Sparrow on a Plank

Death At Sea - 35,120

2009-11-21T03:04:00.000-08:00

The sun had come up as it always had, with little fanfare and taking almost forever to take the chill off the world. They had crossed into The Spine just before dawn, and everyone was on edge. Rick had sent someone to wake Captain Taylor; he was already awake and double-checking his math. He had checked the location twice during the night, and was satisfied that they were on course. He only hoped that The Spine hadn't changed too much; in order to keep current on The Spine's details he bought all the usual charts, but his insight into the current allowed him to guess where the monsters lay. His guesses had to be accurate, or everyone aboard might be dead by dinner.

Rick was still up, even after surrendering the wheel to the captain. He knew that he should get some sleep, but he preferred to be on his feet in case something happened. He already had made sure everyone was armed, and that the cannons were in fast-load mode; he was doing everything he could to ensure that the captain could concentrate on steering the ship through the current. Sal was ready as she could be; she had made sure that her daggers were in their sheaths, and that they were all sharpened. In all honesty, there was little else she could reasonably do considering her expertise was avoiding combat rather than wading into it. Hajime had given her a half dozen glass vials of naphtha, and throw them at whatever target presented itself would be all that she could do.

Hajime's expertise was more in preparation. He could keep up, but would most likely fall behind as a straight combatant. The good news is that he was the most likely to survive any attack in and of itself, but that oddly didn't console him much considering how far he was from land. He had made sure that the ship's doctor (some kid in his mid-twenties who had some herbal remedies and some experience sewing stitches on his idiot older brothers) had some healing potions, and Sal had something to throw at whatever popped its head (or any other body part)at them. However, like Rick, he was helping to relieve some of the captain's stress by helping with calculating their location, and giving updates every twenty minutes or so. Captain Taylor and he had checked and double-checked the course that both had memorized the route, and so the confirmations were more like a security blanket than of any actual use.

Captain Taylor himself was actually sort of enjoying himself. He always liked sailing The Spine, if for no other reason than it reminded him of his squandered youth. Sure, a monster could pop up any moment and ruin the mood, but that was unlikely. He was more worried about ordering someone to split apart Rick and Sal due to some lover's quarrel; apparently the lack of long-term romantic plans eliminated any real friction. That was a shame as the crew liked things that they could bet on; there was even a betting pool on when the first major argument would be. Outside of the potential threat, however, it was actually fine sailing weather; the wind was at his back, the sun was shining, and even the clouds were behaving and blocking the sun while not threatening rain. The current was his only problem, and it needed to be watched continuously; he was making constant adjustments to deal with the current putting them where he didn't want to be. The only thing that really irritated him was that he couldn't whistle merrily; for some reason his whistling disconcerted his crew.

“AHOY! Man overboard!” At the call, everyone snapped to. The noon sun beat down on the crew as they prepared for the rescue. Captain Taylor's happy mood disappeared as he steered the boat to the unconscious man in the water. They were just about to grab him when Edrickson (one of the men just hired in Cyrill) noticed that he more bloated than he should be. Captain Taylor swore under his breath as he realized what was going on and tried to steer his way out of there.

“Rick! Prepare for a fight!”

That was there only warning. The head of some arthropoidal leviathan breeched the surface, followed by segmented tentacles and shelled pincers. It appeared to be shrimp the size of a whale, with tentacles where a normal shrimp would have feelers. Its tail was beating the water in order to keep it afloat; if not for the captain's quick steering it would have impaled itself on the hull. However, the very action of that gargantuan tail made steering almost impossible even as it helped the boat keep away from the shrimp itself. The shrimp was able to compensate quickly enough, and so was able to attack the Hell's Wrath, attempting to grab onto with its gigantic claws as the tentacles grabbed for sailors.

It did not attack with impunity, however. The crew went to work defending their ship immediately. The captained turned the ship as soon as he could, so as to give as many crew members a chance at attacking as possible, and to get the cannons into the fight. As the cannons were being loaded, those with ranged weapons attacked what they could, peppering the eye and body with arrows and bullets. Those with swords and axes chopped at the tentacles that reached for them and their fellow sailors. Sal tosssed her vials at the tentacles, and the naphtha exploded. The several mages let loose with their spells, and gouts of fire and electricity sprayed the monster. The leviathan kept up its attacks, used to fighting creatures capable of much more damage than these mosquitoes.

Tentacles weren't just seeking crew members; they were also ripping through rigging, punching holes in sails, and causing other incidental damage as they sought out the men. Most of the tentacles were stopped before they could reach their targets, but a few did get through, carrying a man screaming away to the abyss of its maws. It was a battle of double attrition for the crew of the Hell's Wrath; not only were they losing men but they were losing the ship itself as well. But there was no time to grieve just yet; there was only time for survival. They had to continue fighting or they would lose even more lives.

Hajime looked towards the captain. “Would a little more speed help, captain?”

The captain was concentrating on steering, as the ship was bucking like horse thanks the shrimp's efforts to keep itself afloat by flailing at the water with its tail. “It couldn't hurt!”

Hajime started casting a wind spell. His final gesture was punctuated by the loud explosion of cannon fire from below. Four dozen cannonballs sped to the shrimp, puncturing the shrimp as the sails filled with new wind. The shrimp began losing fluids, causing it to slow a little as the boat almost left the water, hydroplaning for a few hundred feet, and dropping back into the water. The wind was just a burst, but it was able to free the ship from the leviathan's attention. The monster sunk below the surface of the water, choosing to speed away rather than fight the boat.

