Hawke
“The Nethan Ocean...” Hawke leaned on the railing, Kalani next to him. “Doesn't that just mean Ocean Ocean?”
Kalani laughed, “yeah, it does.” She grinned. “The oceans don't have original names in the first place. Come on, The Forbidden Sea? Iksoi's Ocean? Real creative, naming the ocean after the Sentinel of Water.”
“To be fair, our country is just our Sentinel's name with an A at the end.”
She considered this for a moment. “Damn.”
“Wonder if he was responsible for that. You think the Sentinels are narcissistic types?” Hawke examined Kalani, admiring her plumage.
“We are supposed to keep altars for them.” Kalani shrugged. “So probably. At least they guard over us in return though.”
“Small price, I suppose,” Hawke agreed.
“Mm. So, any progress on the whole... wife, thing?” Kalani asked, referring to the King's insistence that the prince find himself a bride.
“Ah.” He looked away. “Not really. I met a good looking lamia, but she was very intimidating.”
“Those are the best kinds of girls! What was her name?”
“Sherani,” Hawke said, reminding himself to tell Avira about her when he got the time.
“Sherani Sand-Snake?!” Kalani seemed surprised.
“Pardon? I didn't get her last name, but I think she was in the Snake Tribe.”
“She's the damned tribe leader!” Kalani exclaimed, “what was she doing in Drima?”
“Was she?” Hawke reflected, “wow. No wonder she was so intimidating. I'm not sure what she was doing though. Apparently she's in charge of something in the cities. I met her in the mage tower we talked in.”
“Probably best nothing came out of it,” Kalani said, “those lamia? Total deviants.”
“Oh?” Hawke grinned.
Kalani hit him— lightly— with a wing. “Stop that. It usually ends in death.”
“Ah. Yeah, good thing...” Hawke said, “wonder if it would have been worth it.”
She elbowed him hard now. “We both know you're a virgin, princeling.”
“Oof, my pride.” He held his chest as if he'd been wounded, though the spot where he'd been elbowed did hurt. “How savage you are.”
She rolled her eyes. “Speaking of... Avira, she giving you any trouble?”
Hawke shook his head. “She got real mad at Ruin, but after the boat fight she's calmed down.”
“You're welcome for the help on that, by the way.”
“Well, it is your job,” he commented, “That would have been hard without you though.”
“I'll accept the thanks.” She patted him on the back. “You just call me if you need help with her.”
“Just try not to antagonize her if you talk. I know how you are with tribals.”
“I'm obliged by my royal duty to tell you the truth. I can't make any promises I won't berate her.”
“I don't know why I even asked,” he sighed, “I'll just try to keep you away from her.”
#
Avira
Avira was fully dressed now, her clothes patched up. She'd have to wash off all the blood at another time, but it was already soaked in the hide. No use worrying about it for now. Maybe she'd take a dip in her clothes later. She wondered if they'd let her swim in the ocean.
“You can look now,” she said to Godart, who was still covering the lenses of her mask.
The doctor uncovered them and gave a sigh of relief. “I wish you would have warned me there.”
“Sorry, I thought you wouldn't mind.” Avira shrugged. “Hybrids don't, generally.”
“Right, hybrid culture... speaking of, you wouldn't happen to know any tribal remedies, would you?”
“Yeah, I know a few,” she said, “my companion asked me about them earlier. He wrote a list I think.”
“A companion?” Godart thought for a moment. She seemed to be about to ask something, but a knock at the door cut her off. “Who is it?”
“Quartermaster Shen,” the voice on the other end responded.
“Ah,” Godart looked back to Avira, who nodded. She opened the door to let Shen in.
He walked in, book and quill in his hands. “Miss Kelly, pleasure. I trust you're settling in well?”
“Yeah,” Godart answered, “the room's nice. The ship too. Your crew gets injured often though. Come running to me a lot...”
“Mm,” Shen acknowledged her reply, “and Avira?”
Avira crossed her arms and tilted her head. “What do you want from me?”
“I was wondering if I could get your clan name and tribe name.”
