may i have a character palette for my character Mavas "Ocean" Nadden a female Triton Twilight Cleric who is hoping to make her way back to her human love after she was ripped away from him in an accusation of killing her best friend. She is a very loving young triton who after her friend died ended up in a temple of selune to avoid being accused of the death of her friend. her colors are the colors of the ocean, blues, greys and greens.
The silence that overtook those on the deck of Calypso who had watched the bravery of the sister ship below wracked their minds and hearts. To see the blue aura of a proud warship sink was a haunting memory, mixed with the eerie song the crew sang to their very last breath. It was there, in the darkness of the writhing sea below, that something began to emerge.
“The king an’ 'is men stole th’ queen from 'er bed an’ bound 'er in 'er bones…”
The muffled voice echoed through the air, as did the view of the mist forming that caused the Fury to be such a dangerously known ship. Slowly, something steadied to the surface, a dark aura pulsed outward, rippling through the white-capped waves following the tyrant who had just sunk the ship.
Bubbling up from the center of the explosion, a dark mass of what appeared to be a hybrid of Shadow and Ice magic created a dome around what could have only been the Naga’s Fury. The protective bubble swirled in a dark shadow melded with the ice, the blazing crash of energy had not only managed to contain the ship but the explosion pushed them back to the top. Somewhere in the chaos, both Mavas and Jack used the power-enhancing runes on the Fury to amplify their magic together, the darkened ice that faded to a striking blue was at the front of the ship, acting as a shield while the shadow magic radiated behind. It was the last thing both could think of doing.
Below, Jack hung by his tied hand to the wheel, his body slumped and mana completely drained. Tired eyes opened to peer through the cracked lens of his goggles, silently counting his crew. Five ropes were empty on the deck, many more were still attached to people in pain from the crash.
Above in the rigging, Mavas freed himself as best he could from the restraints, glancing once more through his blurred vision at the harness that was previously on Glik, knowing he had failed to keep his partner from falling.
“The seas be ours an’ by th’ powers, where we will, we’ll roam.”
The synced voices were exhausted and luckily for the crew they had made it far enough out into the ocean that the third wave began to build its momentum behind them, giving a third, devastating crash into Atlas Island. All the crew could do was watch, weary of what they had survived as the barrier began to fade, flickering in and out from Mavas’ concentration was lost.
Jackary forced himself to stand, peeling off the tied rope to look at his burned wrist, small bits of blood along the reddened skin from where it cut in deep to keep the Captain attached. His attention was drawn up when Mav’s poor landing was less than graceful, a hand still clutched over his eye in writhing agony.
“Jackary...” Mavas could barely hold himself together, no matter how hard he tried to keep his steady, calm behaviour. When was the last time Mavas had addressed him that way while on a ship? “I require... assistance.” With that, the raven-haired male collapsed onto the soaked deck, his hand fell away to reveal the damaged eye, or what had been left of it.
“MAVAS!” When was the last time Jack had said the rogue-hybrid’s complete name? Stumbling over, the momentum caused Jack to slide across the slick planks, dropping to his knees to clutch hold of the other’s head. “Fuck, fuck fuck FUCK!”
There was no medic.
Sniffling, there was a certain strength he could still feel linked somewhere within his heart, the tension between doing what was right and breaking rules was a thin line that Jackary finally crossed. A hand moved from Mavas’ cheek to cup over his eye, the powerful healing source ignited through his palm in a brilliant, peridot green. It was well known that Emerald Dragons could heal but the cost was far greater than the outcome sometimes was.
It didn’t stop Jack from trying, from pouring everything he had left into trying to reconstruct the damage but without the actual eye still left in the socket, he couldn’t simply rebuild it. The healing stream was just barely enough to stop the bleeding and seal up the wound. Mavas would be able to walk away from it but at the cost of a scarred, useless side of his face.
What was worse had been Mav’s defenses kicking in, finding Jack and his healing a threat. Just as Jackary was transferring his very essence into saving Mavas, poison crept back into the connection, seeping unknowingly into the dragon’s blood. Jack’s head hung low enough to let their foreheads touch, his hand still worked to try and lessen the scarring the wound would inevitably leave.