However, whereas their foe could rest and heal its wounds, its would-be prey could not. The men went to work almost immediately, fixing ruined rigging and doing a quick inspection. They also did a quick headcount, discovering that the leviathan had taken eight men, men that would be grieved; their widows and children would be given a fair share of the profits when they arrived back at Cyrill, and Captain Taylor hoped that it would be enough to enable them to live for a little while at least, allowing them the time they needed to grieve and a way to start over. The men would be grieved soon enough, but the ship needed to be repaired before anything else could happen; again, survival took precedence over other needs, even though some of the men were crying already.

Captain Taylor left the repairs to Rick; he needed to concentrate on where they were and getting out of the current. Hajime had already calculated where they were and presented those findings to Captain Taylor. The captain nodded and steered the ship towards the now near edge of the current. The two of them concentrated on leaving the current, and debated various tacking and what would happen if they tried other ways of leaving quickly.

By dinnertime, what repairs could be done were done. They still needed to repair parts of the hull, but the ship would need to be in dry dock to effect the remaining repairs. Captain Taylor called the men together as the sun set. He had Thomlinson bring out his bagpipes and play a dirge in the background. Thonlinson didn't know how to play bagpipes quietly, but figured he may as well give it a go.

“The sea is a mother that we hate when we think she's been unfair, but that's just like the children we ultimately are. Their loss saddens us, and we know that it's the cost for our line of work, but let us remember the departed in days of glory and sun, and leaven it with memories of who they were drunk and soaked. Those men have returned to the bosom of the mother that they loved more than their mothers in blood. We commend those men, despite what they may have owed in gold and anger, and hope that they will have a restful sleep in the arms of Mother Sea.”

The captain and Rick went to the captain's room to deal with the unforatunate paperwork. The crew dispersed, breaking into smaller groups. The smaller groups consoled each other, and then they would switch with other groups. After a few hours the crew had changed from sadness to drunkenness, having dealt with their crewmates demise and their own mortality.

The Spine of the World - 33,478

2009-11-20T22:28:00.000-08:00

Lord Ashigaru was amused. As he ate a leg of pork, he was reminded of the last operative that had given him news that was inaccurate. He knew that the item wasn't near some cannibal tribe; the last cannibal tribe on Jezreel had been “forcibly retired” almost a century ago; cannibals just don't work well with civilized society. She had been forced to help in the kitchen; Bubastos wasn't necessarily that civilized. The leg was delicious with a little brown gravy.

However, the next operative had been able to use her experience to find the correct book, and the correct information. It amused him that the artifact would be found just within a hundred miles of Coldport, where the Levitians had just suffered a major setback. It had been interesting to watch Prince Ta start sending out his operatives all over the world, hoping to obscure the actual operatives that would be finding the Stygian Edge. Once he knew the requirements for dealing with the guardian, it was just a matter of tracking the appropriate team. The respective party had finally stopped in Coldport, and were hiring a party to go the final few miles. The majority of their shleppers were in his employ, so at least that much was under his control; once the artifact had been secured, he could easily grab it from the heroes. He would have gone himself, except that it was, well, one of the few actually cold locations on Jezreel, and he didn't function too well in the cold, being mostly reptile and all.

He gnawed on the leg a bit more. Things were going good, and that was a bad thing; he needed to double-check his plans to ensure success. He was up against the single scariest individual he had ever been up against, and there were still wildcards in play. He just had to eliminate them, and quickly.

* * * * *

That scariest individual was face down in a massage parlor. His back was being kneaded and chopped, and he was on the verge of losing consciousness. He was in a very relaxed state. His plots were starting to pay off, and he may just yet save the world from a dangerous artifact; at least its being used by a truly dangerous individual who was in turn being used a very nasty group. Sure, the Levitians had been dealt a major blow, but they would recover; they always did and it was beginning to annoy him.

The massage was starting to really get to him. In a few moments he wouldn't care about anything. He decided to leave the work at the office, and let the masseuse do her thing. He would crush the opposition. After the massage, that is.

* * * * *

Going from Cyrill to Tigouslan was one of the longest trips you could make. Not only were they on opposite sides of the world, but the Spine of the World lay between them. The current ran from pole to pole, formed from the convergence of two major currents at the southern pole, and eventually forking into two other currents when it the north pole. The current went roughly straight for most of its run, with its twists and turns known to most that plied its waters, and there were no islands for its entire length. It averaged sixty miles across, becoming a thin ribbon of almost twenty miles with breakneck speeds in some spots to as as wide as 150 miles in others. It was filled with the most powerful monsters, who had staked their territory and defended it against all comers. In some of its eddied could be found underwater villages of merman and other races, but the villages had to move constantly due to the changing currents. There were some areas protected against the current by various formations, and those villages thrived.

Although it shifted a little in its course every few months, it was the most powerful current on the planet, and a direct path across it was simply not possible. A fast ship was required to even negotiate it; a slow boat would lose too much time as the current would take it hundreds of miles out of its path, and through the territories of dozens of monsters. Even the most experienced sailors did their level best to avoid the Spine of the World, for unless you had experience traversing it, you would be in for a wild ride with a good chance of encountering something that they would prefer not to.

Captain Taylor knew the risks, and yet knew several paths across that were reasonably safe. He had been the cabin boy of captains that used the Spine in order to escape capture by bounty hunters; the bounty hunters usually balked at the Spine, even though they would have done well if they had followed the ships they were chasing. Ironically, the paths weren't safe due to the lack of monsters but because of them; they were otherwise ideal spots for monsters, with schools of fish tens of miles wide and kelp beds allowing plenty of hiding. The more intelligent monsters vied for those spots, and that created some very bloody competition. The monsters fought each other for the spots, and the winners usually laid low as they healed. All of that activity made chasing surface ships a generally bad idea, as the ships, even if they failed in protecting themselves, would still do a lot of damage to the attacking monster. So the ships were reasonably safe from attack. Still ships had been destroyed and the crews eaten, so “reasonably” was no guarantee.

