• Graded • Some Assembly Required [Llyr, Kas]

[Kasoria]

There was no mistaking that feeling. No forgetting it, either. The first time it had been an utter overwhelming of his senses, from taste and smell to balance and touch. Wrapped up in a roiling mass of darkness, he'd been trapped in his own body. Unable to hear or speak or see. The second time, it hadn't worked. His ward protected him, but that sickening, cloying, skittering sensation of something trying to worm its way into into his senses was unmistakable.

The third time, cold fury triggered Kasoria as much as the instincts of his profession. Graeslin had barely clenched his fist and pulsed "the Gift" across the room before he was lunged back in retaliation. Lips curled back from his teeth in a savage snarl. Eyes no longer glinting with a hint of amusement, but wide, wild, restrained from open rage only by decades of discipline. He drew his gladius even as he charged, vaulting over the spring-loaded barrier that jerked up from the edge of the table. He cleared it with room to spare, left hand steadying himself, right hand already raising the sword for a blow-

-landing astride the woman on her back, hands now transformed into spiked, lethal weapons themselves-

One good swing. Open her throat, kill her voice along with the rest of her. Then we go hunting for the crew.

A simple, if bold plan, to be sure. But her words stayed his hand the moment before the strike landed. Exhibiting the skill and lethal grace that had made him the legend she now knew he was, Kasoria's gladius stopped as if time itself had been shattered around the pair. From a blur of silver to still as a statue, honed edge caressing that lovely yet scarred neck. For a moment the two of them just stared at each other, hate and adrenaline sparking between them like distant lightning trapped in the cabin. Kasoria let out a growl as he realized what was poking his stomach... then frowned even deeper.

The Warded One? Hmm. That's new.

Oh, but she wasn't finished. Of course she wasn't. Kasoria could read enough about a fighter to know this one had both cunning and ability, but this was the way of last resort, or sneak attacks and, of course, cowards who hid behind the fetid boons of their monstrous mother. He knew Graeslin would much rather rely on threats and negotiation (when the former didn't work) than fight. Any other trial, any other person, he might have appreciated that, regardless of their crossed purposes. But not now. Not after... that.

Whatever she was, however he might have respected her, Kasoria would never quite keep the smear of revulsion from his eyes when he looked at her from now on. Naerikk. Shadow-born. Spawn of Audrae.

"Shadow bitch" always worked for me.

But the more he talked and the more he glowered, the clearer a new path became. Oh, he could kill her. A twist of his wrist, an ounce or four of pressure, and her throat would be laid open from carotid to voice box. But she'd likely get that last, spiteful blow in herself. He'd not seen much Taipan in his time, mainly because it was so ludicrously expensive Miss Givings rarely had it for sale. But Captain Graeslin, far-sailor and pillager of distant shores? Of course she'd have easier access to it. Tough and ferocious as he was, he doubted he could shake off the effects for... more than a bit. Probably less.

And to what end? You'd be dead on this tub and that's all. Tossed overboard for fish food before dawn.

He needed another way... and she was giving it to him. The more she spoke, the more his plan clarified, like mist burned away by morning. She assumed a kinship with him. That they were both beasts of the underworld, with all that implied. Mayhap she wasn't wrong about that, but she also assumed this made him more amenable to treating with her... and she was wrong. He was part of no world anymore, save any that got him home to his son. More than that, she assumed that whatever his reticence, it was caused by contract, not by gratitude of some sort. So all she had to do was offer more, promise more, and his secrets would spill.

Not that bad of an idea... if I trusted you a fucking inch. But that doesn't mean it's not useful to know.

"Yer right," he said eventually, voice kept level by clear and obvious effort. "We do talk too much..."

He said nothing more, until the glove started to drift away from his stomach. He watched it move, counting the inches. Calculating even as he backed up a pace... and she started to rise... and he backed up again. With every passing trill, he marshaled the efforts of his Spark. He drew from that well and spread the water through his limbs. Pulsing under his clothes, his skin, needing only that last mental command to spring out as a Barrier between the two of them. One infused with Backlash, of course, because he'd dearly love to see Captain Graeslin's arm break like a twig as she lunged against his magical shield.

But he did not give the order. She had given away so much, in such a short time. Her nature. Her Gift. Her weapon. Her last resort... and now an offer made to him. Why should he do the same? If she was fool enough to show her whole hand, let her. He would prefer having a card or two left to play.

"Well... yer not wrong, Cap'n," he finally said, once they were a comfortable distance apart from each other. "Boy's a job, like any other. But I dunno how he got me over here. One moment we were in me room in Yaralon, discussin' terms. Then he held me hand an' blinked an'..." The Etzori shook his head, eyes a little unfocused as he remembered the rest. "... here we were. In this room. Some sorta' magic, I know, but what kind?"

The mercenary shrugged and gestured at himself. At a body pulsing quietly with Abrogative energy. Eager to be let loose. His smile was so deliberately disingenuous, one almost had to believe it. How else could a liar be so blatant?

"C'mon. Do I look like the kinda bloke knows shite about that stuff? Steel an' callused knuckles, that's me trade, Cap'n. I leave magical shite t'the likes a' him."

He nodded to the twitching, fashionable, gasping mass of blonde and white bones on the floor, alongside his children. A fresh rush of anger rippled through him, but did not show. Did not break the surface. This was a lie that had to work, and he couldn't afford his feelings marring the illusion. Most of what he'd said had been the truth, which he'd learned long ago was the best kind of lie. One that you just had to... edit a little. Remove the real juicy, valuable titbits of reality that you'd prefer to keep private.

"Whatever it was, it weren't Rupturin'. I know what that feels like. Heh. Got thrown through a fuckin' portal not long ago. So, that narrows it down for yeh, me thinks. As fer what he'd goin' t'Etzos fer... I have no fuckin' clue. Didn't even ask." He shrugged again, and with a flourish, reversed his grip on the gladius and sheathed it in one, practiced movement. "He got me closer t'home in a bit, than I could a' got with a season's travel an' the coin t'pay for it. With the promise of a bonus at the end of it. All I gotta do is protect him an' the brats..."

Kasoria smiled. A private, knowing thing, at least that's how he hoped it looked. One blackheart to another.

"Course, he never said anythin' about killin' anyone fer him. Jus' protectin' him from danger. So, ain't like I'm his sword. More his shield."

Yeah, and you can beat some mouthy cunt to death with one of those, too.

"Youse wanna make his life uncomfortable fer showin' up uninvited? Be my guest. S'your right as cap'n an' all. But quit with the threats, aye? They get tedious after a time, y'know? Talk t'the boy on his level, negotiate like his fuckin' kind always try t'do, an' you'll get more outta him."

The pirate queen started to return her weapon to its hidey hole, and Kasoria's raised finger stalled her for a moment. Fates, he was still talking?

"An' fer the record? I ain't thought more'n twice about that cunt from the Underground since I sent her runnin' from me. She showed her stripes that trial. I ain't concerned about her comin' back. She wants t'lose again an' die into the bargain, s'fine by me. Jus' grates me guts that I won't be gettin' paid to snuff her out."

With that (mostly true) statement, Kasoria crossed his arms and jerked his chin her way. Letting her knew the ball was firmly in her court. He stood there, next to the spasming mass of flesh that was ostensibly his employer and his children. Unaffected and uncaring for their troubles. He knew attempts to help would do bugger all until the Gift had been reclaimed. Once it was, then he'd worry about getting down there and helping them up. Until then, he would just have to wait.

