The Storm's Wake

✯Captain's log of the Storm's Wake, formerly of the Brazen Coalition.✯ ✯Captain Bliss Crescenzo, She/They, Half-Demon✯ ✯This is a MTG RP Blog.✯

[the-storms-wake]

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆ The Storm's Wake ⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

≻─── ⋆✩⋆ ───≺ THE SHIP ≻─── ⋆✩⋆ ───≺

The Storm's Wake is the Captain's first and primary ship, a Galleon from the Legion of Dusk, given as a gift by Bliss's mentor. Currently, it is operated by a skeleton crew of only around 50 crew members, Not including the officers.

≻─── ⋆✩⋆ ───≺ THE CREW ≻─── ⋆✩⋆ ───≺

⚙ Captain - Captain Bliss Crescenzo, Half-Demon, She/They ⚙

⚙ Quartermaster - Garzek, Orc, He/Him ⚙

⚙ Navigator - Seó, Siren, They/Them ⚙

⚙ Boatswain - Whitlock, Human, Any pronouns ⚙

⚙ Master Gunner - Ke-Ke, Goblin, She/They ⚙

⚙ Carpenter - Marc, Human, He/Him ⚙

⚙ Head Cook - Ruel, Orc, He/Him ⚙

⚙ Sail-master - Inkid, Goblin, He/They ⚙

⚙ Surgeon - Nicté Ha, Merfolk, She/Her ⚙

⚙ Master at Arms - Tim, Human(?), He/Him ⚙

Other Notable Crew Members -

Prince Biilziebub - Half-Demon, He/Him (for more see #pirakdos)

Ahua - Malamet (Jaguarfolk), He/Him

"Dirt" - Deep Goblin, They/them

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆≻─── ⋆✩⋆ ───≺⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

[markrosewater]

Keeping with pizzaposting, now that the omenpaths are open, do people from Fiora constantly complain about how New Capennan make pizza?

I assume. : )

[biilziebub-rakdos]

Grunts of exertion and frustration. Blade knocking against blade. The sounds of a fight between a demon and a vampire, replayed for the thousandth time.

“I can explain.”

“Oh?”

“Yes!”

“You can explain why I had to find out about… this through an attendant asking how ‘that bastard’s Ixalec stunt’ would affect our standing on the multiversal stage?”

“… yes?”

“Then please, go on. Enlighten me.”

“… I burned one of their boats-”

“Months ago. I’m well aware, but I can only assume you haven’t grown a conscience.”

“… a friend of mine died.”

“Unfortunate, if unsurprising.”

“Died fighting for them. And she- she thought I could be… I don’t know. Better?”

“… and you want to be?”

“I don’t fucking know! Alright? I don’t know, but I wasn’t gonna be allowed on Torrezon if I didn’t get this over with, and I wanted- I wanted to do something. For her.”

“I don’t know where you got this sentimentality.”

“It’s fine. Be fine with it.”

“You’re allowed back on Torrezon now?”

“… with permission.”

“Mmmmmh…”

“… dad. Please.”

“You dropped your tail. I’m surprised you aren’t razing the continent.”

“Yeah, well- wait. Dropped? Is- is this normal?”

“It is an old, inbuilt response that developed as a way to distract predators, back when we had any… what did you think it was?”

“… I thought Guitirre had, like… amputation magic or some shit. Stop looking at me like that.”

“I haven’t heard from you in months. You’re barely on the plane these days, and I found out—again, through an attendant—that you went through trial by combat, dropped your tail for the first time, and think it was ‘amputation magic or some shit’! Tell me, Biilziebub, how should I be looking at you?”

“Elenda’s tits, like an adult, maybe? Like someone capable of making my own decisions‽”

“Adult? You have not yet seen a quarter century, and most of that was in the halls of your father! And now, all without sending word, you’re getting in transplanar spats, losing yourself in Duskmourn, involving yourself in wars, failing at your schooling-”

“How do you know about that?”

“…”

“How‽”

“… you know that I care for you-”

“Are you fucking spying on me‽”

“… you know that all the knowledge and manpower at my disposal is accessible whenever you need. We can get you a tutor-”

“You’re spying on me. You’re spying on me!”

“I am your-”

“Nothing! I was sixteen years old when we met, and then you fucking died, and now you’re spying on me!”

“… I want to be there for you.”

“You’re doing a pretty shit job!”

“Then tell me how I can do better.”

“… tomorrow. I have homework.”

“… fine. I’m expecting word tomorrow.”

“And I’ll send it. Is that all?”

“… yes.”

“Good.”

