• Closed • Something Old, Something New

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Saun 40, 717
A few breaks before sunset

If the storm from two ten-trials ago had been a bad one, had wounded people and damaged ships, then Immortals only knew what kind of storm had brewed from the heated horizon just breaks ago on this trial, the last trial of Saun. It was stronger, fiercer, angrier. Native Scalvorians would later have said was an omen, surely, a sign of the terribly strange things that often happened on the 1st of Vhalar around the Island. Tomorrow, the flutterbus to Desnind was departing, and if Pash was at all a little nervous about flying, about flying on a giant moth, about flying on a giant moth for twenty eight trials only to arrive in a strange place full of people who most likely would not view him with the same trust and affection his Sevir lover did, well, he was in no place to show it. None at all. Perhaps it was a blessing, really, but it didn’t look like one at all from here. He just wanted to make it to their flight in time without his lovely Muse falling to pieces and without either of them drowning, the trial of his people’s own new arc celebration almost forgotten in his nervousness and in his need to get ready for the storm.

Instead, for this moment, and for at least a break or two more, the tall Biqaj was much busier weathering the whipping winds, lashing rain, and rough waves in order to keep both himself and Kali’rial safe. Safer than last time, that was for damn sure. If his mind was capable of any other stray thought, the preservation of life was perhaps the most singular, but he found this a strange way to usher out another arc at sunset no matter how fitting it was as a child of the sea.

While morning and evening were hardly distinguishable, the signs of this storm had been there—a gathering darkness on the horizon, the stirring of white caps, the electricity that began to build in the air. This time, Pash had been either quicker witted or—amazingly—better prepared, having come to recognize what a storm looked like as it swept over the harbor here on Scalvoris Isle. He was swifter to leave the dock, swifter still to delegate tasks to the dark-haired huntress, working together to get the storm anchor he’d spent good nel on ready, to get out into open water, to tuck Ellis and housemates belowdecks, and to reef the sails just as the wind began to pick up. He talked through everything just as the rain started and they’d made good headway into the depths of the harbor, the drops hot and angry like before, explaining to Kali how the storm anchor would keep them from capsizing and making the decision to sail through the weather by heaving-to.

Between the two of them and Pash’s careful instruction, the pair trimmed the jib aback, trimmed the mainsail in as hard as he could manage, and then lashed the tiller so that, as he explained, the sloop would continue to headup as it gained steerageway. As they worked together, the tall Biqaj spoke to U’Frek as if he was crew when he wasn’t giving direction to his lover, his prayers a conversation and a plea for safety in Rakahi, aware now that the Immortal surely intended for them to live so they could serve him when he called them again as he had in their dream. There was a calm confidence to his words, though the nagging weight of what had happened to Kali still clawed at the hull of his chest with threats of fear and worry. While the technicalities of his strategy were understandably lost on his lover, he knew the plan in the careful kind of detail that was required of him as a creature of the sea and master of his little vessel the pair called home—The Muse would bob and list, pushing itself until it sailed about 60 degrees off the wind, sliding to the leeward, and with the help of the storm anchor be significantly more stable than their last sailing misadventure in the storm that had left Kali wounded and unconscious.

It sounded comforting out loud, it did, and as the storm descended in full force with a strength that required some slippery, dangerous fine-tuning on Pash’s part, barely catching himself on the starboard railing as the ship rocked in the waves while he strengthened the ropes that they’d used to lash the tiller in its brake, he chose to hum and sing his way through the difficulties instead of grumble and curse. It was a choice, a choice he’d made two ten-trials ago that he knew had made all the difference.

And, after some struggle, after some bruises, after some close-calls, and after being tossed about for at least half a break that felt like so many more, the storm around them was, well, intimidating to say the least. The wind was a howling monster all its own, whipping and ringing in their ears. The rain was painful and hot, belched from Faldrass itself instead of from the dark clouds above. The lightning blinding and far too close for comfort. The thunder an angry roar above it all. Strangely enough, with all of Pash’s preparation, nothing else needed to be done to the sloop—no sails adjusted, no tiller touched, nothing—and so all that was left to do was keep an eye on things and hang on for dear life, though The Muse was eerily more stable in the cruel bashing of the freezing, salty waves than she had been in the last storm, U’Frek be praised.

