Fantasy Skyfarers: The Grand Adventure

[Killigrew]

LinksInterest Check Skyfarers in an Era of Exploration!
Character Sheets Skyfarers: The Character Sheets
OOC Skyfarers: the OOC Chat

The World: Blue: Over a sea of blue, these four floating islands sit in a cluster. Bridges and roads connect them, except for the one in the middle, Agatha, a dark city shrouded in mystery. While the other three have shared the knowledge of their ancient stones, and have reaped the benefits of new runic creations, Agatha does not partake.
Runes: the DNA of the world, and the language that commands it. By researching the prophetic stones and experimenting with inscription, the magitech of the world has advanced to the glory of a new age. Skyfaring ships and renewable fuel hearken a new era of exploration.

Cities/Factions: Hellinopolis: religious, scientific; city of scholars
Scholars: years of research and rigorous memorization grow these men up in erudite skill. They pave the way for experimentation, religion their only restraint, and that experimentation brings forth progress.
Religion: Love and self-sacrifice for the greater good are the main tenets of their religion. They call their god Salvator, for he has rescued man from vain intelligence to a good and kind nature.
Daily Life: If you do not manage to surpass all your peers in scholastic pursuits, do not expect an easy life. Half of all you earn will be taken for the lives and hobbies of the scholars, who are utterly pampered.

Ordun: militant, mechanical; army city
Army: Every citizen of Ordun is in the military, and there is no corporation nor organization outside the regulation and jurisdiction of Ordun’s military. Every man is trained, and from the time of his birth, his path in life is set.
Engineering: The pride of Ordun is her glorious structures, from aqueducts to heated baths, from the paved roads to the government buildings, all things are glorious and expertly crafted.
Daily Life: A strict schedule and training keeps every man ready for battle. The women assist in all these things, preparing food and joining their husbands or fathers in his daily routine. Any innovation or change must be approved by those in authority, so very few ever experience a change in life.

Soraya: mercantile, exploratory; the winged folk
Winged Folk: Unlike the other cities, Sorya is not populated by humans, but winged folk, which are the bird-men, or men with wings. They are lighter and weaker than humans, and they laugh often.
Commerce: Free trade is a staple of Soraya, and there is hardly regulation on the border. As long as you have something to sell, you’re welcome here!
Daily Life: You make your own destiny in Soraya. So long as you have the citizen’s pass and pay respects to the queen and her ancestors, it is your work against the world. But be careful to guard your secrets, for the loose ways of Soraya have lead to various thieveries of entire businesses.

Agatha: scientific, autocratic; the witches
Witches: Every inch of their skin is covered in runic script. Whether they are born this way or made this way, no one knows. Only their ambassador comes to the seven year treaty’s meeting, and she leaves just as quickly as she came. It is unmistakable that they wield great power and do not share its knowledge.
Closed Borders: No one has set foot inside Agatha, and what goes on there is full of mystery. None seek to answer this mystery, however, as the whole sea of stars has now opened to the world!


Astrology:On the day of your birth, the stars shone brightly in alignment. Your parents knew then where your natural abilities lie. As it is with every being, who you are begins when you are born.
Signs
Pig: contracts, dominion (the governors)
Turtle: defense, rigidity (the builders)
Cat: stealth, flexibility (the criminals)
Bird: flight, speed (the merchants)
Dog: detection, communication (the police)
Snake: degradation, deception (artists, garbage men)

 

[Killigrew]

Yason SokolovThe Hull


It was like the sunset. That spread of color over the horizon, a painting set in nature, stood out starkly in his mind. The black city, Agatha -- he knew it even when it was a fade in the distance -- had turned red, but as soon as he leaned forward over the ship deck and gained his breath, the black fade returned. The light remained behind his eyelids like spilt blood.
Out of the five in the Lifeguard Company, only he and Andrei had been stationed at the stern of the ship, about twenty feet apart. Agatha was directly against the horizon between them.
“You saw.” Yason’s hand gripped Vaughn’s shoulder. “Right?”
But the grey soldier shook him off. “Saw what?”
Yason stared.
“What?” Andrei looked around. “The cloud?”
Even before he had finished explaining, Andrei had shut his mouth and turned away, a shrug passing his shoulders. Some bright light off in the distance was nothing to concern them, of that Andrei was convinced, but Yason couldn’t agree. Even if he didn’t understand it, there was no way he could ignore it. Hastily, he left his post with the setting sun and went straight for the main deck to inform the man in charge.
But First Mate Farshid was not alarmed in the least. “Now look… I appreciate your concerns, Yawn -- sorry, Yem. No? Yason. Yason. I’ll remember -- at any rate, as I was saying, we must be reasonable. Even if Agatha did shine like the sun, red like you said, and if it bodes ill for our home, what can we do? We must stay the course. The future is on our shoulders, and it cannot be delayed! Now, take a rest. No, no, I insist. I won’t hear any complaint. You’ve been standing in the sun all day and it’s high time you got some food in you. Go on now!”
Yason shook his head in disbelief, but Andrei muttered a grumbling, “I told you so.” and pulled Yason along belowdeck.

The Mess Hall
Thick with cooked beans and body odour, the air greeted them unkindly. Andrei clamped his fingers over his nose and cringed.
“Ax, only a week in the air and the stench is unbearable.” After a sigh, he clapped Yason on the shoulder. “Forget the red, worrywart. Try and have some fun for once!”
The clatter of dice mixed with hoots and yells. While Andrei went to the cook for two platefuls of grub (and when he received it, asked her, “Would it kill you to cut the warts off your face?”), Yason joined the crowd surrounding the round table.
This portion of the sailors was the third watch, and they were by far the rowdiest of the crew. They took advantage of every break, swallowed every last drop of their tot, and burst their lungs on the shanties of the sky. Three of the men had dice in their hand, beer in the other, and grins all over. But once Yason joined their group, they turned frozen, peering at him over bowed backs as though fearing he might hit them.
“Spill it now, redcoat. What’ve we done to deserve you?” Dzhek, the tallest of the lot, spat to one side.
The young soldier felt the hairs on his neck raise. After his years of service, he had come to expect a criminal’s leery gaze. It made the weight at his hip a reassuring presence. So Yason managed a smile. “Nothing. I was just passing through.”
On his heel he pivoted and left the group for an empty table. With a sigh, he palmed his pocket for a cut of soft wood and took to whittling.