He had been hired to bring his charges to Tigouslan, however, and so was forced to brave The Spine. He had carefully plotted out the paths he needed to cross, and had ensured that he would enter The Spine at the right spot. They should be in and out in a day's journey, but it would be a stressful trip in and out. The cannons would be as ready to go as they could be, and everyone with a ranged weapon would have it ready. He had instructed the ship's mages to prepare accordingly, and the life boats had been inspected in case they were needed. He didn't like having to cross it, but if he was going to cross it, he was going to do so prepared as he could be.

Tomorrow morning they would start the crossing. Tonight he would offer prayers to Poseidon.

* * * * *

Rick took his turn at the wheel just after sunset, relieving the navigator. An hour afterwards, Sal came up to him. She embraced him from behind, squeezing his broad shoulders, and then gently massaging them.

“You know that's distracting, right?”

“Yep. That's why I'm doing it, and you apparently need it. Your muscles are tight enough to crack stone.”

“With good reason. Have you looked at the betting pools for tomorrow?”

“I'm in several of them. I find it sort of funny that some are betting against us making it tomorrow.”

“Well, that would be the smart way to bet. Captain Taylor is good, one of the best, but even for him crossing The Spine is as much luck as skill.”

“I just want to know how they'll collect if they're right.”

“Someone always survives. They either get lucky and are simply ignored, or they are used as bait and escape. Some manage to escape thanks to magic, and others are snatched by some rescuer, sometimes for a worse fate. It's some sort of law, I guess.”

“Do you have a plan if things go....against you? Or do you plan to live forever?”

“Meh. It would get boring if you had to live forever. I just hope I make some sort of mark before I depart this life.”

“Let's hope you become a hero without dying, then.”

“No, I don't want to become a hero. Too many of them became a hero by dying, or when they became one may as well have died. Becoming a hero usually means that everyone knows you, expects more of you, and sometimes want more of you than you can give, and if you don't give it then they hate forever. Give me enough to show I can do something, but not enough that someone actually cares about everything I do, so I can drop back into anonymity if I want to.”

“Interesting philosophy for someone who likes to be in the forefront.”

He smiled. “So I'm deep.”

She hugged him tighter. “There are worse things to be.”

He pulled her in front of him. She was facing the same way, she was just pressing against the wheel now instead of Rick. “Right now, I don't care about any of that. I will miss you when you're gone, but I can take what I can get for now.”

She leaned against the wheel. “Well, don't go missing me yet.” She turned around slowly, embracing him, her mouth moving closer to his ear so only he could hear. “No reason to miss me just yet.”

His body froze, not sure what to do. She slipped out of his arms, and walked back to her cabin with just enough wiggle to make it interesting to watch her leave. When she was out of sight he leaned against the wheel, smiling. He was really liking this particular voyage, and hoped it went on for a little longer.

Vikings and Pirates and Explosins, Oh My! - 31,855

2009-11-19T11:03:00.000-08:00

Prince Ta's office was an organized mess. He kept clipboards of current projects, with people and events linked logically by strings of six different colors. He had a stack of papyrus right next to a well-used quill. He even had books of cases, closed and open. But there seemed to be papers everywhere, covering virtually every surface. He had a nice oak desk somewhere underneath the papers.

Into this temple of bureaucracy crept a black-clad thief. She was looking for a book, and she had no idea where to begin looking for it. She knew it was some book of high magic, but that didn't help as much as it sounded. She knew it would be well protected, but it could have been in plain sight and it wouldn't have helped. In fact, it was possible that it being in plain sight would have been part of the security system. He just needed a single magic-suppression device and it would have foiled any detection device. She knew that Prince Ta was a cagey one; it would not have surprised her that he would have done something as sneaky as that Safes can be easily broken into, and traps defeated; it would have been more sneaky and cost-effective to have no defense system beyond organization. She had just under an hour to figure out where he had hidden the tome, do something about it, and make it look like no one had been there. She at least knew that the book had to be in this room; all attempts to scry for it had been pointless, and this was the only room that Prince Ta frequented that had any kind of suppression system in effect.

The first thing that she looked for was a place to hide. The guard would be through every fifteen minutes; the guard would be doing it just to be doing it, so he wouldn't be looking too closely. As long as she was quiet, she should have no problem hiding in the dark room. The desk would be the obvious place, as would be the closet, but she didn't need to hide there; the umbrella stand would be good enough for her purposes. She got to work, keeping an ear open for the guard.

She just had to figure out his system of organization, or at least find the book. At least she had moonlight to help her; it was nearly the half-moon, so it wasn't too dark, but that helped her hide so she was somewhat happy. She decided to look for a shape, not type; she just had to deal with camouflage. There were several false starts, but she started ignoring the obvious solutions, and hit her forehead with her bare hand when she realized that she was putting too much effort into looking. She dropped to the floor and looked at the legs of the desk; she saw that one of the legs was supported by a book with a thin piece of wood between it and the foot. She grabbed the book while supporting the desk; she quickly confirmed that she had found the book.

She only needed to look at a few pages in order to ascertain the information that she had been sent to find. She quickly found a replacement, realizing that the book's location on the creaky desk was part of the security system. Once she had found another book to support the desk (while memorizing where she had gotten it), she quickly looked through the book to find the information she was looking for. She found the map, just as Hajime had, and the passages about how to defeat the guardian, and quickly committed them to memory. She replaced the books and quickly snuck out of the office. She would have the information back to Bubastos in a few days, earning herself a nice commission.

In the morning Prince Ta would arrive, and see that someone had moved the book he had been protecting. Strangely, it had been moved to shore up the desk while someone read the copy he had conveniently made, with some of the information inside changed. He debated sending Lord Ashigaru a memorandum about the quality of help he was hiring, but decided to let it go. Besides, it would be interesting to see how he would do against a village of cannibals.