“Ah.” Avira relaxed, brushing some hair out of her face. “I guess it couldn't hurt. Gray is my clan name, and I'm from the Wolf tribe.”
“Gray-Wolf... alright, thanks. Having complete information helps with bookkeeping” He scribbled the info down into his ledger. “A noble, a Morsum, a Plague Doctor, and a sentry... quite the group of guests.”
“A Morsum?” Godart spoke up, “wait, it wouldn't happen to be Mareth, would it?”
“Aye,” Shen answered. He blew on the fresh ink to dry it, then closed the book and tucked it under his arm.
“You know Mareth? I guess you're the colleague he talks about?” Avira asked Godart, amused by the coincidence.
“He talks about me!? I didn't think my work was that interesting.”
“Mainly just mentioned you're interested in medicine.”
“Right, right. That makes more sense.” Godart looked at Shen. “Is he on the top deck?”
He replied with a nod. “Would you like me to escort you?”
“Yeah, that'd be nice.” Godart looked to Avira. “Are you coming, or are you staying here? Not that I'm trying to pressure you into coming. Feel free to stay.”
“Calm down.” Avira smirked. “Have some more self-confidence.” She squeezed Godart's shoulder. “I suppose I'll go.”
#
Mareth
Mareth met the Captain as he was leaving his quarters. He smiled and put a hand on Mareth's shoulder. “Ah, the scholar,” he said, “We haven't talked yet, ey?”
“Indeed,” Mareth said, “I just wanted to ask a few questions.”
“Fire away lad, but on the move. I've got duties to tend to.”
“Right.” Mareth followed him around to the stairs that led up to the wheel.
“You've got quite the diverse crew here. I was wondering how you recruited them all.”
“Ah, people be lookin for opportunity all over the world.” Reeves patted the back of a crew member who was currently drinking. The surprised man coughed and did a spit take, the captain stealing his bottle and taking a swig. “Though I didn't recruit them all personally. Me old man came before me. I was the first mate at the time, so when he kicked the bucket I took his place.” He tossed the bottle back and walked to the wheel, where a harpy was situated.
He had a narrow hooked beak and feathers ending in a long forked tail. His black feathers had a purple sheen to them, and he had a red pouch on his throat. He glanced over to the two as they approached “Ahoy, Cap',” he said.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Gulliver.” The captain responded. “What's a Bosun doing on the wheel?”
“Same as usual. Vok's at the bow consorting with the fish ladies.”
“A frigatebird harpy, don't see that every day,” Mareth said.
“Boggles the mind, does it?” Gulliver responded, “well, don't stare too long. Unless you're a ladybird.”
Mareth could have sworn the corner of his beak curled up in a smirk. He was too busy following the Captain towards the bow. “Hybrids, Daemons, and Dryids, though? How do you keep them from ripping each other apart?”
“Same as any other ship, really. Lots of booze!” That brought a cheer from the crew, but they quickly returned to work. “Though, to be fair, Shen does most of the work when we're not in battle. Him and that Daemon girl.”
“Yeah?” Mareth asked, “what do they pay you for, then?”
“Spirits willing, you won't find out.” He winked.
A golem was at the stern, made up of rock and brick. He was vaguely humanoid in shape, but with a distinct lack of a head. His hands, consisting of three fingers that could be mistaken as talons, were gripped to the rail as he leaned over. “Affirmative,” he yelled, a low rumble to his voice. “Reeves-Captain will wish to know.”
“Know what?” Reeves asked, leaning over the railing.
In the ocean ahead of them the water was displaced, a whale breaching it and swimming besides the ship. A mermaid sat on it, and to her left a shark woman with a spear on her shoulder. “There's the Cap'n now,” the shark woman said. While the mermaid was clearly fish on the bottom half and human woman on the top half, the shark hybrid was more like a woman with the skin texture of a shark, a wide toothy mouth, fins, and a shark tail.
“Aye, it's nice to see the people of the Shark Tribe remember me.” Reeves grinned, waving his hat. “What is it that I'd like to know?”