Setting InfoProgress: The first week into the Great Journey
Time: Early Nightfall
Weather: Clear skies with a scant few clouds.
Travel: A fast-moving speed and a rumbling engine

 

[Blemmigan]

Rena Katsouli x
The engine room

The engines were incredible.
Seeing the pieces not only assembled, but pulsing and muttering with a steady yellow light, it stirred something in Rena's mind that she had almost forgotten. Pride. Excitement. The thrill of seeing pages of square-ruled lines and diagrams and equations being made into something real. And all around her, the knowledge that they were suspended in bright blue nothingness thanks entirely to this modest-looking creation... well, so long as she didn't think too much about flying.
There was no nausea to speak of, at least not for her. There was a low vibration that ran through the whole ship, but it was not as juddery as Rena might have feared. But on that first day she had, along with the rest of the crew, crowded onto the deck as the bundle of cities grew smaller and smaller.
Blue above, blue below, blue on all sides, and after a while she could believe that they were standing completely still, or falling, or lurching upwards, or anything that her imagination might come up with. So she had excused herself and returned below.
Her role aboard the ship hadn't quite been made clear, or perhaps it was too obvious for anyone in Hellinopolis to have even mentioned. So rather than look like as much of a dead weight as she felt, Rena invented jobs for herself. She checked the runes that fed back into themselves, permanently merging and splitting to fuel the engine. She made sure that the propulsion motors were running smoothly. She followed the lengths of pipe that siphoned away the hot air from the engine room, running along ceilings or in floors, staying warm to the touch until they ran out of ship and billowed steam into the cold void. Whatever she followed and checked was familiar to her, before she even realised it was from the blueprints she'd spent weeks poring over.
She found places to hide too, almost by accident as she followed shafts and vents and listened to the footsteps above her head. She began to learn the routines of the sailors and soldiers as she passed them in the corridors or saw them in the mess hall. She knew where to find the priests and the healers and the cooks and the passengers, although she had never needed to exchange more than a few polite words with any of them. By the very first evening, she had left the dormitory and strung her hammock in the heat of the engine room, listening to the whispering of the runes and the rumbling of the pipes as she drifted off to sleep.
Two days into the voyage, Rena was finally confronted. She had been under the floor, greasing the turbines and being careful not to burn herself on the tangle of pipes around her. The sound of footsteps on the floor made her stop though, and pull herself up.
To her surprise, the first mate—whose name she had already forgotten, but who seemed to respond jovially to "sir"—did not ask her why she had been shirking any assigned duties. Instead, he wanted her status report on how the engines were running ("Just to get on top of it, you understand") and insisted that she make use of the sailors should she need a hand ("I'll send one of the quieter ones your way").
She soon learned why there was not an entire team of mechanics for this part of the ship: the engine ran itself. She did not have to work for hours at a time in shifts, only keep on top of things. There was no need for stokers or coal bunkers, for there was no fuel. Nor were there pumps to keep out water, or propellers tangled with weeds. Outside was ice and cloud: as far as she knew, not even the birds flew this far away from land. As far as anyone knew, there was nothing out here at all.
Before she knew it, Rena had her own routine too. Crew would come and find her, telling her that the ship would need to pick up speed, or that the heat-pipe in the kitchens had sprung a leak (one of the cooks had covered it with an apron until her shift was over). Some would joke with her, which she tolerated, or make crude comments, which she ignored. The thing she liked most was that they accepted her being here, and she had the sense of purpose she had felt when she first agreed to this job. This small part of the world was hers. The crew would ask for her opinions and respect her decision. She knew very little of where the ship was going or what was outside it at any particular moment, but she knew every bolt and pipe and valve that mattered.

The mess hall

Rena found the food less impressive. In the time it took to walk in and be given a plate, she had smelled enough of the week's meals to regret what she was about to eat. If she could get away with it she might have taken her meal back to the engine room too, but the hawklike glare of the cook had long since assured her that would be out of the question.
As it was, trying to give the particularly rowdy table as wide a berth as she could manage, Rena felt suddenly aware of the oil and grease that had to be smeared on her clothes, face and hands, but had no intention of washing it off just to eat. If nothing else, it helped cover the smell of food. More than that, it helped her feel like she had a place on the ship, doing things that the others couldn't possibly understand.
Just like she didn't understand why there were so many soldiers on the ship. Not if this was a ship for exploration and as a testament of the cities' innovation. How dangerous were they expecting the Blue to be? Perhaps they would need them, but Rena hoped not. Maybe it was simply what Ordun had to offer from its citizens: she had never been there, after all. Having an equal number onboard from each city would make sense for the diplomats, although it—
She realised then that her thoughts had been inspired by the Ordun soldier sitting at one of the tables, who she had been standing staring at without noticing. He seemed intent with something of his own, though, and she looked away in time for someone to walk into her: another soldier, carrying two plates. Between her and the hullabaloo at the round table, there was not a lot of space, and he gave her a quick, possibly-apologetic smile as he ducked past and joined his companion.
The sooner she could finish, the sooner she could leave. She sat down in the closest seat, but even before she had started eating, she heard one of the sailors at the next table calling over to her.
"Come sit with us!"
They'd have shouted it to any woman foolish enough to sit where she had, and had probably forgotten the times she had ignored them before. Still she didn't even look at them.
"No, thank you."
"Da, here, we've got dice. We can play for—" Whatever he was about to say got broken off in a fit of giggles amongst the rest of them.
Rena stood up and moved two tables away, the one with the soldiers. She wasn't particularly worried about the sailors: they would probably forget about her once she left. She just wanted to eat.

 

[Killigrew]

Yason SokolovMess Hall

The soft wood bent easily against the blade. Long markings were cut in criss-cross patterns around the piece, swirling like a ribbon. Holding the blade perpendicular, Yason was peeling layers of bark off one end, honing it to a point. The shavings danced down his lap to the floor. His eyes were locked on the task, and from it his mind did not wander. Slowly, the image of blazing Agatha began to fade.
"Wake up, Yason! Your sludge is getting cold." Andrei shoved his elbow, and the knife slipped into the flesh of his thumb. "Oh. Whoops."
Yason silently watched scarlet creep down.
"Uh, it doesn't look like it'll leave a scar. You'll be alright."
"...Andrei..."
Andrei looked away, turning sheepish, and it was then that Yason suddenly realized someone else was sitting at their table. The engineer, Rena, seemed as focused on eating as he had been on whittling. Nonetheless, he extended his hand to her and introduced himself.
"I don't believe we've met. Yason Sokolov, from Mark East in Ordun. And you are?"
Andrei cut in with, "What's with the gold face?"