Wait, and keep hold of that energy still coursing through him. He'd already imagined the dimensions of the Barrier he'd unleash if she was less than honest (which was a distinct possibility), after all. A pulse, a beat, a blast of shimmering, hardened air would explode between them, deflecting and absorbing her attack and launching it back at her. If he had to. If she made that move. If she wanted to die that trial, to no end.

Let her believe that, too, he told himself, mentally shaking his head. Since when did I ever give a fuck about being a legend? Let alone dying as one...

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Graeslin had a way about her. She certainly knew what to say and do… to irritate Zarik beyond patience. The biqaj had spent a great portion of his life, tolerating others and their ways. He allowed himself to be belittled, shouted at, used as a target for rotten food and stones and various objects. Not only from those closest to him since he was born into the world, nor merely the ensnared victims of his father’s malice, but also from complete strangers. He’d been spat on, literally, more times than he would reasonably count. For how much people slapped him around, he should’ve had permanent bruises tattooed on his cheeks.

Despite this, he didn’t begrudge anyone for it. He understood the spit in his eye came from those who struggled, those who fought and clawed through life. Even those who seemingly had it easy, even the wealthy and those of high status, had pain in their hearts that confused their minds. Zarik allowed himself to be shoved and grabbed and tripped and though in a constant state of injury, he held a sense of pity for these other people always.

Somewhere in the rush of profound changes, after fleeing with a broken heart from his powerful husband and scrubbing away the death from his father's house, he’d lapsed. So much had overwhelmed him and driven him into Emea trial after trial to escape the brutal clarity of what he’d become. What he’d allowed. What he was.

Stuck on a pirate’s ship, in a dreary hold, back on sea after so long separated from the waters of what'd once been his home… it'd started bittersweet, and he’d tried to make the best of the situation. Yet each trial, Graeslin seemed to remind him in every little possible way that he had no control here. Like the tiniest corkscrews gradually twisted into his joints, the many trials compounded until Zarik could no longer abide by it.

He’d forgotten how to endure. The sea had gotten to him, him, a blood-child of U’frek! How his sisters would mock him if they’d found out. How they would be reminded that he wasn’t a proper biqaj. He didn’t deserve the silver that ran through his veins. He’d been landlocked for so long and now that he’d finally returned, like in all those dreams of his, it was soured by a single Naerikk bitch.

Kasoria and Graeslin faced off, verbally at first, and Zarik struggled to focus on the various numbers about tactics and…

He glanced at the brief touch of Kasoria’s hand on his shoulder. A slight smile hinted at the corner of his lips when the other man confirmed their friendship, but also their professional arrangement. He supposed there had to be a reason for that, and he could think of a few, but wasn’t certain which the Etzori man was after.

When Graeslin responded, he caught the sudden change in tone.

The aggression on her face, her fist, was the last thing he saw.

Darkness beyond shadows. Loss of sight.

Rush of silence. Loss of hearing.

His mouth went dry, untasting. He could no longer inhale the faint musk of Kasoria next to him, of the lilted notes of liquor or various scents of the captain's quarters. His skin no longer could make sense of the lining that kept his clothes on his form. Temperature fled, no longer hot nor cold. Pressure, lifted from him, the burden and tension of his body relieved.

Whether he fell or stood, such technicalities were dull, as he felt… nothing.

Through a momentary flicker of panic and then the calm recognition that flooded over him, the rapid deprivation reminded him of inherent patience. He pitied Graeslin.

Zarik’s eyes shut, as if to align themselves with the blindness. He could not sense his body, he could not sense his surroundings, but he could still recognize himself.

While the delinquent underworlders faced off with their various weapons, Zarik considered his options. It wasn’t his first time in a void. Often he chose it for himself, a frequent manipulation of his dreamscape… especially once he’d realized that he could enter Emea in his physical form. He found immense relief from such deprivation, the burdens of his body no longer constantly berating his thoughts.

So, as Kasoria turned it over for Graeslin to decide what to do next, while the mundane though clever fighters chittered and chattered while they could not be heard... and whether it occurred at the exact same time when the shadow returned to the Naer or before…

…Zarik vanished.

One blink, when Kasoria looked over – unaffected and uncaring – and then, the blond biqaj was simply no longer there.

Senses weren't required for the etherist's Crossing, nor communication, only his intention of mind and soul. The deprivation encouraged the strength of his inner will to assert itself through the fabric of reality.

Within Emea, Zarik opened his eyes. Outside of the Naerikk's shadow, his senses returned in The Veil. He sighed lowly. His hand smoothed the wrinkled fabric of his tunic, and he found himself to be uninjured. He didn’t know what was happening in the captain's quarters. He hadn't been able to observe anything after he'd saw the fist. The blond could only hope Kasoria would follow the instruction to keep Hazel safe.

He would return… soon enough, but not yet.

Zarik walked over to a table made from structured glass. He sat down, then stared at a bookcase across the way. His gaze slid over to the display where his modest collection of brands settled. He could travel back to Yaralon. He considered this, then shook his head and dismissed the idea. Zarik leaned back in the emereal chair that glittered like crystal, while his wings flared outward and his halo brightened. The young mage interlaced his fingers, stared blankly forward, and he contemplated Graeslin and Karim Kasoria.

. . .

After an indeterminate amount of time, whether long or short as Emea had no measured system that followed along with the turn of Idalos, Zarik finally stood. He walked over to the display case, lifted the transparent lid and took out the raggedy leather-bound journal.

With quiet breath, he flipped through the pages. The various sketches inside had morphed, changed here and there, and he recognized more weapons among the pages now - each that the short Etzori man had adorned while in Yaralon. Stopping at the page with a inky silhouette of a gladius, he traced over the drawn edge. His fingertip bled a light silver, in a thin cut, and then light gathered from the binding.

In a blind flash, Zarik returned. Directly beside Kasoria, wherever the man was, he stood with formal posture and tensed muscles. His halo darkened from the usual iridescent light to a levitated ring of colorless shadows. The irises of his eyes were pale blue.

[Maltruism]

Closing her eyes and shaking her head, Graeslin levelled a blank stare at the assassin, "Oh, for the love of fortune, what must I say to get through those thick skulls." she asked herself, with volume of a level clearly intended to carry. "So, you are all stricken by the dishonor of my using an ability I was born with...Is it dishonorable for prey to run from a predator, if the predator can't run as fast? Is it'unfair?' Do you only strike your marks with a level of prowess equal to theirs, so you don't have an 'unfair' advantage?"

Her hands wrung theatrical tears from her eyes at each feigned sob that accompanied the word "unfair". "Who are you to say anything? All about protecting children are you? And just how many of these children have you left fatherless, their mothers doomed to turn to prostitution or lose their home? Or do you even care if these children starve on the street, in an orphanage, or in the Hall, having become pick-pockets to survive? Self-righteous hypocrite! Or better yet, how many pay off some debt to man like your previous employer, by taking the fall for some crime he commited, or ordered YOU to commit?"

Her sneer turned all the more sour, and she started to make her way around the desk, her own accusing finger waving in his direction, "And you can tell yourself whatever you want. Reallen had you beat and you know it. It was only some magic that...Oberan pulled that saved your ass."

Her face contorted with hate at the name. "He, the same one that robbed me! I'll see that bearded little sard crucified! Oh, but that's right..." her hands went to her face as if with shocked realization, "You're all honorably opposed to such tricks, aren't you! Or is it only when they're not being used on your behalf that you object to them? Get down off your high mound of sanctified shit and face facts. I did not kidnap that bitch, or his kids!"