* * * * *

After Hajime had been gone for a few minutes, Captain Taylor decided to ignore the pirates for a few minutes and decide what to do about the vikings. He quickly ran through a few scenarios, and decided that the vikings weren't a major worry; if they decided to attack the Hell's Wrath he could blow them away before they even became a problem. After all, they may have some firearms, but they lacked the cannons that the galleon packed. He then smiled as he realized that they could actually help him.

“I need an archer, immediately!”

Thomlinson approached, the railing. A bit wiry, he was nonetheless a fine archer. “Aye, Captain!”

Captain Taylor quickly scribed a note and passed it to Thomlinson. “I need that message to reach the viking boat.”

“Not a problem, Captain.” He took the note and tied it to an arrow. He waited for the longboat to approach, and then fired, hitting the cabin just behind the viking leader. The viking took the arrow out, and untied the note. He read the note, and, smiling, saluted the ship. They changed course towards the group of birds, rowing with an excited vigor. A general chorus of tension-breaking laughter went up from the galleon.

Captain Taylor looked towards where he had sent the vikings, and only hoped that Hajime would succeed.

* * * * *

Hajime was beginning to realize that he needed lighter cannisters. He kept flying almost too low, only to find another wind to buoy him out of the sea spray. It took him almost ten minutes to fly the distance, and then he let the cannisters fall to the water below. The cannisters floated on the water's surface, and so he took advantage of them, resting for a few minutes on the cannisters. His wings were aching; he really hated those lycanthropes that had enhanced endurance. He confirmed that the pirates were still coming towards him as he waited. After getting his wind back, and sure that the pirates were still headed towards the birds, he jumped into the wind, and flew back to the Hell's Wrath.

The pirate ship had been almost on top of him when he caught the wind, so he hurried up. He hated having to place all of them together; even a slight course change, and the pirates may miss the cannisters completely. However, there was no choice; he needed some sort of cover, and the birds enjoying a fish feast was his only real choice. On the way back through, he wasn't sure if he had seen what he had seen. It just wasn't every day that you saw vikings on a longboat this far out to sea. Sure, they were nautical geniuses and were constantly doing things others thought were impossible, but it just felt...weird to see them this far away from shore. At least they weren't ravens in a long canoe; now that would be weird.

He had just about made it back when he heard one of the best things he had ever heard n his life: BOOM! The pirate ship hit the cannisters; apparently running through a group of seagulls was something that they couldn't resist. He could hear the shouted commands from here, punctuated by screams. If he could have, he would smiled at the pirates being stopped by a small hole just at the water level. If they didn't stop and make basic repairs, they would be swamped quickly enough, and begin to flounder. The pirate ship was effectively stopped for as long as it took to do repairs. Most ships carried boards and nails, so it should be okay, at least once the hole was patched up. They more inconvenienced than anything else.

And then he remembered the vikings. He did a quick loop-de-loop to confirm, and then felt a pleasant warm sensation. The pirates would have the hole patched up just in time for the vikings to show up and do what they did best: grab other people's stuff. He wasn't being judgmental, it was just what they did; fish swam, birds flew, vikings pillaged. As long as they weren't pillaging him, he was okay with it. Besides, it made for some great people to have your back, as you knew that they knew the best ways to defend pretty much anything. And they did have those huge axes, after all.

He then heard what could only be happy cheers from the longboat, followed by even louder commands from the pirate ship. He wanted to turn around and see what was happening, as he was sure it had to be something fun, but he was beginning to tire; sparrows were not long-term fliers. He needed to touch down, and quickly; he was tiring quickly. Yet again he wished he was an eagle or hawk, or even a condor; it was annoying being a mere sparrow sometimes.

He flew right into the cheering crowd on the ship. He barely made it, and had just enough energy to land near his clothes. He shifted, and quickly put on his clothes. He joined the celebration, and was hoisted upon the shoulders of the sailors as a hero. Captain Taylor allowed a few minutes of celebration; his shrill whistle brought the men back to reality and they quickly remembered that there was a pirate ship in the area. Admittedly the vikings would have something to say about that, but it was better to be away from the area when the vikings were done with them. In the meantime, he decided to just enjoy the quick celebration aboard the Hell's Wrath. It sort of helped that he was a hero, so he enjoyed the feeling. It wasn't everyday, after all that you saved a couple dozens of your best friends and got handed a tall stein you hoped was beer. He would sleep great that night, but that was that night. You have to enjoy the days when you could.

PIRATES! - 30,114

2009-11-18T22:06:00.000-08:00

The Hell's Wrath was on its way. The wind was in its sails, no obstacles were in its path, and there was no bad weather keeping it from its destination. The ship was cheerfully avoiding monsters in the sea, mostly due to sharp eyes in the crow's nest, and partially due to the speed of the ship. Of course, it helped that the true monsters were nowhere the surface, and rarely ventured to where sea met sky, but that was a minor blessing considering what did make it to the surface. Most ships saw one, maybe two such creatures in their lifetime, which was usually cut short when the ship met a monster. As a monster stayed near the ships it killed, it was easy enough to track down once a survivor made it to some form of civilization. Of course, it was unlikely to happen, so most monsters had free meals until someone noticed that ships were going missing, which could take months. Once found out, a monster's life would be cut short. So there was a sort of karma system in place.

The crew was going along its normal duties, with the deck being swabbed, sails being repaired, and weapons being cleaned. Because of the sea, the cleaning was needed on a regular basis. The salt in the sea air could quickly corrode metal in short order, and which included all of a ship's main weapons from the smallest knife to the largest cannons. If a weapon corroded it was of no use in a fight, and if you lost a fight (or even won it poorly) you were likely not going to be among the living much longer, and most preferred to be among than not.

