• Graded • Some Assembly Required [Llyr, Kas]

[Maltruism]

Some Assembly Required

111 Ashan, arc 719

Continued from here and here.

Hazel cowered before her...

Under most circumstances Graeslin would have relished her fear; would have used it to squeeze the Quacian noble further. Zarik had proven himself to have been holding back as far as his Transmutation talents went. This was something that could be traded for his young tag-alongs' continued safe-keeping.

She'd shown him that she had both wards and artifacts imbued into the structure of her vessel. She had been intending to see if one superseded the other. She'd come below to ask about conducting a second level of testing. She knew he was sore about her use of her ward to force him to reveal his real strength to 'Bolster' the hull of the ship against the Sea Dragon's attack. Well that was too bad for him. You choose to bring weak links into your life, you took the risk of having them used against you.

Planning to put the Transmutation capability already imbued into the hull of the ship against the best Zarik could do, she had intended to see if other transmutations could be..."traded"...to him for other parts of the ship. A slight uptick in the free time for him or his girls might benefit the metal fittings of the ship with a rust-resistance. Or perhaps, the food storage could gain a cold quality allowing their stores to be kept longer before turning rancid.

She would have probably admitted to the imbued transmutation to turn the wood of the hull into metal, as well as the putty that patched it, in the process of hashing things out. But it appeared that this was not due to occur any time soon. He was nowhere to be found on board.

In fairness, Graeslin's abuse of her crew matched that which she inflicted upon Jorsie, the Etzori diplomat she'd picked up when her contacts in Quacia had maneuvered the Rupturing array there to dump them in the hold of her ship. They'd just assumed that some obviously well-off folks would be worth ransoming. But whole different priorities had intervened upon learning that Jorsie was from Etzos.

In truth, the Quacian, Zarik, had initially been figured to be the lesser value of the two hostages, regardless of having the two weak points to exploit. Things had changed now though. This was not to say Jorsie was not valuable. He was still going to be her guide to find Oberan and retrieve the missing key to the full power of her Rupturing artifact. But the possibility of providing new boons to her beloved ship was a rare opportunity indeed.

...Or would be if the privileged bastard could be found...

They'd searched the ship several times over, of course. Retraced their course to see if some small island had invited some desperate escape attempt. Checked to see if some missing item may have served as a transmuted escape vessel. These were not specifically Mer-rich waters, though some degree of that threat lived in every current throughout the world. But she considered herself a good judge of character, and she frankly could not see the man abandoning his kids.

All the more reason why she had now turned her wrath on her crew. The most likely scenario involved a crewman or two, too much alcohol, a few snide words, a few caustic responses, a swift escalation of tempers and a dead body thrown overboard. In short order however, her own previous assessment of character had her questioning these same suspicions.

She decided ultimately to move the kids to her own quarters. She had no doubt that some sort of mischief was focused on the Quacian, and by extension, herself. It would get out in her circles that a captive had spirited himself off her ship right under her nose! It looked bad. And if he did not return soon by some mystic means, the kids were likely the next target.

The slave girl, Oceta, continued to impress her with her staunch emotionlessness. Where Hazel would have been in a wailing heap at the hollering and threats Graeslin had sent her way, Oceta kept her held tight, with a face set in unwavering stone. Graeslin had transported slaves from Athart in her time, and had seen the kind of results their indoctrinations provided. This Oceta gave every indication of being as inured to anger and pain as any she'd ever met. She knew she would get nowhere with her.

Hazel was clearly the key. So, while Oceta was returned to the hold, with Ambassador Jorsie, Hazel was now held in Graeslin's own quarters.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

111 Ashan, Arc 719

Little Hazel, young yet stubborn, tried to act emotionless like Oceta would. Under-lip stuck out, she held onto the boot that Zarik had left behind – a quickly chosen assurance that he’d be back, along with a request to not tell anyone where he was going, not even Jorsie or Oceta. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen men disappear into Emea, both Zarik and his odd Quacian friend with the gray-green eyes.

She hadn’t wanted him to go. She didn’t like it on the ship. The crew reminded her of the Guild of Raw Materials' retinue who’d killed the few of her family who’d survived the Saltfetcher slaughter... survived only to be murdered trials after.

Hazel held tight to the boot but when Jorsie and Oceta were taken away, leaving her alone in Graeslin’s quarters, her stubborn bravery waned. The girl didn’t like Graeslin, the Naer reminded her of the Quacian woman with the cutlass who’d cornered her in a room coated with the freshly spilled blood of her family – and who intended to do awful things if Zarik hadn’t come along.

In many ways, the girl had come to regard her adopted father as more than simply a brotherly figure, but as a divine guardian of sorts. Whenever Hazel brushed near the god of death, Zarik appeared to ward him away from her. Hazel had felt happy when her savior adopted her, not liking the Marcovera orphanage when the other children made her think of the fact that her brothers had gotten devoured by coastal monsters.

Hazel did not have the training that Oceta did, however. She was a little orphan from a remote island in a forgotten corner of the world, who barely knew anything beyond the woodland traps her uncle had her set and the pastries she helped her grandmama bake. The girl barely understood why they had to leave the island and travel so far away. Koros Isle was Zarik’s province, the first lord the island ever had as well as accepted, and then he’d left without much explanation other than he needed to meet with another lord to the north.

She settled in a chair, kicked her legs back and forth, and hugged the boot she’d been carrying the whole time since Graeslin had summoned them from the hold. Hazel refused to let go of it, and whenever anyone tried to take Zarik’s boot from her, she screamed at the top of her lungs, wailed and kicked about until it was back in her arms.

Face flushed, tears gathered in her eyes, she warily stared at Graeslin. Zarik had been gone for almost the entire night and most of the morning, and she'd started to feel more and more worried something bad had happened. Unknown to her, the child's forehead started to dimly glow with a round shape just in the center. The light brightened, though the girl remained unaware of it. A flash of light, with the faint sound of steel sharpened over stone, then nothing else seemed to happen.

Hazel accidentally dropped the boot. While she hurried to pick it up, in the next blink, two men stood on either side of the child.

