows Farel Hazil, our own Mister Vilayn's husband, and his recent passing.' He paused, expecting Vilayn to flinch, or close his eyes, anything to show he was still alive, but no. Only stillness. 'And you also knows we can't go fishing every lost soul out of Oblivion, or wherever they ends up. But for reasons I ain't telling you 'cause it don't bloody concern you, this is different. Mister Ethysil believes that although the Oblivion Crisis sealed off paths from Oblivion to, ah--'
'Mundus,' supplied Ethysil, in an undertone. R'khan swept on as if he'd said the name himself.
'--there's still gates as go in the other direction, like the one Lord Seht used in 2920. There's reports of one underwater, out in the Sea of Ghosts, but with Ethys's magic and a bit of help from our... mutual friends, he believes we may be able to access it.'
He waited to see what effect his words would have. Perhaps he should have waited to make the announcement, let them get a good amount of the bar's contents down them before proposing such madness, but something had prevented him from doing so, in the knowledge that being tricked into an undertaking of this scale would kill their morale. Besides, he couldn't be alone. The years had been catching up to them recently, cold and relentless, and he knew no person could outrun them forever. Time and tide waited for no man.
So far the general attitude seemed cautiously positive. Most of the crew were talking amongst themselves, and there were heavy looks on all their faces, but only a few were glancing towards the door or outright scowling. One or two, most notably Braskan and Sham, were not excited, exactly, but already decided. They nodded unconsciously, settled, assured, eyes on their captain. Drasonval, sat beside them, seemed less certain, and as soon as the muttering died down he stuck a fist in the air.
‘What about getting back again?’ he asked. ‘Let’s say we find this gate, face whatever’s inside, and find what we’re looking for. How do we get home?’
R'khan stamped his foot on the counter until the whispers subsided.
‘You want the honest answer, Mister Drasonval? I don’t know. Could be a one-way trip to hell.’
‘Ya’s always sayin’ ya wants ta get away from th’wife,’ said Braskan. Somehow, faced with the prospect of his imminent doom, he still managed to maintain the lazy smirk. ‘Here ya go. Perfec’ chance.’
Before the exchange could develop into a scuffle or, even worse, a ruckus, R’khan kicked the counter again.
‘Some of you -- Mister Azareth, Mister Braskan -- you lived through the Oblivion Crisis, I’m guessing ‘cause even the Daedra couldn’t find a use for your worthless hides, so you knows what we’re up against. But you’ve also sailed with me and Mr Vilayn a damned long time, and not once have you turned your backs on a challenge.’ He lowered himself down so that he was sat on the bar. Although he spoke quietly, he had their attention now, even over the temptation of the bottles behind him. 'I don't think I need to tell you, my lads, that this ain't just about Mister Hazil. We've all felt it, and been feeling it for a while now. We been on the sea since the last era and that's a bloody long time. But if we're going to finish it, if it's got to end, I ain't retreating quietly into a comfy house where I can't feel the wind on me face. I'm going to die where I belongs, and that's on the deck of me brig, the sea beneath me feet, doing something outrageously bloody stupid just because people told me I couldn't. Now, I ain’t making of you do this. I’m telling you now it’s madness, so none of you is obliged to follow me, and there ain’t no hard feelings for those as stay behind. But by the Three, those who do, we’re going to leave you a damned good story to tell and you'd better bloody tell it. So -- who’s with me?’
Haaki glared and rubbed his sleeve across his upper lip. Dried blood, missed the first time he tried to clean himself up, flaked off onto his robes.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said, and before Trond could interrupt added, ‘Had my nose broken so many times now, I barely noticed.’
‘Who did it?’
‘Why? Are you going to go and defend your baby brother? It’s fine.’
‘Nah, I think it looks better. I was going to congratulate them on their efforts, tell them what a good job they did. I think it’s an improvement.’
He left himself open for that one and Trond, grinning, had taken full advantage of it. At least in his satisfaction he seemed to have forgotten the question. Haaki nudged him aside and followed the scent of Joldi’s cooking to the dinner table, where Amelie was waiting to tell her uncle all about the rabbit she saw from the top of Whiterun’s walls. The story included every detail of her morning, from the dream she had to what she ate for breakfast, and Haaki listened without hearing.