The ship's crew was enjoying a certain halcyon voyage. The maintenance was being done quickly. Hajime's transformation from landlubber to sailor was almost complete, as he was learning how to use the rigging in a fight, both to help him thrust harder and to dodge faster. Combined with his acrobatic talent learned from his carnival friends, and he was quickly learning some interesting new tricks, including how some common shipboard items made for some devastating weapons, such as the belaying pins used to keep the rigging in place. The crew was also making sure to not neglect his education in firearms; he would never be a pistoleer, but he could at least shoot a round without burning himself. They just had to eliminate the clean smell he had and replace it with the smell of the sea, and he would be one of the crew.

Well, at least he was teaching the crew to read, which Captain Taylor wasn't sure about. Although education was always a good thing, it could lead to things like writing and contracts, which could undermine the pleasant bliss he was currently enjoying. Worse, it could lead to sailors trying to publish poems and tales, and he had already heard the best of those, and they were the worst created. He hoped that the education would be limited interest, and that things would return to normal quickly.

Sal was decidedly not making herself at home. The sea would never be her home; the waves would never stop and she felt each and every one. She knew her body would eventually build up a resistance and then immunity to whatever drug she used to quell the nausea welling up inside her, and she would be back to the railing voiding whatever food she happened to have downed most recently. She liked being in the arms of Rick, as he smelled like a man from the sea should, not like they did; he smelled not of fish and sweat but of sea salts and long afternoon sun. He had just enough body hair to scratch, but not scratch her back, and his muscles were thick but not bulky, making her feel secure for the first time in her life.

When they made love it was like a dance, but more intense; there was no leader, and each reacted to the other's moves, with each reaction building on the last, and the next building on that, eventually building to a moment of pure bliss when time stopped, until the next heartbeat reminded the clock to start up again. They were beyond animalistic urges; it was good, but adding the ritual of civilization prolonged the passion just a little further, and made it that much better. There were days where they just lay together, enjoying the heat of their bodies and the beating of two hearts seeking to be one. She drew security from feeling his breathing, his chest going up and down. They had experimented numerous times with binding each other, with their expert knowledge of knots and ropes helping the experiments.

They both knew that it couldn't last, because if they had to deal with each other over the long term their mutual passion for what they did would burn the other out and render them mere shells of who they were, and neither wanted to see that happen. She loved the challenge of being an operative too much, where her physical and mental agility were challenged. By the same measure, he may act like the hedonistic playboy to his crew, but he was a man of action when action called; he lived to duel man and storm, and those duels made life interesting for him. Without their respective challenges they would die in short order, becoming shells of who they were, bitter and hollow. So they enjoyed the moments that they had together, love in the brightness of the sun and silhouetted in the moonlight.

“PIRATES!” The scream from the crow's nest instantly changed the crew. Captain Taylor came out on deck with his spyglass. He saw the skull and bones on the flag, and the scurvy dogs on the boat's deck, clothes torn by battle and legs curving due to lack of citrus fruits. He sighed; he hoped that the Hell's Wrath would be able to outspeed the ship, whichever ship it happened to be.

He started giving the orders, which he knew were more for psychological benefit than anything else. The man at the wheel had already turned 45 to starboard; turning around would give the pirates an advantage, so he hoped to make the point where the courses of the two ships converged where the Hell's Wrath would be and the pirate ship wouldn't. The crew was already in action; the cleaning were being secured along with anything else that wasn't strictly necessary so it wouldn't get in the way. The cannons were being readied as much as they could be; they wouldn't be actually loaded until the last possible moment. Weapons were appearing all over the ship, with each crew member having a ranged and melee weapon of choice, ranging from bows to crossbow to long-arm rifles in the former, and daggers to longswords to cutlasses in the latter. In a few moments Rick and Sal appeared from below decks, dressed and ready to go. Hajime was already looking at his inventory for things that would work; every so often he would fondle his ring on its thong.

The problem with dealing with a pirate ship was patience. Seeing a pirate ship get closer and closer and hoping that the two of you would come close before you pulled away was never good for the human psyche. The pirate ship knew that now was a battle of steering; they needed to pull faster to the ship than it pulled faster to them. If the other ship pulled faster, then it would reach the estimated point of convergence faster than the pirate ship and would like escape. If the pirate ship pulled faster, it would be just a matter of time before they pulled close enough to the other ship to unload on it.

The tension became thick enough that Harald was debating serving it for dinner. It got worse with every minute as the pirate ship got closer and closer. Nerves were fraying with every minute, and both sides were unsure who had the bigger guns, and thus the end was in doubt. The pirates had the edge here, simply because their set up was unknown to the Hell's Wrath, and so they couldn't formulate a proper strategy, and that annoyed the crew. Even with the wildcard of magic involved, it came down to range; the cannonballs flew further than the spells, but that was a minor mercy.

Hajime swung up to the forecastle. “I have an idea, if it's okay.”

Captain Taylor turned to him. “What is it?”

He pulled out some cannisters. “These cannisters can be rigged to explode if something big hits them, releasing whatever is inside, such as more gunpowder. Between us there's still some birds skimming the top; I think if we had another bird drop cannisters ahead of the pirate ship, it could slow them down a bit.” Hajime gave him one of the cannisters.

Captain Taylor inspected the cannister. “But where are we going to get a bird that well trained?”

Hajime rubbed his ring. “I can arrange that easily enough, but you'll need to wait for the bird to catch up with you.”

Captain Taylor smiled. “I think that can be arranged. If the ship is slowed enough.”

Hajime jumped down. “No problem.”

Within moments he had a dozen cannisters ready to go. The cannister held just enough gunpowder on the outsider to explode the cannister, which would cause the gunpowder inside to explode in turn. He tied them together, and then ran to the prow of the ship, where he laid the cannisters down, and then stopped. To someone not really watching, it appeared as if his clothes dropped and a sparrow walked out. He flew to the cannisters, and picked them up. He flew off, and quickly dropped as his smaller form struggled with the weight for a moment, and then flew straight to the crowd of birds.