“Come on, Mav...” He spoke through the lightheaded assault, unaware that it was the poison and not how much of his own life source he was putting into Mavas to save him. Eyes closed tightly, ignoring the splash of a wave that brushed up the side of the Fury, enough to spray the deck one more time.
“Yes to my application..?” The soft whisper escaped as a single eye opened, meeting those cracked, steamed over goggles from the difference between the cold sea and the heated dragon behind them. Mavas gave a small squint with his single eye left, attempting to show a bit of a jesting behaviour towards the blond.
“Fuck you, Mav.” The dragon couldn’t help but choke out a bit of laughter, pulling his hand away just enough to see the damage that couldn’t be repaired. “Yes, you got th---”
“CAP’N!” came a voice from on the deck at a pained roar shook everything around them, including the ship. Through the fading storm had been an upset island splashing through the ocean, a giant fin raised up, all but ready to crush the ship out of anxiety and its own fury.
“The Wanderin’ Isles...?! EVERYBODY GET DOWN!”
With a sudden jerk of the Fury, something slammed into the side of her, rocking the massive warship just out of the way of the raging island’s path. Even if it had knocked Jackary and Mavas away from the wheel, he could feel the essence of the Fury push her own ship away. They’d saved her and now she would save them.
It was too close, far too close for comfort. How they had just survived three waves of devastation and the rightfully upset Wandering Isles, it was beyond Jackary. His back sank against the curved wood the Fury’s top deck, an arm clutched firmly around Mavas to hold him close so that if anything else were to come their way, the weakened First Mate wouldn’t fall from the ship.
His eyes closed slowly, the pain and guilt eating him alive. Six lost and Mavas had lost half of his vision. A hand reached up to cup his mouth, holding back any noise that would surely escape his throat. His crew stood there in silence, watching the angry turtle swim away from their direction, knowing Calypso would have her own issues with the snapping mouth of the wounded animal.
Jack had bigger problems, he was already feeling the side effects of Mavas’ poison, uncertain of what his struggle was. He’d used up all of his Mana, a good chunk of his life’s energy and now he was struggling with his own pain.
Aranya sat in the dimness, gazing into the slick, iridescent sheen on the water that flowed through the Dalaran sewers, the relative isolation of the Underbelly providing cover for her contemplations. Around her were the glowing and cracked remains of bottles of discarded magical substances, crystals and dust. Despite how well her business with Kazakus and Killian turned profit from all this mana trash delivered to the alchemist's door, it was not the subject that preoccupied her mind.
The sin'dorei woman thought of her past. Things she done, things that would never let her go, and the things that were re-surfacing to take her back to everything she used to be. Was there a way for her to survive it? Was it possible she could do things differently this time around? And who would she be?
She felt a gaze on her before she turned her glance to find the face of Mavas observing her. "Master Hawke," she greeted with a tone of blithe spirits and well-practiced politeness, yet it was clear that the man had come upon her at a time when she was brooding. A thing she was never keen to let others see. "The master of shadows has found the flame out in the darkness, I see. What brings you?"
The warlock stayed silent, fel eyes gleaming as he seemed to just stand there, watching her, never blinking. Finally the sin'dorei spoke, to her side where she wasn't looking, his seemingly normal self vanishing before her eyes as he simply stood next to her.
"You spoke to me once about trust. Trust in you...your trust in captain An'diel. Tell me, has something changed?"
Aranya at first blinked, silently looking back at the man, processing his question.
"No," she said finally, and then looked away. "And yes," she admitted. Some part of her proverbial armor cracked just then, a tiny fracture in the blitheness and bravery she always comported herself with to the eyes of others. "Not in trust, but in..." she trailed off. "I'm supposing you've heard some of my past by now, or pieces of it, at least. What I was and what I did with the Sunwell gone."
A deep breath, a heavy sigh.
"What enemies I made and what they would do to have me pay for what I did to them."
Aranya finally met Mavas' eyes again. "Threats have been made, Mavas. Kurel was a figure in one such threat, that's what's changed."