Next to one shoulder, Zarik stood tall – wearing only one boot - and as sickly looking as he’d appeared before his mystical departure. Whether he’d fallen ill or simply wasn’t coping with extended trials of seafaring, it'd be difficult to ascertain. He held tight to the other man’s hand: a dark-haired man with a travel pack who lurked at the opposite side of Hazel.

* * *

It took a trill or so, and then Zarik let go and the men were no longer holding hands.

The biqaj looked at Graeslin, and asked in a light-hearted tone, “Expecting us?”

Regardless of any answer, he moved his attention to Hazel. He knelt beside her. The human girl threw her arms around his neck. She cried in a loud sob with words too slurred to make sense of, yet he seemed to understand them anyway. “Why were you scared? I said I’d return, didn’t I? There, there. You’re a brave Hazel now, aren’t you? The bravest I know. She didn't hurt you, did she?” At his last question, he glanced at Graeslin with suspicion in his ice-blue eyes.

He gathered his adopted daughter in his arms, then stood with her in a hold that seemed familiar to them. Zarik looked at Kasoria, then inclined his head toward Graeslin with a small expression of that's her before he turned his gaze back to the woman. He said, “Hope you don’t mind, Captain. I was getting lonely, so I brought a friend over for a visit.”

“Who’s h-” started Hazel. He jostled her some, fixed his hold on her, and shook his head so that she didn’t inquire anymore about it. She pouted, watery eyes staring at Kasoria.

[Kasoria]

He was expecting something like Rupturing. Because what other experience did he have with magic travel? He assumed there would be that same otherworldly jolt to all his senses and some he didn't even know he had. Passing through that portal had been like... Fates, he still didn't have the words for it. Being born and dying. Plunging deep and soaring high. Being absolutely nothing yet seeing, feeling... everything. All of the world and the worlds beyond it. Every point of possible entry and exit, from a blade of glass to mountains in distant, impossible lands.

Probably because Sima's boy fucked up the portal. Not that I'll hold it against him.

He was oddly disappointed at the reality.

There was a... passing, would be the best way to put it. Like going through a doorway. He couldn't explain it any other way, not for lack of words learned, but simple lack of horror or wonder. He'd held the Quacian's hand in his, and waited for the magic to happen. The younger man concentrated, picturing the hold that had been his home for trials, the face he wished to return to, and he took Kasoria along for the ride.

There was no shock. Not violent wrenching, from one place in reality to another. Kasoria didn't even feel his stomach lurch, like you would after missing the step at the bottom of the stairs. He blinked, and when his lids raised, he was in a wooden room, not a stone one. There were no broad windows leading out to a blazing, beautiful sky and the sound of a city packed with traders and sellswords. Instead he could smell moldy biscuits and the fetid sweat of dozens who paid on the barest, necessary lip service to hygiene.

They weren't alone, either.

As he stood there and processed what had happened, mind taking some time to catch up with his body, a reunion unfolded before him. A small girl threw herself into Zarik's arms. He shushed her, spoke softly to her, and Kasoria had no doubt she mattered a great deal to him. Being a father had taught him to recognize that, at least. But the other one? He knew right away this would be the lady to talk to. He knew the ice in her eyes, how she beat back the pulse of shock that swept over her face and replaced it with icy outrage within moments. The nod he got from Zarik a moment later was just the confirmation.

"Mornin'."

He was never one for grand greetings. Instead he looked about the little room without moving his head, eyes flitting around like a lizard's. But he did turn from the obviously annoyed woman in the room. Who suddenly had two more guests on her boat without so much as a "by your leave"! The little Etzori shrugged one shoulder and the backpack slid down one arm, and into his hand. There was a war ax sticking out the top of it. Hazel stared at it, enraptured with sharp and shiny things like all good and fearless children should be.

"I take it yer Graeslin, aye?"

The little man turned away from her for a moment, and propped up all his worldly possessions against the child's bed. He patted the head of the ax, as if it were a pet in need of a quick rub. He wasn't as good with it as he liked, but he'd only had it for a couple of seasons. Now, just where and how he got the delightful weapon was a story all by itself, but not one to be told at the moment. In truth, he simply didn't want to be weighed down, in case he had to... do something.

What you're best at, boy.

A lilting Etzori accent slid from his mouth as the man smiled at Graeslin, taking off his hat as he'd been taught when inside and with company. A pelt's worth of black, thick hair covered him, growing out from his face, too. Sharp, simian features clashed with eyes like a reptile. His skin was weathered and dark, and the pirate captain recognized right away a man who'd spent unforgiving trials in the crow's nest. Kasoria had to admit, as far as hardship went, he much preferred this method. Fast, painless, and no need to purge his guts all over the floor when he arrived.

He placed a hand on his heart. The closest the woman would get to a salute, and even that was exceptional for him. He lowered his eyes for a moment... and then they flickered back to Zarik. Something unexpected glittered in those black orbs. Then it was gone, and the sellsword was back in his entirety. He made his decision. He would answer Zarik's questions and assuage his anger later. Right now, he needed to make an impression. Among other things.

"Name's Kasoria," he said, letting the word slither through the air like the curse many had spoke it as. Zarik reacted to his side, but he didn't look over. He wasn't the primary concern anymore. He studied the woman's face with dark, dark eyes, looking for any sign of recognition, the fear or horror or morbid respect that usually drew from people in their business. "Sworn blade fer blondie, back there... fer the time bein'."

He knew Graeslin would get the message. Hells, Zarik probably would, it was so obvious. They were in a world where all loyalties were transitory, negotiable, pliable, and never lasted forever. Necessity and price determined how long a sword sword would be as such; relying on things like sentiment and oaths just got a man killed. Kasoria knew he was on a boat, and judging by the difference in heat... no longer closer to the desert that surrounded Yaralon. That was progress. That was closer. So he'd already got most of what he wanted.

Now he just had to see if this "Graeslin" would decide on offering him something better, taking umbrage to his presence, or simply crying out for her guards. Kasoria kept the polite smile on his face, knowing it disconcerted people seeing such a genial expression on a face stamped with a thousand murders. He reached up and undid the clasp of his cloak. Let it billow open before falling in a rustling avalanche of cloth. Revealing the weapons he had strapped to himself. Well... some of them, at any rate. The knives under his armpits and the gladius at his belt would stand out the most. The dagger on his other hip, with the white scorpion inlaid to a red bone hilt, aye, that might catch hr eye.

