Hawke

Hawke, Avira, and Captain Reeves gathered around Hawke's map. The captain stroked his beard as he took it in. Avira was focused on looking out the window, only occasionally glancing back to the map. Hawke mentally plotted their course while staring at a peg placed on the map. Their destination, Vakia's capital.

“Aye, this be a fine map indeed. D'ye mind if I copy it down?” the captain asked.

“Sure, after,” the prince agreed, “now, where will we be landing exactly?”

“The merry harbor of Layport, of course! But you probably want to know the exact 'lay' of the land, eh?” Reeves nudged Hawke playfully.

“Yes... yes, I do.” He wasn't sure how to respond to bad puns.

“By the Immortals, lad! Just a chuckle is all I'm asking for!”

“Could we get on to business, please?” Avira spoke up, irritated.

“Aye, aye. Well, it's a typical port town. Ships and travelers everywhere. Much more so than you'll find at the Drima ports.”

“Oh, great, more crowds,” Avira grumbled.

“We shouldn't be there long,” Hawke addressed her, “stock up on supplies, purchase horses, then we're out.”

“Horses? We aren't walking?”

“Walk— that'll be a month at least to get to the border on foot!”

Avira shrugged. “Not if you run most of the way. Shouldn't have to rely on mounts.”

“You're on a timer here, and I'm eager to get home. So yes, horses. You traveled on a waterbird in the desert, did you not?”

“That was in the desert, but fine.” She rolled her eyes.

“Right,” Reeves spoke up, leaning over the map. “If you're going up north to Vakia, there's a few options. The longest route would be the most reliable.”

“Right, that's the path along the eastern coast that's connected to the Hardlands. Very long trek, the only issues might be a few goblins,” Hawke said, “unless we somehow annoy Argokath enough for a chase.”

“There's a quicker path out of the country through High-Kath. Nice place, that. Nestled into the mountains, delicious spicy food, hearty people.”

“I've visited. Nice place, terrible to travel through. Even worse danger of goblins.” The prince crossed his arms. “Now you've got me craving the food...”

“What about through the Deadlands?” Avira asked.

Both of the men paused and gave an incredulous stare. “Shit, lass, you'd be better off sailing through the Sealed Seas!” Reeves laughed.

“Why?” she asked.

“They're called the Deadlands for a reason,” Hawke explained, “the lands meant for the dead. Nobody's come back from there alive.”

“Oh... well... I've been there,” Avira said.

Their eyes widened. “You aren't pulling one over on us, are ye?” asked Reeves.

“No. My dad took me all around the world when I was growing.” She shrugged. “The Deadlands are a place much like the Wilds. Similar naming makes that obvious. It's where... well, the ferals go. They've formed tribes there, and have continued the tradition of putting their deceased's spirits in charge of the wood.”

“Is that how the Wilds work, now?” Reeves returned to stroking his chin. “Me hybrid mates never told me about that.”

“We don't really talk about it much. But that's why we bury our dead, even outside the Wilds. We think they protect us. Of course, the Tear a few generations back has been fucking that up out of the forests...”

“Well, if you think we can go through the Deadlands, then it might be worth it,” Hawke said, “it would be quickest, and we could bring the horses through.”

“That's what I'm thinking. I'll guide us through, so it should be without incident. Shame we can't just dock there.”

“Sorry lass, but I ain't willing to change course, even for guests of the Hanged Men,” Reeves said.

“It's fine. I'll chart our path to the Deadlands from the port. Thanks for the input.” Hawke looked at the wolf girl.

“No problem.” Avira glanced back outside to the busy crowd. “I guess I should get used to the crew, now. We'll be here a few weeks.”

“Need some courage?” Reeves gestured to his collection of liquor in a fine wooden cabinet.

Avira considered it. “Nah, booze knocks me out like a light. And if it doesn't, I'm an angry drunk.”

“A shame, that. I'm sure my crew will be happy to meet you, though. We be the jolliest crew on the five seas!”

“That's what I'm afraid of...”

“Well, we also have a medic on board if you want anyone to look at your wounds.”

“Potion based?”