There was no reason not to tell Trond, really. Keeping silent would only have him leaping to conclusions. He was already watching from the other side of the table, staring first at Haaki’s swollen nose and then straight into his eyes. Haaki ignored him and nodded in answer to a question from Amelie, a question which he wouldn’t have been able to recall if asked.
Taverns were not his favourite places to visit these days. Quite apart from the temptations, which were becoming dull and distant, there was the chance of being recognised. Like this evening. He had thought the Bannered Mare would be safe, the inn he had known all his life and where he could name every patron, only to find a Dunmer huddled in the corner. He was certainly no citizen of Whiterun, his heavy seacoat proved that much, but it didn’t take long for Haaki to recognise him.
He recognised Haaki, too. His already broken face shattered into a smile, tugging at his scars and revealing too many gaps between his teeth.
‘Hacky, righ’? Long time no see.’
‘Aye. Well met, Mr Braskan. What’re you doing away from your ship?’
‘It don’t matter. C’mere. Got summat fer ya.’
The summat turned out to be a fist to the face which burst bone, cold and hard and numbing. Haaki bunched a fist to swing back but moved it to his own face instead, staunching the blood and the desire to lash out. No. Through the ringing in his ears he heard the Dunmer say in the same genial voice,
‘Tha’s fer me son. We’re even now, ya got tha’? ‘S fer Hlenil. Three’s blessings, Hacky Boar-Chaser.’
Getting Jo'Raya to perform floggings with her claws has had at least one unexpected side-effect. Her inexplicable soft spot for Braskan doesn't mean she goes easy on him when he's being punished for drunkenness - if anything, she's more vicious - and the pain has never seemed to deter Braskan. Increasingly, however, he does seem to be aware of Jo'Raya's disappointment in him, and although it might be wishful thinking, his pumishments do seem to be getting a little less frequent.
❝ This world is full of wonders for those who seek them. ❞
‘Aye, tha’s nice an’ all, but I thinks I’s gonna keep seekin’ ‘em inside a’ this bottle, if ‘s all the same ta ya.’ Braskan tilted the bottle upwards, but before he drank from it he added, ‘Lemme know if ya finds any a’ them wonders elsewhere, like, then mebbe I’ll come see ‘em.’
How would the scamps react to finding out they had an illegitimate child in a port town somewhere?
If hot-footing it to the brig and pleading with R’khan to weigh anchor isn’t an option…
R’khan would coolly deny any and all involvement. He would probably be right, in fairness – the elven races tend to be less fertile due to their extended lifespans – but even if the child was his, he would cut off all ties. His sole concession would be a small sum of gold on the understanding that he would never be approached again. In a few years’ time, however, he might just happen to pass by the port again, and if a young Dunmer was looking for work, they would find a place on the Runaway Scamp.
Vilayn’s reaction would be much the same, but if the person making the claim said the right things and pushed the right buttons, so to speak, he could potentially be persuaded into taking a more active part in the child’s upbringing. It would definitely require some conferring with his husbands, however.
Tosti would talk his way out of any and all responsibility.
Eddis would laugh until the person gave up and left, as is his way. If this didn’t work, he would go to the captain for advice, and R’khan would then follow his own tactics as described above.
Drasonval would feel a lot more responsibility than the rest of the crew. Some sort of regular payment would be the least he could offer, and if persuaded he might be convinced to talk to his wife about the situation. She would not be pleased. At all. Contact with the child would end abruptly right there.
Ethysil would open with an argument that we are all the children of ALMSIVI and therefore this particular child is no more entitled to his attentions than any other. If that didn’t work, he would point out that Lord Vivec set out to murder his unwanted children. If that didn’t put someone off, he would become genuinely concerned for the child’s wellbeing and might agree to at least visit.
Oran isn’t averse to the idea of becoming a father, but what he would mostly give the mother and child is a lot of empty promises -- money for the child’s upbringing (when he has some), tutoring (when the child is older), a home (when he stops sailing with the Scamp)...