 

[Blemmigan]

Rena Katsouli
The mess hall

Rena looked up in time to see the soldier's—Yason's—hand held out awkwardly for her. She considered ignoring it and continuing to sulk, but then his companion interrupted.
She put down her spoon, feeling her face heat up. Back in Hellinopolis, she always assumed that people talked about her behind her back, probably couched in academic terms. Either way, it felt that everyone she encountered would know about her before they even met. That bothered her, but now she discovered that having to talk about it to a stranger herself was... worse. It was so much easier to pretend nobody noticed.
The result of it all was that she took Yason's hand and shook it, or at least grasped it for a moment. "Rena Katsouli. The geology quarter of Hellinopolis." A pause. "I had an accident when I was younger. So... so my face is a bit strange."
She looked at the other one... Andreas? She had only half-listened to their conversation. "What's your excuse?"

 

[DatDerpyCookie]

Zoi Demetriou

The Healers' Quarters

The Ordun soldier's artificial eye seems to have traces of illusion inducing runes engraved in it, which implies-

"Ahem, Dr. Demetriou?" Zoi glanced up from her notepad to see a blonde man of Hellinopolean descent. She smiled sheepishly as she scanned him, subtly looking for any potentially interesting anomalies. "Ah, pardon me. You're here for the checkup, right?" Zoi asked, more to herself than to the sailor sitting in front of her. Before he could respond, Zoi tapped his notebook with an ornately painted nail. "Is this a Kyrous notebook? Oh, how I love that brand! It's always produced such wonderfully reliable supplies." She flashed a casual smile at Apollo before turning to sift through her pile of rather unorganized medical supplies.
"Vlasfimies, where'd I put the scanning runes...?" A few more moments of searching yielded a small metal plate completely covered with tiny lines of runes. Humming softly, Zoi pressed the metal plate to Apollo's hand and watched as white runes ran up his arm and around his body. Once the runes had stretched themselves across the sailor's body, they pulsed with a soft white glow before flashing green, drawing a nod of approval from Zoi. She casually tossed the metal plate aside, then glanced him over to make sure the runes didn't miss anything.
"So, you're the only sailor from Hellinopolis, yeah? What was your occupation before the trip?" She asked, lifting the sailor's arm to inspect it. Again, she continued before he could answer. "You look like an author to me, but what do you write...?" Zoi leaned in close to inspect the puzzled sailor. "...Poetry! You write poetry, don't you?" Zoi asked as she pressed a rune covered stethoscope to his chest.
"Yes, how could you tell...?"
"Hm? You've gotta speak up." Zoi casually dropped the stethoscope next to the metal plate of scanning runes with a satisfied smile.
"I asked how you could tell I was a poet..." The doctor chuckled as she glanced him over one more time. "It's written all over your face, no pun intended. Run along now, poet. You're good to go." She waved to Apollo as he left, then picked up her pen and notepad.
Where was I...? Ah, right; the illusion inducing runes on the soldier's eye imply-
"Dr. Demetriou?" Zoi glanced up from her notepad to see a sailor who was rather green in the face. He was followed by several other companions, who looked equally ill. She waved them over, only a tiny bit annoyed that she'd been interrupted for the twelfth time today.

The minor annoyance she felt was easily overshadowed by the sense of satisfaction of treating someone who she didn't have to win the trust of. Her semi-famous (infamous in the eyes of some) status in the Hellinopolean medical community had the unfortunate side effect of her patients lacking trust in her. Although the distrust did hurt a little, the worst part was the subtle, gilded references to her star sign. If someone felt like bringing up her star sign - or anything else about her, for that matter - wouldn't it be easier for everyone if they just plain said what they were thinking?
Zoi shook her head to clear it of memories of Hellinopolis. That was all in the past, after all. The only thing that matters is the here and now, no?
The first day she arrived on the ship had felt incredibly liberating - she didn't have to worry about any mistrust or cushioned insults here, since it was unlikely any of the sailors had heard about her. No one knew her star sign, no one knew her history, no one knew anything about her unless she told them something. She'd been repeating this fact over and over during the past week, still unable to fully believe it. Every time she treated a patient without any backhanded compliments from them, Zoi was reminded of her freedom. And as she was reminded of her freedom, she was reminded of one of her goals: to free the other members of her star sign from the animosity surrounding them. Oh, how surprised the crew would be when she decided to reveal her star sign! That surprise would change to hesitant tolerance to eager acceptance, Zoi hoped. No, not hoped - she knew they'd accept her, along with every scholar in Hellinopolis, and every soldier in Ordun, and every trader in Soraya!


The Mess Hall

Zoi pinched her nose as soon as she stepped into the rank mess hall. "Tsk, they must get some better maids in here..." She grumbled as she grabbed her plate. Although she'd (sort of) gotten used to the 'food', Zoi still wished she could've carried her personal chef with her. She observed the soldiers and sailors gamble as she waited in the seemingly endless line, slowly learning the rules - and cheating methods - of their games. "I wonder if they'd let me play for keeps..." She mused, flicking her gaze between the laughing sailors. "Maybe I could win a few subjects for experimentation..." Zoi thanked the cook as she received her grub, and subtly glanced over her facial anomalies before scanning the hall for a seat.
Her eyes flicked over various interesting figures before finally landing on a sparkle of gold. A soft gasp escaped her as she saw the source of the sparkle.
"Oh! It's her!" Zoi grinned triumphantly. "It's about time I found her, since I haven't seen her since the first day... It's like she's been in hiding away this whole time..." Zoi mumbled to herself as she elegantly wound her way through the crowd. Although she had already taken up a few notepads worth of notes on the crew, the doctor was eager to find out about the woman's golden scar- it was by far the most interesting thing she'd seen on the ship, and by Salvator Zoi would find out as much as she possibly could about its origins.
Zoi soon reached the table, and took a seat near the golden scarred woman and the soldier she was talking to. She pulled out her notepad and pen, keeping them hidden under the counter. She subtly took notes on everyone at the table, keeping her gaze up at the others as her hand wrote away under the table. Although she originally intended on quizzing the engineer, Zoi soon became immersed in her notes.

 

[Killigrew]

Yason SokolovMess Hall

As their hands touched, a sting of pain raced up his wrist, and Yason realized with a start that his sliced thumb had left a smear of blood along her index finger. He buried the evidence in his fist and tried not to look suspicious.
He perceived she had forced the explanation out. The distrust and fear that mixed in her gaze, even without the company of words, seemed plain. Had his eyes betrayed him like that when they asked after his sister? The thought spawned frost over his heart. He tried to name it. Shame.
"M-my excuse?"
"Ha!" The laugh was pulled from him at the sight of Andrei's perplexed face. The density of his compatriot's skull never failed to amuse.
"What? What excuse?" Andrei's upper lip rose in utter incredulity. "...Is she making fun of me?"
When Yason spoke, he addressed Rena, in the midst of his words catching sight of the blonde doctor, Zoi, as she took a seat at their table. "If he had an excuse, no one would hold it against him. In some cases, as it is with his, the sad truth is that this is the way he came from his mother's womb." The ambiguity that clothed Yason's words would surely throw Andrei off the scent.
Even though he felt safely free from the consequences of his mockery, Yason clammed his mouth shut, for a new tension filled the air now that the doctor had joined them. Like Yason, Andrei didn't look her in the eye. They had been given a rundown of the crew before coming aboard the ship, and they recognized the snake. Between comrades, the Lifeguards concluded that her abnormal beauty was artificial, an illusion of runic tattoos, the kind that snakes were prone to seek.