Not wanting to leave the deck despite it all, the seafaring musician probably offered the option to Kali’rial far more times than she wanted to hear, the hints of his fear in the strained tones of his voice. So long as she refused, he’d persist, scrambling to his chosen perch in the aft of the sloop by the lashed tiller and finding a bit of rope to begin to fashion a way of tethering himself to the railing,

"Y’ should really get in th’ cabin, qua’ma." Pash all-but shouted, pleading really, wild-eyed and insistent, tying off his tether in time to point for emphasis, his expression firm. It wasn’t like there wasn’t enough rope for her to also ensure her safety above decks, next to him, together. There was plenty, actually, but the worry that gnawed at him was a vermin with sharp teeth,

"We’ve got at least a break ‘r two before th’ sun actually sets, an’ while I was hopin’ we’d have fair weather an’ get t’ watch it, I’m no’ so sure now." His disappointment was about as genuine as the fierce hope he still held onto that the storm would blow over as fiercely as it raged now, that they’d be in the deep, cold waters tired but together, and that they’d see the first stars in forty trials as the skies grew into a familiar, longed for darkness. By Chrien’s ire, Pash wasn’t asking for that much, was he? Probably. Regardless, he had no interest in seeing the blood of his dark-haired Sevir on his deck this time, so impossibly far from anything as they were,

"Once it gets dark, I’ll join you."

Off Topic

I fully expect Kali to say no.

Ledger

Storm Anchor - 50gn; it's not in the Pricing Guide, but it's basically a parachute made of wood/metal and canvas. It folds up to store. It is smaller than a sail and not made of the same amount of metal as an actual anchor, so I winged it.

[Kali'rial]

40th Saun, 717

If someone had told Kali she'd be heading home again before the end of the arc at the start of Ashan, the brunette would have been on the first boat out without a second look back at the city behind her. Now however, times had changed. She had changed. Yes, it was true, she'd been the one who had suggested a trip back to Desnind, but now it was just a trial away the huntress felt nervous. For the first time, she was worried about what waited on the other side of the ocean. On the other hand however, she was excited to see her Poppa again and introduce Pash to him. The young Sev'ryn wasn't stupid, she knew that the conversation may go sideways, but she was prepared for that. Prepared for the fight.

Well, she liked to believe she was prepared.

To-trial however, was the Biqaj New Arc. The turn of the seafaring bard's arc, a celebration of change. Perhaps though, the weather was not the change that they had in mind, a violent storm building on the horizon. Pash of course, had a plan, taking them out of the dock and giving the brunette a series of tasks to help prepare them for the raging symphony of the sky. Below decks, Sarkis had phased into spirit form and tucked himself away in a nook under the stairs, not at all happy with the weather. As they worked, the sailor explained the storm anchor and how it worked. As far as she understood, in the last storm Pash had used her tent for this, a thankful thing she'd stored it on the sloop itself. When he wasn't guiding her, the ever moving Biqaj was talking in his native tongue, Kali left to her own imaginings of what he was talking about.

To say that the oncoming storm frightened the Sev'ryn when it broke was a minor understatement. Her heart thrummed in her chest like war drums and her amber eyes were wide. When the brunt of the hot rain came down on them, Kali'rial raised her arm to protect her eyes, gripping the rigging with a white knuckled hand. More than once, Pash had urged her to join the wolf and the lemon tree below deck, and more than once the huntress ignored him. It was clear he wanted to protect her, more so since her injury last time around, however the stubborn southerner wasn't about to leave him to weather the storm alone. As he shouted at her, tying himself to the railing by the tiller, Kali'rial set her jaw and grabbed her own length of rope, snapping the knot firmly and looking at him with a fiery amber gaze.

"Hasta Biqaj! If you think I'm going to hide below deck like an ipi noch, then you're sorely mistaken!" The huntress yelled back against the wind and rain, her dark hair pulled into a tight braid yet still managing to have wet strands escape in the wild weather.

"Syayvi! No! You think I would miss the settings of Saun's suns for a little rain?" She grinned at him, even as her pulse raced through her veins with fear and adrenaline.

"Together Pash! We do this together!"

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Off Topic

Sorry (but not) this turned out a little long because I had to think of something that could happen for us and also because Pash has a lot of inner thoughts all the damn time. I left it hanging because I know you can roll with me. Oh, and I did keep some Rakahi words familiar … wait for it.