“Ships in the area are getting attacked. And it's not the usual suspect,” the shark woman said.
“We've recovered a handful of survivors from them,” the mermaid spoke, “apparently there's a ship that brings terrible storms with it. It's commanded by a horrifying daemon, and they eat the souls of their victims.”
“Hard to believe if you found survivors,” Avira said, taking a place next to the captain and golem. Shen and Godart waited behind them, listening. Mareth did a double take when he saw Godart, but was focused on the conversation.
“That's what I was thinking,” the shark girl said, “it's probably overblown, but it's still a problem. And it's on it's way to your route.”
“Hmm, we tend to attract problems...” Reeves stroked his beard. “We'll get the men ready. Thank you for the help.”
“This one will return to the wheel,” Vak spoke, leaning over to tap the figurehead of the ship. It was a shark woman carved from wood.
The mermaid woman nodded and looked at the shark, who tapped the whale they were on. “Let's go, Bob.”
As they receded under the waves, Reeves reached over and tapped the figurehead as well. “You lot'd best give'r a tap.” He addressed the guests. “Don't expect you to fight, but luck is luck.”
“Right...” Avira said, having to lean over a lot to be able to tap it's head.
Godart and Mareth turned to each other. Godart opened her mouth first. “Mareth! What are the chances we'd meet here?”
“Karund's blessings, I suppose.” Mareth smiled. “It's a pleasure. I've learned a lot while I was traveling around. As I'm sure you have as well.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I mainly wandered the various island nations. Mostly the Iksoi Ocean.”
“Very nice. I visited the three continents. Went to visit Axiam even. Nothing as eventful as my first trip to the Veiled Archipelago, but plenty of interesting things for you.”
“We'll have to discuss this at length below deck”
“So how do you two know each other?” Avira asked.
“Ah, it's a simple matter,” Mareth said, “I funded Godart's research for her, and chose to help her expand her field.”
“Yeah. Nobody would bat an eye when I said I wanted to explore medicine in a non magical field. Mareth saw merit in it,” Godart explained.
“Speaking of. That procedure you hypothesized? I've got a successful trial with it.”
“What!?” Godart was excited, “how in the— you didn't kill anyone to do it, did you?”
Mareth held his hands up, “You know I don't mess with the living. Often, at least. We can talk about it privately.”
“Of course! I've also got to share my experiments with niter and saltpeter!” Godart exclaimed.
“Sounds boring, so I'll leave you be,” Avira said, the two scholars hurrying below deck to share information.
#
Avira
She approached Quartermaster Shen, who had already tapped the figurehead and had a spear in his hand.
“Need something, lass?” He didn't take his eye off the spear. It was quite the weapon. The staff was chiseled with intricate designs, and the tip seemed to be gold.
“That's some weapon.” Avira looked at it closely. The staff seemed to be well treated wood of some kind, details of the stars along it.
“Never seen one before?” He held it vertically so she could examine it better. “They call 'em Godborne blades,” he said, “very few of them around, and even fewer are those that can use them.”
“And you're one of them?” Avira asked, “how do you use it?”
“Simple for me. It would burn your hands if you held it though. They choose their users and deny all others, even decades after their wielder's deaths. Until they find someone else worthy of course.”
“You talk like they're sentient.” She crossed her arms.
“They're magical, in either case,” Shen said, “I call this particular weapon Daemonsbane.”
“Magic... I've never been a fan,” Avira said, “honestly, you'd probably be just as good with a normal spear. Or just punch your enemy. That's what I do.”
“We can't all be like you, I'm afraid. I've never been in it for the honor in any case,” he said, “despite the songs, war is rarely an honorable thing.”
“Surely you have some stories, though?”
“I do,” the quartermaster nodded, “if you want to hear any, you'll have to wait. I can talk tonight.”
“Looking forward to it.” She grinned.
#
Godart
Godart and Mareth had made it back to the guest room without incident. Godart took the chance to educate him on the medicinal applications of niter and saltpeter. She also went on a diatribe about how healthy the islander diet was compared to the mainland while fashioning some tea.