The roar of flames. The all-encompassing rush of the Blind Eternities.

“… I love you.”

A scream, muffled in a pillow larger and softer than can normally be found in the dorms of a Strixhaven first-year.

[the-storms-wake]

"Dear, you should sleep."

Sameia entered the Captain's cabin. Without knocking. As she was want to do.

She had permission, but she had been doing it often lately.

The Captain stood at her desk, maps, charts, and blueprints spread across it's surface. Paliano, the docks, the high city... The Crescenzo estate itself. Strong armed from the remanants of the family who had built it generations ago, edited with the unmarked passages and secrets Adelaide remembered from her childhood. A precious document. The key to her success, and to her future.

She looked a mess, as Sam crossed to her. She hadn't slept well, her curls were tangled and knotted in many spots. An empty mug had been pushed to the far edge of the desk, and another was still laying across the small room by the far wall, from when it had been thrown.

She trailed a hand across their shoulder as she came to stand behind the desk with The Captain. Bliss didn't truly notice, still absorbed in the maps beneath her, as she scratched out another plan in ink. She would throw this one out too, eventually. The guard rotations never lined up right, or she would hear a report back from those watching the estate that something had changed, her planned route of entry was no longer available. They shifted their stance, tail flicking irritably as she looked down at the desk beneath her hands.

"I can't sleep yet. I'm close. We're close. I just... Need more information."

The Captain had been saying it for months already. They had been scraping together every ounce of information they could on her mother, on her family, on the physical estate. It still didn't feel like enough. She sighed, straightening up and stretching her back, as Sameia rubbed a warm hand across her hunched shoulders.

When had she become so cautious? When had she started worrying about exit strategies, about supplies and stealth and making sure they wouldn't be seen? Wouldn't be hunted and chased from this plane just like Ixalan?

Oh yes. That's when. When she lost her network. She grimaced, and Sam's tail curled around her own when it paused in it's irritated twitching.

"The first 10 plans were all fine. We're breaking in, taking what we need, and leaving." Sam picks up a crumpled piece of parchment. The latest plan she had discarded. "What part about that wasn't working for you?"

She didn't understand. It wasn't about that. Well, it was, but not like that. The Contessa Crescenzo would be home. She HAD to be home. And therefore it had to be perfect. Adelaide had to make sure it was perfect. Her... Revenge? Ascension? Confrontation.

She needed to be in control of the meeting with her mother. She needed to prove to her that she could succeed her. Or... Something like that. She wasn't sure.

This plan felt like the closest yet. They could get in, lock down the estate, take out any problematic guards, stop anyone from interfering. But she just couldn't account for The Contessa herself. And that was what was irritating her.

"It's just... Not right." She answered lamely. How could she explain this to Sameia? It barely made sense to her. She didn't WANT to be the Contessa. She didn't WANT to stay on this plane. But she wanted her freedom. And that would come with power. Crescenzo family power. Her mother's power.

Bliss sighed, taking a step back from the desk. Even is something within her simmered with resentment at being pulled away from creating their perfect plan, she was at her wit's end. She needed rest, and food, and the company of someone other than her own thoughts.

"You're right. Let's get out of here. What time is it?" Bliss looked around the cabin, grimacing at the state of it. The tankard on the floor slowly rolled back and forth with the movement of the ship. It would need to be cleaned up. Ideally before she was caught up in planning again.

"Just past dawn." Sam looked between the plans of the desk. Nearly identical, differences only in slight timings and choosing one hallway over another. She shook her head.

The Captain groaned, rubbing her burning eyes. "Morning. Hells. Has Ruel-"

"Already finished cooking breakfast. And most of the crew has already eaten." Sam made a small correction to the current draft of the plan. "He saved you some. But you're getting the dregs of the coffee still."

Bliss chose not to care about her tampering in the moment.

Maybe Sam would see something she couldn't. Sameia was smarter than she was. She was better at planning, at strategy, everything that a leader truly needed.

If anyone could make it work, it was her beloved wizard.

[the-storms-wake]

To Build an Empire

It had been months since The Captain felt she'd had a break. Her Ex-husband's estate had been stripped for parts, everything valuable sold or claimed as her own. She had even gone as far as to tear down the menagerie at the country property, repurposing the metal, wood, and stone for better causes. The estates remained, hollow shells of their former glory. She had considered burning them and salting the earth, just to send a message, but it seemed a waste. There was still use to be gained from these estates. And since no one had come looking for him, they were hers, either by inheritance or by conquest.

She had not been sitting on her laurels, though. She had basked in the victory, yes, and collected a tidy profit from the whole affair, but there was work to be done for the next part of her plan.