 

[Blemmigan]

Rena Katsouli
The mess hall

She allowed herself a smile at Yason's reply, more out of gratitude than anything else, even though he'd recoiled from her touch as though burned. His friend was less pleased, and looked about to speak when the person who had just sat down took over his attention.
Surely the woman who had quietly joined them had to notice the uncomfortable silence that had gripped the table. Instead, she seemed absorbed in whatever she was doing, strands of her blonde hair gradually falling over her eyes.
Rena was confused by the hush. Did the soldiers know her?
She tried to remember seeing her before on the ship, but soon lost interest. There was something familiar about her, but for now she could have been any highborn scholarly lady that made up the backdrop of Hellinopolis. As for the soldiers, it was probably fascination at seeing a pretty face up close.
Rena inwardly sighed. She didn't have time for any of that, so she barged on ahead with a conversation she had no interest in.
"So, how are you finding the voyage?" she asked, far more brightly than she felt.

 

[DatDerpyCookie]

Although Zoi had noticed the silence that fell, annoyance at the soldiers' knowledge of her prompted her to continue taking notes for a bit. Although she knew that someone recognizing her would be inevitable, she had preferred to not acknowledge it. Though now, it seemed rather impossible to deny her state of infamy. The doctor flicked her gaze between each of the soldiers, noting that they avoided eye contact at all costs. Although she would've appreciated a more trustful gaze from them, she was grateful for the fact that they didn't hide their thoughts about her. A soldier's blunt unease around her was infinitely better than the agitating couched insults of a scholar, in her opinion.
Zoi raised her eyebrow a bit as she saw the redheaded soldier bury his hand in a fist. Judging from his tensed hand, she suspected he was hiding some sort of wound. Since he looked nervous - no, it wasn't anxiousness written on his face; maybe shame? - Zoi didn't bring up the injury. She'd treat it later, when she had a chance to discreetly slip him a bandage under the table. Right now, however, she had no hope of doing anything in private, seeing as everyone's gaze was on her. Maybe when the silence broke, she could help him. Should she say something? Or would it seem like a brash move on her part? Maybe they wouldn't care, since-
Zoi snapped her head up as Rena spoke. Though the engineer looked rather weary, she sounded oddly bright. Must be attempting to break the silence, Zoi thought. "The voyage has gone quite smoothly for me so far. Though I can't say the same for a good portion of the ship, as they seem to be constantly afflicted with seasickness. A little odd, considering that we're nowhere near any oceans." As Zoi turned her face to Rena, she felt relief wash over her. Finally, someone who didn't recognize her.

 

[Killigrew]

Yason Sokolov Mess Hall

"Yeah. How strange..." Andrei remarked drily, nudging Yason. He continued in a grating falsetto. "And why the same sailors cycling over and over... Why do they drool when they meet my gaze? Such a mystery..."
"Alright, Andrei, put a cork in it." It sure sounded like she was boasting surreptitiously, but Yason would hate to see her look the other way should his comrade be hurt. "Forgive him, we didn't get very much rest last night. You might've heard the sailors raising a fuss. It took a long while to settle them."
The minstrel's final song had lit a passion so amplified by booze that the soldiers had to keep watch over the sailors until daybreak. Their demand was for just one more song, but the captain had set certain hours. There would be no arguing.
Sighing, Yason took to answering Rena's question, "Aside from that, we've had an easy time of it, whiling the hours staring at the sun 'til the day something appears on the horizon... Let's just hope we don't end up right back where we started with nothing to show for it." He drummed a hand on the table as a thought struck him. "Say, Rena, have you heard of a rune that glows red?"
"Ax , Yason, not that again," Andrei's complaint fell on deaf ears.
"No, really. Anything that could light the horizon like the sunset?"

 

[Emiya Shin]

Aera AeropoulosStoreroom

"10 boxes of potatoes, 20 bags of grains, 25 bags of dried meat and vegetables..."

Aera muttered to herself as she performed stock-taking for food supplies and other inventories for Officer Vaughn. With a stack of invoices on her left hand and a quill on her right she inspects the supplies in the dusty storeroom. As the invoices themselves, each of them has a hand-drawn Dog rune, created maybe to observe Aera's actions and perhaps discourage her from doing any unjust actions. Once she finds the items in the store tally with the invoices, Aera puts a tick on the related invoices.

"10 barrels of rum, 10 bags of starch..."

She continued on with her work diligently, as sweat motioned downwards from her forehead...


Mess Hall

After a sigh of relief, Aera entered the mess hall as she was parched and hunger for food. As soon she entered the mess hall, its stench stung the minstrel's sensitive nose as she wrinkled it.

"Ugh. Never got used to it. Soraya's taverns and inns smelled better..."

She thought to herself as she queued for food. Some of the folks noticed her and smiled, which Aera promptly responded in kind. After she has gotten her own plate of sludgy stew and water, Aera began to find a suitable seat to have her lunch. While she was making her way to a table near the two soldiers in red and two other women, the rowdy bunch of sailors from yesterday cheered wildly for Aera. There was nothing much the minstrel can do aside from smiling as brightly as possible to them as she passed by.

"Phew. That was close..."

Aera mused to herself as she placed her dinner on the table, preparing to eat it. It did not take long for the minstrel to have her eyes met with the two soldiers, the female doctor and the woman with a golden scar on her face seated at the next table over. She merely smiled at them as a form of polite gesture, before eating her dinner.

Killigrew DatDerpyCookie Blemmigan

 

[Blemmigan]

Rena Katsouli
The mess hall

Oh, the ship's doctor. There was an atmosphere at the table that Rena knew she wasn't quite picking up on, but she didn't have it in her to figure out what it was. It was probably something that she had missed out on: that was the consequence of spending so much of her time by herself, while everyone else was forming friendships to make the long voyage more bearable. Aside from seeing people walk by as she worked, to Rena everyone was essentially a stranger.
Still, it was surprisingly pleasant to hear a Hellinopolis accent, even if it was one from the nicer side of town.
"Oríste? Runes lighting up the horizon?"
A cheer went up from the rowdy table nearby, and Rena wasn't sure if she had heard him right.
The colour was not so unbelievable. There were plenty of runes that Rena didn't know, particularly those in other fields. Most of those she used were white, but she found herself thinking of the engine room, and the way the runes would constantly link up with one another, re-enforcing themselves over and over. Those gave off a soft yellow light as they worked, making the metal glow from within. So there could be a rune that shone red, just one that she had never seen before.
It was the idea of one being powerful enough to light up the sky that caught her attention.
"I don't know," she admitted, but before she could appear too useless, she went on: "Something that bright could be more than one rune, if they were combined into something bigger. Or it could be a fire... we don't know what's out there. She stared into the middle distance, troubling thoughts swirling, barely noticing the woman she ended up looking at. "Is that what's ahead of the ship?"