“Practical medicine, mainly. She's a guest as well. She'll be in the guest quarters, first deck. It's on the starboard bow, last door. You'll be rooming together, so introducing yourself would be nice either way.”

“Alright. I'll do that.” Avira excused herself, leaving the captain and the prince.

“I'll take that drink,” the prince said.

“Sure you're old enough?” The captain was already getting out the glasses.

“Very funny,” Hawke said, “I'm old enough for war, I'm old enough to drink.”

“How true that rings,” Reeves laughed, pouring them both some rum. “I don't have any of the fancy drink though.”

Hawke drank it down and placed the cup on the table. “It's swill, but it's good swill.” He went to examine his map, tracing a route with his finger.

“Aye, 'tis. I'll get me cartographer on copying this thing down and we'll return it to you when we're complete. Is there anything ye need?”

“No...” Hawke muttered, but he straightened up as a thought came to him, “actually, could I commandeer your crow's nest?”

“That's no trouble. Just tell the lookout on duty I sent you. Do keep an eye on the horizon if you're gonna kick him out, aye?”

“Aye.” Hawke patted the map. “And do make sure you remember to hand me the original back. I'd hate for you to misplace it.”

“Ha! Wouldn't dream of it, lad!” He smacked Hawke's back roughly. “Keep a bucket on hand up there. The motion's enough to make most of my men empty their guts. I usually keep a seaspeaker up there.”

“Duly noted.” The prince noted his use of hybrid terminology. Close to his crew, this captain. He seemed trustworthy enough, but his relation to the Hanged Men made Hawke wary.

The deck proper calmed down. Avira had vanished below deck, and Mareth was chatting up the lone daemon on the crew while she swabbed the floor. A few of the crew were singing out while they did their duties, and the others were chatting amongst themselves. One of the groups noticed him and approached.

“One of our illustrious guests, I see,” A cat man spoke in a clearly false pompous accent. The group consisted of the cat hybrid in question who looked like a northerner, a driman man, and a shifty looking kathan woman.

“They tell us you're a nobleman, eh?” The woman asked, glancing around.

“They'd be telling the truth, yes.”

The driman crossed his arms. “The prince of some defunct vakian house, I'll bet.”

Hawke shrugged in response.

“It doesn't matter, we'll treat you like part of the family regardless. Our good captain was very clear on that.” The cat man smiled wide.

“If you need shit done though, we'd always welcome the coin, if you know what I'm saying...” the Kathan said.

“I'm... not sure I follow.” Hawke crossed his arms.

“We men— and women,” The driman glanced at the kathan, “Of the sea, we're able to procure a lot of shit, even out here.”

“If that hybrid companion of yours is too wily, we can help,” the cat man said.

“Any goods you need, we'll be able to procure it,” the kathan spoke.

“Reeves know about this?” Hawke raised an eyebrow.

“He'd stop it if he didn't like it, don't you worry. As long as enough coin goes to the pot, he doesn't ask questions. The quartermaster is also very aware of what we do. The only reason he doesn't offer the services himself is that he's so busy with paperwork.”

“I see, I see.” Hawke thought about it. “I don't need any drugs, and I'd prefer not to buy them for my companions. I could use a few extra blankets though. And any tea or medicine for seasickness you have. Some good food too. I'm not eating hardtack.”

“How terribly mundane,” the driman said, “but yes, that's easy enough.”

“That'll be...” The cat man counted in his head for a moment. “Ten gold or so.”

“Quite a hefty sum,” Hawke said.

“Well, you are guests we didn't plan on. And blankets are worth their weight in gold with how cold the Lorelai can be. We'll toss in some rum.”

“Fair enough.” Hawke pulled out the coins.

The cat hybrid accepted it with a grin. “We'll deliver your things tonight.”

“Good. I'll be up in the crows nest.”

“The crows nest?” The kathan asked. “Bad place to sleep, but it's your choice.”

“Shit, gonna have to climb up with all that...” The driman complained to himself.

“Get the fuckin' daemon to do it,” the woman muttered.

“Yes, yes, just make sure it gets done.” The prince left them and approached the mast.