"Did you tell Phantom about the defenses of Sunspire?" Mavas asked after a long pause, studying her, his body never moving but his eyes flickering like candles. "I need to know the truth, and I need to know exactly what I must do to protect my home." It was obvious the elf was tired, he had a bit of strain on his face, but he could not, would not, falter.
Aranya gave the warlock a look. Her whiskery black brows arched at him like he had just asked THE most utterly out of left-field and completely ridiculous thing that she had heard in years. Sunspire was just as much her home as it was his. And for one who gave every show of being so ardently dedicated to protecting Kurel, he seemed entirely uninterested in who could have made threats on him to the arcanist, or what the nature of that threat even was. She may as well have given him no answer at all.
"No," she answered. "I did not." She rolled her eyes and added, "Furthermore, I haven't even seen Phantom in weeks, so if you're looking for him, then I can't help you and you should be on your way."
The arcanist turned her head with dismissive deliberateness and elegance to turn her eyes to the sheen-slicked water nearby. "Or," she said after a minute. "If you would rather stay and explain what in the fel would ever give you such a fool idea as to think that myself, or Halenvar, or Colpeia would ever have the complete idiocy to go yapping off to someone outside the port - let alone any soul that isn't Blaque, Kurel, or Riz - about all that we put into the defenses of Sunspire Port, you're welcome to sit down and do just that."
The woman's smooth voice positively dripped with her unamusement.
"Blaque has stepped down as Purveyor. I am now Sunspire's Purveyor. Phantom threatened to blow up the Port, to kill everyone inside, and to send Magister Firavel and an army there to murder, and capture Kurel and place him on trial on false charges. They also threatened to erase his mind." Mav slowly lowered to lean down over her. "And he said quite clearly that he had spoken to one of the creators of the defenses...the titan defenses. Now, being as you are and have always seemed to be the chief designer and fabricator of these items...you can see why I came to you first."
"Mmm," uttered Aranya, impassively, after he had finished speaking. She still did not grace him with her gaze, but simply took in all the things he said, putting pieces together and filling in blanks, and then filing them away in her mind. The corner of her mouth pulled up slyly as she said, "Not to pick at your words, Master Hawke, but one would have to capture Kurel before murdering him, no?"
The sorceress chuckled. Then she became all business and command. "Much of what you say I've already been given notice of by other sources. Blaque himself told me - in his way - of his resignation, though it is only now that I come to know that it is you in particular who are his replacement. Lady Crimsonrose and Lord Lomeriel informed me just the other night that Phantom was up to something explosively not good, and I'm further aware that Pompouspants Firavel presses accusations of an absurd nature upon Lledwyn as well. Oh!" She looked at him now, with an expression of a kind that feigned a girl speaking over some particularly amazing gossip with one of her schoolmates, her sarcasm for such light sentiment rather evident. "And that Azure'Eish and An'Diel came to blows! Quite marvelous, that, don't you agree?
Aranya sighed, heavily, and still very unamused, turning her look away from him again. "The sheer mountains of disaster that happen every time I leave for a few weeks never ceases impress on me. And unless you can tell me exactly what Phantom said - word for word - I can only tell you these possibilities," she said, once again looking him in the eye, her smoldering fel green orbs locked to the candles of his. "One: Phantom did speak with one of the defense system's three creators, but speaking with someone at all is not always what it seems. Could be about anything from bloody swords to butter-knives. Speaking with someone does not necessarily mean speaking of the matters that you are lead to believe, and it is very possible that he would say one thing to have you believe something else."
The arcanist continued, "Two: someone is either divining or spying on port affairs, whether or not Phantom has in fact spoken to anyone, and in such a case we have a mole in our midst." Her tone of voice began to seethe, "And I, for one, would be gratified to hear of a swift end to such a problem... Alas, Hawke," she turned her gaze away again. "It may, possibly, be a problem you'll have to see to yourself." Her tone went softer, but there was a weight in it that sounded purposeful, "You're not the only one who desires to protect Kurel or Sunspire, and Phantom is not the worst thing that could happen to either one."
Mav listened to her, never losing her gaze, and he stood up then as she finished. "At the moment, he is, and considering everything, I had assumed you would be more concerned. However, my question was answered, I appreciate your honesty. It leaves for me to interrogate Halenvar, and Colpeia in turn, if they are also tied with the construction of the item."