 

[Coin]

Jura the Vagrant​

_ _ _​

THE CROW'S NEST

Ding!

Jura jolted awake as the watch in his pocket gave a singular ring that reverberated throughout the cramped box that served as the ship's crows nest. In his dramatic wakeup, he knocked over a precariously stacked pile of chart books that he had placed on top of an empty storage crate that doubled as a makeshift table. Grumbling and griping, the navigator adjusted his wooden seat and scooped up the books, placing them back at the table with an exasperated thump.

After getting situated, Jura fished out a pen from one of his heavy coat's many pockets, dabbing it on his tongue before rifling through the logbook to the freshest page. In his scrawled handwriting, he penned the hundredth entry of their journey.

18:20 -- Heading: 89.52 degrees, due East.

Blowing the ink dry, Jura eyed the other ninety nine of his entries -- each made within one hundred minutes of the last. Not a single one gave a variance of more than a tenth degree from their initial course. Jura closed the logbook with a great big grin on his face, the ship was practically doing his job for him. Feeling more than confident now, he dug his watch out and flipped the alarm off. A full night's rest finally awaited him after an entire week of tracking the ship's course.

Jura slipped on his iron-soled boots as he finished bundling up in all of his safety equipment. Once everything in the nest was secure, he propped open the sheet door and met the howling evening wind, several dozen feet above the deck below. Rung after rung, Jura began the arduous descent to the main deck for a well-deserved hot meal.

THE MESS

Once Jura had entered the mess hall, he shed his safety harness and slung it over one shoulder. The straps and hooks jingled against each other with each step he took as he picked up a tray of food for himself. As he looked for a place to sit, he passed the crowd of sailors on reprieve and gave them a tip of his hat.

"Evenin' gentlemen, another game'a dice later?" Jura winked.

"Piss off, Jura," One of the sailors waved his hand to shoo the navigator away. "My pockets are empty, thanks to you."

"Ai, Jozeph, how about we play triples in your favor?" Jura called back to the sailor, ever-present smirk practically glowing.

Jura was met with a chorus of boos and laughter from the sailors as Jozeph gave him a vulgar hand gesture in response. Having tormented the sailors enough, Jura slunk into an already crowded table consisting of the ship's doctor, a few soldiers and another unfamiliar face. Seated next to the soldiers, Jura dropped his harness onto the floor behind him with an audible clatter, followed by his tray on the table.

"Mind if it sits?" Jura shed his cap and asked no one in particular, though he was already seated and digging in.

 

[DatDerpyCookie]

Zoi Demetriou

The Mess Hall

Zoi merely laughed at Andrei. "Ah, of course I'll forgive him! After all, I suppose he can't help being a little jealous~" She sang in the same irritating falsetto the soldier just used. She leaned back in her seat, the bit of fun relaxing her. Andrei's mockery was much easier - and frankly, far more fun - to retaliate to than the subtle animosity of her Hellinopolis peers. Indeed, he'd be quite amusing to mess with, and would surely provide entertainment during the long voyage. Although, maybe it wouldn't be wise to irritate a member of the Lifeguard Company...
Yason's question pulled Zoi out of her musings, sending her mind speeding down a different path. Although she'd heard rumors of powerful runes that glowed blood red, the doctor didn't quite believe them. They sounded like tall tales, especially since there was a scarce amount of formal information on them. Then again, the red runes may just be a well kept secret disguised as a folk tale...
Again, Zoi was yanked out of her thoughts, this time by the clank of a harness falling to the floor. As she glanced up from her thoughts, she noticed the ship's navigator and the popular minstrel. Although she heard bits and pieces of the minstrel's song the night before, it was mostly drowned out by the hoots and cheers of drunken sailors. Despite this, it was obvious from the tidbits Zoi heard that the brunette was quite skilled in her field, and worthy of respect. Her eyes then flicked to the navigator, whose playful smirk sharply contrasted with his intimidating features. Though she hadn't gotten the chance to acquaint herself with him, she'd heard frequent complaints of the navigator draining the wallets of gamblers. A subtle smile played at the corners of Zoi's lips; maybe he could teach her a few poker strategies?
"You two are Aera and... Juram, right? The minstrel and the navigator?" Zoi asked, turning to the two new arrivals with a friendly smile.

 

[Killigrew]

Yason SokolovMess Hall

"Is that what's ahead of the ship?

"No, behind us. I saw... I'm not sure what. Something like a sunset on the horizon, painting the sky with red light, and then as soon as I saw it, it vanished back into that black fade -- you can barely see it now. Agatha." The weight over him aleviated. The engineer's serious answer and careful concern was in agreement with the fear that Yason had hidden in his heart since he saw the red. He was grateful. It was as though she were reassuring him, saying, 'It was no mirage.'
And of course, Andrei had to stick his foot in. "Bah, it was only a trick of the light. I sure didn't see anything like what he's describing. Just blue above, blue beside, and more blue below."
"Would some trick of the light stain my eyes?" He shot back. "Even now when I close them, I can see it... blurred, in bright shadows."
The navigator joined them. Jura, came the name from his memories. Yason greeted him with a nod, trying to forget his anger against Andrei, and his compatriot all but leapt to his feet, extending his hand to the man and shaking it exuberantly. The guy was a quite the sycophant when it came to anyone more suave and handsome than he was, as though by slurping over their boots he might lap up some of their charm.
As Yason averted his eyes, the sailors rose up in a chant, calling upon their beloved minstrel to raise her voice in song once more. It began with a clap, then growing in strength as Dzhek joined in, raising the chorus with his gravely bellow.