A rope ladder led up to the mainmast, it looked like it was miles high. He could see many riggers swarming along the ropes. A few were hopping from mast to mast like it was nothing. Fellow wind elementals, or windspeakers in tribal talk, likely.

The ladder swayed in the wind, even as Hawke clung to it. If the prince were Avira or Mareth, he'd be wetting himself from just a few feet up. Growing up in Vakia, you get used to the heights. Especially living in a castle with a harpy friend.

There was a platform at the top of every sail mast for the crew. He passed a few riggers as he made up, who met him with a nod or some light heckling. These sailors swore almost as much as Avira. Which struck him as funny, considering how ill equipped for the sea she was.

The crow's nest was a large platform with sturdy looking railings at waist height. It was circular and had enough room for two people to pace around. It swayed a lot, far more than the ship proper. He was starting to feel sick, and he'd been fine on the deck.

A Vakian man was on top with a spyglass, looking at the horizon. “Nothing to report— ” He put it down and looked in Hawke's direction. “Shit, thought you were someone else.”

“I got the captain's permission to take over here,” Hawke said.

“Did you now? Thank the Immortals, I've been up here all day.”

“Yeah, I thought they kept water elementals up here though.”

“I am one, through and through.”

“Oh,” the prince said, “I just thought, since you're a Vakian with the blonde hair and all— ”

“My mom's side. My dad's side is distantly Driman, mom was derelict.” He shrugged. “Funny how that works.”

“I'll say,” Hawke spoke, “well, a fellow countryman is a friend in my book, regardless of your element.” He extended his hand for a shake.

The Vakian met it with his, “Name's Tom. You?”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Ha...nk.” Hawke nearly said his real name, but thought better of it.

“Hank, eh? Anyone ever say you look like the prince?”

“The air of nobility I give off tricks a lot of my countrymen. I'm just a merchant's son off for adventure.” Hawke waved the thought off.

“A noble pursuit for a noble looking man.” Tom looked out on the sea. “I'm just out here for the drink and money. A few voyages out here and my wife and daughter can be fed for years.”

“I suppose it's better work than the military.”

“Less dangerous, especially as a water elemental.”

“True enough...” Hawke agreed. The sway was starting to really get to him, and he could feel his stomach turning. “By the by, I'm feeling seasick, I don't suppose...”

“Ah. Yeah, just hold on to the railing.” Tom placed his hands on both sides of Hawke's head, over his ears.

A jolt of vertigo nearly kicked him off his feet, but he stabilized and the seasickness vanished instantly. “That has quite a kick, but it sure works well.”

“Right? They say that if you want a good voyage, you befriend a water elemental.” Tom puffed up, looking pleased with himself. “I'll leave you for now though. If you need another shot, just holler and one of us will come up. Make sure you keep your eye out while you're up here.”

Tom handed him the spyglass, and descended the ladder. Hawke took a look at the horizon with it. Nothing but clear skies and calm water in front of them. Nothing around them either. The Kathan ship was nowhere in sight, but he could see the black dots of vultures in the sky from where they left.

Nothing around them. He was free for the moment. Hawke looked up in the air, giving a whistle and a wave. A blue dot appeared in the sky, breaking through the clouds and streaking down. Kalani landed on the railing with a thud, tucking her wings to her sides.

“Need something, princeling?” She looked around, examining the boat.

“Do I need to have an excuse to call you?” Hawke smiled.

“Suppose not,” she said, “nice boat. Almost can't tell if it's a pirate ship or not.”

“They say they're a merchant ship.”

“So does every pirate crew,” Kalani muttered, hopping down from the railing and ruffling her feathers. “I'm sure they won't bother you, just keep your coin close.”

“Fair enough. I'll keep it in mind. I was wondering though... Well, I have the crow's nest to myself. We haven't been able to sit together and talk in quite a bit. And we'll be on this ship for a few weeks...”

“Feeling lonely, princeling?” She smirked. “Well... I suppose I could perch here a while every day. I need somewhere to rest, and this is the best spot for it.”

“Great. I'm getting blankets and whatnot sent up here. I'm sure they don't care that you're here as long as you help me keep watch.”