As Hajime flew off, there was another yell from the crow's nest: “VIKINGS!”

Plots Commence - 28,423

2009-11-17T12:51:00.000-08:00

The Green Dragon Inn was almost demolished by the Hell's Wrath Welcome Home Party. The crew started with 37 members, but 46 honorary members, mostly female, were added in just over four hours. The non-female members added were bartenders and some new drinking buddies. Roughly three hundred pounds in food were used in the celebration, with only half of that actually ending up in anyone's stomach. Roughly 150 gallons of various alcoholic substances ranging from grog and beer to bourbon and absynthe were consumed, with very little being wasted. Sixty pounds of various illicit substances were imbibed through various methods, most disappearing for later use. No less than twelve bands attempted to play for the party; nine ran in fear for their lives, two joined the party, and one learned through very painful methods that you do not play sea shanties for returning sailors (it wasn't that the shanties were played so much as they were played horribly). When the pottery started flying, almost 73% of the Green Dragon's inventory was demolished, including (but not limited to) 643 plates, 503 saucers, 487 cups and glasses of varying description, 386 salt and pepper shakers, 257 utensils, 97 chairs, 18 tables, and 7 lamps, as well as a number of decorative pieces. It took no less than 53 constables to break up the party, and 7 cells at the local jail. The final cost is unknown, but involved two months wages for those involved, a small number of secrets being forgotten in order to cover up the mess, and a promise from various crew members to avoid certain inns for a very long time. No less than 316 counts of assault, 209 counts of disorderly conduct while drunk, and 73 counts involving various sex crimes (including at least one count involving a goat) were filed by the end of the week following the big shebang (other crimes were filed, but those were the highlights). No less than six children would result from the activities, and at least one class action suit would be filed against the crew of the Hell's Wrath.

In short, The Hell's Wrath Welcome Home Party was a rousing success.

Captain Taylor had disappeared from sight, but seemed to appear almost as if summoned when his crew got in trouble. Although he was aware that they would be telling the story of the party for years, and versions of it were already spreading through the islands, it was the sheer numbers involved that impressed him and made him smile. He had ordered his men to have a good time; based on the constable reports alone, that was exactly what had happened. He also knew that he needed to get his men away from Cyrill as quickly as possible; not just because it was a good idea, but the 47 lawyers involved suggested it.

Suffice to say, when Prince Ta offered to pay passage for Sal and Hajime to Tigouslan, Captain Taylor was extremely happy to assist them in any way. He put out the word that he was looking for cargo at noon, and was able to fill it up by high tea. However, it would take the crew almost until dinner to load the space due to their after-party glow. He had also been forced to hire roughly a dozen new workers to fill in positions emptied by sailors that had enough of the sea, sailors that were forced into “more honest” work by wives old and brand new (there was a reason he had prohibited priests from the party, but cunning women had brought some anyway), and other sailors leaving due to being forced to serve lengthy prison sentences. By the next morning, the party had finally worked its way out of their systems, and they were able to sail out of the harbor. Some were happy to see them go (such as the owners of the Green Dragon Inn), but most were sad to see them go (the party had been a temporary economic boon, after all).

They sailed into the sunrise, sails catching every possible wind. A very romantic picture, except for a single figure looking over the railing as her most recent meal joined the sea.

* * * * *

As Sal and Hajime headed for Jezreel's sole continent, Prince Ta sent out explorers to the corners of the globe. Each one was tracked by Lord Ashigaru, who had finally figured out who his opponent truly was. He had managed to finally infiltrate the crew of the Hell's Wrath, so Prince Ta's main operatives were finally covered. It still bothered him that he had no idea what they were looking for, but he had an idea on how to solve that problem. He figured that he could either kidnap one of the two operatives, or find a way to get someone to sneak a peek at the book that had been recovered.

The Origins of Stygia. It still vexed him that somehow he had had the secret all along somewhere in his own backyard, and yet had no idea. He only knew that Prince Ta's operatives were looking for one of Lord Set's ancient temple, and even then only because he had investigated what they had taken from the Levitian listening post. Prince Ta was a formidable opponent; Lord Ashigaru had been a step ahead of him since he had found out that he was looking for the Stygian Edge. He needed to close the intelligence gap, and do so quickly. Fortunately, he had intelligence of his own to yet bring to bear, and when he did...that boy would suffer, and through him, hopefully, so would Prince Ta. And that attack would cost him dear. He smiled as he thought about the pain it would suffer.

It was time to order breakfast. No doubt Prince Ta had his breakfast already; the sun may be just rising on Bubastos, but it was almost lunch for the prince. He wondered if that few extra hours was part of the prince's advantage; he quickly dismissed the idea, as he was sure that he should pursue things on his own time. He just needed to figure out how the prince was ahead of him. In the meantime, he was sure that bacon, eggs, and a lot of orange juice would clear his head. He was aware that the prince also ate something called waffles, with whipped cream and sprinkles, but was curious how a grain product would help. Only meat was good for a system; grain was what the prey ate..

* * * * *

Back on Cyrill, Prince Ta was smiling to himself. He had long ago realized that Lord Ashigaru would be his opponent on this, and so had started a dossier on him. It was easy for him to keep a step ahead of the reptilian lord; Prince Ta didn't limit his thinking to what he thought his role was, and therefore was open to ideas that he would otherwise reject. He also treated his operatives with respect, and allowed that failure was an option. After all, if you send someone on a difficult assignment then it was likely that at sometime that someone would need to fail; it was just a matter of odds, and the odds didn't play favorites. He smiled, just a little thing on his lips, as he wondered how Lord Ashigaru would feel if Bubastos' high lord ever realized that his waffles were his weakness; without his daily waffles, his entire day was shot. They were part of his daily ritual, and something that needed to be changed.