She turned his words and his language against him, the determination in her now-golden gaze as bright and burning as her pidgin words were endearing even as she firmly refused him. There would be no shooing her off the deck and down into the cabin, no ordering her to take shelter while he risked himself alone. It was a selfish request, and she told him so in her own direct way. He grinned back at her, tucking away his worry and frustration deep within the folds of his own tangle, admiration in the baritone of his voice as he snatched for her well-tied rope and tugged her toward him for a moment, free hand gripping the stern rail to steady himself as he did so,

“Qua’malu, Kali’rial.” Pash confessed his feelings above the storm, blinking away mostly hot rain and wincing at thunder, reluctant to let go now that he held the dark-haired Sev’ryn close to him by her tether to the sloop, his expression almost wistful despite the storm as if his thoughts were already wandering somewhere reflective and calm, ”Together be more ’n I could hope for, qes.”

The tall Biqaj leaned to kiss her quickly and mostly managing to keep his balance with the lilt and roll of The Muse and yet unable to help himself, filled with a heated defiance toward the weather when in the presence of such undeniably fierce but warm encouragement. Then he carefully stepped away from her, letting go of her tether to lean heavily against the stern rail with the next swell of white-capped waves to let his gaze wash over his sloop, checking the lashed tiller they stood near before traveling over the rigging and warily eying the security of all they’d tied and rigged together. By U’Frek’s promises, he hoped it would all stay together, too.

Had anyone asked, Pash would have admitted that this was not at all how he’d wanted to spend the last trial of his arc. He had hoped instead for an easy sail and a beautiful setting of the suns followed by some quiet reflection, conversation and, well, anything but a storm. However, this was Scalvoris and if he’d learned nothing else since he’d first arrived here it was that nothing ever—ever!—went as expected. Perhaps it was for the best, really, for what part of the last few seasons of this arc had been quiet or peaceful, anyway? How much better to usher in the close of one arc and begin the next than with the same genuine danger and excitement that had begun to become an expectation?

Besides, he wasn’t alone.

As unplanned for as Kali had been in comparison to his more, uh, comfortable life choices over the arcs, the tall Biqaj may have gone so far as to say he’d been missing something. He may even had said that now he knew what. Or whom.

By Chrien’s ire, he was far too introspective already!

Pash’s thoughts wandered while he stood there, wet and already a little battered. The wind clawed at the sails, and they flapped and swelled wildly, jolting the sloop along over a high wave and sending them crashing back down again in a spray of cold sea water that hissed over the rails and splashed over the pair and the deck. And this was steadier than the last storm, Pash assured her loudly without losing his grin, the stomach-lurching motion of the small vessel still disturbing in its strength no matter how much the seafaring minstrel insisted they were made more stable by the sea anchor that dragged like a water-filled parachute off the starboard side.

Everything seemed alright for that moment. Until it wasn’t.

The storms of Saun had been strong ones, and perhaps The Muse’s rigging could have used a bit of refreshing. There was another flash of lightning and peal of thunder, the sloop listing to one side as a strong rush of wind caught in the sails and SNAP! the forestay line that held the jib couldn’t take the force anymore, sending the jib sail flying forward over the bow, barely still secured by only the bottom corners.

“Wo chet!” Pash was cursing above the wind and began to spring into action, aware that he’d have to move carefully now that he was secured by a rope to the stern. The jib sail was over the front of the hull, most of it now in the cold Scalvoris water and dragging. It would be heav and difficult to tug out of the sea while the sloop was rocked by the waves, but re-rigging it wouldn’t be any easier. The seafaring musician was perhaps more used to traversing his deck in stormy conditions and paused to help the dark-haired Sev’ryn, “We’ll need t’ get that out o’ th’ water an’ I’ll need t’ get it back up again despite th’ wind.”

[Kali'rial]

40th Saun, 717

Making a sound of happy surprise as the Biqaj pulled her roughly towards him, Kali'rial grinned back against the wind and the rain in defiant delight. Indeed, the storm scared her and she was drenched through already, but there was nowhere else the Sev'ryn would rather be. As the seafaring minstrel yelled words above the howling winds, the huntress felt a familiar warmth in her chest.

Qua'malu.

"I love you too!" The southerner yelled back into the storm. In both languages, the words still gave her a sudden surge of delight, and as the sailor kissed her Kali'rial reciprocated in kind, before gripping the railing with a small muffled shriek as the sloop dipped in the rocky waves. Watching the taller sunkissed man as looked over the ship in the storm, the dark haired woman couldn't help but think of the smallest chance that had brought them together.

What if she'd not decided to come to the Square that morning and offered up a nel and a smile?

What if she'd never got the courage to go to the Worlds End?

What if he hadn't caught her at the fountain on the seasons change to Ymiden?

What if she'd never left Desnind?

How easily things could have changed, how easily they could have simply passed each other like ships in the night. The thought that a few circumstances different might have meant they would never meet each other made her throat constrict and tears sting her eyes, washed away by the stinging hot rain. Immortals, when had she become so emotional?