The karambit, though? That was at his back. He always like to keep that one as a surprise.

"Dun' suppose y'got anythin' t'drink in 'ere, have yeh? Techni'kully speakin', we have just been on a long trip..."

[Maltruism]

The pirate took her seat at the desk in her Captain's Quarters, looking once more to go through those belongings she'd taken from the Quacian as "fair payment" for a ride to Etzos. She was not of a mind to weigh the honor of these payments, it was simply part of the whole pirate deal. He had not really even given any harsh looks over what she'd acquired from him.

This now gave her to wonder of he'd snuck in and grabbed some item, using whatever magic might be imbued into it to seemingly vanish from the ship. Whatever it was, it would then surely be gone as well. Unlike many in her business, Graeslin made careful notations of what she currently had on board, both as cargo and as loot; the difference being who had initially owned such items before being listed.

Thus far, everything had checked out. She had come to various clothing items and this had triggered her notice once again of how the child clung to that stupid boot. It was no real trouble ripping the thing free of the girl's grip, and threatening a backhanded slap to quiet her shrieks of protest. She felt no sense of bullying or cowardice for this action, feeling that Hazel had given her no choice. 'Such obsession is unhealthy', she told herself, '...and it might be best to break her of it right now.'

But likewise did she fail to sense anything important about the damned boot. It was just that, am Imp-damned boot. And she scowled with a shake of the head as she watched the child once again glom onto the smelly thing like it would save her life. She returned to her desk to mark off the clothing items, and continued down the list, shaking her head and checking off every item as present and accounted for.

'How did he do it?' she asked herself for the hundredth time. It was, of course, the first in a series of questions that inevitably followed for the same hundred times. 'Where IS he?...Why did he leave his girls behind?....Is he coming back?' On an impulse, she had the slave child brought back to her cabin as well, hoping the younger child would relax now.

Drumming her fingers absently on the wooden desktop, she looked over at the little girl and lost control of a snarl of frustrated rage. The little bitch was just hugging that stupid boot. 'By the fates, I am going to BURN that damned thing!' she swore to herself with a glare at Hazel, and almost went to the bother of seeing to the task right then and there. But having vented, she sighed heavily and started over the list again, looking for whatever she had missed; some odd, out-of-place detail suggesting hidden magic power that perhaps Zarik could have used remotely.

And then, all at once, he was there! Her surprise was such that for a moment she did not realize that the man with him was not one her crewmen, thinking him to have brought the prodigal hostage in without her hearing the door open. But even at the same instant that it occurred to her that she kept her door hinges grease-free, so she would always hear it creak open, she realized the second man was a complete stranger - and the door was still closed!

She leapt up, reaching to grab the nearby end of a rope. It was channeled over a pulley and through a small hole to a point beside the door to her cabin below the quarterdeck. There it connected to a bell of a design to emit a singular tone, that would alert the crew to some current trouble in the Captain's Quarters. She held the rope and braced herself to rattle the thing furiously. But then she waited....Just a trill...

And then another...The two men on opposite sides of the little boot-loving brat, made no aggressive moves, though the Quacian spoke in a cocky tone she did not find suitably respectful. As he then squatted beside Hazel to give her comfort, Graeslin made note of the features of the smaller, dirtier-looking derelict beside them. It was not so much any possible description of his features that started the prickle of hair on the nape of her neck. It was a recognition of the look in those eyes!

This man was an unrepentant killer. Yet, his initial behavior spoke of a willingness to acknowledge that his situation would surely end in his own death if he tried to ply his trade then and there. He made no bones about revealing his weapons, those that he chose to display anyway. Like bugs, where one is seen, dozens more are sure to be present. Yet he earned her accommodation with his own.

His name, given freely, gave just the barest spark of reference in her history of confrontations. But she did not believe she had ever had any personal contact with him prior to this. Most likely, she'd heard the man spoken of in tales at some tavern somewhere in her past. But warnings still rang in her head, despite his seemingly cooperative attitude. His allowance of his status as sworn protector to Zarik did not cause these warnings to retreat any either, regardless of the admission of some supposedly temporary status. Surely this term would last for the duration of the voyage to Etzos. What point would there be in hiring such a man for part of a dangerous journey?

She nodded acknowledgement of her own name, her eyes daring either of them to do anything to escalate the situation beyond the current stalemate. She sensed that her men would avenge her death should things deteriorate into violence, but she would still be dead. A few more moments of silence and she released the rope.

She suddenly smiled brightly, all sarcasm, "Well Zarik, I certainly wouldn't want you to be getting lonely or anything. You continue to impress. But how...socially inattentive...of you to force your friend to introduce himself. I don't know about you, but I think an apology is in order." She waited a moment to see if he would make such a concession and then continued, "So, I suspect it comes as no surprise that I'd like to know how you did this. I can still ring this bell, after all. I may die, but so will you, AND your girls."

She gestured to a cabinet where Kasoria would find alcohol of every variety, some of very high quality, along with glasses. She reached down and opened one of her prized possessions, a perpetually-cold, alchemically-empowered icebox, and lifted out a tray of ice for everyone's use. As she prepared her own drink, she asked almost absently, "Forgive me, but I was under the impression that we had a truce. Shouldn't that entail your revelation of any more such talents? Having you conceal it makes me wonder what else you can do."

She looked at Kasoria with the respect that purveyors of the darker aspects of global economy were inclined to bestow upon each other, "I think I can already guess what YOU can do." As everyone found seats, or suitable substitutes, she leaned back in her own. "So, I guess the big question is what can we do for each other? Whatever it is, I trust it is something that can be done in Etzos."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

The piratess and the assassin eyed each other while the young mage comforted the child. Tension gathered in the Captain’s Quarters. Graeslin lingered near the rope, in hesitation whether to sound an alarm. The dark-eyed newcomer got comfortable, sliding off a backpack, and he greeted Graeslin. He didn’t acknowledge the tension in the slightest, instead even offering a name that did not fit with the name Zarik knew.

From the look he’d given before he spoke it, caught by the blond, Zarik had a feeling which of the two was the real one. Kasoria. Real enough, that was. He barely reacted, though his dark brows lifted for a trill or two before he returned his attention to Hazel. The Etzori informed Graeslin about who he was and what he was doing there....