Her arm swung down to where Zarik and the kids still writhed, uncertain if their cries were aloud or not. "And as for threats? As far as I'm concerned, only the slave has made herself useful enough to have earned her keep. Oh, the divine right of the entitled lord! That which determines that all others must prove themselves to him before he has to budge a sarding inch! I gave him the chance and he lied to me! 'Oh, just a modest bit of magic" she mocked. "I'm giving him a free ride to Etzos, and he won't be square unless I force him to by making him believe his kids are in danger."

Zarik suddenly sprang into existence beside his bodyguard. It was perhaps Kasoria's own exertion of discipline at Graeslin's raging that prevented him from swinging instinctively at the noble's position. She glared now at Zarik, not considering the fact that he would not have heard any of the things she'd just said to Kasoria. "So, there you are! Here take the brats while you're at it!" no real gesture was made, but the kids suddenly became aware again, Hazel erupting in tears beside Oceta, who seemed more curious than terrified over what had just happened.

"You don't think there's anything to be gained by making a friend of a crew that can slip a blockade, or skip by an armada, with them none the wiser? Then just keep lying to me, holding back skills like what you're using right now. And DEFINITELY, keep trying to take the moral high ground, while you're sneaking out of town, leaving your home behind and putting your kids in more danger than I ever have, in the process; and working for a man like Vorund, who makes ME look like...some....saintly....virgin...nurse or something."

She leaned back against her desk, hands in her pockets. "So, have your righteous last words and get the fuck out of my cabin. No one is going to sarding attack you." Whether it WAS responses by one or both of the two men, or if it was just tense silence as they decided if she was truly going to let them leave in peace, it was interrupted by pounding feet approaching her door.

Graeslin's eyes bugged in fury at appearing to have had her words belied by some treachery. She turned toward the door in a snarl as one of her crew burst in. He was about to say something. It must have been important, as no one was allowed into her cabin without knocking unless lives were at stake. But as he took in the obviously hostile scene, his mouth froze open and he went for his sword.

In a flash of movement, she was behind him, a dirk just drawing a trickle of blood from below his ear, "You...do...not...enter...without...knocking, Jinx!" She physically pulled his face away from Zarik and Kasoria, "Forget about them! What is it?"

The crewman, apparently named 'Jinx', seemed to scramble desperately for a trill to recall what he had come to the cabin for. It was obvious when he did remember, by the sudden dread returning to his eyes. "Wave circle, Cap'n. A big one! I think it's him!"

Graeslin's eyes drifted briefly to a glazed look of remembered terror. Her hands loosed absently from the crewman, who gave a quick nod and darted back out the door. Steel returned to Graeslin's eyes and she cast a look at her two stowaways, "It may all be moot now anyway, gentlemen. Have you ever heard of the Gestalte Leviathan?" She didn't actually wait for an answer, but turned to exit the cabin after Jinx, muttering more curses and promises of death at the feet of the absent Oberan.

[Kasoria]

He tried. Honestly he did. But there was only so much a man could weather, even if the forecast was just words and vitriol. The two of them had come a literal inch from butchering each other, but stepped back from the abyss. That tension still hissed and growled in the air between them, yet it was... neutered. If lethal force was to spring forth from either party, it would have made its appearance by that point. Now it was a war of words, an argument, a debate, speeches and diatribes and-

Shit. No hiding it now.

Kasoria couldn't help it. The lowering of his eyelids. The relaxing of his muscles, as much as he allowed them to with a woman who would happily butcher man, mage, and child if it profited her. The sigh that huffed gently out of his nostrils. The very muscles of his face seeming to sag and age before Graeslin's eyes. Kasoria had learned well to hide his emotions, but there always had to be an impetus. A reason. A motivation, usually a mortal one. But now he knew the Captain wouldn't be killing them that night, and was instead intent on talking him to death-

He couldn't help but look so

fucking

bored.

A litany of accusations that he'd heard a hundred times before spat from Graeslin's lips. Hypocrite. Liar. Murderer. Monster. He cocked his head to one side and briefly wondered exactly when that stopped bothering him. Probably not long after he'd started in the life. You made peace with the fact that you killed people for coins, if you were of Kasoria's like. Meaning, the like that was educated enough to understand the ramifications of what you did. All those lives, effected if not ended by your actions. How many had begged him for mercy, citing family as their reason for mercy?

My daughter? My wife? My father? My son? What will become of me? Who will provide for them?

Not my problem.

It was a similar look to the one he wore now, actually. That granite-hard indifference, that look of dead-eyed boredom at this storm of words whipping around his ears like a swarm of flies. Mayhap if she'd been talking to the man he was ten, fifteen arcs ago, she might have gained purchase upon his soul. But now? Now he just sighed and rolled his eyes briefly, as if studying the wooden ceiling above him. Let her vent. Let her fume. If this was how she wanted to regain some semblance of dignity, he really didn't care. Besides, most of it seemed directed at Oberan, and that was fine by him.

Who the fuck hasn't that boy fucked over enough to warrant his head on a stick?!

He stared and blinked and did not speak. Not once. When she ordered them out of her cabin, he just nodded and looked quickly to Zarik. His eyes widened and the skin around his lips pinched, as if wordlessly telling him "hurry the fuck up before she changes her mind!". But they'd not got five fet to the door before it burst open and-

-Graeslin moved fast and violent, all the pent-up anger she felt for her interlopers let out towards Jinx. Not enough to kill, but more than enough to terrify. Kasoria sighed out loud and gestured to the narrow space between the entwined sailors and the wall.

"Dun' mind us, jus' squeezin' by, if youse'd-"

Then the man spoke, and Kasoria caught the look in her eyes. Something she didn't reveal even when she realized who he was, and thus what he was capable of. It was a flash, a shark that surfaced for a moment before diving under the deeps again. But it was so stark and huge that there was no mistaking it. Kasoria stopped moving and frowned... then felt a similar apprehension crawling up his throat. If something could make this stone-cunted bitch afraid, and it was apparently close-

Then he heard the name, and Zarik would be treated to the same look on Kasoria's face.

"Oh, please tell me yer fuckin' jokin'?"

Apparently she was not, and stormed from the room as if intent to wage war on the leviathan around her vessel single-handed. No sooner had she vanished down the hallway, the ship quivered like a live and frightened thing. A wave came from nowhere and lashed against it, rocking it as if it were a child's toy. Kasoria swallowed. A dozen sailors' tales returned to him, as many salt-cracked voices rich with ale and pain and arcs spent on every sea in Idalos. The stories were always different, but only in the telling. The subject, the horror, the hushed anguish for all the lives lost facing them... that didn't change.

Kasoria the City Boy never paid much heed to tall tales. But now the City Boy was on a ship, on the Orm'del Sea, and now a tall tale had decided it was hungry.

"Stay 'ere," he said sharply, marching for the door. After a moment's pause, he strode back to his pack and drew the ax shoved down the top of it. He'd likely be needing it. "Watch the kid."

Kasoria didn't wait for an answer. He slammed the door shut and started to follow the sound of screaming sailors and crashing waves. He was halfway down the narrow hallways when another wave smashed into the pirate ship and he was thrown into a wall as if struck by a mallet. The little man righted himself, shook his head, and cursed his fucking luck.

Seems to fit. Fates favor you, and send you a man who gets you home faster. Then they even the score by dropping you on a boat right next to a fucking sea monster.

"A'right," he muttered, somewhere between resignation and annoyance as he hefted the ax. "Lesse fer ourselves..."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Zarik returned with Graeslin’s glare leveled on him. He performed a quick visual survey, but nothing appeared to have changed, though his gaze lingered on Kasoria. He went over to Hazel, who quietly sobbed from the scary ordeal of having a Naerrik’s shadow over her young mind.