The money had given her enough to establish a foothold in this plane, letting her start the trading post that the Ambassador of Thrullvia had requested. But it would be more than that. She had already acquired a few more ships, fast and well armed. Importing cannons from other planes let her cut down on the weaponry required, replacing the traditional guns with lightweight magical devices. They had already proven themselves at sea, and merchants were learning to fear them. Their hauls were brought back to her new base of operations, where they were parcelled off to those desperate or saavy enough to trade with her. And her power continued to grow.

Her mother knew she was here. She had already begun throwing her weight around, using her family name to take bites out of the edges of their power. A business here. A small town politician there. Trading posts. Ships. Distant family members. Those outside of Paliano were already beginning to fear the Captain more than her mother. Allegiances were flipping, and the base Crescenzo power—her mother's power—was starting to crumble. Soon, the much needed shipyard would be hers. Then the manors, then the palace, and finally, the title of Contessa itself.

[the-storms-wake]

Sameia's plan had worked perfectly.

Days of torrential rain had emptied the streets of Paliano. Captain Bliss imagined this was perhaps the emptiest they had ever been. She knew she would never know. She had never prowled these streets in her old life. She had studied maps to find their path, as they followed the roads to the grand cogwork elevators of the High City. Even in this weather, they ran unendingly, always on schedule. Dressed in their heavy cloaks, weapons hidden beneath, the small team of pirates would not draw much attention. And any attention drawn would easily be dealt with.

The Captain checked her weapons, having left her maul for a more discreet blade, her pistol tucked deep within her jacket. Within half an hour, they would be at his estate in the High City. Within the evening, they would be ransacking the place, freeing his collection from their cages. By dawn, Viscount Muraro would be dead, by her hand.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

I am standing directly beside her, back straight, wings tucked, chin held high and prosthetic nose pointed imperiously upward. With some assistance from the Rix Maadi costumers, we are dressed to blend in as much as we can, benefiting heavily from the large and elaborate silhouettes befitting Paliano’s nobility. I am wearing a wig, one that matches the Captain’s current coiffure, both designed to cover our horns as much as possible without looking too unnatural. To match, I am in a jacket of sorts sized to entirely contain my wings, tail, and a number of internal pockets.

Our outfits do, of course, include a number of matching elements. The first of these is boots. Decorated with a number of entirely aesthetic buckles, they are very heavily padded internally, designed to provide the illusion of an entire foot while being worn only by a hoof. Between that and somewhat baggy pants, we could both pass for having human legs. The second is gloves, soft, white, covering everything that isn’t covered by sleeve. Past that is our noses. Mild prostheses, just barely larger than our real ones, attached to a thin, Simic-grown second skin. The same as they use for skin grafts, they look entirely natural with the sole exception of a distinctly human coloration. Completing the illusion is a matching pair of mirrored sunglasses, covering our distinctly inhuman eyes from very nearly all angles. Everything is rich fabrics richly dyed and swishing around us, and we are entirely covered by a very human veneer. We are Fioran, we are nobles, we belong. Viscount Muraro won’t know what hit him until it is far too late.

[daughter-of-the-ironlord]

Sameia had disregarded the prosthetics and illusions of the Rakdos, with a slight upturn to her nose, as though the very idea insulted her. She instead cast a glamour upon herself, appearing as a young servant woman to these two nobles. The illusion was subtle. Drawing mana from within Sameia, not giving the noticeable pull of casting a more overt spell caster. Refined. Subtle. Untraceable. Like the storm that surrounded them.

[the-storms-wake]

The group stepped off the lift, following behind Sameia. A few members of the crew had accompanied them, dressed as well as nobles, guards, or servants. There were few people out, between the downpour and the time of night, and the crew moved quietly through the streets towards the High City estate of Viscount Muraro.

It was modest, compared to many here in the high city. The large house had no grounds, only a small, well maintained garden in the front and back. The small alleyways on either side of the manor barely served as passageways for guards to patrol. A tall wrought iron fence surrounded it, bordering the street, but it was no real obstacle to them. The lock was picked within seconds, and the crew entered the back garden of the estate. The sleeping guard by the back stoop was quickly dispatched, hidden carefully in the roses of the back garden.

The Captain stood before the back servant's entrance of the Manor. The prison she had escaped years before, before she had jumped, before she had sparked. She turned to the assembled crew with a nod, and pushed her way into the mansion.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

I am close behind, refusing on principle to let my Captain be too far from a steady hand in a moment of such tension. And with the concentration being put into not letting sparks drift from my hair, I’m holding my hands very steady indeed.