…..fer the time bein’.

That got a silent reaction.

Zarik’s eyes flashed turmeric orange hinted with vivid lime green color. Whether the implication had been recognized by the still-shocked woman or not, the biqaj had caught it without even a moment’s confusion. His vibrant irises made that acknowledgment obvious.

Hazel tapped her palm against his cheek. He looked at her and smiled in an apologetic manner. She’d recognized his upset, after all. Her curious eyes stared at him, but she kept quiet.

Graeslin spoke, finally, then. He settled Hazel to stand beside him. She clung to his leg. Zarik rested a hand at the top of her blond head. He coolly observed the piratess while she chided his lack of introduction in mocking tone. His eyes chilled like his demeanor, icy blue.

He didn’t respond when she suggested that he apologize to the bodyguard for the poor etiquette. So, she continued with a threat that might’ve felt flimsy and fallen flat, if it weren’t for Kasoria's little subtle mention before.

Zarik heavily sighed, exasperated. He commented, “I feel this might be the thousandth time you’ve threatened my children's lives to assure cooperation. It is tedious, Captain Graeslin.”

Polite, genial even, Kasoria unclasped his cloak and revealed the assortment of some weapons. Zarik had seen him strap each of them on, however. He knew how many there were and the respective care that the human had shown various ones while he had readied for travel in Yaralon.

Hazel pulled at Zarik’s tunic, then nodded. He leaned down. She murmured, “That man has so many swords and things-” for she included the knives and dagger as swords.

“Yes, he does,” agreed Zarik while he returned to his full height. His gaze flicked over to the cabinet of alcohol, then the ice that Graeslin used to prepare a drink for herself.

He settled Hazel to sit on a chair, then took the boot and put it back on over his crystalline-skin foot. Zarik remained standing, for the moment. Crossing his arms over his chest, his wings kept folded neatly, out of the way, against his back. His halo dimly pulsed with a passive flow of ether that maintained the ring of light above his head.

“You’re forgiven,” he replied to Graeslin’s comment about the truce, in a sincere voice, with a genuine expression of pardon. He waved his open palm as if shooing away a fly.

“Impressions can sometimes be… hmm, misleading.”

He glanced at Kasoria.

Graeslin followed his glance to also look at the man. She made a comment about Etzos then, and whether by we she meant all three of them, it wasn't clear... and it didn't matter.

Zarik settled to sit on a chair beside Hazel. He combed his fingers through her hair, then sectioned the strands in half. The biqaj started to braid one side while he quietly hummed. He made no move, or showed the slightest interest, to share in a drink.

“Mister Kasoria is also my guest, Captain,” he mentioned, though he didn't look at either of them. He focused on tightly weaving the portioned blond strands of Hazel's hair. “If you aim to know anything of how I am able to do such wonders, then you will treat him with the utmost respect. He doesn’t have to do anything for you. Of course…”

Zarik paused and looked at the Etzori man. The icy tint of his blue irises darkened to rich navy shade.

Without a hint of amusement on his youthful features, he concluded, “…unless he prefers to.”

He finished the braid, returned his gaze to Hazel, and thinly smiled at her. Zarik used a bit of string from his pocket to tie the hair off, then motioned for her to move so he could braid the other side.

[Kasoria]

Well, Bless my Balls. The little lordling is fucking pouty.

The absolute dryness of Kasoria's thought leaked through into his expression, which was equally as restrained. He quirked an eyebrow at the Quacian's icy tone, the mirthless smile on his face, and... yep, yet another change in eye color. He'd need to start keeping a chart. The sellsword managed a minute shrug with one shoulder, the one nod currently hold a drink at the end of it. Fine wines and booze from across the world, and of course, gutter rat that he was at heart, Kasoria's eyes and hand had gone straight to-

"Upton's Economical," he muttered with something like awe. "Far from fuckin' 'ome, ain't we?"

He poured himself a generous measure into a decanter that was likely worth more than he made in half a season, and settled himself against the wall. Roughly between where Graeslin stood, her own drink swirling gently in her grip, and Zarik, who was more enamored with his child's hair. Just a ragged-looking sot, insouciant and remorseless, leaning up on a wall... precisely in position to interpose himself between this strange woman, and the man he was empliyed by. Also directly opposite the door. So anyone bursting through it would be met at once by a smelly, hairy, flying mass of blades held by a man who knew damn well how to use them.

Don't let her see that, he told himself, taking a sip and ahhhhh, yep, that sure as fuck burned like proper Economical, all right. Let her see the derelict. The vagrant. The beggar. The careless scoundrel. Better she things less of you than too much.

Then why tell her your name, old man?

Kasoria pushed the conceited thought aside, and listened to what little chat passed between captain and passenger. Clearly there was more afoot here than that simple arrangement. Zarik had made that much plain when they were in the Emea, and in Yaralon before that. Fucking Fates, that hit him all at once. A handful of bits before - really, that short a span of time - he'd been trials and trials of travel away. On a different continent. On a different coast. No solid word on when he'd be able to go home, and now? Now he was on the way there, and in a blink, with a held hand and a quick promise, he'd gained passage far, far closer.

He felt a twinge, when Zarik had looked at him with such... hurt. Aye. Kasoria could see that, under the indignation. The hurt of a man lied to by one he trusted. That would sting, more than mere betrayal. Hell, he wasn't one to feel bad about that, at least not for very long. He'd turned his cloak and switched sides before; it was the nature of his world, where loyalty was defined by coin and odds of survival, not nobility and honor and a smear of blood against the palm. But Zarik was not of his world. He'd saw Kasoria as a friend, never even knowing his true name.

The Etzori sighed, and sipped his drink again. His eyes flashed for a moment when Zarik sighed and spoke. The woman was fond of threatening the children, it seemed. Well, he understood the logic of that. It worked, after all, threatening the loved ones of people you wished control over. Men who'd suffer torture and horror would bend the knee quick as a doll on strings once that same blade was pressed to a child or lover or kin. Kasoria was not one to moralize. He'd played that game before. But children...

That damn twinge again. Getting sentimental in your old age?