 

[Blemmigan]

Rena Katsouli
The mess hall

The table Rena was at was slowly growing busier and noisier, and usually by now she would have left. She still had some food left, but it was even less appetising cold and congealing than it was warm, and it simply wasn't worth warming it up again.
But she stayed, leaning forward slightly to better listen to what Yason was saying over the sound of clanging metal, and the clapping and whooping of sailors trying to coax the room into song. Rena had avoided spending any time on the weather decks, telling herself it was simply because there was nothing to see. But now, here was the news that someone had seen something, even if he just as easily might have imagined it.
"Agatha?" she asked. "Perhaps it's something normal, but can only be seen from out here." Saying it out loud was like hearing a scholar discussing a curious anomaly, not a disaster to worry about. To be honest, she wasn't sure which of them she was trying to reassure: Yason's unease was a little contagious. "After all, nobody knows what goes on there. Maybe this is something routine, but nobody has been able to see it before."

 

[Coin]

Jura the Vagrant​

_ _ _​

THE MESS

"Jura, actually. Juram is my third cousin," He winked at Zoi as he corrected her slight mistake. Honestly, Jura did not even know if he had a third cousin.

He wasn't quite sure what the folks at the table were talking about, but he made no honest attempt to pry. He just wanted to eat in the company of others and not by his lonesome, especially now that he was confident that this job would be a piece of cake. However, he was seemingly not given the chance to plainly eat in peace as one of the Lifeguard soldiers rocketed from his feet and all but tore his own arm off while they shook hands.

"Yes, comrade, it's a pleasure to acquaint with you too," Jura said to the soldier, once he retrieved his arm. Thankfully, being around other Ordunians didn't bother him in the slightest anymore, as he'd spent so much time away from home, his home dialect and accent had all but disappeared in favor of a more neutral sailor's tongue.

Jura finally returned to his meal of slop and dry crumbles, keeping an ear to the table to get some context. Talk of Agatha piqued his attention; those spooky witches always managed to find their way into old sailor tales that Jura had heard a million times over in his travels. By now, Jura was more convinced that the witches were not isolated because of some dark rituals or forbidden magic, but because they were too ugly to mingle with the rest of society. It would be more believable than the tall tales of Agatha boogeymen that drain down the gutter aboard month-long voyages.

 

[Emiya Shin]

Aera AeropoulosMess Hall

Jura, the navigator soon joined the others at their table, asking for their permission to sit. The others did not shoo him away, as Yason shook his hand heavily and Zoi turned towards them.

"You two are Aera and... Juram, right? The minstrel and the navigator?"

The navigator amusingly replied to the doctor. As for Aera...

"Yes!" The brunette replied. "Tis' I, the humble minstrel!" She said with a degree of cheerfulness.

Aera continued to eat her food, until chants and claps can be heard from the crowd of sailors behind the group. The minstrel sighed as it goes louder and louder. She sighed. Noticing that Yason and the others are trying to have a conversation, Aera realized that she has to calm down the ruckus.

"Um guys..." The minstrel got up from her stool and turned at the rowdy sailors with an embarrassed expression. "Can you at least let me finish my food? I..." She anxiously paused before continuing. "I think I can give you a song, okay?"

Then, she promptly sat down, facing the group in front of her.

"I'm sorry for causing all this trouble..." Aera apologized.

 

[DatDerpyCookie]

Zoi Demetriou

The Mess Hall

"Ah, apologies Jura, I'm not good with names. And it's nice to meet you, Aera." Zoi chuckled, then cast an annoyed glance at Andrei. She'd seen many a boot licker in Hellinopolis, and this one didn't appear to be any different than the rest. Actually, he was different than those who blindly followed scholars in Hellinopolis; the sailor had no goal of gaining any knowledge from Jura. Andrei merely wants to copy Jura's behavior, she thought. A little sad, to be honest; it was obvious that the sailor couldn't produce his own charm, so what other choice does he have than to learn from others?

She quietly watched as Aera tried to placate the sailors, a scowl tugging the corners of her mouth down. Although the obnoxious sailors provided a nice distraction from her, they were almost too irritating for her to stay sitting. Alas, it would be quite rude for her to suddenly up and leave; plus, she still had one responsibility. Zoi subtly slipped a hand into her pocket, and pulled out a small bandage. She reached under the table, and pressed it into Yason's hand, hoping that he'd use it on his poor thumb. No injury deserves to be left untreated, she thought; even if that injury is on a rather distrustful soldier.

A sympathetic smile replaced her annoyed expression as the minstrel sat back down. "No need to apologize, minstrel. Really, those drunken sailors should be the ones apologizing... They're quite insufferable when intoxicated, no?"

 

[sharramon]

The Deck

“It’s good to know that our our city is still producing bright minds,” Ovid pronounced gruffly, offering his hand.

Orpheus gave a sheepish smile, and shook it.

“Thank you for having me for dinner captain. I’ll try to be of as much service as possible.”

Captain Ovid gave a curt nod, and stepped back into his room, shutting the door behind him.

Orpheus walked over to the taffrail and sat against it. The deck was empty, most of the people probably either still eating or having decided to avoid the chill that came with the sunset. But, it was still a little early to go to bed, and since he had just eaten going to the mess hall seemed like a pointless endeavor. The wind moved briskly past him, snatching at his long hair. The sun had disappeared over the horizon, and the last of the daylight had all but faded into pastel orange hues. The lingering rays caught the grooves of inlaid runes on metal plates that were nailed onto the wood. They were complicated commands, written for the absorption and transference of energy, and moisture control of the wood. No doubt there was a piece of wood somewhere on the ship that was used as a control for reference. While blankly staring at the lines of runes Orpheus came to a small conclusion.

“Great day to read outside.”

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a small book of myths. From inside his inner pocket he pulled out a small black cuboid. It had a pin that Orpheus used to anchor it securely onto his coat. On its front side, there was a curved piece of glass. Orpheus put his hand on the device and muttered an incantation. Light shone out of the glass, illuminating the area in front of him.

The material that the small device was made of was called Bericite, and its most interesting property was that it was capable of storing vast amounts of energy inside it, with only the mild effect of becoming slightly warm. Currently, Orpheus’ chunk of Bericite was turning some of that stored energy into light, allowing him to read. It was one of his more prized possessions, as Bericite was difficult to come by. Molten salt was the preferred method of energy storage on the islands. In fact, this ship was running on large slabs of Bericite which had been charged fully before the journey, and had additional energy from the wind and sun being continuously fed into them as they flew. But for all this potential, Orpheus was still most pleased that his piece gave him a near infinite source of light.

Pulling his coat tighter around him to ward off the wind he opened his book, and his eyes landed on the first lines of the ancient epic.

Sing to me of man, oh muse
Of knowledge plundered from the skies...

 

[Killigrew]

"Agatha?" she asked. "Perhaps it's something normal, but can only be seen from out here." Saying it out loud was like hearing a scholar discussing a curious anomaly, not a disaster to worry about. To be honest, she wasn't sure which of them she was trying to reassure: Yason's unease was a little contagious. "After all, nobody knows what goes on there. Maybe this is something routine, but nobody has been able to see it before."