Mareth drank Godart's tea and sighed contentedly, “this always does the trick.”
“Still suffering from insomnia?” Godart crouched in front of the crate, her own cup of tea steaming on it.
“Yeah. Hard to keep the right herbs on the road.” He sipped more down.
“Luckily I restocked,” Godart said. She turned away from Mareth so she could take her mask off, and drank some herself. The Plague Doctor didn't like people seeing her face, with how scarred it was. She slipped the mask back on and looked back at the scholar, seeing that he looked relaxed. Clearing her throat, she asked, “are you still seeing ghosts, then?”
“Yeah. Just as many as always, almost all lost in their heads. Though Witness is as usual, and I found a daemon in the making who is aware enough of her surroundings.”
“Hmm,” she mulled that over in her head. Godart had seen Witness before, and daemons could definitely talk, but she was never sure how real most of the ghosts he found were, or if those whispers he complained about from his amulet were real.
His mother's side had a history of mental afflictions. Nobody knew anything about necromancy other than Mareth himself, however. Even the ability to see ghosts so clearly was unique to him and daemons. Godart never liked the fact that he forayed into such taboo territory, but his skills were undeniable. Still, she questioned what it was doing to him.
“Put that down,” Mareth gave an unexpectedly stern warning. One of her flasks was floating in the air.
Godart jumped up, heart racing as she plucked it from the air. “Frick!” she exclaimed, making sure it was secured and setting it back down, “I guess that was your daemon in the making?”
“Indeed,” Mareth simply stated, “she's been getting mischievous”
“Ah,” Godart wasn't really sure what to make of that, “are you... going to let it— or her rather, mature?”
“Probably. It would be interesting to see.” Mareth looked at a spot in the air, addressing the ghost as he spoke, “I wouldn't know, depends on the emotions you're around.”
“You could probably run an experiment on forcing her type,” Godart mused.
“That's true. I might do that if I run by another of her type. She's a control group for now essentially. See what happens when I don't intentionally add or subtract emotions.”
“Makes sense. I'm sure I don't need to inform you about keeping the research on paper again? It won't be any use to the future if you keep it in that head of yours.”
“I learned my lesson after the incident in the Nidara crypts,” he grinned and hopped down from the hammock, “so, your revival spell.”
“Oh yeah!” Godart jumped up and circled the crate, standing in front of Mareth, “who'd you do it on? How? What were the circumstances? Any abnormalities?”
“You know Avira, I assume?”
“Oh, yeah!” she was even more excited hearing it was her.
“She washed up a river in Axiam, hole in her chest, dead as my comedy career.”
Godart wondered how that happened. She nodded for him to continue.
“I took her to the inn and did the procedure. In practice you're basically forcing the soul back and pushing the body's self recovery to it's absolute limits.”
“Yes, that follows what I hypothesized.” She said.
“Side effects were...” he recalled in his head, “extreme weariness, soreness through the entire body, stiffness in the joints, and ravenous hunger and thirst.”
“Great! That's remarkably light considering the benefits. Any abnormalities?”
“Some, I believe they might be specific to this patient. It took up a lot of my energy. Some of Witness' as well. It also projected some of the symptoms onto me, albeit weaker. Whereas Avira was out for three days, I was out for one. I suffered from light soreness and stiffness as well.”
“Huh...” she puzzled over this, “you said that might be specific to her?”
“Yeah. The first at least. She seems to be a sort of magic sponge. Kind of like a human flux crystal. She had a very negative reaction to a lesser potion as well.”
“Very interesting,” Godart said, “we can think this over in a better setting, but speaking of... Avira, what's she like?”
“Pardon?”
“As, like, a person.” Godart twiddled her thumbs, heart beating faster. “She seems cool.”
“Cool? I suppose you could say that. She likes fighting. A lot. Doesn't like magic, nor armor. Likes fitness and survival, I believe.”
“So I guess she'd need someone around to fix her injuries, then...” she rubbed her chin under her mask, “Uh, just in theory.”
Mareth gave her a side-eyed look, “of course.”