The fair-featured man gathered the girl in his arms and held her tightly. His hand ran over her braided hair, and he kissed her on the forehead. Meanwhile the captain continued. Whatever had happened while he’d been in Emea, or in the darkness of lost senses, it had been enough to drive the Naer into yet another angry tirade. He whispered against Hazel’s ear: it’s all right, you’re okay, I’m right here.

He heard a name he hadn’t before: Vorund and for a moment, it confused him until he realized that it hadn’t been a name leveled at him but rather at the exceptionally-bored-looking human in the room.

That other man soon gave him a look. A look that the biqaj also gave with similar wide eyes at the exact same moment. Kasoria and Zarik were completely in accord, without a moment’s delay between them: get out of the cabin before she changes her mind. The blond even gave a small nod, and quickly adjusted Hazel in his arms for easier carrying. She held tight onto him, her face buried in his shoulder with hiccups and sniffles.

When the door swung open, she lifted her head to look. Together, they stared at the sailor who’d accidentally interrupted.

He watched the interaction between captain and her crew, if only because they were mostly blocking the door and he could see no easy way around either. Zarik moved Hazel to the other side of his body in adjustment of her weight. He saw Kasoria try to squeak by anyway, and he wondered if they could manage too…

“Gestalt Leviathan?” he repeated, whether because he’d never heard of it before or… something else… it wasn’t clear and it didn’t so much matter.

Graeslin had already left.

The ship rocked and shuddered. Zarik set Hazel down again, and held her hand. It was easy to discern the change in tone that had occurred within Graeslin, and even Kasoria. He’d heard of leviathans, of course. Though it’d been for the youngest arcs of his life, he still had started among sailors at sea. He could almost hear his sisters speaking the name of sea monsters, as if they were cataloging flowers, while recounting their lives after he’d been taken away. While he’d been stuck in the southern jungles, deceiving and cleaning in assistance to his father’s wickedness, his sisters had explored lives full of adventure on the great oceans of Idalos.

Yet, he knew leviathans better than any old sea monster or phenomenon.

Not the technicalities, but the wonder of the creature. His mother had been the one to tell him. Of the rare fleeting memories he held onto about the blond woman, her stories had been the best. Memories he’d grasped tight to, so he would not forget her through his arcs. The stories about her grand youth in Blackbrine, about the many ships that wanted her to sail with them, about the various suitors who wanted to lifebond with her and how she scorned them all... and about the leviathan, both myth of Blackbrine and creature of the sea. Not much of it made sense to him anymore, but he recalled enjoyment of the stories just the same.

His sisters had suggested it’d been a leviathan in a storm that’d leveled their ship and forced them to Ne’haer. Therefore, it meant a leviathan had devoured his mother in recent arcs. Zarik felt a twist in his stomach, as if he'd chugged the wine that had - by now - knocked over and stained Graeslin's desk, and the floor next to it, in Rynmerian burgundy.

He watched Kasoria retrieve the ax, then nodded slowly when instructed to stay and watch Hazel. The door slammed shut behind the Etzori. Zarik glanced at Hazel, who looked up at him with wide and fearful eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said, though his voice wavered.

Another wave crashed and he slightly stumbled. He caught Hazel’s own stumble, then set her on the bench next to the wall. He frowned, then knelt in front of the girl to be level with her sight.

“Hazel,” he began in a voice meant to comfort. “I’m so proud of you, you know that, right? You’re the bravest girl. Do you think if I leave you here, you will be okay? Don’t touch anything, who knows what traps Captain Graeslin has set. Just sit here and try not to get hurt. Can you do that for me, little one?”

The blond girl hesitated. She held onto her braid, then nodded. When he stood, however, she squeaked and grabbed the hem of his tunic.

“I need to help if I can.” He pulled her hands away. “If the ship sinks, then you and I, and Oceta and Jorsie, we’ll all be lost to the sea.”

He hesitated. He could escape with Hazel right now, through Emea, and to Yaralon. It would require the guilt of leaving Oceta behind, but she was a mere slave and he could recover from that eventually. And… Kasoria, as well… if he couldn’t return swift enough to take the man also... would he risk it? What if the ship had already gone under by then... but the man was not just any man, he was not a simple sellsword. Karim - or Kasoria - was his initiate. So, his twisted gut suggested otherwise about the idea to abandon him. The contemplation in Emea's Veil had provided him with certain insights, and he would follow through with them. He kissed Hazel on the top of the head and settled her hands in her lap instead.

“You scream at the top of your lungs for me or… Kasoria, if you need help,” he told her. “Do you understand, Hazel? Say yes.”

“Y-yes, Zarik,” she murmured with a nod of her head.

With that, he gave her whatever pillows and blankets he could find. Swaddled her so while the ship rocked back and forth, she would simply hit cloth instead of wood. Then he left the captain’s quarters in a rush, door slammed shut behind him.

He immediately got sprayed by water. Zarik squinted, raised a hand to block it so he could see, and his wings fluttered enough to lift him from contact with the wet and tilting floor. Sure, he had no idea what he was doing. Sure, he’d probably get in the way of the crew. Sure, he didn’t have the slightest notion of how to fight a Leviathan…

…and sure, Kasoria had told him to stay put…

But Zarik had gone onto the deck anyway.

He searched to find either the black-haired Etzori or the fiery Naerikk. It was beyond secrecy now, for the captain, about his proficiency with Transmutation and he knew, there could likely be something he might provide that could aid the ship. As much as he held grievances with the woman, he didn't wish to have the vessel be taken under or the crew to perish. He didn't want anyone to die.

The blond found the woman soon enough, and he didn’t walk or run over, but hovered a couple inches off the ground and flew. He struggled to stop, however, with a twist of his body as he sped past. His wings always went far too quick to easily control whenever he did try to use them for such sprinted flights.

Zarik sped past one of the sailors and grabbed onto the random man's shoulder to help slow his momentum. He forced himself to land, puddles of seawater splashed from the heels of his boots upon impact. His body drifted some, not stopping for a few trills until he finally came to a halt.

“Well then, Captain,” he said as if they hadn’t been arguing to the point of deathly threats only bits ago. “Tell me quick, is this Leviathan susceptible to ether?”

His gaze swept over the water, then he searched to locate Kasoria and see what his Etzori initiate had gotten to.

[Maltruism]

The ship shuddered as the massive beast continued its battering. Den, the first mate, had not waited for the command he knew would be issued, and had already activated the transmutation device to turn the hull to metal. While this did relieve some initial anxiety about the durability of the hull, fittings were still being shaken loose all over the ship. The men in the rigging were in danger of being shaken loose as well, though most had the discipline and experience to focus on keeping their grips on spar, mast, lines or sails.

But it was a short-lived reprieve, as the Leviathan was also swinging its enormous tail over the railing, threatening to snap off the masts. The waves it was raising in the process were no small matter either. It was an unpleasant irony that the only thing keeping the vessel from being swamped by the inrush of splashed waves was that the deck was tipping so far over that most of the water carried over the far railing, rather than pouring into the hold.

Some of the men were firing ballista bolts at the creature. And while Graeslin ordered them to quit wasting the bolts, it did allow Zarik and his guests to realize the nature of the monster assaulting them, the reason for its name. The creature made no effort, nor paid any mind to the consistent piercing of its hide by the bolts. Each spot where it was penetrated underwent a curious and almost instantaneous change. The location amidst the continuous stretch of slick leathery hide was suddenly outlined by a gap that formed in the shape of a skate or ray. That small shape would then Become that relatively tiny sea creature, and fall away dead, pierced by the bolt, while the Gestalt Leviathan simply had the gap filled by one more of the small marine animals.