“I've been doing that for months now, so no problem.” She ruffled her feathers with the talons in her wing that functioned as a hand. “And... well, I've been missing our chats too, if I'm honest.”

“Great!” Hawke grinned and wrapped her in a hug.

“I didn't miss it THAT much, come on now.” She rolled her eyes at the affection, but returned the hug regardless.

#

Avira

After leaving the captain's quarters, Avira tried not to pay the crew any mind. She drew the eyes of the hybrids in the crew especially. Their eyes were on the green sash she wore around her neck. She could hear them whispering. Calling her a feral. If she hadn't been treated so kindly by the captain earlier she'd knock their teeth out.

Avira was below deck in a moment. It smelt like spilled ale and mold. A cat ran past her leg after a stray rat. The air was stale yet the taste of saltwater still hung in it. The walls were stained, though painted over with reds and blues. She could hear creaks resounding all around.

Crewmen milled about, hauling things or just drinking. She caught the eye of two hybrids who cut her off on her way to the guest room. A goat and a wolf man. They were clearly drunk.

“Our new friend is a sentry, and a wolf at that!” The wolf hybrid nudged the deer.

“Quite the wolf too, and she even looks civilized!” The goat had a slur to him.

Avira crossed her arms, not in the mood. “Fuck off.”

“And she speaks like a fellow sailor!” The wolf grinned. “You've got to have a drink with us.”

“Aye, we can get shit-faced and see where it goes from there.” The goat winked.

“I do like a lady with some muscle.” The wolf smirked, eyeing her

“I'm about to kick both of your asses if you don't get out of my way.”

“Calm down now, why don't we— ”

Everyone stopped. A small green thing with branches, roots, leaves, and flowers sticking from it was standing next to Avira. To call him a person would draw away from the fact that he looked closer to a ball of vines with flesh protruding from it. It did what could theoretically be called blinking with glowing orifices In a gravelly voice, it spoke. “Harassing a guest. Reeves's guest.”

The two straightened up immediately. “We're sorry sir.” The wolf man looked nervously at his friend.

“Not to me.” The creature's voice sounded like something that shouldn't speak, learning the common tongue.

“Right... we apologize, truly.” The goat looked at Avira.

“Just piss off.” Avira glared at him.

“Go.” The plant creature commanded. They shuffled off quickly enough.

“I've... not seen a dryid in years.” Avira turned to the plant creature.

“In forests. Not Wilds.” It explained. “Carpenter. Surgeon. Tend to wood. Wounds. Same.” It held up a vine and tapped it against a wood plank on the wall.

“Right,” Avira said. She appreciated his conversation more than most. “Thanks for helping me there.”

“Job.” It... shrugged? “Bram.”

“Your name?”

It grunted affirmatively.

“Avira, then.” She pointed to herself.

“A...vi...ra.” It tested each syllable as they came from its mouth. If it had a mouth. “Avira.”

“Right.”

It grunted again and left, running some vines along the wood. The rest of the crew were ignoring her now, only sneaking a few glances. The guest room door was closed, light from underneath the door spilling out. She could hear muttering from behind it.

Inside the room were hammocks hanging from the ceiling near the walls. In the center was a crate and their barrel. It had a faded carpet and slightly tattered paintings on the walls. The crate was being used as a table, it looked like medical supplies and bottles with various liquids were on top.

Pacing the room was a human. She had a beaked mask in her hand, and was holding it tightly while muttering about different herbs, medical treatments, and the like.

“Bloodletting, pervasive as ever. Even the islands use it. Rusted tools and all. Even leeches would be better. Why do they all get the same ideas yet so few of them use soap...” She was speaking to herself, but jumped when she realized that someone else was in the room.

The woman was wearing a full leather outfit, a little big for her, and it had been patched over multiple times. She had bright orange hair, but what drew Avira's eye were the scars on her face. It looked like she'd been burned extensively, more like chemical burns than fire. One of her eyes was cloudy, and she had a nervous look on her. She was tall and on the lanky side.