He chuckled at the captain's bright and breezy and utterly insincere mention of mutually assured slaughter, if she chose to ring this very bell. Loud and amused enough to draw a look from her, and for him to give her one back. A gaze totally at odds with the lopsided smile, peeking through his beard. One that promised, as much as it warned. He let his other hand rest on the hilt of his gladius, as if it had... just happened to fall there. Then he sipped some more booze. Let the heat sizzle on his tongue and drip down his throat.

He closed his eyes, and savored it. Good a feeling as any to have in you, before Vri came a-calling.

He opened his eyes when Graeslin's tone changed, and he knew he was being directly addressed. Ah, now he was part of her equation. Another piece to be mollified, threatened, or simply neutralized. The little man cocked his head, and gave his "employer" a quick look. He analyzed his situation. He was on board a ship, heading for Etzos. Zarik had made that happen. Without a cost being mentioned, save his protection. If nothing else, he'd saved Kasoria unknown trials he'd have spent otherwise. Not to mention a purse or three of coin for the trouble.

You owe him nothing. You owe no-one anything, not anymore.

But what do you owe the dead?

A queer laugh and an odd smile creased the lethal little man's face, one that mayhap befuddled the two other adults in the room. It always came back to that. To memories and words long past, faces long dead and rotted and dust and bones. But still they held to him, the memories, the bones, the future not taken nor realized. He sighed... and let go of his gladius. Instead, his hand hovered over the bottles until he found a wine with "Rynmere" on the label. Fuck it, good enough.

"Ain't much I need done fer me by youse, Cap'n," he said, pouring the burgundy plonk into a glass. "All I wanted was t'get back 'ome. My man over there, 'e's got dat taken care of, an' so..."

Kasoria enjoyed subtleties. He rarely got the chance to employ them. But he knew he was saying as much as any monologue or speech, by the simple act of walking over to Zarik, handing over the glass of wine... and then resuming his position against the wall... only this time, it was on Zarik's side, positioned so he could come at the door from the same, and if necessary, lunge forwards and yank the blonde back behind him.

The sellsword smiled that same, easy smile as before. The drunkard. The rogue. Harmless and comical. Only now, he wagered Graeslin would get the message, and wonder which one was accurate. Was he more than what he seemed, or less?

Good luck guessing, love.

"As fer Etzos, well, we're already headin' there. Foster's, am I right?" He shrugged again and drained the rest of the decanter. Smacked his lips and hissed through his teeth before placing the glass on a nearby table... upside down. An Oh'Pee lad, through and through. "Still! Long as I'm on yer ship, no reason I can't make meself useful, aye? Long as the young man here an' his wee ones aren't bothered, y'know? Be a right cunt if anything happened to 'em."

Again, his hand strayed to his gladius. Again, it rested, not gripped or caressed. As if it were just a convenient thing for him to let his lax fingers rest on. He didn't look down when Zarik gave him a look. He kept his eyes on the Captain. The real meat of the issue. Later he'd let the boy question him, grill him, even thank him. For now, the gesture he'd made woudl suffice, and the less said to make things clear for a woman who'd use that clarity against them, the better.

Besides, he reminded himself, birthing another slight smile. Wiser not to piss off a man who can walk into your dreams and slot you.

[Maltruism]

Graeslin sat back, nursing a tumbler of "Ilaren 1 + 4", a reference to the Immortal's domains of lightning and alcohol, something that the label promised "to provide with every sip", and let the men have their little interaction. The subtle bite and body of her chosen refreshment had as much underlying spark as they did. There was much to be learned from every look and gesture. Some she would play on here and now, others she would stow away for future exploitation.

But for their consumption, she adopted a weary look and heaved the sigh of endlessly taxed patience. For their consumption also were the ice cubes, spiked with the first of two elements to complete a fast-acting sleep agent. Was it possible that one or both of them were chemists? As eagerly as the one called "Kasoria" went after her offered libations, she had figured him to spill a "rock" or two on the floor. But he never actually used any in his drink...interesting.

Zarik, either by wit or insult, refused to partake at all. Still, she lit a cigar, the smoke from which contained the second of the two knock-out reagents, just in case they did. For now she directed her exhales to a vent that sucked the stuffy air out the stern of the vessel. "Tiresome you say, my dear boy. I must agree. Your tiresome refusal to realize the nature of our situation continues to weary me with the need to restate the obvious. I am not threatening anyone, not this time, anyway."

She leaned forward to set her chin upon her upturned left hand, the fingers drumming absently as she continued, "I do not deny having done so, however. And so what exactly is the nature of your response to my repeated explanation of how far your rights extend regarding your unanticipated presence aboard my ship? You hire an admittedly dangerous-looking fellow to raise a counter threat. Do you see my confusion? I mean, my use of a historically proven tactic is treated as abominable, yet you are not above employing the same maneuver. How odd.

"Now this is not to say that I find turnabout to be unfair. But I have done no harm to any of you thus far, but you have now only served to raise the stakes, increasing the likelihood of some dreadful misfortune. To spring in here unannounced after your mysterious disappearance was quite startling. You saw how close I came to ringing the alarm."

She folded her hands atop the desk and leaned further forward, her voice taking on a dangerously silken tone. "Let me put it simply. I was not threatening you or your kids. I was pointing out that were I to have rung that bell, a half dozen or more of my men would have charged through that door and started swinging blades at everything that moves. And in such comparatively close quarters as one finds in my cabin, there is a very good chance that among the heads rolling across the floor when all was said and done, one would find the adorable little button tops of your children."

Now was the time to begin widening the developing rift she could see in the various tics and sidelong glances, as well as the frequent changing of the Quacian's iris colors. Looking to Kasoria, she gave an exaggerated shrug and a look of serious doubts about Zarik in general. "You see the sense of entitlement he brings on board? The disregard for caution? Even in regards to his children's safety. Yes, I threaten, to keep his nose away from where it would not belong, even on a Quacian vessel. But does he listen, even after agreeing to a truce? You tell me. I am done telling him anything."

Letting the melodrama slip from her voice, she filled the void with irritation, "The next time you tell me my efforts to keep things in place, without resorting to the same violence you are now embracing, is 'tiresome' to you, I will be more than happy to cut your damned throats and throw your flesh to the sharks." She made an exaggerated act of recall, "Oh wait, that's right. I already made that threat didn't I. And yet, you're all still here and completely unharmed. Oh, how positively lowborn of me. Daddy will be SO disappointed."