"Have a good evening, Aranya, I will not trouble you again." he offered a small bow, before turning to move away.
"Be careful, Mavas," called Aranya after him, and despite how her words had simmered to him just a moment ago, she was in truth quite sincere.
She did not, however, press him to stay or tell him that he was very, very wrong. He couldn't help her do what needed to be done, anyway.
To Sunspire the titan tower lit up with runes, glowing brightly all the way to its tip top as the energy charged creating a dome dampening field inside. Magic would generally be deflected and suppressed inside. It knocked out much of the power within Sunspire, Rizzy’s new power lines and street lamps going dark as the sun went down over the port and slowly took to being replaced by the old lanterns and torches that had once decorated the town. Portals would be impossible, projectiles softened in the their strength, only a real invasion force would have a chance walking into Sunspire now.
None of them knew how or why the dome suddenly appeared. The few with knowledge of how it worked would be thankful or curse the trade-lord and his mechanical marvel. None who looked upon it as it went up would know the real story. That at the heart of the ancient power and giants stood a very small, scared, and secluded monk, wrapped in his secrets and humility, he hoped it to always stay that way.
Rizzy stood alone again.
He sent Luce and Teera out into Sunspire to search for weapons and explosives. Vel was off in the distance handling her own fears and planning her side of things. Saeris was still on his own journey, unreachable for a reason. Mavas was at Atlas and while him and the Commander were on their way it would be hours before the Aurora would fly overhead, days before the massive Calypso joined the air defense.
Kurel was mitigating his own side of the issue in Erudition. Defending Demy and Ilyea as was necessary and planning the next step in the chess match against the wolves. Killian was suddenly quiet on the comm, and could be no help considering his tenuous position between the two factions. Even Leona who had become a bit of a sounding board for the assassin, was distanced safely in Pandaria. There was no one to reach out to.
Standing within Kurel’s home - standing among his things that felt nearly as intimate to himself as they did to their owner - was almost too much. Things he had restored with killings and effort, added finances to in just the last few days from similar exploits. Things he was heir to in many ways. He had worked so hard for this. Fought at every pass, forged patience and skills he didn’t know he needed, why was he so terrified?
This isolation. Was this what Kurel felt all the time among them? The weight of the crown as it was often put; it was different than leading an operation or even running the port in ways that made him not Trade Lord, nor Captain, nor Purveyor, but perhaps nearly as important as all three… This was still different.
Riz pulled the titan disc from his pocket, shivering all over with the task at hand. The stone was created to be bound to one blood for life. It would obey that owner’s will no matter where on Azeroth they roamed. They would always be intrinsically linked to Sunspire, and perhaps the first shreds of honor to creep into Rizzy’s skin, or his budding sense of devotion forced him to understand there would be no running away after this.
The monk shut his eyes tight, bowing his head as silent tears fell down the sides of his cheeks. A silent apology reached out from his chest as if Saeris could feel it. Not that he would need nor request it, but Riz had promised him the chance to think about it. The veto power to keep their lives from settling down.
“We don’ settle down. We jus’ keep on ‘avin’ adventures then!” The redhead had soothed him.
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.”
Rizzy slipped the shadow dagger from beneath his sleeve.
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.”
The knife bit into his skin with hardly any pressure. He wouldn’t feel pain until the air hit his exposed insides, for now all he knew was the wet and the red.
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.”
From his forearm the blood dripped over the titan stone, the soft blue glow of ancient mechanics taking life, connecting to him and only him for the rest of his days. Surely if they needed to… someday it was plausible to reset the tower? Perhaps Phantom would succeed in his attempts to destroy it. Perhaps the whole thing would crumble in a decade and fall to dragon fire, who the fuck even knew.
“Saeris… promise me this is the right decision.” He spoke aloud. Riz had never had any gods, it was the closest thing to a prayer he could conceive of.
“Absolutely.”
“Alright tower... show us y’stuff, activate an close down the port.”