She quickly put her mask on and threw the hood on her outfit up. “Uh, hi!” she said, her voice wavering. “Sorry, I... it's a bit of a mess.”

“Calm down,” Avira said, “I heard you were a medic?”

“Me? Uh, yeah!” She looked over to the crate. “Godart. That's me. My name.”

“Avira.” She couldn't help but smirk. “That mask, uh, a harpy costume?”

“No! Is it offensive? I'm sorry, it's just what the mask for my group looks like. Looked like. I think I'm the only one.”

“It's fine. Your group?”

“They called us the Plague Doctors. We're doctors who treat magic resistant illnesses. I didn't join when those diseases were around though, I'm... too young. Adult, still young though.”

“Well, I heard you could inspect my wounds? I don't really trust a ship's surgeon to do that. Especially not a dryad.”

“He's weird, but nice. Not much for medicine though. Saw him, well, saw a guy's leg off. Falling cargo. I would have helped, but shattered bones aren't really my field and I got there a little late for potions to work. But your wounds, right! If you're wounded, I have potions, but I'd prefer not to use them.” She motioned to a bag in the corner, presumably full of potions.

“I'd prefer not to take them. I don't have a good reaction.”

“Yeah? That's interesting.”

Avira sat on the barrel, showing her midsection. “Slashes, mainly. We stitched and cauterized it.”

“Let me just undo these bandages. These should be swapped every few hours. I have some clean ones.” Godart unwrapped the bandages, looking at her wounds. “You... certainly have a healthy physique.”

“Thanks. I work out.” She smirked. “One on my back too. A companion of mine stitched me up.”

“Whoever taught them stitch-work must have been good. These look really recent. No signs of infection though.” She circled to her back. “Deep one. Lucky you have that top. Could have hit your spine.”

“That wouldn't have been good,” Avira said.

“Nope. This is gonna sting, now.” Godart retrieved one of the bottles. A rag, and a roll of bandages.

Avira grunted when she felt the cloth press into her, disinfectant soaking into her wounds.

“Sorry!”

“It's fine. I've hurt worse.”

“Alright, if you say so.” She re-wrapped the wounds and stood up. “You're set. For what it's worth, the bandaged look is, well, cool.” She fidgeted anxiously.

“Thanks.” Avira stood up, stretching. Godart's fidgeting drew her attention to the leather gloves she was wearing. They had a magic symbol on one, and on the other was an inscription she couldn't read. “Are you a mage?”

“Oh, yeah.” Godart looked at her gloves. “I do a little alchemy. I don't really use it to fight or anything, it's just useful for finding new recipes for medicines I can then try and create with mundane methods.”

“Oh. That's pretty admirable, actually.” Avira smiled. She liked a mage that didn't rely on magic. “I can respect it.”

“I...” Godart seemed flustered. “Thanks.”

Avira laughed. “Alright, I need to fix my clothes up now. Could you stand in front of the door? I don't mind being naked, but sailors are, well, you know.”

“I can do that.” She leaned back against the door. “Wait, you're gonna— ”

Avira was already taking her outfit off. “You have thread, right? I'm gonna stitch up my clothes.”

“It— it's on the crate.” Godart looked away.

“Thanks.” Avira got to work on her clothes.

“Fudge...” Godart muttered.

#

Mareth

Mareth had a good talk with the crew after Avira and Hawke retired to the captain's quarters. He had Witness keep an ear on their conversation while Valisa wandered. He could tell that there were quite a lot of elementals on the crew, mages too. They all gave a unique aura, and any trained mage could detect it. The only magic type that was hard to detect were runics, who needed special identification spells.

The most obvious was a daemon. A woman, she had purple skin and a single horn curling to the side. She was tall, a full two heads higher than him. She hadn't joined in on any of the festivities, instead was mopping the deck silently. He decided to approach.

“I haven't seen a passive daemon in a while,” he said.

She eyed him, then focused back on the deck. “You're a mage, so I imagine not.”

“Do your type not like us?”

“That's not it. You just look delicious is all.”

“Ah, yes. I'm glad you aren't eating my soul, at least.”