From my point by the front, I’m easily able to find and eliminate any further guards who might cause a fuss, my motions never louder than the sliding of metal into flesh. This is, for now, still a stealth mission. I have no intent to break that.

[daughter-of-the-ironlord]

Sam glides forwards with a deathly grace, whenever there are guards too far away for the others to deal with, she conjures a spell, sometimes simply forcing the guards to sleep, other times conjuring a chunk of ice to spring from her hand and pelt them with enough force to dent their armor.

[the-storms-wake]

The Captain leads the charge. In all her years away, the layout remained the same, though the halls had become more cluttered with junk from around the Multiverse. Profitable junk, admittedly. She looked forward to being able to catalogue their findings both here and in the country manor. She already had her eye on some pieces that remained from her time living here that she would be all too happy to claim as her own.

Refocusing, they reach an intersection in the halls. She directs the crew towards the menagerie, to break cages and free their inhabitants, and turns to Sameia and Biilzie. "Up to you where you want to go from here. You'll find the zoo that way, but his chambers are the other direction. I'm not concerned about him, or any resistance between me and his room, but if you want to come with me, you're welcome to."

[the-storms-wake]

Sameia's plan had worked perfectly.

Days of torrential rain had emptied the streets of Paliano. Captain Bliss imagined this was perhaps the emptiest they had ever been. She knew she would never know. She had never prowled these streets in her old life. She had studied maps to find their path, as they followed the roads to the grand cogwork elevators of the High City. Even in this weather, they ran unendingly, always on schedule. Dressed in their heavy cloaks, weapons hidden beneath, the small team of pirates would not draw much attention. And any attention drawn would easily be dealt with.

The Captain checked her weapons, having left her maul for a more discreet blade, her pistol tucked deep within her jacket. Within half an hour, they would be at his estate in the High City. Within the evening, they would be ransacking the place, freeing his collection from their cages. By dawn, Viscount Muraro would be dead, by her hand.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

I am standing directly beside her, back straight, wings tucked, chin held high and prosthetic nose pointed imperiously upward. With some assistance from the Rix Maadi costumers, we are dressed to blend in as much as we can, benefiting heavily from the large and elaborate silhouettes befitting Paliano’s nobility. I am wearing a wig, one that matches the Captain’s current coiffure, both designed to cover our horns as much as possible without looking too unnatural. To match, I am in a jacket of sorts sized to entirely contain my wings, tail, and a number of internal pockets.

Our outfits do, of course, include a number of matching elements. The first of these is boots. Decorated with a number of entirely aesthetic buckles, they are very heavily padded internally, designed to provide the illusion of an entire foot while being worn only by a hoof. Between that and somewhat baggy pants, we could both pass for having human legs. The second is gloves, soft, white, covering everything that isn’t covered by sleeve. Past that is our noses. Mild prostheses, just barely larger than our real ones, attached to a thin, Simic-grown second skin. The same as they use for skin grafts, they look entirely natural with the sole exception of a distinctly human coloration. Completing the illusion is a matching pair of mirrored sunglasses, covering our distinctly inhuman eyes from very nearly all angles. Everything is rich fabrics richly dyed and swishing around us, and we are entirely covered by a very human veneer. We are Fioran, we are nobles, we belong. Viscount Muraro won’t know what hit him until it is far too late.

[daughter-of-the-ironlord]

Sameia had disregarded the prosthetics and illusions of the Rakdos, with a slight upturn to her nose, as though the very idea insulted her. She instead cast a glamour upon herself, appearing as a young servant woman to these two nobles. The illusion was subtle. Drawing mana from within Sameia, not giving the noticeable pull of casting a more overt spell caster. Refined. Subtle. Untraceable. Like the storm that surrounded them.

[the-storms-wake]

The group stepped off the lift, following behind Sameia. A few members of the crew had accompanied them, dressed as well as nobles, guards, or servants. There were few people out, between the downpour and the time of night, and the crew moved quietly through the streets towards the High City estate of Viscount Muraro.

It was modest, compared to many here in the high city. The large house had no grounds, only a small, well maintained garden in the front and back. The small alleyways on either side of the manor barely served as passageways for guards to patrol. A tall wrought iron fence surrounded it, bordering the street, but it was no real obstacle to them. The lock was picked within seconds, and the crew entered the back garden of the estate. The sleeping guard by the back stoop was quickly dispatched, hidden carefully in the roses of the back garden.