It quickly became obvious that the massive Gestalt Leviathan was formed of tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of such small creatures, each morphing into whatever body part was needed to complete the creature. Even if the crew eliminated thousands of the small creatures, it would truly only make the overall monster a little bit smaller. And they only had an hundred or so bolts to begin with.

Graeslin sneered in frustration, "If not for that prick Oberan, we'd already be leagues from here, leaving no trace of which direction we'd blinked." a look of grim resignation slowly drew across her features, "This bastard has tried to take me before." she turned and gave a nod to herself, deciding to reveal one of her secrets. "I have an artifact that would be able to send this whole vessel a fair distance, like a Rupturing spell. But Oberan stole a piece of it from me. Now the best it could do is maybe a couple hundred yards at best; nothing that the beast won't immediately follow. It's why I'd like to feed that punk his own skin!"

The surge of anger waned swiftly and her head drooped in anticipated defeat. "If I wanted to sacrifice the ship, I could get the crew together and send us several miles still. But that just means drowning a thousand miles from the nearest land, or getting eaten by something else. I'm not of a mind to do anything but go down with my baby." She walked to the railing, her gait not upset in the least by the battering. Caressing the rail lovingly, tears actually started to form in her eyes, though she turned away to hide them. Without looking back, she resolved, "If you've got the means, Quacian, you should get your kids and your friend there, and go."

She turned back though, swallowing her pride. The visitors would be able to see how it stung her to ask, "Is there any chance you could bring any of my crew with you?" It seemed obvious that the blond nobleman had some question in mind as he stumbled between an odd hovering flight and a wet landing amid puddles and spilled cargo.

She sighed as if it did not matter, "Yeah, sure, its susceptible to ether. But can you do something to equal the damage of maybe a thousand ballista bolts?" She suddenly pulled just a hint of a facial double-take, tears momentarily forgotten, "What? have you got yet another magic trick you didn't tell me about?"

But her voice was not angry this time, it was desperately hopeful.

[Kasoria]

"No... he fuckin'... wunt!"

Kasoria answered his own question once he was out on deck. Which wasn't an easy thing to do since it was almost sideways to the sea.

He'd flung open the door to the main deck just as a titanic blow struck the ship. Kasoria was thrown clear of the wooden doorway and flew through air clogged with cold air and freezing water. His hands lashed out madly, trying to find something, anything-

-feeling falling, screaming flesh, loose ropes, a mast-

Mast!

-and he wrapped his arms around it like a child. All his strength flowing into his arms and his hands. The ship wasn't so much rocking as it was bouncing, knocking around like a cat's toy. The sea beyond it was a churning mass of chaos, high waves smashing into shallow gaps, most of them ending up smashing into the vessel. Yet despite the ferocity of their surface, Graeslin's ship wasn't being capzised or simple smashed apart like any lesser craft. On his way to the deck, Kasoria had seen why. He'd felt a thrum of etheric energy ripple through the vessel, latent and nameless. Not anything close to the keen sixth sense of an Attuner, but he'd since learned that becoming a mage left one... informed, beyond the ken of those uninitiated.

He didn't know what it was. Transmutation was hardly something he got much reading on. But he could see metal where wood should be, where he was sure wood had been before. Some sort of spell or enchantment had transformed a massive chunk of the ship into metal, protecting it against the fury of the waves.

Then Kasoria looked up into the sudden shadow that fell over them all, and forgot about such trivial things as the magic of men.

"Fuck..."

It was statement and question both, spoken in a voice barely above a whisper. He'd seen and done many terrible and terrifying things in his life, but rarely had Kasoria been awed. Made to feel tiny and pointless before the sheer scale of that which was opposing him. Then he looked up on the deck of that ship, and saw a tail nearly the same size as it rise out of the sea like a vast, fleshy palm. It came up and up until both suns were eclipsed and then came crashing down-

-barely missing the ship, but still snagging the edge of a smaller sail and ripping it clear away. A sail that weighed hundreds of pounds, yanked off its thick rigging and tossed into the boiling sea like a man hurling away a napkin. Then the ship shifted again, and Kasoria could see the heaving vastness moving beneath them. It looked to his eyes like an impossibly huge fish. A bull black eye the size of a horse stared balefully at them as it passed, and the mass that followed just kept going and going and going... and Kasoria watched beyond the starboard bow, as the sea flared and exploded upwards... in something like a half-circle.

"S'comin' back," he muttered, then said louder, "It's comin' back!"

"We fuckin' know, lubber!" A sailor snarled at him from one of the raised decks, frantically drawing back a ballista that could have taken down a Lurker with a single shot. "Help or fight or fuck off, already!"

Kasoria's answer was lost in the bellow that came from the frothing sea. It drowned out every other sound for a trill or two. It was a challenge, a warning, a mighty battle roar from some ancient and forgotten god. The sea started to churn again and Kasoria saw the ballista fire-

-arrow ten feet long tipped by two feet of solid steel hurtle across the Orm'del-

-and vanish into the beast without it even noticing. Kasoria's jaw dropped as a huge, ragged hole appeared, for but a moment... then closed up again as what looked like another, smaller creature swam into it, then became that space. Two trills after impact, all trace of the huge missile's damage had vanished, and the Leviathan continued-

"BRAAAAAAAACE!"

The boom was so loud Kasoria thought his mind would explode. Countless tonnage of enraged or starving sea monster slammed into them. Only the metal hull saved the ship, and all upon it. Then the creature continued circling again, tail lashing and swinging and thrashing, and Kasoria forced himself to focus on the captain's words. Gawking and sputtering and staring wouldn't save them. Action would, and that needed to be informed by... well, information.

He noticed Graeslin's softening features, the wetness in her eyes and the salt within that had naught to do with the sea. This was her ship, her crew, and ferocity aside, she was loyal to them as much as they to her. That was likely why they were so loyal. Because their captain would fight for them, and never shirk a fight they had to face. The mention of Oberan wasn't even noticed. Same with the various plans that were unworkable, impracticable, until-

"Yeah, sure, its susceptible to ether. But can you do something to equal the damage of maybe a thousand ballista bolts? What? have you got yet another magic trick you didn't tell me about?"

Kasoria knew the words were directed at him, but he was only half-listening. What he'd seen before, he'd seen an echo of it long ago. The woman, Qit'ria, she was a Becomer. He'd sensed that weirdness coming off her, that domination over her form that allowed her to twist it into terrible weapons and subtle forms of infiltration. Was this mindless beast capable of similar? Was it, for want of a better description, a mage? The thought was so insane he shook his head, but... was it, though?

Ether is in all things, he thought, remembering Sima's lessons. All living creature's possess a Spark, tiny or huge. But being able to manipulate it, control it, master it... only a handful of grains from an entire dune of life are capable of that.

"I... Maybe," he said finally, forcing some certainty into his voice when he continued. "Strangle. Summin' I was told about. S'when y'stop a mage from usin' their magic. Y'shut it off, at the source!"

Graeslin stared at him and wondered briefly if the stress of seeing the full terror of the sea had driven the landlocked little bastard mad.

"It's not a fucking wizard, Kasoria! It's-"

Another vast impact. Another shattering shake and this time, screaming metal sounded from under them. The words "Hull breach!" were being yelled from the doorway and Graelin's face contorted into fear, outrage, and desperation. Kasoria grabbed her shoulder, forced her face back to his.

"It's castin'! I dunno how, but it is! If I can interrupt that, stop it from usin' those... things, t'heal itself! That'll buy yeh time, aye?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then make sure I don't get fuckin' hit while I'm doin' it," he said firmly, already walking away. "An' get those fucking ballistae ready! All of 'em!" He snapped out a hand to Zarik and tossed him the ax as he marched. "You! Follow me!"