Braskan, of all people, is the only member of the crew who would be prepared to accept a child and commit himself to looking after it. How would he go about doing this with his lifestyle? The Three only know. He certainly wouldn’t. The most likely scenario is that Morinah would suddenly find herself raising her adoptive sibling while Braskan was at sea.
The Scamps have lost more than a few of their own over the centuries, but that doesn’t make it any easier. They each have their own ways of reacting to and dealing with the ensuing grief.
R’khan gets much stricter and quicker to anger. The only time he has ever hit Luca was after a crew member was killed, in response to an unrelated incident. She didn’t retaliate, surprisingly, but ran away and hid in the hold for a while, where the Argonians kept her company. R’khan didn’t apologise but then again, he also didn’t punish her for shirking her duties.
Speaking of Luca, on the rare occasions when somebody she actually likes dies, she gets stuck in the denial phase of grief. The person in question cannot be dead, and if they are, there must be a way to get them back. That’s what shady deals with the daedra are for.
Vilayn shuts himself away refusing to talk to anyone and drinks heavily; the length of time and amount of booze vary according to how much he liked the recently deceased. He was drunk for three days straight after he found out that his mother had died. Casether is worried about what will happen if (when) Hazil succumbs to his illness.
Tosti becomes cold, almost surgical. He tends to disappear for a length of time as well. If the person who died was someone close to him, and if they died before their time, the people at fault for their death tend to meet an unpleasant fate of their own shortly afterwards.
Azareth takes the news in his usual stoic way. It’s even more difficult than usual to coax conversation out of him afterwards, although he might be found in deep, quiet debate with Ethysil. Eventually he will pour out one for the deceased, smoke one of his fancier pipes in their honour, and move on.
Bereavement might be the only thing which silences Eddis’s laughter. True, he will start sucking and chewing on his teeth instead, but at least it’s a break from his usual giggling. He also becomes more erratic in his behaviour. The last time they lost a crew member and this happened, R’khan, in a moment of genuine concern for his bosun, called Eddis into his quarters for a private talk; Eddis was back to usual when he left.
Drasonval, Braskan, Oran and Sham commiserate with each other. Their omnipresent sense of camaraderie intensifies, and they will gather around, usually with a drink, and if they all knew the deceased they will share stories together until they’re able to laugh again. If only one of them was personally affected, the others will do their best to cheer him or her up or, failing that, just be there.
Bob will take her feelings out on any objects nearby, smashing them until she feels better. Surprisingly, it works. She doesn’t understand why everybody else has to bury their emotions, or sit around doing nothing about them.
Eldnar feels loss keenly, and struggles to hide his sentimentality. It embarrasses him and -- what a shock -- the crew tease him for it, so he tends to disappear in this sort of situation until he’s over the tears.
According to his beliefs, Ethysil is not supposed to consider death an end, merely a return to a greater whole. That’s all very well as an abstract idea. In practice he becomes very sombre, spends a lot more time alone with his thoughts, and either avoids talking to people if he is the only person affected, or listens quietly if other people knew the deceased.
Jo’Raya doesn’t show much in how she deal with other people, but she loses her appetite and spends a lot more time sleeping, or at least curled up in her bunk, than she usually does.
Assuming her surgical efforts did not contribute towards the death in question, Rosie deals with grief reasonably well. Like anyone, she goes through periods of sadness and anger, but they fade in a reasonable amount of time. If her surgical efforts did contribute, once she overcomes the guilt she will be determined to learn from the experience and do better next time, and will throw herself almost frantically into her work and study to ensure this is the case.
Turithys shuts down all personal communication. She will only talk to people to discuss work, and it can take a long time before she is ready to relax and open up again.
Like Jo’Raya, Xisthia’s interactions with others don’t change much, but that’s assuming they can find her. She will spend most of her time swimming and hiding underwater, distracting herself with exploring the seabed and sometimes sitting on rocks down there, watching the ripples overhead.
Zannammu appears to have much more faith in her concept of an afterlife than Ethysil. She is convinced that those who pass on receive their just rewards and uses this to cope with the loss of them in her own life.