There was a point in going on like this, beyond the hope of getting under Zarik's skin in return. She was now going to ask questions of how much information the Quacian had given his bodyguard before bringing him on board, in hopes of exacerbating the growing tension between them. While most would strive to keep a stone-straight face in hopes of revealing nothing, Greaslin had found that by pressing on and on with rhetoric this way, those she questioned would be eager to get past mundane topics with a few quick gestures, thereby placing a heightened possibility of significance upon those questions to which they even gave no reaction.

But first, a concession of respect to the newcomer, "Oh, I'm sorry Mister Kasoria. I did not mean to say something so clearly challenging to your very purpose here. But you may find that you need to keep this fool from escalating situations needlessly. I mean, we're going to the city he wants, But he still makes trouble, and tries to keep me in the dark about his talents. And he wasn't even intended to come along in the first place. Did he tell you that? It was the Ambassador, that...Jorsie fellow, that was my target. The only reason Zarik is here is because he was sneaking out of Quacia and used the same unsanctioned Rupturing array that Jorsie did. The one I am able to intercept."

Counting off on her fingers, she pressed on, keeping an eye on Kasoria, even for complete lacks of reaction. "If his departure from Quacia was legit, he would have used the licensed array, wouldn't you think? Instead of some unreliable fly-by-night set-up. So who knows what he's running from, or who may come after him. I only know he was invited to Etzos by that old fox, Vuda. I asked him why, but get this...he told me it was 'too sensitive'. And yet still not a mark on his back for his lack of cooperation. I ask you, have I been abusive? I think not!"

A sly look crossed her face, "Did he even tell you you'd be outnumbered thirty-to-one by my men when you got here? I don't deny I'm a pirate, but I didn't even scheme to get him or his children on board. But everybody knows it's pretty much pirate tradition to seek ransom when you find some rich stow-away aboard your vessel. I can tell you this, though. I know it was not Rupturing he used to GET you here. I think it only fair for me to refuse to say HOW I know, but I don't need anyone's confirmation. Likewise, I have seen nothing indicating any Immortal favor that might grant such a slick transport ability."

Now she leaned back in her grand seat, dropping her hands from sight below the desk top, "So, no more games gentlemen. Neither of you are "guests" here, though you need not be prisoners either. But I want to know how YOU got here." Her eyes were locked on Kasoria, her hands out of sight, no doubt prepped to trigger some defensive gadgetry should he attack.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Left over, right over, tighten.
Left over, right over, tighten.
Left ov… over, right over, ti…

Zarik paused. He looked away from the braid to the glass of wine that the Etzori man offered him.

He stared and the darkness in his blue eyes lightened. After a few trills of hesitation, he took the glass with a quiet hmm of acknowledgment. The offer appeared almost… thoughtful of Kasoria. He sniffed the burgundy liquid and it smelled faintly familiar.

Familiar in the opposite way of warm sentimental comfort. Rather his jaw tensed, his eyes stung, and he forced himself to focus past the momentary unintentional distraction. He gave Hazel the glass and whispered, “Hold this for me, please.”

Left over, right over, tighten. He returned to braiding her hair.

He listened to the captain act exactly how he’d come to recognize Graeslin: tedious assumptions vocalized with little room to clarify. The tension in his jaw worsened and he grit his teeth to keep from being driven to reckless interruption. He'd been on edge since the trial of her test, and she'd discovered how powerful he was in the domain of transmutation, regardless of whatever truce she wanted to assert they had.

Left over, right over, tighten.

“Ow, that hurts!” cried Hazel suddenly, one of her hands going to the side of her head.

“Sorry,” he hurriedly apologized for the yank of hair. He ran a hand over the spot, as if to pet away the pain he’d caused her. He loosened the braid some, then started again with a gentler motion.

He glanced at Graeslin, while the woman continued. Zarik recognized what she was doing, or what she attempted, but he allowed her to continue regardless. Better to allow the woman to run her mouth into a grave of her own making rather than try and wrestle with it.

Whether due to her continual assertion of control over his life, magic, belongings, and children, or due to the many trials of being under that control, Graeslin had a gift for drawing Zarik’s frustrations to the surface. Even with all his discipline, all his ability to allow others to speak down to him and treat him with disdain, he found himself struggling to restrain himself from the anger she so happily stirred in him.

If it’d been just the two of them, without his daughter and without his initiate, he would’ve said some things he’d likely regret. The presence of the other two gave him the inclination to keep his tongue still.

Graeslin spoke about Quacia, which caused Zarik to glance over at Kasoria. He had warned the man about questioning, and told him about where he’d come from, and Vuda being the reason for his trip to Etzos… but he hadn’t foreseen that she’d bring into question his reasons for leaving Quacia itself. He could only hope such a thing would be overlooked. Eyes of ice-blue, he hesitated, then returned to finish the second braid. He tied a string around it, then patted Hazel on the head and took back the wine glass from her.

However, Graeslin mistook the arrangement between him and the other man. Zarik allowed for this. It suited him that she thought he’d pleaded with Kasoria about coming to help him… but it hadn’t been that way in the slightest. He’d lost his nerve to even properly ask. He hadn’t wanted to place the Etzori in this situation at all. It was dangerous, he knew, but Kasoria had practically thrown himself in offer and how could he say no to a man who seemed so determined and assured of it?

“You talk a lot,” mentioned Zarik when Graeslin finally finished her entire spiel.

He stood, then. Zarik looked over at Kasoria, then his gaze flicked to Hazel – and whether the silent tell of her safety comes before mine reached the "sworn sword" or not, he didn’t linger.

Instead, he approached the captain’s desk where Graeslin sat. Shoulders back, chest out, spine at full height, he loosely held onto the wine glass between both hands. A faint sway to the ship caused the burgundy to slosh from one side to the other.

The biqaj looked down at her. The ice-blue color of his eyes warmed to orange and vividly broke the bounds of his irises, consuming the whites of the orbs and glowing around the lashes. He said in a measured voice, “No more games?”