You're mad and a fool and you're going to fucking die.

Since when was that different from any other day?

Kasoria probably didn't help his image by cackling a little eerily as he mounted the steps to the quarterdeck. Fuck it, what other reaction was there? To scream? To cry? Pray? Stoic doggedness was his usual speed, true, but this... this was more than just a problem to be solved. This was a tale of legend, of fantasy, like he'd read of and read to his son. The thought of Martyn struck him in that moment, as he rounded at the top of the stairs and looked out across the length of the ship. The crew hurried about and fought and struggled as the waves lashed them. Huge, building-sized slabs of muscle and flesh rose from the sea then vanished under it with impossible smoothness. The water roiled and crashed and smashed and made noises that would shame a thunderstorm.

Zarik saw the little man smile, and would likely not guess why.

Be quite a story for you, son.

"That tail comes close t'me, give it a whack, an' keep it away," he said, sinking down to his knees, hands braced against the wooden railings. He could still see over the wood, and that was what he needed. To have some sense of scale and size, to see his enemy, his target. "Looks like it's gonna smash me, youse yank me the fuck aside, too bloody quick, aye? Aye?!"

He waited until the Quacian stammered an answer, and grunted. Then the little Etzori closed his eyes... and delved deep.

Come to me. We have much to do.

He breathed deep, and when he exhaled, he brought his Spark with him. Zarik watched the crackling, glowing power of the assassin's ether rise from his shoulders and his arms, as if blossoming from the center of his chest. Kasoria sighed and reached out with one hand. At once the ether started to ooze and snake across the air, heading for the Leviathan below them. The little man forced himself to navigate without his eyes, for he did not truly need them. He could feel some echo of the Leviathan's ether. An echo could be traced back to the noise that had made it; ether could always be tracked back to the mage that had cast it... whether it knew that's what it was doing, or not.

Kasoria's face was a set, hard mask as he found the weird, trembling shreds of power surrounding them all. He followed them back, letting his Abrogative power chase down those strands of ether like Sima had told him to, taught him to, forced him to, many seasons ago. That time it was a necromancer, and he remembered still the sickly tang of that magic. Now it was the mutable, ever-changing, ever-shifting taste of Becoming, and he would remember that-

-then the Etzori felt the sheer scope of the intelligence he was trying to smother, and let out a gasp of shock.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Equal to the damage of a thousand ballista bolts…

Zarik stumbled when another wave crashed against the ship. Wings abuzz, he levitated to avoid a fall. The irises of his eyes shifted in blues flecked crimson and maroon. His pupils constricted into pinpricks. He looked at the foamy sea, the ballistae strung with bolts, the hardy masts, the billowing sails, the staunch pirates, Kasoria’s awe-struck glances, and finally Graeslin’s desperate hope.

He could escape.

He could grab Hazel and blink away into Emea. It wasn’t ideal, but it could be attempted. What would he tell the child, though? How would he explain that he’d ran? That he’d left Oceta and Jorsie to die… that he hadn’t even tried.

He had to try.

While Zarik contemplated possibilities, holding his chin in gesture that he was thinking, Kasoria stammered about… strangling? He glanced over, eyes aglow with the blue of a clear sky. It didn’t pass him by, what the man admitted he could do. Shut magic off, at the source? Like an Attuner? No… he thought of his other dreamwalker colleague: like an Abrogant.

Another collision of the leviathan's massive bulk against the transmutation-enforced ship forced Zarik to fly higher to avoid being knocked aside. His mind ran through potentials, the risks of each possible outcome, whether it was worth to see if this or that worked, whether Graeslin would even take direction from him.

His focus broke when his instincts told him to Catch!

With a reflexive hand, he caught the ax that’d been tossed up at him.

The biqaj stared at it while Kasoria commanded him to follow.

What in the fucking fuckity fuck am I supposed to do with a godsdamn ax against a LEVIATHAN, you mad fool?!

Zarik did not share his thoughts on the matter. He looked at the Etzori who was already on the move and instead, laughed at the absurdity. His shrill nervous giggles harmonized with Kasoria’s snide cackles, and the men were a right pair if anyone could hear them over the thunderous booms and frothed slosh of ocean waves.

Even so, they seemed to be Graeslin’s only hope. Perhaps that explained the ashen pale look, of foreseen destruction and death, on the pirate queen’s face.

The blond lowered to the deck again. He didn’t follow Kasoria immediately, but instead looked at the Captain.

“Hold the ballistae until you see my signal.” – and she would see it, no doubt. He pointed to the sky though, to make it clear. Next, he tapped the symbolic scar on his forehead, the center most point. – “Tell your crew to aim for the same spot between the eyes. I’ll give you three tries, Graes. Three. If those fail, I’m gone and I can only take one, maybe two, with me.”

Or none.

He flew after Kasoria, a little too fast. The gossamer of his wings refracted light while he tried to slow down. When he landed on the quarterdeck with his boots slick, he glided right past the shorter man, unable to stop as he hydroplaned.

Zarik shouted over the turbulence, “Whack that tail. Got it!”

A wayward grin showed on the young mage’s features. He scrambled back to the man, slipped along but managed to remain on his feet. “Y-yank you aside. Yes.”

While the other mage closed his eyes and the abrogant's ether crackled, Zarik removed his excess attire. He unclasped his surcoat. He removed it along with his shirt, then hurriedly took off his boots. Left only in his black leggings, he let the discarded clothing slide away as the ship tilted back and forth. Upper body bare, scars and mystical tattoos exposed, he climbed to stand on the quarterdeck's railing. He grabbed hold of the nearest ropes attached to the quarterdeck's mast.

A shocked gasp escaped Kasoria, but Zarik would’ve ignored it even if he could hear over the rush of the rageful sea while the leviathan spun around, or the frantic shouts of sailors who were handling the wild sails, or the creak of the masts that threatened to give out under the pressure.

Zarik searched the shadowy waters.

His sight locked onto his target: the leviathan’s head.

He didn’t need a thousand bolts, just one well-placed bolt with enough force…

…but it wasn’t a sure thing. Far from it. Whether he’d be able to act fast enough, whether the ballistae would do the trick, whether Kasoria’s magic would actualize… Even if it all panned out, whatever defenses the leviathan had… he’d just have to find out and adjust from there.

Exposed to the salty air, the biqaj’s silvery skin glittered in the sea-sprayed sunlight. His white-blond hair framed his elfin features, damp strands kicked around by the powerful winds created by the leviathan’s tail.

Along his backside, the ever-moving tattoo flared over his shoulder blades and whip-scarred lower back. The awakened mutation coiled along his spine. An ink-black pillar formed flat along the skin’s surface. Fissures spread outward, four pairs of insectoid-like legs slid out from his spine. The spindly lengths contained moving shadows of pitch-darkness through their narrow shape, bounded to the sharply pointed ends.

He drove four points into the wood of the railing and locked himself to the spot as if the limbs were pincers. The leviathan kept on the move. It seemed to be… reconsidering or… no, it looked to be preparing for a greater rush to the ship.

With his free hand, he gathered a small sphere of ether and then tossed it into the sky above the water. The orb spun in a vertical arch until it hit a certain upward point, then burst in a bright explosion that drowned out even the noise of the waves for a fleeting trill. Refracted light glittered down as it fell apart into many tiny specks of ether missiles that hit the water surface and sunk beneath.

Can’t get much more obvious of a signal than that. He hoped Graeslin would give the order for the ballistae, especially since the leviathan had only committed to the charge, whether due to the ether or due to Kasoria's strangulation. Zarik felt an instinct to halt the approach, to not allow the sea monster to dive under the ship.