The Captain stood before the back servant's entrance of the Manor. The prison she had escaped years before, before she had jumped, before she had sparked. She turned to the assembled crew with a nod, and pushed her way into the mansion.

[the-storms-wake]

Sameia's plan had worked perfectly.

Days of torrential rain had emptied the streets of Paliano. Captain Bliss imagined this was perhaps the emptiest they had ever been. She knew she would never know. She had never prowled these streets in her old life. She had studied maps to find their path, as they followed the roads to the grand cogwork elevators of the High City. Even in this weather, they ran unendingly, always on schedule. Dressed in their heavy cloaks, weapons hidden beneath, the small team of pirates would not draw much attention. And any attention drawn would easily be dealt with.

The Captain checked her weapons, having left her maul for a more discreet blade, her pistol tucked deep within her jacket. Within half an hour, they would be at his estate in the High City. Within the evening, they would be ransacking the place, freeing his collection from their cages. By dawn, Viscount Muraro would be dead, by her hand.

[biilziebub-rakdos]

It is a dark and stormy night.

The rains are crashing down to the seas of Fiora, hard enough to block out the city of Paliano, hard enough that every single person aboard the Storm’s Wake has taken refuge below decks.

But for some reason, I can’t keep myself away from the door onto the deck proper.

I never really liked the water. There was never all that much in one place back home, outside of a few raised canals and some really fucked up parts of the undercity, so most of my experience has been here or back on Ixalan. The fact of ships isolating their people someplace they can’t really run or hide… has proven fun in the past. The fact of being trapped on a constantly shaking and shifting vessel as it carries us across an endless expanse of water is much less fun. But now, with this storm raging, the water soaking the rigging and flooding the deck… well, it’s rain. Just like back home. So, somehow, I’m pressed against the door, even when everyone is asleep, gazing out into the storm.

Gazing out, at least, until I open the door and step through.

The rain is cold as it beats down on my face. Cold as it flows over my wings. Cold as the sky growls and cries and I begin my journey up and up and up. The world has been thrown into darkness, aside from the screaming crackles of light that cast everything into sharp relief for split seconds at a time.

When the bolt comes to hit me, I don’t see it coming, I just see the storm and sea lighting up again.

When it hits me, I feel it. Light enveloping me, every explosion I’ve ever seen echoing in my skull, every drop of rain burning off of me in an instant.

I feel myself fall, down and down and down, limp and ragged.

I barely feel myself hit the deck. I almost feel the wood bow and splinter under the force of it. I don’t feel myself pass out.

[zegalba]

[the-storms-wake]

Captain's Log - Day 20

(tw: violence)

Shooting the Messenger

The Captain preferred to take most visitors, invited or other, in their quarters. She had been analyzing the proposed course for their upcoming voyage when Garzek delivered the human to her. He seemed.. unimpressed, as he lay there bound and gagged on her rug (Sun Empire make, expensive and hard to come by). The Captain felt a twinge of disappointment at the lack of fear in his eyes. She set her quill down, capping her bottle of ink. They had time. Biilzie was away, participating in the search for his Angel, and Sameia had left to assist in the binding of another powerful foe. She stood, stretching, and looked at Garzek, ignoring their company.

"I think I'd like to take this visitor on the Lower deck, Garzek. I have an inkling on why he is here, and I think there's a set of manacles in the Cooper's cabin that should fit him."

The ship had not needed a cooper for a long time. Thieves and vandals have no use for making barrels. But The Captain had found use for the extra space regardless. And none of their guests ever found it in them to complain.

The Captain grabbed the rag from the table, wiping their bloodied knuckles. She could hear the human panting through his gag, still in place from when Garzek had delivered him to The Captain to pass judgement. She had finally found the fear in his eyes, at the small cost of some broken and bruised ribs. She hadn't even needed to use anything sharp.

Seeking to confirm her suspicions, Adelaide removed the gag. "Go on then. Be a good dog and deliver your message. See if it will save you."

The man coughed, blood trickling from his mouth. Oops. Must have damaged something more serious in there. "The.... The Visconte Muraro bids the Contessa Crescenzo return to him at once, on pain of-" A sharp kick to the ribs sent the man back into a coughing fit. Viscount? That was new. She had always known Muraro to be a weasel of a man. It was no surprise he found some way to gain prestige without her title.

She puzzled over the development, grabbing her glass of wine from the table, as the man continued to gasp and wheeze behind her. "And the weapons? Did he expect you to threaten me?"

A wheeze of affirmation came from the man. "He wishes your return. I was told to hurt whoever I had to to return you to him. Including you, Contessa Crescenzo."