“None of this has been a game for my children,” he added. “And it is certainly no game to me. Defend yourself all you want, but Mister Kasoria is not a judge weighing the scales of whether you are right or wrong, or shall live or die. He is a friend… my friend.”

Zarik set the glass of untouched wine on the desk in front of her.

“He’s not hired,” he added. Though he spoke directly to her without his gaze moving anywhere else than to make eye contact with the captain, his words weren’t necessarily for her. “He’s a free man, free to choose how he wants to spend his time here. I told you, I was lonely. It is our friendship that drives him to act protective… as friends do. I’m sure that might be an unusual concept to grasp for a woman such as yourself, Graeslin.”

“If I wanted, I would’ve simply…” he paused then, as if to stop himself. He crossed his arms over his chest, then continued, “If I were to hire someone, I would’ve paid off a few of your crew for a proper mutiny. Especially that one... oh what is his name, I never remember any of these... I'm sure you already know which one I'm talking about. He’s just itching to take that seat of your’s. So I sympathize that you need to run a tight ship. Like I’ve told you, my first many arcs were lived on a ship. Though a respectable one that made an honest living.”

“I have no intention to cause you harm or trouble, Graeslin. I already offered you my aid and support despite your numerous threats. All I want is to be treated like a man who can freely go where he wishes, whose possessions remain his, and able to spend time with his daughter above deck together without constant supervision.” The blond paused and turned his shoulders slightly to look over at Kasoria. He hummed lowly, then returned his attention to Graeslin.

[Kasoria]

Fates, do I even need to fucking be here for this?

The more they - well, she - talked, the less Kasoria felt he had to contribute. It was enough of a challenge just keeping track of everything she was saying, flitting from topic to threat to musing like a Frack-addled waster from the Oh'Pee. There was the usual gist of such speeches, though. The fact he could even describe it as "the usual" was a testament to just how long he'd been saddled with the world they inhabited. He supposed the seafaring scum were afforded a little more... theatricality in their dealings with each other. He could tell just by the furnishings of the room that Captain Graeslin was used to the finer things. A successful woman. A cunning negotiator, and mayhap a skilled warrior.

But she talked. She danced around with her words, and that simply would not had flown this far in Etzos. By this point, men like Bangun Vorund would have smiled with barely-maintained politeness, and given men like Kasoria the nod.

Not here. Not now. Not yet.

Zarik finally spoke and rose to his feet. A look went between them and how strange it was, that when given the silent order, Kasoria saw it as just that. A command, issued by a superior, an employer, just like with Vorund. Doubly queer, since Zarik was about as far from that black-hearted old cunt as one could imagine. Yet still he pushed himself off the wall and glided across the polished wood and thick rugs. Until he was standing halfway between the seated Graeslin and the little girl with half her hair in braids. Easily capable of shielding her, if he had to.

The Quacian continued to talk as the word rippled through the Etzori's mind. Shield. Barrier. Protection. He could supply those, now. Quite easily, in fact. With a breathless whisper through his soul, down from his thoughts to his Spark, he could stymie this chatty lady and her threats. Keep her trapped behind walls of ether, her and whatever hapless scum she had apparently waiting in the wings. His hands twitched at his sides. He could feel the tingle beneath his bones; echoing through his skin; a hundred memories of past incantations and conjurings whispering through-

No. Don't be a fool.

Kasoria exhaled and gave the tiniest of nods. Fates, he'd been too long among these fucking people. Who were always so willing to proclaim and pronounce their abilities. That had never been his way. He'd survived and triumphed over and over because he did not let those around him see his full potential. The way he dressed and carried himself was proof of that. Before he was the Raggedy Man, he was literally just a raggedy man, a pitiful figure that so fare below suspicion he was in the gutter. So why give this petty bitch the satisfaction of knowing yet another skill he had? Why inform her ahead of time, like he was a spy for his own camp, giving her intelligence she could use against him?

Not here. Not now. The words repeated through his mind. The mantra he'd taught himself in the gutters and the alleys. Not yet.

"Lad's right. Y'do talk too much."

His rumbling tones rattled through the air in the silence after the two other adults had finished talking. Kasoria had heard little that moved him, even if some had interested him. But the truth was, he didn't much care why Zarik wanted to go to Etzos, or why. The fact that Vuda was involved in his story made him a touch uneasy - for any true son of Etzos knew better than to enmesh himself with that spider's affairs - but set off no alarm bells of worry for the sake of himself or his home. Vuda was many things, but just like Kasoria was a murderer and a mercenary and a professional little monster, he was not a traitor. Vuda would have no truck in bringing foreign rabble into the Free City, solely to harm her.

You got me closer to home, he thought, sparing Zarik a quick look. And all she's done is-

"Bit uv' advice fer next time? Soakin' a turd in gin don't make it taste any less like a mouthful a' shit, Captain." He took a step forward, closer to Zarik, and shoved as much scorn as he could into the last word. "Makin' yer words pretty an' rabbitin' on like some city fuckin' councilor don't make threats any less than what they are. An' in case yer still wonderin', there's some people they don't work on."

The sellsword smiled thinly at the admirably composed woman behind the table. He wondered how many devices of torture or agony she had hidden under it. Her hands weer out of sight... spread somewhat wide... actual weapons, maybe? Some runic or magical defense? Or just an alarm, that would have men bursting out of hidden doors or plunge them all into the level below? If there even was one. Kasoria shook his head gently, and a newer, slightly higher sound hissed from between his teeth. Something she said had stuck with him, and while he wouldn't show the woman he was a mage, too, just like his employer, well... he felt the need to make his point plain.

"Thirty t' one, y'said? Aye. Scary, hmm? 'cept it ain't really that. More like... I'll be generous an' say fifteen, cuz wiv' no bullshit or crowin', I've yet t'meet the bladesman or brawler who can put me inna' fuckin' ground, an I ain't gonna find him on this tub. So, fifteen... 'cept that ain't true, either. Cuz I'm just a wee man in narrow hallways and doorways. Nullifies numerical advantages, does a chokepoint, eh?" His smile was threatening to grow into a grin as she widened her eyes. Oh, yes, missy. I've read a book or three in my time. You pompous bitch. "So, it ain't so much fifteen a' yer lads rushin' me in a mob, so much as it is two or three at a time. Heh... hardly worse than I've survived a'fore. An' given the look youse gave me when y'heard my name, I think youse know that."