When he helped you think with your heart, not just your head.

Drawn out of her inner thoughts by the flash of lighting, Kali gasped as the sloop tilted heavily and suddenly - snap - one of the ropes broke and a sail flew ove the rail with the exuberant delight of a child free of its mothers apron strings. Turning to her lover, the Sev'ryn followed him along the deck, relying heavily on the experienced sailors support to help her navigate the swell and ebb of the boat. Gripping the railing still with one hand, his arm with the other, Kali'rial looked down at the now swimming sail.

"Alright then!" Reaching out, she grasped the wet canvas and braced herself to pull.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

As the jib sail slipped under the waves and under the prow of The Muse, the entire sloop heeled toward the same side, the small sail acting as a second sea anchor as it soaked up the brined water and became heavy. The deck tilted as the side the pair stood on literally tilted toward the same waves, wet feet sliding and their tethers snapping tightly, digging into clothing. It was hard for even the experienced Biqaj to keep his footing, hissing in surprise as his side hit the railing, one hand reaching out to steady the dark-haired Sevir as his other hand’s calloused fingers greedily snatched for the snapped rigging to begin to haul the jib sail out of the water. It was heavy, so heavy now that the woven fabric had taken on so much water to nearly triple in weight, and the rescue of the smaller sail was made awkward by the distance as it slapped the hull and the angle at which they were now forced to work.

Between the two of them, tugging as the sloop slowed and lost sailing power without the jib and with the slack in the mainsail that the broken ropes caused, the hauling of the fabric over the deck took more bits than Pash thought it would, though he was perhaps more focused on keeping his footing and keeping Kali safe once he let go of her and used both hands to heft rope one fist over the other. The wet, worn rope bit at skin and tore flesh, not even merciful enough to leave blisters so much as just seem thirsty for blood instead.

Still, with their combined efforts, the jib sail was soon sloshed over the railing of the bowsprit and splattered onto the bow, the tall Biqaj perhaps possessed of a more situationally experienced form of strength but grateful for the balancing Kali’rial was able to provide by being present as a second pair of hands.

Pash offered a grin for a job well-done, reaching for his dagger and beginning to kneel with all intentions of cutting the tangled ropes free from the jib sail in order to start fresh with new ropes once the storm was over, for technically they could continue to sail without the smaller, stabilizing sail, but he wasn’t about to shout above the wind and thunder to explain the details, all while The Muse rose suddenly on the next huge swell of a wave, a motion fast and furious enough to make his stomach lurch and cause him to reach for the rail to steady himself.

“Let’s jus’ get th’ sail untangled an’ then worry ‘bout it af—”

The sloop dropped over the other side of the wave, bow-first, as if it had rolled over the edge of a cliff, the distance between the crest and the trough of the watery beast further than anticipated. As the front of the ship splashed down, so did the cold, dark water, splashing them both and stinging skin with the force. It was enough to shove Kali backwards toward the opposite rail, though her tether kept her from tumbling over. The brine clawed at her eyes and threatened to crawl into her nose and mouth.

Once she wiped her face to see, she was alone on the deck.

Pash was gone.

The jib sail was halfway over the opposite starboard rail, tangled now and unmoving but not in the sea ... and the tall Biqaj was nowhere to be seen, though the angry hiss of his own rope tether dragging furiously over the rail made it obvious where the water had washed him—overboard!

He’d been too close to the rail, honestly, in retrospect he would say so angrily, but when they crested the huge swell of water, the mighty wash of the sea had caught him off-guard, carrying him up and over the side of his sloop and smashing him roughly into the sea. The water was so cold, but it was the tug of his own tether that stole the breath from his lungs as he bumped against the hull of his own sloop before sinking like a stone. The seafaring musician had somehow managed to keep a grip on his dagger and not stabbed himself with it in the process of being thrown into the harbor, but it took him a bit or two before he could even orient himself and register what had happened.

Dragged and tossed, the rope that was supposed to be his lifeline felt more like the grip of doom, especially as it kept him painfully close to the hull of his ship, threatening to bash him against the worn orange-painted wood again and again if he couldn’t get himself properly positioned.