"When were you dispatched? I wish to know how quickly news travels here." She glares at him, and is pleased to see him try and shrink away from her golden gaze.

"T-two days ago, Contessa. You are very... distinctive to those who know of you."

"How many did the Viscount dispatch?" She demands, crouching near the man. She grabs his hair, tilting his face up to look at her.

"I- I don't know.." The Captain scowls, tightening her grip, as he starts to panic. "I do not know! Contessa, please, have mercy!"

She drops him in a huff of frustration, standing. Ultimately the question did not matter. Muraro knew. And that meant more would be coming. She had gotten too complacent, too comfortable in this port. It was time to move.

The messenger flinched as she approached, and she returned the gag to it's place over his mouth. It barely muffled the man's terror as she ripped the manacles holding him from the wall. Fortunately, the crew knows better than to ask questions while their Captain is at work. The sounds had begun to go hoarse once they made it to the railing. She worked in silence, as she grabbed the chain shot from a nearby cannon, and wrapped the weights around the man's bindings. He was still begging when she heaved him overboard.

Bliss returned to her cabin, and collapsed into her chair. She felt exhaustion over take her, as the vicious part of her that lived for the violence loosened it's grip. She pulled down a bottle of little used rum from her shelf, (the strong stuff, for special occasions), and took a swig. It did little to the twisting feelings of guilt and anxiety in her gut. She was happy Sam and Biilzie weren't here for this, but she knew she couldn't hide her past from them forever. Especially not when it seemed determined to catch up to her.

She pulled out a map, readying to plot a new course for Paliano. Muraro would have to be dealt with. And soon.

[the-storms-wake]

Captain's Log - Day 17

It seems I truly am turning in to Gallardo. The ship has collected another start under my care, a mage I have become very fond of, Sameia. She is another half-devil, of a sort. Recently she has experienced a shock, losing control of her powers and her mind, which has deeply unsettled her. I care for her, and I have offered the ship as a place to stay while she is recovering. I know she worried about hurting us. I also am aware that I could not stop her if she wished to. But pirates are tougher than the average commoner, and I was able to convince her that she would be safer here than wasting to nothing in the cave she had hidden in.

It eases my mind to have her here. I care for her deeply, and being able to keep an eye on her to help cutail her more self destructive impulses is of great importance to me. Over the past few weeks, before this journey to Fiora when we were introduced, we have been carrying on a small courtship. I'll admit to my hesitancy, as I have had many whirlwind relations with many of my fellow pirates in my life time. But I wanted this to be different. I wanted to connect with her, in a way I haven't with others. It seemed she had mistaken my hesitancy for disinterest. It was an... awkward discussion between us, but I believe the matter has been cleared up. An accord has been reached between us, and I am thankful to have her onboard. I hope this courtship will last, as at this point, I think I would loathe having to sleep alone again.

The prince's training proceeds well. He is still distressed about the absence of his friend, the angel, but he does his best to hide it or remain distracted. I wish there was more assistance I could provide, but I think the role best suited for me is to continue to be a steady force on his life. Providing a place where he will be accepted as he is, a member of the crew, rather than shunned or worshipped. And I think giving him a constructive outlet for his feelings is good. Lords know it helped me when I was younger, to have something to do with my hands to tire me out. He has taken to the work with a fervor that leads me to believe there is much he needs to work through, and the tasks of keeping a ship afloat are hopefully a good way to do so.

However I do wish he would stop telling others that I "Kiss the ship with tongue". To set the record straight, It happened once, while I was very drunk, and Garzek and Seó have never let me live it down. I fear that story will haunt me until I find myself under the Grim Captain's care. I just hope that I am able to leave a legacy more worth remembering before then.

[the-storms-wake]

Captain's Log, Day 7

Our hunt today was a resounding success! No casualties on our side, only a handful of injuries, and we only had to put down a few fools on the ship we attacked. The take was good, though a lot of the shipment is goods we'll have to fence to get our take. The crew should hopefully be satisfied with this. Proof of our success and time to spend the money will be good for them. The break from the coalition has been stressful for all.

In personal news, I have felt disquieted after leaving Ixalan. The plane which had been my home for many years, I now find myself exiled from. I do not wish to share my past often, though the people I have met recently through the communication devices seem determined to prove me incorrect. It has been on my mind, as I have once again found myself falling back to the tactics I was taught in my youth, and I wonder how things would have changed if I had listened to my mentor after becoming a captain. I was often scolded during my training for being too brutal, or picking fights that I won at a high cost. Ironically, I find myself getting onto Biilzie's case for many of the same things. Perhaps Gallardo had some sense after all. Perhaps when I join him in the seas below, I will tell him so he may comiserate with me.