He lifted due to his ethereal limbs extending upward. His bare feet no longer touched the railing. Zarik kept the ax and outstretched his free hand. Ether gathered as iridescent rays, shaped into a simple… candle? The shape of the bounded light looked like a tall candle clutched much like the ax handle.

The ship rocked forward, drawn toward the leviathan as the briny currents surged inward. His balance tilted along with the sharp change in angle. Pearlescent glow submerged his eyes in light, trailed past his temples in feathery tendrils.

Instead of going under, the Leviathan turned away from the ballistae and headed right for them... or for Kasoria, perhaps. The reasoning didn't matter, all that mattered was that the sea monster's massive head breached the surface of the waves. It cast a wide shadow over the quarterdeck, sending an almost icy coolness through the already wet atmosphere.

Zarik lifted the entire right side of his ethereal legs, left side remaining hooked in the wood. His wings flitted to quicken his momentum. He jumped off the railing in a swiftly controlled fall. Exhilaration rushed through him.

How his spark sang!

What else could match the might of a monster such as the leviathan: an obstacle that far surpassed his meager self, a height so lofty he couldn’t even see the peak? His spark-entwined soul encouraged him to fly as high as he could and when he could fly no higher, to crawl the rest of the damn way. No matter how it hurt, no matter the fear to turn back or the tug of gravity to fall… Nothing could compare. Nothing.

The Ether Acrobat surged through him, halo bright and wings reflecting the glint of watery light, ethereal eyes with gaze locked on his target. He could see nothing else, hear nothing else, only the destination he aimed for.

With the previously shaped ether in hand, he drew forth and swung. The iridescent light whistled through the air, lengthened into a narrow whip of ether, then snapped along the underside of the sea monster’s jaw. The force of tightly compounded ether sliced through the width of the mouth with an upward lash.

As the monster moved, perhaps to dodge, perhaps to face a different way, perhaps to assault... Once again, the reason didn’t matter. All that mattered was the target that Zarik centered his focus on: the eye.

For he still moved through the air, still in the voluntary fall with the left side of his insectoid legs dug into the ship’s railing. He swore as the leviathan started to move out of his range, however. The mage lashed his ethereal whip again, only to distract without care where it hit. After, he summoned the ether back into himself. The monster's head turned and the black fish-eye was large enough to reflect his entire body…

…the right side of four pointed limbs converged into a narrow singular point. The limbs followed his determined focus and hit their mark. Through the gigantic eye, the shadowy ether skewered inward. He lengthened them, refused to pull back, ignored all else but to send the sharp points through to stab along sinewy attachments, past the skull socket, and impaled the assumed mush of gray matter beyond.

He didn’t extract the limbs. He held true, and if any skates formed, he would keep them stuck in the place where they’d died. The halo above his head flared in barely constrained ether. His body swung forward from a powerful thrash. It stung through his limbs, but not so much that he couldn’t maintain the impaled ether deeply embedded in the leviathan’s head.

The railing gave out under his hooked limbs, however.

No longer connected to the ship, wood splintered and mixed with the seafoam, Zarik accidentally flipped from the unexpected change in force. His lit-up eyes widened when he felt a jolt of downward momentum and then a rush as his body pitched out of his control. Quickly, he detached his extra insectoidal limbs. The shadowy ether lingered for a few trills then disappeared.

The young mage continued in the last direction he'd been sent. He spun through the air. Though his wings fluttered so desperately that they couldn’t even be seen, it didn’t make a difference.

His entire body slammed into a central mast. Left side forcefully impacted against hard wood. He winced from a rattling snap in his shoulder, and a familiar sharp pain, then he bounced off the pole. The biqaj rolled down the curve of the sail. He laid motionless in the low dip of the sea-soaked canvas – passed out, shoulder dislocated, and unable to properly breathe.

Zarik still held onto the ax, though.

[Maltruism]

The ambassador, Haelim Jorsie, cowered aboard the vessel as the onslaught began, hating himself for his uselessness in such a violent situation. What good his book learning and training in political histories now? His was a world of conference rooms and documents, of diplomacy and promises, spun to veil loopholes, insults and distrust in flowery rhetoric.

It was not that there was no talent involved. Far from it. A single ambassador could do more for a global war effort in an afternoon than a host of soldiers could accomplish in a full cycle. Assessment, Logistics, Persuasion and Negotiation on the transparent end; Deception and Intimidation on the other. And perhaps above all, Languages were of vital importance. And not just the basics. One needed dialects and the ever-changing jargon of slang to read through the curtain of courtesy that hid the political knife poised at one's back.

Any other trial, Jorsie would be quick to boast of the nine languages he spoke. But here, on the sea, a massive colossus of raging power would soon batter the vessel he clung to into splinters. How was he to offer any assistance? The beast was out of range of any hand-held weapon, except when its tail swung across the deck to slap the mast. He was surprised it had held thus far. The riggings and sails were in tatters, but they could be replaced. In truth, so could the mast, once they reached drydock. But the odds of that were not worth betting on, even with someone else' money.

Man ran and wrapped their legs in lines to maintain their positions. Now and then a line would be torn free of some tie-down, and the men connected to it would be flung, screaming, into the sea. Jorsie had one impulse that struck him as the least bit worthy. It was to go and apologize to Zarik, even though he had not truly been responsible for putting him and his children here. The Raggedy Man was nearby, but he scared the diplomat almost as much as the Leviathan did. Besides, Zarik was the only one responsible for him being here.

But this proximity allowed Jorsie to hear something he did not expect. Talk of the monster casting! Graeslin mirrored Jorsie's own thoughts of disbelief, but she did not have the benefit of his scholarly pursuits. It was not so much of a plan that started to form in his mind, as it was an astonished realization of impossibly ancient lore, possibly come horribly to life.

It was almost as if dying would not be so terrible if he could actually have confirmation of a mystery that had stymied scholars for literal centuries. The fate of Vathrah'nal Protreani, he that was considered the 'Father of Becoming'. Jorsie did not study any of the dynamics of the magic itself. But there had been a foreign contingent in some dispute long ago, and the name had come up and still resided in the record books. It was something about some ancient property that had belonged to him.

Nothing had ever really come of it. No search had ever found any hidden or mislaid property. And no one had been able to prove what had ever happened to the man himself. Other than his being the first revealed mage of Becoming, and the very title of the revealed of that domain being named after him, the man had vanished. It was assumed he had succumbed to atavistic madness and gone off to live the life of a beast somewhere.

But no one had considered the sea as his possible destination...

It clicked in the ambassador's mind. It was possible! An odd thrill surged through the diplomat. Only one such as he could find a scholar's excitement in a life and death struggle with a gargantuan monster of the deep, on its domain. But as he watched the Raggedy man suddenly lurch in some sort of mental pain, he knew what he had to try....


Kasoria's mind was first inundated with intelligent thought, in the form of memories. There were no words, though before the torrent of visions drove the assassin to his knees, there had seemed to be a flash of an inner debate on whether to actually use words, before the sense of them being unnecessary, and a foolish throwback to weaker times, overrode the impulse. What Kasoria received in his mind a simultaneous barrage of visual montages, all from the perception of the sea's surface, of an hundred fruitless attempts to try every conceivable means of doing enough damage to truly harm...me!

It was the beast itself, Kasoria knew, mocking the thought of trying to use pitiful magic to turn him aside. He'd felt the death magic and all the elements. Illusions of larger beasts were laughable, attempts to affect his moods and intentions spun away ineffectually, he'd seen every kind of alteration of matter. But he had answers to them all, and no longer bothered to prevent the attempts.