In the meantime, he needed to keep his head in the game. He needed to deal with the guardian of the Stygian Edge, and do so without his main operatives. He had assassins in his employ, and hoped that they would do against what was no doubt a very powerful beast; he had quite a bit of information on the beast, and didn't like what he did know so far. The creature would be difficult to slay, for sure, but he would also need to hope it wasn't of the load-bearing sort. His eyes rolled as he thought about how many old sites had fallen because the place had traps whose very existence depended on the guardian; kill the guardian, trigger the trap, and the entire place would fall down. Bloody intelligent trap-makers. He wiped the sweat of his brow as he dove into his intelligence reports, wondering when Lord Ashigaru would mount a reasonable attack, when it would be, and hoping he wouldn't.

He yet again debated whether mounting a direct attack on the island would be worth it, and decided yet again that it wouldn't be worth the trouble or expense. Bubastos had the advantage in that it was where most of Jezreel's steel came from; if it was engaged in war, it would be able to turn that to a major advantage, and the rest of the world would suffer for as long as Bubastos was under siege. After all, Bubastos would be able to forge new weapons, but the attacker would be limited to stockpiled weapons. Worse, because of it's geography, a quick attack would be next to impossible to mount and properly execute; invisibility did have its limits, and teleportation was too costly. If there were only a way, someone would have thought of it by now. Assassination was a possibility, but had its own risks given the vagueness of Bubastan heredity law; there was just no way to determine accurately who would be in charge if there was a death on the throne. Nonetheless, dealing with the Edge should suffice. That's what he hoped, at any rate.

Returns - 26,800

2009-11-16T19:45:00.000-08:00

All of the servants were avoiding the throne room. A number of dishes had come back to the kitchen cracked, at least the few that returned were cracked. Lord Ashigaru had just found out that one of his best agents had been killed, throat slit like a pig, and he had nothing to to show for it. He had sent the paper mage down into the innards of the old temple as a ruse, hoping that he would be able to find out who was interested in the book, and he ended up being forced to defend himself. It was a shame to lose such an excellent agent, but he was hoping to get some better use out of him.

He also hated that the ship had gotten away. Not necessarily that it had escaped his clutches or something as silly as that, but that he had wanted to place someone on board, at least, and yet their precautions had made it impossible for an agent to come aboard without setting off alarms of some sort. He was even unable to get his usual array of magical sensors aboard; because demand had been so high for their cargo space, he had only been able to get one or two aboard, and they ended up being placed in a section that did him no good. He had ensured that they were well hidden, including spells that would render them undetectable by most magic. He had been able to track them at least, but he had already known where they were going so that was a waste. He was hoping that he would have been able to get more interesting intelligence on the ship.

At least the dossiers on the crew were more complete. The captain and first mate weren't all that extraordinary, first rate, admittedly, but they were just hired for the job, and anyone could have done for what Prince Ta needed. In that respect, there were a number of first rate crews coming in and out of Cyrill that would have done the job. The same applied to the entire crew, really; it was a fine crew, but nothing special beyond that. The ship itself was interesting, but mostly because of the chain of owners; the ship was going on almost fifty years, and had had just three owners. The first sold the ship for retirement money, and the second had lost it in a card game. The current captain had owned it for almost twenty years, and had continued the tradition of updating it and maintaining it in spectacular fashion. The Hell's Warth was an excellent ship, and well worth the effort Captain Taylor was putting into it.

It was the two operatives that interested him the most. The female, Salmandra Watson, was interesting, if for no other reason than she was the preferred operative of Prince Ta. Her skills were nicely varied, even allowing that she depended mainly on her skill with daggers. She had been a thief when she was discovered and subsequently recruited, and had quickly risen in the ranks due to her skills at developing plans that allowed for a certain degree of failure, and an ability to improvise. She had been serving him for almost five years, with an almost unblemished record. Even that Levistian inn was still a success; the only serious failure she had was a bodyguard mission, but even that was more because of the sheer number of assassins sent against the person she was defending rather than her lack of skill. It was, in many ways, a simply spectacular failure considering that she had been able to defend her charge against a wide variety of assassins using some interesting tactics, only to have the charge die of an infection from shaving.

But it was the boy, Sozume Hajime, that really interested him. He had graduated from the Draco Rouge Academy as one of the best artificers of his class, and as a scholar specializing in elemental mastery from some Nihonese temple where he had apparently grown up. However, that wasn't really all that interesting; what was were the missing years, where he had apparently gone questing for a few years, but had disappeared somewhere along the line and returned with an interesting tattoo or two. To anyone else the tattoos were unremarkable, but to someone who knew the marks demonstrated hat he had spent time in an Alashanti temple. He was also substantially older than he appeared, but his own operatives were unable to find out just how much older. What that meant exactly he wasn't quite sure just yet, so he needed more information.

He only hoped that it didn't interfere with his current quest. He needed to find the Stygian Edge, and as soon as possible. It did not help that others were ahead of him, and he was unsure of exactly just how much more they knew. He needed to find out, and quickly.

There were those that he feared, and they wanted the artifact found. Quickly.

* * * * *

The trip home was blessedly uneventful. There were sharks, whales, and the occasional seagull, but nothing attacked them or even appeared to follow them. Hajime and the other mages did a thorough search of the ship, looking for anything that didn't belong. They couldn't find anything, but that didn't mean that there wasn't anything there; it just meant that it was hidden rather well. Although they were sure that there was something hidden, they lacked the immediate means to deal with it.