Lungs burning, he twisted against the pull of the rope to get his feet against the hull, shoving upward in desperation to both breathe and perhaps shout a word or two at Kali. If she was looking over the rail after him, she’d see him break the surface and sputter a breath, free hand gripping the rope that was gnawing angrily at the flesh of his waist,

“I’m a’right!” He managed a gurgled half-truth before disappearing again, another wave sloshing against The Muse and dragging him under. U’Frek have mercy, the tall Biqaj’s mind raced desperately, for he knew his Maker had plans for him and drowning was not one of them. He lost his footing for that moment, though full of fresh air, he had more strength again. Opening his eyes in the dark salty water, he attempted to haul himself back toward the side of his sloop, to get his feet against the familiar curve of his hull, where he’d try to dig his dagger in and hang on before he could climb. The first two attempts only managed to bash him roughly against his intended destination, smashing a knee and nearly losing his hold on his dagger. Forced to sputter to the surface again, he fought to yell at the dark-haired Sev’ryn, shimmering not with the glow of his silver blood but with the warmer, golden aura of Elithem, forced to dig deeper beyond his own strength and project something greater for both their sakes:

“Pull th’ rope! You can do ‘t, Kali’rial!” His words were meant to Empower, and Kali would feel the heat of strength and focus surge when his voice reached her ears before he was forced to slip under the water again, lungs angry at his lack of deeper breath.

Just her pulling wouldn’t be enough, but it would be a start, and his words of empowerment wouldn’t last long, would only get them so far. He’d need to wait until the sloop heeled again, hopefully toward him, so he could quickly use the water and what strength he had left to grab the rail and clamber overboard. Was he strong enough to do that?

By Zanik, he hoped so.

[Kali'rial]

40th Saun, 717

Holy Mother Moseke, this thing is heavy!

Kali'rial had a moment of thought before the ship tilted in the furious waves, causing a surge in the brunettes stomach as they stood at an unnatural angle before slipping to plow into the rail. Grunting in pain, but ever thankful for the Biqaj and the towline, she managed to get back up to help pull the sail back on deck. The fabric was merciless, shoulders aching from the weight and hands stinging. The brunette knew though, she wasn't taking the brunt of it, seeing the stardust that washed off into the briny water on the deck from the bard. It turned her stomach again, but she knew the injuries were superficial, nothing like the flow she had seen in the Mountains.

Nothing she wished to see again.

As the sail finally sat on the deck, Kali gripped the rail and huffed to catch her breath, shooting the taller sailor a grin in return at the fear they had achieved together. Suddenly they were tilting up, fast and hard. The Sev'ryn turned her amber gaze towards the bow with wide eyed horror as they created a massive wave, giving her a view not unlike that she'd seen hanging off the cliff in Ymiden. Immortal's, it was like her dream. All over again, only in real life. There wasn't time to do anything as they crashed down and dark stormy water threw her back against the opposite rail.

Moseke, she couldn't breathe. Water tried to force itself into her lungs, stung her eyes, and yet the huntress was still on the sloop. She could feel the rope around her waist and the rail hard in her back. Then, the water was gone.

She was alive! The Muse was in one piece! Struggling to push herself up off the rail, she gasped and coughed, wiping her face to look around the deck.

"Pash? Pash?! No! No! Nonono..." Kali'rial couldn't stop the word coming from her lips as she felt a rush of panic. Turning, she looked down around the rail, searching for his guide rope.

"Immortal's no! Please don't take him from me. Moseke, Karem, U'frek, Zanik! Please please!" There! The rope.

Taught and disappearing into the water.

Her heart faltered and her legs felt weak, even as she grabbed for the tight line. Tears and rain and salt water blurred her vision as she tried to pull. Immortal's, it was heavy! Desperate, choking sobs began to escape her as she tugged on the unmoving line. Her lover, her companion, he was drowning and she was going to watch it happen. A voice caught her ears, and she blinked hard to clear her eyes. He was alive, but he was in trouble. In huge trouble. As he broke the surface again, she saw a light around the sailor, golden and bright in the darkness.

Pull the rope!

A surge of feeling rose in the brunette, giving her a sense of strength and letting her push the fear and panic aside. Instead she focused on the love she felt for the Biqaj, allowing it to drive her actions. Setting her jaw the Sev'ryn adjusted her grip on the rope, put a foot on the railing, leant back and heaved. Her hands stung and her arms burned, but Immortal's be damned there was no way she would stop.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Musical Inspiration

S'good. Appropriate in an abstract way, I guess, but I still feel like it's fitting.