Additionally, I find myself concerned about the possibility of my existence making it back to the High City. I know that there is slim chance that he would come all the way out here to get me himself, but it doesn't mean that I won't have to deal with his agents if he finds out. I am unfortunately deeply aware of his attachment to his collection, and his willingness to acquire the things he believes should belong to him. These fears haven't even begun to touch on my concerns regarding my mother, and what she would do to protect the reputation she has built for herself. If she knew what her daughter had become, she would be horrified. At least, I certainly hope she would be.

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Glitter, more glitter!!!

(@obscura-omenseeker @the-storms-wake)

Huehue, Moenas gnome, was busy with drilling holes in Moenas boots. When it heard, an slow and sorry door`s chirps. When it turned to face the visitor, he saw an exhasperated Moena. It bringed an great joy to the machine.

"OH OH. WHAT HAPPENED THIS TIME. AN ACCIDENTAL EXPLOSION IN ONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. AN FISH DEVOURED ONE OF YOUR SHIPS!!" Huehue recalled the past incidents, hoping that a new misfortune fell over its hated owner.

"No" Sighed Broenze. "Just an childish prank to my bank. An few vandals throwed rotten eggs to my building. The stench was horrible, so I had to return home earlier. I contracted a few kids to clean the mess"

"AND I WASN`T HERE TO WITNESS YOUR DISGUST. WHAT A SHAME. WELL, AT LEAST YOU CAN SEE THE SUPRISE" Anounced the gnome, as he spinned an coind.

"...Suprise? What did you do?" Asked Moena, concerned about what kind of prank did the underwold`s imp, come up during his absence.

"ME" It asked, fainting an hurt tone. " I DID NOTHING. TWO VISITORS CAME. MR. NORM ALM AND THE horned bottom."

Moena starrred at Huehue in disbelief. That the obscura cephalid, and Captain Bliss, the exiled pirate, invaded to his home?

"DON NOT WORRY. THEY ONLY VISITED YOUR ROOM". He pointed at the embellized wood`s door, with depiction of sinking ships and the Grim Captain at the bottom.

Slowly, Moena walked to the door. As he pecked trought it, it saw an pinky brilliance, inside. An diamond?

When it opened, he was welcomed by an bizzare copy of his room. An landscape of glitterind roses and purples, covering his bed, walls, mirrors, and shelves. When he pressed an finger over the painted wall, an bunch of glitter got stuck. It, looked like tiny pieces of sand, yet, it was weak.

"What is this?" Asked Moena, disturbed at this glittering sand.

"GLITTER. TINY PIECES OF PLASTICS, SUPER STICKY." Moena took one of his pillow. He tried to shake off the glitter from it. Yet it didnt matte how violent was his shakes, the glitter didn`t fall.

"This will be an inconvenient, well at least my creams are safe." Sighed Moena, hoping that the hammock of his ship was clean for the night.

Yet, he hear the cold and metalic laughter of Huehue.

"OH MOENA. I DID TELL THEMS ABOUT YOUR BEAUTY CREAMS." It gestured with its hand, rotating triunfanlty with an empty container of the face`s cream.

"No." Moena tried to deny, as he opened the shelves. As he took an opened the pink dust for his eyelids, he witnessed the truth. It was filled with glitter. He opened the cream`s face, mixed with glitter. He cheked his cologne, chocked with glitter.

"No. NO. NO!!!" He repeated, as he opened each container of his make ups, each one mixed witht he diabolic glitter. While Huehue, could only laugh at his disfortune.

HUE HUE HUE HUE HUE. It laughed, as the captain screamed in desperation and pain.

"NOOOOOOO!!"

[the-storms-wake]

Captain's Log, Day 4

It has been rough going for these past few days. We traded away many of our rations of fresh fruit for services in the port we found, and I have had to dip into my own treasury to resupply. The crew is restless, but there have been no whispers of mutiny yet, and we've picked up a couple of crew members in port.

The good news is that scouting the nearby trade routes has showed many prime targets. Ships travelling this area are slow moving, and have few guns, if any. There must not be many attacks in this area, as they're not looking for pirates, and seem to think this area safe. We will show them the error of their ways, and hopefully make a nice payday to tide over the crew.

[the-storms-wake]

Captain's Log, Day 1

Typically, I would have continued my previous log book, but given all of the recent events, I figured it would be best to start a new record.