The locals were stirred. Worried. Rizzy should be out there comforting them, showing reassurance and strength he blatantly didn’t possess any more… but he knew Riz the Rigmaster now. He even knew Riz the Prince of Sunspire. He could be a ‘grifter’ as Demy called him and play his own face a while. He could be the nameless and hide his fears. He was the Unbreakable Reed after all and he was merely up against a third rate assassin by the title of Phantom. His first duty was to protect Vel. Second was to settle the startle around Sunspire.
The monk bandaged up his wrist and packed away the stone to handle the rest of the evening.
Silvermoon was a bustle of excitement with the official costume contest and all the other hallow's end festivities. Everyone was among the crowds that night, for better or worse.
“Fodder’s looking more like a child than an operative. Your doing?” The hint of humor on her lips fell flat on the rogue’s ears. It mocked him. Pinned him in place and stabbed him where it hurt. He had lost the Rushing Dragon, the Unbreakable Reed was still busy drifting to find his purpose again, Shade was obeying his mother, but it was tenuous and their seat at the council blatantly vacant until the operative was returned to her side and now… Vyr’s financial account hand been uncovered and Fodder was making… friends. With his future project nonetheless.
“His next mission will test his loyalty to the conclave and will be handled appropriately. If I have to I will remind him just because his body is that of a child, it doesn’t stop him from being a bred and grown assassin.” He looked at the lady to test her expression to his answer, but the wide brimmed shado’pan helm kept her features from him. She was small, and still. Narry a shift in even her breath changed her stance, balanced by tendrils of shadow that seemed to take up every corner of darkness near her.
Talah vanished in his frustration at the others. Lyren in particular was hitting all the right nerves and both man and boy knew it. Cooties. Of all things to get himself worked up over, but the operative felt safe in the new family. Playful. The fire mage could handle one little sleeping dart… The teen licked the tip to weaken it even, if he judged the man’s body weight right, a little on the underweight, but not unhealthily so, it would just drowse him and knock him out a matter of minutes.
Talah took aim, stepping out of the shadows just long enough for Leona to see him, to give the other man a fighting chance to shut up about the topic of kisses before the girls all talked about it being yucky and-
“Dont be weird!” Too late. Sometimes being two years older was hard.
The dart flew, aimed for the mage’s shoulder… and incinerated just shy of landing. Shit. He was seen and the bickering began anew.
“Oooh pet…” She mocked him again as they watched the boy from a distance, but this time with pity. Dangerous pity, that suggested he was on a razor thin edge as well. “Should you receive the brunt of my response to such callous failure in an operative? He is your ward…”
The opposite of the little creature, the man was tall, serious, severe; while her sadism was wrapped in a pretty bow and only a whisper in the dark like so many of the most horrifying monsters, unknown, his was front and center and worn like armor around him. “I am your response my lady… what would you like it to be?”
“Make him hurt. Make him useless at that sad little weapon. Make sure he is embarrassed by his behavior.” She paused to think if there was anything else, “Oh, and this comes from you as always. No need to tarnish my reputation.”
Talah pouted up on his shelf, but it could have been worse. Bickering over the comms was at least quieter than bickering out in the open, but it meant Flynn and Zaer might hear Lyren. He thought about climbing down and rejoining the girls, but he was just yucky wasn’t he? It was frustrating. He wanted a cigarette. A drink. Something. He made the mistake of setting his comm down next to him and hunted around his pockets when he felt the strong arms around him.
One hand went for the comm, getting out a brief “Hey!” before the thing was ripped from him and a knife was pressed against the inside of his thigh, angled dangerously.
“What are you doing messing around like that? Do you know how easily your darts can be traced when they are not properly policed? How many magisters may have seen your little antics?” Hidden was harsh in his ear and scrambling to pull the teenager into his grasp. “What are these clothes hu? Where did you get the new gear?”
“I… took it!” With permission… from Flynn’s things… but the massive adult over him, threatening him, didn't need to know that. Talah could only think about squirming free, hoping his boss didn't really mean him harm. What was one little dart anyways?