Yason chewed the inside of his cheek as he took in her answer. Finally, he shook his head, and said with a sudden laugh, “I haven’t the foggiest what you mean. How could we only see it from all the way out here, a week’s journey away, and not when we are nearer? Explain…”
The touch of cloth snuck into his palm, and he rose up tall in his seat, completely startled. As her finger brushed the web of his thumb, he met the doctor’s eyes, and saw, or thought he saw in them, the warmth of kindness. He started to thank her, but instead looked away, bewildered.
As the minstrel returned to her seat, the conversation took a different turn. Andrei began to speculate on what manner of island they may find in the weeks to come, rather assured it could not be far from them. The sailor spun a tale about some ludicrous place, a large and expansive palace that spewed endless riches. Silence was not staying comfortably with Yason after that, so he put in a far more reasonable kind of discovery: a small collection of islands like theirs, but without witches. Aera seemed to agree, adding fertile greenlands and foreign cultures unlike theirs, “and perhaps they’ll raise very large lizards!”
But Rena seemed doubtful.

”If there are others out there, why haven't they come to visit us? Unless they don't have cities and universities and... and society like we do."

Now, Yason swore, he needed an interpreter to understand her. How could anyone live without cities or universities or society? After all these years, how could they remain in squalor? It just didn’t make sense to him, but he knew better than to question a scholar, so he merely winced.
The doctor, however, seemed to understand. The excitement she bore came near to rambling.

"Well, I think we'll encounter people who are similar to us, though of course they'll have much less advanced technology- after all, if they had our technological expertise, they would've already met us, no? Other than that, they'll probably have different genetics, different adaptations... Maybe they have their own human-animal hybrid species, like how we have winged people. In any case, they'll provide ample opportunity for research."

As they finished their plates and the conversation drew to a close, Aera took the stage within the small mess hall and raised her voice in song. The comforting melody washed over all their hearts, agreeing happily with their warm and full bellies, and every one went to their cots satisfied, soon to slumber.
Weeks passed from that time, one after the other without rest. The routine began to settle over them like new clothes, fitting awkwardly at first, and then comfortably. In his free hours, Yason would at times visit the rumbling engine room belowdeck and listen to the engineer pontificate on the possibilities of his vision that day until he could bear no more of the stretching of his mind. His thumb, too, had been patched over by the doctor; the stitches at last leaving only a smiling scar behind. It was strange, feeling grateful to a Snake, and he tried his best to forget the sentiment.

Main Deck
When day broke on the thirty-first day of the voyage, and as the Lifeguard Company matched swords atop the main deck, their strokes careful and sure, blades just missing the bite of flesh, Yason was struck with a strange sight.
Morning exercises were prescribed by Serzhant Mikhail to stimulate vigilance in his men. No man caught being anything less than ready for action earned a night in the brig. The demand was iron-clad, and that was just enough to motivate them. So they sparred with dull metal blades that reached just centimeters from their face. One misstep and the pain to blossom would by no means be forgotten.
So when I say that Yason saw something, I mean that he saw a frantic Sorayan girl burst from the captain's quarters, something clutched in her fist.
And when I say that he was struck, I mean that Andrei's dull blade connected with his left shoulder and bruised through to its bone.

Setting InfoProgress: A month into the Great Journey
Time: Sunrise
Weather: Overcast and grey
Travel: A gentle speed and a purring engine

 

[Dominaiscna]

Nasrin "Bastenobia" Diaz

Nestled into a hidden corner within the depths of the ship, the Sorayan curled in on herself so that she looked like a bundle of feathers, shivering against the cold metal of the wall. The clothes she was wearing were too thin to protect her against the coldness of the lower decks that were always hidden away from the warmth of sunlight and where temperatures dropped to dangerously low at night. Though most of the day, she sneaked out to the command tower roof where she could stay under the sun and keep warm while also keeping watch, but at night she could not risk sleeping high and sliding off the ship. There would be no wings to save her from the abyss below. So at night, she sneaked back into the depths to rest.

Though she seemed to be sound asleep, the Sorayan jerked awake at the quietest sound of scuffling and scratching along the metal of the floor. In an instant, she was fully alert. Her body remained deadly still though her eyes flickered around the barely lit cargo hold, quickly getting accustomed to the darkness. Her ears seemed to twitch as she heard more scuffling and a hand went to the dagger at her side, white knuckled fingers curling around the hilt. The noise seemed to draw nearer and nearer and with every scratch, Nasrin tensed further, pale eyes narrowed until something appeared behind one of the crates.

However, it was a very small something.... only about a few inches tall. The creature before her was strange to say the least. It looked like one of those land creatures called raccoons...yet it had patagium much like flying squirrels. And in its little claws was a small roll of noticeably moldy bread. Its two eyes starred back at her from the darkness as both stowaways seemed to size each other up, seeming to calculate how worth it it was to fight over that piece of bread. However, if they did end up fighting over food, it was clear who would win and they would probably end up drawing the attention of the whole ship. In defeat, the creature put down the piece of bread.

Nasrin scrunched up her nose slightly at the sacrificial offering before waving a dismissive hand at the creature. She wasn't that desperate and, with one look at the bump of the animal's belly, she knew that it had more than one mouth to feed. "Take it. You need it more than I do," she commented before face-palming slightly. She had just talked to an animal like it would understand her... Feeling mortifyingly stupid, the Sorayan got up from her hiding place, groaning softly as she stretched out her stiff limbs. If she started to lose her sanity, she was blaming the whole blasted "Great Journey". However, the rumble of her stomach changed her mind's focus to more important things. Food.

With wings tiredly trailing the cool metal of the floor, she stumbled out of the darkness, headed for the morning light from above where voices and cheers rang in the new day.

~~

To anyone else, it was probably a terrible idea, an incredibly stupid idea for her, a stowaway. to deliberately get herself caught by the Captain. Even as she followed him to his cabin, Nasrin was questioning her decisions. Was it too late to throw herself off the side of he boat? No. This was for the best. And besides, her Majesty hadn't actually specified how she could get information... and this way, she might even be able to wander around more freely, have a place to sleep while also getting food. She just had to tread carefully and play her cards right.

Once she had entered his office, the Sorayan kept up her anxious expression as she heard the soft click of the lock in the door. Okay... so she'd have to find another exit if it came to it. Sneaking his key out of his pocket and putting it into the door to unlock it would take too much time. However, there was a window on one side of the room. It was open slightly, potentially enough for her to wrench it out the rest of the way and jump through. That might work...however - her eyes flickered back to the captain as he produced a piece of paper from a small chest - a contract.