So, to recapitulate:

- This is the log of the galleon Storm's Wake. Formerly a vessel of the Legion of Dusk, the ship sailed under the banner of the Fathom Fleet and the Dire Fleet of the Brazen Coalition, before becoming an independent vessel recently. As in it occurred this week.

- I, Captain Bliss Crescenzo, have been the captain of this vessel for 8 years, Ixalan time. This vessel was given to me by my mentor, Captain Gallardo of the Fathom Fleet (gods rest his soul) when he deemed me fit to take control of my own ship.

- Recently, the ship acquired a new crew member, The half-demon Rakdos Prince, Biilziebub. Presented to me by Rune (an odd fortune teller from a plane I am unfamiliar with) as in need of assistance, I agreed to take him on as my own apprentice (I have not told him that yet. Currently he is just a member of the crew. Once he shows more responsibility, we'll see about giving him an officer's position.).

- The idiot then proceeded, in a tantrum to rival a dreadmaw's, to completely destroy a ship full of refugees from Torrezon. He has been punished. And my lessons will hopefully begin to make it through his thick skull. We had already recently been toeing the line of the treaty, but the sinking of an entire ship, with all hands lost, brought the Coalition down on to us hard. I do not know if the Legion is aware yet, but I'm sure they will be soon.

- As a result, we have been labeled enemies of the "New" Coalition by Sussana (The bastard. Who does she think she is? Brass herself?), for continuing to pursue piracy, and for sheltering the Prince (Which I am guilty of, but she didn't know that at the time.). The woman frustrates me to no end. She is lucky we did not meet in High and Dry after her comments on my nature. I would not have hesitated.

- Also we were attacked by angels from another plane I had not heard of. They were looking to take the Prince, to use him as bait against a dear friend, as I understand it. I have come to wonder if I have bitten off more than I can chew in taking him on, but I trust the judgement of the fortune teller. They are wise beyond their years.

These are the events which have brought us to today. After crossing through the Omenpath onto the seas of Fiora, we were fortunate enough to find a friendly port before we found any naval vessels or privateers. The repairs are much needed after our recent combats with the angels, and a group of the bat demon's followers. I have been getting the lay of the land, acquiring maps, learning the nearby shipping routes, and the local pirates (our soon to be competition.). The locals are distrusting of outsiders, but they have proven easy to win over, with goods taken from Torrezon and Ixalan. They're very fond of the fruits we brought with us, and we have been able to trade them for more shelf-stable rations. (Note to self: Investigate the equipment other Planeswalkers use to transport food goods between planes. Maintaining access to fresh food will be beneficial for morale, and staving off disease.)

I am not eager to be forced to start from the beginning. It will take months, if not years of violence to rebuild the reputation we appreciated on Ixalan. Hunting will be hard until then, and I will have to be tactical with my targets and use of my crew. We'll return to the classic approach: Search for ships without weapons, terrify the sailors aboard, leave enough alive to escape and spread our names. With some luck, we'll be able to make a profit in no time. Or at least, we'll make enough of a profit to keep the crew paid, and the privateers bribed.

[the-storms-wake]

Captain's Log, day 0

When the Omenpath had opened, The Captain knew the time had come. It felt like a sign, from some cosmic force. Temporary Omenpaths were frequent, but ones large enough to sail a ship through, and ones connecting to another ocean? It had to be something. It certainly wasn't nothing. Her plans which had been forming crystalized in an instant. She gathered the crew, and gave her speech. The cacophony of the crew didn't help her frayed nerves, still recovering after the angels' attack.

She has spent days agonizing over her choices, trying to find answers at the bottom of a bottle or from weeping into Garzek's shoulder. She had never wished to split with the Coalition, but she knew it was something that had to be done, for the sake of her crew, and their future. They weren't explorers, or naval officers, or miners, or colonists. They were pirates. The lived for the hunt, the freedom, the treasure and the battles. They would be heading to High and Dry to drop off anyone who didn't wish to join them, pick up anyone they could, and then would be leaving the plane.

Scouts sent through the portal revealed details she recognized from a lifetime ago. Flags of the Black Rose, and ships distinctly Fioran in make. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had hoped never to return here. But fate is cruel and mysterious that way. They had connected with a few like minded souls at port, several also exiled from the Coalition, be it for crimes or disagreement. Normally she would vet them more carefully, but she couldn't afford the time or the risk of losing any more able bodies. By the time their course was set towards the Omenpath, her crew had dwindled to a measly 55. Difficult to operate the ship, but not impossible. They would survive. The seas of Fiora would not be prepared for the ferocity of the Dire Fleet. These oceans and their treasure would be theirs, by right of conquest.