"You're fraternizing. You’re assimilating into a real life. You don't do that, you are Fodder." Hidden shoved him down the little crevice alley, only big enough for single file as he kicked out the teenager at the back of the knee to knock him to his knees. Talah never bothered crying out, but he did try to run, only he was quickly grabbed by the hair, the blade finding his throat as he was pulled back over Hidden’s thigh, exposed like a submissive pup with neck and belly bared. “What are you?”
“Fodder is fodder… Sir.”
“Good. The contact in Stormheim will be ready for you in a few days times. Are you prepared?”
Talah, finally glanced up to catch Hidden’s eye contact. Hate and loathing leaked from both their expressions before he silently shook his head, quickly following it with a retort as the knife against him pressed harder into his skin, “I’m working a con! This… adult is buying me new armor. New armor I need. I will be more-MORE…” He huffed, in near panic as the blade pushed in further.
“Effective, yes I’m sure you will be. Hurry, they are on a schedule out there and I will not have you wasting the contacts time like you do these… ‘adults’ of yours. Hold up your right hand against the wall.”
Talah… Fodder… put his hand up, nails scratching at the wall lightly as he tried to find something to grip on between the stone bricks.
Hidden covered his mouth with one gloved hand to stifle the sounds while the dagger stuck through the child’s hand and pinned him to the wall. He flexed and squirmed, but the damage was done. “Operatives do not play with their weapons.” And he was suddenly gone.
The boy quickly fell to the ground trying to bear his own weight at such an awkward angle again, the knife clattering to the ground as the meat of his palm tore through it. He curled up in pain, biting his tongue to keep from calling out. There would just be too many questions and even more punishment if he made a sound. Stay quiet. Stay still.
Leona frowned, "Uncle Rizzy, who sent you? Why'd you go to Sunspire in the first place... cause intel means that you were getting information for someone, right?"
Riz tilted his head as if she has asked an odd question she shouldn't have, the shift to a grin though, proved otherwise, prove the first glace was nothing but an act. "Much better questions."
"I was sent by a man I call Hidden. No idea what his real name, pretty sure no one alive does, but he's tall, an cruel lookin and keeps his black hair pulled in the tightest, longest pony tail Ive ever seen. Sorta guy y'know is trouble without ever needin a word out o' him."
He glanced away, now the hard part. "I wasn't sent for information. I was sent t'retrieve or put down an escaped operative. Someone a bit like Phantom, but much better at hiddin his job till most people don't know its there. It got... complicated, an I decided t'go off mission too. S'when I told Kurel why I was really there."
Saeris looked down. He was infinitely worse at hiding emotions and the frowny face he was making screamed he knew the story very well.
"So the escaped operative is still in Sunspire?" Leona scrunched her nose in thought, "And complicated how? And how'd you get mixed up in that mess in the FIRST place?" Welp. Rizzy may have made a slight miscalculation. The questions weren't going to stop now. "And what did Trade-Lord do when he found out?"
"Mmhmm. Operative is still in Sunspire, or least he comes an goes often enough. The man paid for a slave as his partin ‘screw you’ t'his previous handlers an set him free. Life for a life." Riz shook his head, "for a friend's life. Cuz of that friend, said operative an I stay on decent enough terms."
"Kurel almost took m'head off and broke this room apart at first! But then helped me mostly. S'when he told me I could work for him or get off his ship." He bumped Saeris lightly not wanting him to frown so bad, "Best decisions I ever made t'stay here."
"Who was it?" though Leona guessed that Rizzy wouldn't tell her that much, "And... I'm glad you did, that's right, though..." she frowns, "The Hidden guy's after you now, isn't he? Even if you stayed with the Trade Lord... is someone coming after you?"
Saeris tried to pretend to be asleep. Frowny asleep face.
"I know y'awake, y'breathe different when y'sleep." He huffed at Saer. "I'll make ya a promise, you figure it out without me tellin ya directly an we'll start ya on the next stage of trainin." ...
The real question was how many lessons he could do before she reached the point of no return while also catching her up to her peers... They kept talking through the night, just like any other slumber party. The whole time Riz could only silently beg Saeris to stop him. Hope that Mavas would stop her. Yet, the words to build her into a fine tool kept spilling from his lips.