This was perhaps the only reason that the Abrogation attack was even gotten off. The timing of Zarik's attack in conjunction with the Abrogative attempt to prevent the Hive aspect of shrugging off damage was recognized by the Leviathan's intelligence. It had only an instant's effect towards delaying the beast's response.

But it was enough. The creature simply used its shifting minions to switch the function of the spot that was hit. What a trill before would have pierced a lung, was only a flesh wound. But the creature still roared in pain before turning it's intellect on Kasoria. A totem long ago formed from an ancient mer provided a telepathic inroad to Kasoria's mind. Pain and horror of a thousand maulings and counter attacks against the most beastly denizens tore through the unprepared assassin's brain.

Jorise saw, and moved to grab the Raggedy Man's head, shouting into the assassin's ear in one of his nine languages, the Ancient Tongue, a language he knew that Vathrah'nal Protreani would know, "SISTE IMPETUM!"

Even the double-take from a beast that size caused waves that shook the hull, but the beast paused just slightly before renewing its charge. Jorsie shouted the words again, adding an additional phrase, "SISTE IMPETUM! NECATUS EST VINDERIA!"

The beast pulled up short, the wave that broke over the railing to briefly swamp the deck hid the widening of its eyes. Graeslin started "Whatever you're do-..." before Jorsie slapped his hands over Kasoria's ears and ordered her to shut up.

She complied immediately giving scowls to any of her men that looked to be affronted by the ambassador's actions. He himself, suddenly released Kasoria and clutched his ears as a loud rumble shook through the water and the hull. "ETIAM! NECATUS EST VINDERIA! SISTE IMPETUM! ET RENATUS FUERIT!"

Another rumble shook the hull, and Jorsie looked stricken for a moment, then clearly an idea came to him, "NON, UT OPORTET...ET EST SICUT PUER!" he motioned to Hazel, to have her brought to him. He told her words to say, and let her say them into his own ears so the Leviathan would hear.

"Est amicus meus senex?" the girl said hesitantly, her father standing right beside her to give her confidence. The conversation continued for a few bits, Jorsie coaching the child on what to say, and adding a few blurbs of his own. Incredibly, the creature backed off, but now took on more of an escort attitude, as Jorsie collapsed against the rail, holding his arm outstretched and asking for a few moments.

Graeslin was offering anything he needed for recovery and ordering her men back to give him room and air. For their part, it was only astonished curiosity in their eyes. The ambassador soon looked up with eyes that held a profound warning. "Okay, first, we are not out of the woods yet, by any means. I have only bought us some time. I don't know if any of you have heard of Vathrah'nal Protreani. He is considered by many to be the Father of the magic Becoming, and the first revealed mage in that domain. The term for that is named after him even."

Graeslin's eyes narrowed, "Are you...saying that..."

"THAT...is an ancient...ANCIENT mage." the diplomat finished for her.

"I was telepathically linked somehow, and spoke with him in the ancient tongue. It makes perfect sense that he would know it. He lost the love of his life centuries ago and I told him to stop the attack because she had been reborn and was aboard the vessel. It's not going to fool him for long, I don't think, but we at least have a some time to try to come up with something else."

Zarik did not look too pleased that Hazel had been thrust into this deception, but could not deny that they were not truly any worse off for it.

[Kasoria]

This... This was... fuck...

Kasoria had all of five trills to appreciate what a massive fucking mistake this had been. "Massive" being the operative word.

This wasn't like matching wits and abilities with another mortal, even one magnitudes greater than himself. This wasn't one of Sima's students, pulling his etheric punches to educate, even if it was in the most painful way possible. He touched his ether against the roiling waves of Becoming magic coating the Leviathan, and within a trill, that touch had become mutual. He'd expected the mind of an animal. One magical and capable of using said magic, true, but still, a beast.

This was not a beast. Beasts did not have these memories. Which is what he knew it to be, this flood, this deluge, this tsunami of emotions and feelings and dreams and regrets and ambitions and fears that poured into his mind like an ocean into a thimble. He hit his knees to fast he swore he heard one of them crack on the wooden decking. His gasp became a wheeze as he forced his lungs to work. Flashes, blinks of time, spread across centuries, rampaged before his eyes.

Buildings and places far beyond his ken, many now ruins, or vanished completely, but whole and prospering in that instant.

Furious debates with robed, bearded men. Feelings of bitterness and anger at the thought of them, their shortsighted cowardliness.

The ocean. The seas. Those most of all. Hundreds of years, under and above, a thousand battles and skirmishes with boats, ships, fleets, and every one had been cast aside.

That was the first five trills. Then the beast realized what he was attempting, and it got far worse from that point on.

Kasoria groaned as a very real and human intelligence met his own. Much like a bull locking eyes with a beetle. Twisted and driven into a rut of understanding that meant it thought more like, well, a Leviathan than a man... but Kasoria could not mistake that emotion. When that mind touched his own, he felt derision, hissing and chuckling through his ether. Only men felt that. Animals didn't have the time or patience for such maliciousness.

Well. Maybe cats.

Kasoria's eyes started to roll back into his head. He couldn't let go. The beast wouldn't him. No... the man would not. He could feel his Spark not being drained, but simply burned out of him by the sheer scale of what he was attempting. He'd interrupted the Becoming power giving the Leviathan form, true, and apparently some real and lasting damage had been done... but it was nothing. Not even a scratch. A wound he could have shrugged off and still been lethal with. So little that even the Leviathan could split its attention between him, changing its form, and rounding off for one most punishing-

Then the words came to him. Screamed into his ear but still distant to his mind. He felt the intelligence latched onto him... blink. That was how he could describe it. A great, metaphysical "huh?" of surprise. A wave crashed over the ship, drenching him down to his small clothes, but he barely noticed. It was all he could do simply to keep his Abrogation charged and not let this... thing pierce into his very Spark.

Another voice soon joined. More familiar. It was... the girl. Hazel. Kasoria started to shake and he felt blood run out of his nostrils and into his mouth. He didn't even bother to close it. Just held on until finally, with a vast wrench like a bag suffocating him being ripped away from his face-

-the Leviathan cut their connection-

-and the Raggedy Man went falling into his back, coughing blood and bile and seawater.

"Cuh... kff... cun... shite..."

Kasoria didn't bother to listen to what was unfolding around him. His Spark was like his body: bruised and battered and useless. It took him a full bit just to breath normally; another to get to his knees, steadying himself against the wooden railing. He felt weak beyond words, beyond muscle and bone. All he wanted to do was sleep, and wake with this soreness gone from his old bones. Then he realized there was still railings and deck and a ship to feel fucking sorry about himself on.

Fuck me. We ain't dead.

From his knees and between the railings, he saw the huge swell of water that denoted the Leviathan. Swimming away, circling them in long, lazy laps. Lett them be, for the moment, but not freeing them. Words started to filter into his mind, and he found a name to attach to the being he'd just communed with. Ancient? Oh, yes. He could attest to that. But interested as part of him was, the majority of him leaned forward and retched instead. Purged himself on the deck and ignored Graeslin's disgusted expression.

"You'll be cleaning that up, later."

"S-Sure I will," he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and taking his ax back from Zarik. Using it as a crutch, he got shakily to his feet. "I... I dunno what youse got planned, but... but I ain't gonna be much use. Least... Least not me... me magic..."

He delved, just like Sima had showed him. He reached like he was pulling water from a well... and his hand almost burned as boiling pitched met his metaphorical skin, instead of his Spark. The thing was hurt like never before; drained in a way only that Flaying cunt back in Andaris City had come close to. He winced and drew himself back, leaving it be, and hoping it could repair itself, in time. The old man leaned against the railing, and listened to what was to happen next.