When she had been noticed and singled out by the captain, Nasrin had spun up a story about her being a late addition to the crew yet from the tenseness in the way he strode to his hand brushing the cloak near his sword, he did not believe one bit of it. Chances were, he was up to something so she'd have to be careful. He'd stated that he'd have to have her sign a contract to officially assign her as part of the crew but as the runes lit up across the paper, the Sorayan's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She'd learn to read and recognize runic symbols and what he'd produced was something else... it was a contract for slavery that would be sealed with her blood. It would be no less than selling her soul.

From what she had heard, Captain Ovid was quite the leader, worthy of such a crew and ship, of such a journey. But, she had also learnt that he had bet every cent he had on this trip. Now what would happen if this were to got out ? What would he do to preserve his place as the captain? His future? Nothing a little public persuasion wouldn't help. What she had in mind was gonna be quite the painful act... but if it worked, then she would be all good and completely in the clear.

She glanced up for a split second, spying how the captain eyed her suspiciously before reaching over for the small blade on the table, next to the paper. Bringing it up to her hand, Nasrin winced ever so slightly as the blade cut into the skin of her thumb, drawing blood. She could still feel his eyes trained on her. She made to put the knife back on the table but it slipped from her fingers and with her already cut hand, she caught the knife on its sharp side, feeling the blade slice across the skin of her palm. She let out a cry, sinking to her knees vulnerably and as the captain got up and approached her with his hands reaching out, she took him by surprise and hard shoved him away, bright red blood splattering onto his hand, arm and shirt.

With him momentarily distracted, she grabbed the contract with her uninjured hand and made a run for it, slamming open the window and clambering out. Before he could even get to his feet, Nasrin was running down the hallways of the ship, leaving a trail of blood as she went. She'd spied a group of soldiers sparring out on the deck as the captain led her inside... so she supposed they would still be there. Tracing her way through the ship, she broke out into the sunlight, temporarily blinded by the brightness. There six soldiers were sparring and one looked her way, eyes opening wide as his friend caught him in the collar. Good.

Seeming to stumble and limp, Nasrin made it to the steps that led down to the main deck. Her wings were half open in the breeze and, in the sunlight, huge spots of dried and crumbling blood stained her usually brown and white feathers, shorn off untidily and violently at the ends.. The unnatural shape created by her clipped wings, out for everyone to see, made her want to collapse in on herself in shame, sadness and embarrassment... but not yet. Maybe when she was in the privacy and darkness of her own room... but not now.

Clambering down the steps, the Sorayan seemed to trip and tumble down the rest of the way, feathers exploding in a cloud around her as she hit the wooden deck. Pain wracked her bones and she felt something very wrong with her ankle...but still tried to get back to her feet and when she couldn't, her gaze flickered to the sea of faces scattered around her and her pale eyes landed on the closest person to her, the man from earlier with his hand still clutching his blade. "Help me..." Nasrin cried out, voice cracking ever so slightly. With her bloodied hand, she reached out towards the soldier, real tears gathering at the corners of her eyes at the mortification of the situation and the pain throughout her body. "He's ... he's going to get me..don't let him get me..," she begged softly and almost helplessly, eyes holding his, "please... help me."

 

[Killigrew]

Yason SokolovMain Deck
The hand reaching forward, small and trembling: it was all he saw. The soft voice, shaken with desperation: it was all he heard. And when the eyes, large and fearful, caught him, Yason could no longer manage. His stomach tightened, throat constricted, and it was all he could do to breathe.
A call echoed from the heart. "Yaysa... Yaysa..."
"No," the word uttered, gutteral. "No, dont cry. Don't cry, it's--safe--stay with me, you're safe now." He took hold of the Sorayan girl, the pain that blossomed from his shoulder scarcely registering, and turned her hand over in his, seeing the blood that wept. "Medic! Call the--" Fire curled his stomach. "Girl, who did this? Who was it?"
"Yason!" The serzhant called. "Who is that?! That girl, who is she? What is she doing up here?"
"Not now, Serzhant!" He knew he made a huge mistake just then, but he did not break his gaze from the girl. Dimly, he realized that of all the faces he had memorized on this ship, he had never seen hers.

 

[Dominaiscna]

Nasrin 'Bastenobia' Diaz

Main Deck

And Nasrin welcomed the careful hands around her and carefully leant into the protective warmth of his body, shivering slightly against the wind that roamed over the main deck. Though she kept her head dipped almost with her chin to her chest, she kept her eyes moving, darting behind the curtain of her lashes. Mostly, they remained on Yason, but otherwise flickered to the other people around them, gouging their reactions and movements.

As he turned over her hand, the Sorayan winced, wings shuddering at the movement. Her hand involuntarily shook in his grasp as piercing pain shot up her arm. Though overshadowed by her expression of fear and desperation, the frown on Nasrin's face grew. Perhaps, she'd wounded herself a little too well. Trying to move her sprained ankle confirmed that. And as the seconds ticked by, a black haze seemed to appear at the edges of her vision. She had lost quite a bit of blood.

"T-the..., " she choked out, shuddering and shaking like a flame in the wind, " The captain." Her gaze was trained on him, studying his expression. "He... he tried to make me... m-make me sign this..." slowly, she raised her uninjured hand with the contract. Now she had to lean her full body weight into him with none of her arms supporting her. "... I... it's a contract for... for slavery isn't it?"

And to seal the deal, as the serzhant neared, Nasrin turned and buried her face in his chest, curled up vulnerably and letting out a shuddering sob that she pretended to stifle, "... please.. please don't let him get me.."

 

[DatDerpyCookie]

Zoi Demetriou

The Healer's Office

Zoi was scribbling new healing rune ideas in one of her notebooks when she heard a commotion arising on the main deck. Assuming it was merely some sailors quarreling, she grumbled to herself and continued to work. She drowned out all the sounds of the world as she worked, and limited her view to the parchment in front of her. The doctor didn't notice as the commotion grew louder, still completely focused on her papers. Judging from the few illusion runes on some of these sailors' limbs, it's possible that a placebo effect-
The doctor's head suddenly jerked up as she heard a clear call of distress from the main deck.
"Medic!"
Zoi grabbed her first aid kit and bolted up the stairs up to the main deck, cursing herself for not bothering to check on the cause of the noise sooner. She pushed and shoved her way through a gathering crowd until she reached Yason and a Sorayan woman she didn't recognize. The doctor quickly scanned the situation, and didn't refrain from cursing like the sailors she was surrounded by. "Someone, get something soft to lay her down on!" Zoi called as she rushed to the girl's side. She let out a breath of relief as she heard the Sorayan speaking, albeit plaintively. "Soldier, did you see what happened?" She asked Yason in a relaxed, cool voice as she popped open her first aid kit.