By all of U’Frek’s mercy, the water was cold this far from the shallows. It sapped his strength and stole his breath, stung his skin and numbed his limbs. The next time he slipped under after shouting his augmented encouragement to Kali’rial was a hard toss, and Pash was aware he would be too soon growing too exhausted to haul himself over much of anything in the stormy sea, let alone the side of his own sloop. Below him, threatening to swallow him whole, was the darkness of the deep harbor’s brined waters. He’d not drowned in the darkness of the jungle and he wasn’t going to drown here. Not this time. Not yet.

He felt the tug on his rope, the dark-haired Sev’ryn’s pull stronger now because of his words, and he fought with his chilled limbs to move quickly, to orient himself under the water even as his body protested how selfish the sea had been with allowing him breath. This was not the place, not the moment, not the time, and by Immortals, not the method the seafaring musician was playing one last tune, he told himself, mustering something warmer, something stronger from the hull of his chest. Zanik had not marked him to drown, no. The Immortal of Strength and Music, of Seduction, had seen more in him than just future food for sharks. He'd chosen so often to give of all of himself for Zanik that surely this moment was not his last one. U’Frek had not called on his aid for him to sink. He’d most certainly not loved Kali enough—was there enough? He’d not seen enough or sang enough or … anything quite enough.

Yet he didn’t feel strong enough, either.

Strong enough for any of those things, physically, mentally, emotionally.

Not ever.

Not alone.

His body was sluggish, but the worn orange hull of his lovely Muse was before him and he twisted in the water in what felt like slow motion, ready to grab with one hand and dig into the wet wood with his dagger for leverage. The next roll of the white-capped waves gave him a moment of air, and Pash broke the surface with a grateful gasp, inhaling deeply and wildly looking for his lover’s strained, worried face as she hauled him with all her might and the borrowed gift of the Immortal of Strength. His feet touched wood and he smiled more for her than for any other reason at the moment, wanting desperately to stay positive, slipping one more time under as he saw the sloop began to list, to heel in his direction as he’d been waiting for, entire side of the vessel tilting toward the water and threatening to drag Kali’rial over with it if it hadn’t been for her sudden surge of focus.

He had to move, this time or never, and the tall Biqaj squeezed his stinging eyes shut for a moment to reach within with a growl of might, grasping for what inner strength he wasn’t even sure he had left only to feel something warm, hot and bright instead. Strength, he'd come to realize, was not just physical. Sure, it was easy to measure strength by physical prowess, prowess he knew honored Zanik. That kind of strength was outward and visible, but there were other kinds of strengths, too. Just as songs were more than just auditory—in that they touched the innermost parts of people with their words and melody—so, too must strength have more than one origin, sometimes external and physical and other times internal and psychological. Pash needed both, desperately, and as he turned inward in order to find focus, something great and hot and heavy rushed through his body in a way he wasn't sure he could have mustered on his own. It rushed through the hull of his chest and raced into cold places, filling him with something else, a wispy, golden power not his own. The next swell brought the railing into his blurry, salty sight and with a focused couple of kicks Pash surged forward with the pull of the lithe huntress on his tether, moving with a strength that was no longer entirely his, limbs obeying his will and something steadfast and sure coursing his veins, singing a song of hope over the fearful rhythm of his pulse. The Immortals agreed that this trial was not that trial, and Zanik’s Favor felt as though it was an ever-growing wonder for which the seafaring musician was most grateful.

One hand found the rail and Pash’s sputtering, determined self began to claw, dig, and scramble his way over the side of his sloop in a single, powerful movement that would have otherwise been impossible, that would have otherwise left him lost at sea, the glow still lingering over his person like steam. His body moved as it should have, as it would have were he not so cold and numb and tired, and he knew the strength that carried him to safety was not just Kali’s and not just his own. It was something more, something given, something new. He was up and sprawled on the deck just as The Muse righted itself, rocking back to a more level position in the waves.

The rain was lighter, the winds less strong, but this was not a moment for either of them to notice. Perhaps in the struggle, the storm was slowly dissipating. Perhaps they’d see the suns finally set after all.

Still for a few bits, breathing deeply a few precious breaths, the tall Biqaj may have begun to laugh before he even started to sit up, coughing seawater and chuckling, grinning with adrenaline and shivering from the cold. It was, of course, his most immediate movement to reach for Kali’rial, to pull her to him in forgetfulness of his Elithem strength, battered and grateful,

“Wo chet—sailin’s no’ safe!”