Riz returned to the Vengeance but not to sleep. There was a little space in the hold, a room built and carved with loving care and inside the instant calm of a trickling fountain, the tiny twinkling lights offering, at least at this hour, the dull glint like starlight over the myriad of plants surrounding his meditation mat. He remembered when he first found the place; the little garden Saeris had built as a winter veil present. His heart still skipped a beat and made him blush, thinking about the fact that the salty sea captain with all his ‘fuckin fuck you’s’ also secretly talked to plants like tender tiny children.
He stood on one hand, doing the splits in the air until each foot bent down nearly to rest on the floor on either side of him. With his free hand he reached for a large marble ball and while holding his position, but for a few flicks and twists here and there, he managed to toss the heavy ball from hand to foot, then rolled to the opposite knee and again lofted airborne while he switched his weight from one hand to the other and caught it again. Then he started the whole exercise again, but in reverse. Back and forth. Balance.
He replayed the argument with Mavas in his head. All of it. The spoken and unspoken, more importantly the things left unsaid and the bond the two shared. He wasn’t sure he would ever like the other man, nor the reverse, but there was something about having him near that both put Riz on edge and felt comforted by. He had reminded Riz that night exactly how rusty he was letting himself again. In a way, Mavas was trying to protect the contortionist from the danger they both face: complacency.
No, perhaps not rusty... his skills were sharp, as the ball dancing with each toss in the air proved, the man could bend his body by each twitch of a muscles into any shape he needed. It was true he had few opponents to really push himself against but he was still deadly. He was still skilled and perhaps stronger in a real one on one fight than he had ever been, but each step away from being a killing machine and a step towards being a person took sacrifices. He had to find balance.
That night there was a new feeling for him. One he had not been acquainted with over the years, and one that was painfully obvious during the harsh words against Mavas. He was not arguing with a fellow operative, not really. Mavas might have been the one he exchanged words with but his real battle was with his place in the world. Perhaps the conversation would have gone much differently if Kurel had not be there to listen and comment. Then it would have just been once again Shades of darkness trying to break the Reed as it had always been. The audience shined a harsh light that Rizzy was facing this new emotion head on and not his rival. In that dilapidated old shack, Rizzy stared down his own ambition.
It was a good battle, but the war was far from over. He found a line he would not cross. One he nearly threatened out loud, but more importantly internalized. He also found the grin on Kurel’s face as negotiation and debate happened without the man’s authority being required... rewarding. Yet the scrutiny of both men and the challenges they presented, Riz was no longer arguing for the moment he was subtly arguing proof as a man who could follow orders, protect his charges, and perhaps even lead properly on his own someday, not through a puppeted figure head.
Ambition. Balance. ...Patience.
That was the thing he still needed. Patience. This new life required many new skills, and while patience had formerly been his strong suit it was now at risk of being pulled from him by the demands of may voices. He lifted one leg and balanced the marble on the ball of his foot. Remaining there, unmoving until Lucierin’s damned rooster crowed out the new morning. Time to pick himself up from the mat and wrestle with the needs of the many another day.
Maybe General Cero, and Vel were right and he was made to do great things. Maybe Kurel and Saeris were right and he could handle the word he still couldn’t stand to say aloud. In the end, there was really only one way to find out; get back to work.
Becoming the Purveyor’s maid for a month had given Riz, the ever productive, ever nosy little busy bee way too much to work with until almost no one had seen hide nor hare of him for days unless it was specifically catering to business. For one the office was spotless. Every inch dusted, polished and put into order. Extra supplies were ordered when needed, bits and baubles necessary were picked up at the fleet exchange at his usual discounted rate, with the savings making room in his pockets as he kept everything in the books to corrected pricing. Hey, he was doing the maid service as punishment, he never agreed to do it for free.
He cemented Captain Featherblood’s tax rate at fourteen and a quarter percent as if he had been haggling with himself. If he was the Captain he would have made a passionate argument that for the good of Sunspire she had brought them protection and equipment at a great cost. On the other hand all captains worked towards the good of the port in their own way. He went as far as to act out the argument, trying his best to force his vocal cords to mimic the much more feminine tones until from the outside of the office it may have legitimately sounded like the woman was there debating terms and numbers. When he was done, he wrote the whole thing up in Blaque’s script and sent it off by courier for her to sign.