CLAP

"So!" His hands smacking together was like thunder striking in the small room. Hazel jerked behind them and Kasoria plowed on to his conclusion. "Ain't thirty, an' it ain't fifteen. More like... eight. Eight men, 'gainst little old me... 'cept it ain't just me. It's me, an' him." He rested his hand briefly on Zarik's shoulder, then took it away. "Cuz he is my friend, as well as me employer, an' he helped me. That's all youse need t'know, just like y'need to know I'll be quiet as a mouse 'til we got home, an' if youse need help on the way, my sword's yers, like it is his."

The Etzori's hands moved behind his back, sweeping his cloak aside just enough for Graeslin to see the gladius and dagger strapped there. Not to mention the throwing knives nestling under his armpits. But not everything. Not even close. And that was the point, which is while he still smiled.

"Or we can stop fuckin' about an' youse can do whatever yer gonna do under that desk a' yours. An' maybe yer right, what yer thinkin' right now. That I'm just a poor, ragged cunt from the Big Smoke who can only see men an' swords an' swingin' 'em. Or maybe yer wrong. Maybe steel ain't all I got. Maybe youse ain't the only one wi' tricks."

Kasoria of Etzos shrugged. As if all affairs and futures were beyond his control. He felt the steady pulse of his Spark under his skin. Willed into activity, but not yet action. One mental bark, though, and he would fill this room with light and magical defenses. But not yet. Not without reason.

"S'up t'you, Cap'n."

[Maltruism]

As Kasoria outlined his take on the situation, Graeslin's face showed less and less emotion. She blinked her eyes shut with slow deliberation, sighing as they held closed for a moment. When they opened again, a spark of resignation was present, "Well, you certainly do carry on for one who says I talk too much. Is there a course of action you would prefer me to take, then? You going to spend trials in that doorway to keep the edge you claim? You'll take the first two or three, it's true. But the rest are not just going to keep barging through like cattle. They are aware of what advantages I can give them from here."

She shook her head with disappointment, "I must say, I had figured talking things out would be what our Quacian dandy here would choose. But I am game to try a different tack." The hand she had waved toward Zarik as she said "dandy" suddenly formed a fist, and a look of piercing aggression flashed across her face as she unleashed the naerikk 'Gift of Shadow' upon the party. Zarik and the two children with him slumped suddenly into complete sensory deprivation, all outside stimuli turned to silent, featureless darkness. Even the equilibrium provided by the function of the inner ear was negated and they tumbled to the floor, feeling no contact or pain if they struck anything as they fell.

Both Graeslin and Kasoria could be said to have then wasted valuable instants. For her part, Graeslin began to stand with the confidence of newly restored control, in no hurry, until she noticed that the newcomer was still on his feet, showing no sign of debilitation at all. For his part, not knowing what sort of hidden traps or weapons he would be dealing with, he could not immediately decide on what sort of defense to assemble with his modest Abrogation powers. In that instant, he decided not to reveal his ability in some clumsy effort, and rely instead on tried-and-true tradition.

The moment was lost equally by them both. But from that point, there was no further locking of eyes as they both exploded into action, Kasoria leaping toward her, blade already in motion, and she lurching to her side to slam her fist on a lever on the side of her desk, releasing what she normally could have counted on to halt an attacker's advance long enough for her to regain her edge.

It was to the assassin's credit that he moved so fast that when the spring-powered plank shot up 18 inches from the back edge of her captain's desk, he did not run into it, so much as he was lifted upon it to prolong the completion of his maneuver by two crucial trills. This was enough time for Graeslin to pull her own back-up weapon from the underside of the desk as she landed face up on her back on the floor, seeing the assassin coming down upon her.

Kasoria's blade met her neck at the same moment that a trio of lethal spring-blades met his stomach. "Poisoned!" she shouted. There was just a moment of mutual hesitation, which she used to reiterate, "No, no, no, sir, these are poisoned. Taipan venom. Just a scratch and we visit Vri together." She took a breath and went on, "If that's what you want, go ahead, but then your friend and his children are all alone. And don't get all rope burned over another threat. You know damn well how things are with folks such as us."

A sudden peculiar gamut of emotions crossed her face and her jaw dropped open, though the spring blades did not waver in the least, "Audrae's Ass! It's you...You are HIM. I know who you are! You're the..uh...The rag...Raggedy Man! You're the legend! The Warded One! That's why it didn't work! You're Raellen's Bane!"

Just a slip allowed a twinge of reaction to betray the assassin's interest in that name his opponent dropped. She caught it instantly. "Aha, so you'd like to know more. Don't deny it. Yes, she's sworn to face you down again, winner take all. But I bet you'd like to know where she is right now, eh? And how soon she might come back? I can give you that, but we've got to back up. And besides, it would be a terrible thing for us to kill each other this way."

Every instinct and assessment Kasoria could make verified the wistful sincerity of her comments as she elaborated. "We both deserve ends worthy of history books and song. But either back to back as allies, or across the world from each other making TWO glorious legends. Not cooped up in this corner, with neither of us gaining any spoils or renown. That would just be a damned shame!"

Her eyes cast briefly toward where Zarik and the kids lay writhing and whimpering. "Come on, they can't hear. Fess up, he's a spoiled rich kid and you're only doing it for money, right? Hey no, judgement. I totally understand that. But I have treated them all much better than they had any right to expect, showing up uninvited on a pirate ship!? All I asked was that they tell me what they have to offer, and that dogfish has lied to me from trial one. And then he always has his kids around so anything I do is in front of them. I don't know about you, but that is one of the few things that bothers me."

There were several trills of relative silence, broken by her self-deprecating smirk, "Okay, so I talk too much. I've said my piece. What now?..Okay...I tell you what. Mine's got range, so I guess if you cut my throat, I can still shoot you before I bleed out." She slowly withdrew her spring-blade glove, "You take ten steps back, and then I'll set my weapon back in its compartment. We play it by ear from there. Good?"

Off Topic

Okay, so like I said, a fair bit of god-modding. And that Kas should probably go next, regardless of the posting order up til now.
Hope there's no objections.