He declared in a hoarse baritone with joyous stupidity, very much alive in the moment, laughing loudly now with his words, defiantly at the storm, at everything. But he was so full of seawater and gratitude that he was forced to groan and wheeze, to shake his head and just smile. He’d reach for her with sore, tingling hands to eagerly put his chilled and salty lips on hers if she’d let him as wordless assurance that he was alright. Only half drowned. Only a little bruised by his own hull. Only a little crazy in the rush of Elithem’s Steadfast might as it left him, “O’ Kali, th’ Immortals ‘re far too kind t’ me—between your lovely self an’ th’ attentions of bein’s like Zanik an’ U’Frek … an’ others, too. Praise ‘em all. An’ ‘specially for you. Ah. I’m okay, qes. I’m a’right, qau’ma, ‘re you?”

Off Topic

I have ... more things ... for this thread. So this isn't really anywhere close to EoT. Just gonna put that out there. Muahahaha.

[Kali'rial]

40th Saun, 717

As the sloop listed, Kali'rial didn't care and didn't stop pulling, using the angle to her advantage and pushing with her leg hard against the side as she leaned back with a yell and squeezing her eyes shut with the exertion. The cold stormy waters of Scalvoris would not take the Biqaj from her, not here and not ever. Not if she had anything to say about it. She felt the weight suddenly lift, even as The Muse began to slowly come back the other way, shifting the rope up hand over hand and opening her eyes to thankfully see a golden glowing hand.

His hand.

Tugging and pulling, the Sev'ryn waited till the half drowned bard was sprawled on the deck before she stopped, falling back on her rump to stare at him with wide eyes as he lay still.

Immortals no...

Her heart felt like stopped and trills felt like arcs before she saw his chest rise and fall. Tears were blurring her vision again as the adrenaline pumped through her veins still, shaking from shock and exertion. Bits passed, and still the southerner held herself in check, unsure whether she wanted to really ask if he was okay yet, petrified of the possible responses. Then finally, the taller tattooed man did something she knew. Something that made her heart beat again.

He laughed.

As Pash drew her close, Kali stumbled to her knees and threw her arms around his neck to hug the sailor tightly, her breath almost bursting from her with the strength of his pull. It didn't matter though, none of it mattered now. The Sevir pulled back to kiss his cheek, jaw, lips - anything she could touch - before crushing the poor battered minstrel against her again in another embrace.

"I thought I'd lost you!" She cried into his shoulder, drawing back once more to look into his expressive eyes, blinking away the tears of relief that she was helpless to stop. Running her hands over his arms and chest, as though she wanted to touch all of him to make sure the sunkissed bard was okay.

"Immortals be praised yes, all of them! Am I okay?!" The shorter huntress looked at him for a trill through tears and a lighter if not slightly cooler rain, before she burst out laughing perhaps more than Pash had ever seen her laugh before.

Almost hysterically.

Pressing her hands to his cheeks, Kail'rial pressed her mouth against his hard, before nodding with a snuffle and a shake of her head.

"Yes, yes I'm okay. I'm so very much okay. Pash, you were glowing. Out there in the water, like a golden beacon." She said, amber eyes looking over his face as though searching him for answers. The Sev'ryn knew the Biqaj glowed in the moonlight, but never like she'd seen just now.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

“Qes, me too, rajo, I felt a bit like I was losin' m’self there, if it weren’t for you.” Pash admitted quietly against tanned, wet skin as she held him tightly, his arms moving to hold her for a moment before she pulled away, before her hands wandered his body as if to make sure it was all there. It was. The warm glow had faded, and despite how hot the rain and the last day of Saun were, the tall Biqaj shivered from the cold harbor waters and so much adrenaline, “Thought a tether was a good idea, considerin’. Guess I’ve gotta work on m’ swimmin’.”

He shifted to tuck his dagger away, looking back up as she laughed. It was louder, warmer, stronger than he’d heard her laugh before. Understandable, in a way, given all that had just happened in the span of but a handful of bits, but maybe not entirely brought to the surface by fear. Her heart was fiery and fierce for him, it seemed, and it felt good. The dark-haired Sev’ryn kissed him again, a mix of rain and seawater, the lingering of her hands on his chilled face not unwelcome.