Next he handled a friendly man named Jarred in some kind of black and red uniform. When the man brought up the Atlas Company suddenly Riz offered him a seat and got as much of the story of the business as elvenly possible. The man had been with the company through each of its previous owners, friends and direct lieutenant to the most recent investor and the current commander, Darnath Windere.
More importantly the man came with his own array of paperwork and oh how Riz loved things written up by the books almost as much as he liked when nothing of a paper trail existed ever. He set this ‘Jarred’ at the standard fifteen percent considering two of Atlas’ ships were already documented at that rate, and drew up paperwork that ensured the rest of the fleet were kept at the same numbers.
“Oh, I’m suppose to mention the statue out in the courtyard? What kind of discounts do we get for the commander being instrumental in bringing him back to life?”
That. Was new. Darnath Windere had helped Mavas bring Kurel back, meaning he had knowledge of demons and a skill set that the monk could not account for either by his business, his dancing… (Unless he lap danced Kurel back to life. ...which would be a far more believable story were Mr. Windere a Ms…) but could possibly be accounted for by the number of times Silas Darkmoon kicked Riz off the island just for asking to speak with the coveted dancer. Puzzled pieces, all of them. Though he wondered why he even cared about it a little. As the quartermaster of the Aurora left the office to be straightened again, Riz could only come to one conclusion why it was a lead at all: Mavas didn’t want him to know. Outsmarting his peer, rival, friend, comrade held its own achievements. Beating him at something, anything, proved it could be done on another level someday if it was ever necessary.
He found that the Black Maw still had not made a contract and rolled his eyes. Come on Killian! Riz went about the same sort of argument with the redheaded captain in his mind and mouth, pacing back and forth to mimic his movements. Kept his ears straight and unmoving, head down a tad to keep the cowl covering his face where possible, squared his shoulders in a more stocky, less elven grace and conveyed the man’s boisterous excitement convincingly well. He still set the bargain at the same standard he’d give Atlas and set that one aside to deliver himself along with a stack of noodles when they arrived in port on Saturday morning. They were going to eat noodles by darn it!
Then there was the quiet whimpering coming from the side bedroom and the asset oh so affectionately called ‘the girl’ in most cases. He accepted she probably heard his practice and work at mimicking through the door as a piece of information she could own. She wouldn’t be the first to know, and men and women of more strategic mind had laughed off his jester like abilities without a second glance.
He could hear the talk around her, perhaps not enough to get specifics, but the tone of how she pulled at heart strings and the constant message that she was -oh so innocent- sent a shiver of frustration down the monk’s spine. No one was innocent. Not in his world. Not in his port and after speaking to Aranya he realized why it irked him so. This concept of innocent or guilt, whether of personality or of specific wrongful doings by her mother put her on a pedestal above the rest of them. Whispering that she was full of goodness and didn’t deserve to be in Sunspire meant the rest of them were not in their own ways and only survived off the scraps of the port because their inner selves were tainted and terrible. It was her privilege that pissed him off.
With Blaque out of the office, the linger of shadows telling Riz nothing on his whereabouts, the monk let himself into Feylan’s room, standing against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
“I’m gonna tell ya, the same thing I got told when I was brought here. When I had no choice, but makin a life here.” And yet for once, when Riz might normally shift into the voice of the person he quoted, he stayed himself. They were his words now, not just Kurel’s. “Break your chains on the rocks in Sunspire’s bay. Spill your blood in her streets an’ she’s y’home. An if she is, then you are a free woman. Y’get me? Good. Now, if y’want t’start takin y’freedom back. Put y’shoes on, grab a clipboard, an writin stuffs an come with me t’the dry dock. There’s work t’do.”
He started out the door to ignore whatever answer she could give him, but paused, speech not quite over, “Look. I know its scary, but whatever life of comfort y’came from was no less a cage considered y’got bartered in the first place. You’re just realizin now y’were never free. No’ really. I’m offerin you a chance to take y’life in y’own hands. So come with an’ do it or stop with the sniffles cuz their damned annoyin while I’m tryin t’work.”