“Quartermaster would kill me where I stood. I'm only alive because I'm less inclined for it.” She paused for a moment, leaning on her mop. “I gained physical form by sticking around a theater. Lots of emotions in crowds during plays. Definitely makes a better daemon than rage, fear, or anger.”

“Too bad there's a lot of that to go around.” Mareth rubbed his chin. He noticed Avira shuffle out of the captain's quarters, keeping her eyes down. “How long since you manifested?”

“I came about in the initial Tear. That's, what, a hundred, two hundred years? Stayed over in L'Rora for decades, did my best to keep out of the Daemonlord's army when that nonsense went down. When he was killed, one of the warriors who took him down found me.” She waved a hand at the ship. “Long story short, I ended up here.”

“Interesting, very interesting.” Mareth said.

Valisa appeared through the floor, floating up. “Floating feels weird at first, but once you get used to it you can go anywhere.” She had a devilish grin. The ghost noticed the daemon. “Huh, it's not killing you.”

The daemon looked straight at Valisa, causing her to back off. “One in the making. You want me to take care of her for you?”

“No.” Mareth shook his head. “I've always been one for experiments.”

“He keeps dozens of ghosts in that amulet of his. I wonder how many there are waiting on the bottom of the sea.” Valisa looked at the water.

“Countless, trust me,” the daemon said, “it's hard to find a place in this world where someone hasn't died.”

“Probably true, even if you just count the generations since the Tear,” Mareth agreed, “I just realized that I'm being rude though. Mareth Morsum.” He held out his hand.

She shook it with a firm grip and smiled. “Anne. I don't remember my first life, so I couldn't give a family name.”

“Well, Anne, I hope you don't mind my questions. I am a scholar though, so my curiosity knows no bounds.”

“I usually don't get to talk to anyone but the quartermaster, so it's fine. The crew doesn't like daemons. I can't really blame them.”

“Right.” Mareth observed the crew. “The quartermaster... are you his apprentice, then?

“Yeah. Or aye, as they say. Mainly just cleaning and keeping an eye on the crew.”

“I'm surprised they let you have the position.”

“Well, the quartermaster chose me, so they had no choice.”

“You'll be a cabin boy if you don't get to work, swabbie.” An older man stood nearby, watching the two. His tawny skin and narrow eyes signified him as originating from the western continent, where the URB was. He had grey hair with hints of black from when he was a younger man. It was a full head, tied back in a ponytail. He had a beard as well.

“Sorry I'm holding your apprentice up.” Mareth turned to him as Anne went back to swabbing.

“You're one the new guests, I see.” The quartermaster had a book tucked under his arm.

“The captain might be the loudest voice in the room, but I made the agreement to let you on board. You tell me if you have any problems.”

“I will, thanks,” he said, “it seems to be a friendly crew.”

“Well, the captain certainly keeps spirits high.” He nodded. “I'm Shen. You're Mareth Morsum, you're here with a certain noble that shouldn't be named, and Avira. Would you happen to know her last name? I need it for the records.”

“No, I haven't gotten it,” Mareth said.

“Shame. I'll have to ask her.”

“Can I ask you, before you go, how you came to be on this ship?” asked Mareth.

“Hmm... well, I'm sure you've already asked Anne the same. I brought her here after the 'liberation' of L'Rora.” He held up his free hand to do air quotes around the word liberation.

“You don't think it was a liberation?”

“The daemons were just creatures following their nature.” He sighed. “Creatures brought forth by human hands. All we did was kill the figurehead, not solve the problem.”

“Right. Daemons will still form as long as the Tear is around.”

“Damn right.” Valisa gave a devilish grin. “And I do wonder what type I'll be.”

Mareth looked up at her floating in the air casually. Shen looked there as well. “Something catch your interest?” He eyed the mage.

“Uh, no. I'll talk to you later. Wouldn't want to keep you from doing your job.”

“Aye. You stay out of the crew's way too. And you,” He shot Anne a stare. “You get this deck clean.”

“Aye aye, sir quartermaster,” she responded without a hint of sarcasm, mopping with renewed motivation.

Mareth watched her work for a few minutes before he moved on, deciding to introduce himself to the captain.