Eyes fluttering for a moment, he heard her tell him he glowed and he smirked, “It’s th’ Elithem, m’ thinks. Zanik’s favor. I think I always glow a bit when I use his gifts, but it’s hard t’ notice in th’ sun an’ when you’re no’ lookin’ … but, well, this were somethin’ new.” Pash admitted, opening and closing his rope-torn hands for emphasis, “I should’ve drowned, even though I gave y’ strength with m’ words. It weren’t enough, though without y’, I don’ know what would’ve happened. I was no’ enough—”

Pash expression was deadpan at first but the hints of an awed smile began to tug at his features, “—that were Zanik’s might, his strength, that allowed me t’ make it over m’ railin’ an’ t’ live. That was th’ glow, his mark. His favor be Steadfast, it seems, no’ jus’ music but also strength. Ah, well, seduction, too, but that won’t save me from drownin’.” He chuckled, “U’Frek said they were cousin’s, so I’ll take ’t. Family looks out for each other, after all.” He grinned then, warmth filling the hull of his chest with gratitude and excitement, aware that as he continued to grow closer in friendship and devotion to the Immortal of Music, so too would his abilities grow. The kind of strength that had flowed briefly through him had been intense, but clearly short-lived.

His bright blue gaze swept his sloop, exhausted, though The Muse still rocked in the stormy waves. It felt like their moment of terror had been a turning point, even for the weather, for the hot rain on their skin felt lighter and the dark clouds brighter. The waves rocked a little more gently and the thunder and lightning had stopped. Along the horizon, blue sky was visible, but the colors were shifting. Sunset was coming.

The tall Biqaj shifted too, aware that he still had to at least haul the jib onto the deck so it could dry, but he moved to reach for Kali’rial instead, to hold her and press warmer lips against her own and against her forehead with a sigh,

“This be sailin’, qau’ma. Are y’ sure y’ really want t’ travel with me? Like this? This jus’ be th’ harbor o’ Scalvoris, Kali. Out in th’ Orm’del Sea, th’ storms can be bigger, th’ waves higher. An’ while I’m no’ goin’ t’ say I’m invincible jus’ b’cause a handful ‘f Immortals have taken notice ‘f us both, it seems as though we’re both fit t’ live a bit longer, an’ for that, I’m thankful.”

His smile was wistful, thoughtful, having obviously not quite expected to spend the last day of his people’s arc literally seeing his life flash before his eyes. Sailing alone was harsh, but he’d accepted the risks willingly and with his typical reckless enthusiasm. Sailing with someone else, sailing with someone he loved like Kali and friends like Niv, was both beautiful and frightening, both welcome and weighty. He realized, thoughts racing as he held the dark-haired Sevir and felt the waves begin to calm, that he had so much to say on far too many things. He didn’t even know exactly how to collect those thoughts in to words, drowning as they were in his gamut of feelings.

Just as almost drowning in the Jungle had made him think of his feelings for Kali’rial, so too almost drowning in the sea made him think of his feelings about her and more,

“M’haps th’ storm be passin' now. We may be able t’ make some tea an’ dry off jus’ in time t’ watch th’ suns set an’ Vhalar t’ begin.” Pash leaned back a little, already feeling the exertion gnaw at his body, but still eager to find some way to celebrate his new arc, to put away old things and seek direction for the new, “I may need a hand up, though.”

[Kali'rial]

40th Saun, 717

I should've drowned...

Immortal's the comment made Kali'rial's heart skip a beat, hearing the Biqaj say out loud just how truly bad the events that had unfolded really were. As he continued to talk about the magic that had caused him to glow like a beacon in the waters, the huntress chuckled, shaking her head and lowering her hands to hold his own. It was just like the bard, to insert some sort of humour or innuendo into his commentary, as though his charm could never be entirely switched off.

As the rain and wind eased off, so too did the violent rocking of the sloop, allowing the brunette's gaze to follow Pash's own. They looked out over the water together, the horizon that had been bright and blue for trials now finally starting to shift. The sunset was finally coming. They hadn't missed it. Turning back to the dripping sailor, Kali welcomed his kiss, smiling and closing her eyes as his forehead rested against hers.

"Aye, I do." She said with a small laugh in answer to his question about sailing, echoing the words he'd said to her when he'd returned from the jungle. Opening amber eyes, the huntress shifted to stand, looking down at the Biqaj with a smile as she pulled gently on his hand.

"You mean after half drowning and glowing with all Zanik's strength that you can't just jump up and get on with all this? Pash, I'm shocked." The Sev'ryn teased playfully, moving to support the taller tanned man when he was ready to stand, uttering gentle words of encouragement and to be careful.

"Don't move to fast. Easy does it áidà." Once he was on his feet, the brunette looked up at his face with a shake of her head, arm around his waist to provide him her body to lean on. Hunting gave her a deceptive strength that was all her own, strange Immortal abilities aside.

"This isn't how I expected Saun to end." She said with a sudden laugh.

"Then again, it's Scalvoris. I should have expected it!" What else was the city if not a strange combination of emotional wonders and horrific surprises? The place was, if anything, never dull!