When they had finally finished unloading the cargo, Captain Taylor gave Rick a small bag of coins, with instructions to rent a bar and a number of women with decidedly easy virtue and make sure that all of the crew were taken care of. He himself hired a security team to guard the boat for a few hours, and disappeared to a small, secluded tavern where he could wash up and then find some entertainment for the evening.

Sal and Hajime had their usual disembarkation rituals to complete, followed by a dinner with Prince Ta. Sal was beginning to dread their dinners together, while Hajime figured that it was just excuse to have a decent dinner on the government's coin. Nonetheless, the dinner was again at the Phoenix, so it shouldn't have been that bad.

When they arrived, they were shown directly to the table of Prince Ta. A veritable carnival of food awaited them, which they quickly started in on. There was a plate of deep-fried foods and another of seared fish, some vegetable soup in a large bowl, and a number of chopped vegetables. Each setting had a spoon, a plate, a bowl, and chopsticks. There was also a decanter of sake and several small glasses.

“Good evening, Prince.” Hajime slid into his chair and picked up a pair of chopsticks.

“Hope you are doing well this evening, your excellency.” Sal sat down, waiting for the prince to start.

He picked up his spoon and started stirring his soup. “Yes, I'm doing well. It's so nice to that you've returned. I hope that the ocean voyage was fine.”

Sal poured herself some sake. “It was actually interesting. The natives were quiet, but there was some interference at the mission objective itself.” She gulped her sake. “But it was easily dealt with.” She poured herself another cup.

Hajime was filling his plate. “Of course, your excellency.”

Sal was inspecting a morsel that looked like a deep-fried anemone. “Yep, Prince; we even picked you up a souvenir.”

Hajime put down his plate and grabbed his satchel. He reached in and pulled out the book. “Heh. Sorry. Almost forgot.” He slid the book across the table towards the prince.

He pulled it towards him and opened it. “This should make for some very interesting reading. I only hope it matches its hype.” He put it down and looked at Hajime. “I hope that you read it in your spare time.”

Hajime was chewing some fish. “As per you instructions, of course. Mostly some allegory about Lord Set and how to properly think, but there is a chapter or two where there appears to be some actual history.”

Prince Ta stirred his soup, looking for some of the vegetables. “Interesting. Anything about an artifact, possibly heat-based? I'm curious why our Levitian friends were interested in it.”

“Yep. As would be expected, there is a weapon mentioned, as well as an island. However, it's not a fencing sword, as would be expected.” Hajime snatched some more fish with his chopsticks.

Prince Ta had found the vegetables. “Really...? What kind of artifact is it then?” He stuck the spoon into his mouth.

“A staff. And they didn't bother disguising its intent, either; the thing is covered with flames from top to bottom. But that's not all.” Hajime gulped some fish down. “There's a guardian mentioned, as well as a map. We just need the firepower to deal with the guardian, and I think it's possible to grab the staff.”

Prince Ta put down his spoon and folded his hands. “Give me a day or two to think this over. Something needs to be done about the Stygian Edge, certainly, but it needs to be done in such a way as to not alert those that are interested in it. Part of that consideration is that the two of you are no doubt being watched, if for no other reason than that you have been so closely related to this project.”

Sal put her own chopsticks down. “I would, your excellency, like to be involved in the close of this case, if for no other reason than to be able to finish it.”

Hajime was enjoying the fish. “Me, too, your prince.”

Prince Ta picked up his spoon and began searching for vegetables again, but quickly gave up. He poured himself and Hajime a cup of the clear liquid instead. “I think that it would be possible to acquiesce to both your desires for closure, and spoil the fun of our enemies as well.”

Hajime and Sal smiled at each other. The toasted their success, and then turned to their dinner in earnest.

A Quick Escape - 25,084

2009-11-15T01:11:00.000-08:00

Sal and Hajime were walking down the pier as a group of merchants were running the other way. Some of them were covered in stew. They looked at each other and shrugged. As they came closer to the Hell's Wrath they saw Rick putting away the catapult and a couple of boys from the mess rubbing the big pot down. Rick saw them, and bellowed, “Heave to!” They rushed up the gangplank, past splotches on the pier, and it was taken in just as they hit the deck. Hajime kept moving to his quarters, where he quickly secured the book and shucked off the more confining of his clothes. He was down to tunic and breeches and then up to the crow's nest to help guide the ship out.

Which left Rick and Sal the only two not getting the ship ready to sail. Rick sidled up to Sal. “I hope the mission went well?”

Sal hugged him and kissed him on the nose. “Yep. A few minor problems with paperwork, but otherwise it went well.” She turned just a little bit. “Did you have fun waiting for me?”

Rick grinned. “Oh, there were people to entertain when I returned from my scouting mission, and some of them to feed, but it was pretty boring.” His arms dropped a little bit so he could grab her waist. “But I think we're about ready for the real fun to begin.”

“Sounds good.” The two headed to the mess as one.

* * * * *

The crew was more interested in what was behind them than in front of them. Although Sal and Hajime were doing their level best to hide the fact that they had stolen a book from Set's temple and that temple may have been protected by someone representing the Bubastan government. Captain Taylor knew what was going on; it ad been part of the contract (after all, they needed him ready to go if something had gone wrong, and his ignorance would have slowed the ship's reaction time, causing a number of unintended deaths and destruction of the ship). Rick had also been told out of necessity for the same reason. They had also been given a certain time; if Sal and Hajime took longer than two hours, the ship was to sail. Period. Staying any longer would have endangered the crew and the boat. Rick was happy that that condition had not been used. Where the captain goes, so does his crew; as the captain was tense, so was his crew. The captain was under stress, so was his crew. They didn't know why, they just were.

They figured that whoever had sent in the paper mage would know by now that his property had been grabbed, and that it was on its way to somewhere else. Not only that, but it wouldn't be that hard to figure out which ship that property was on. Ironically, the crew was so tense that the appearance of a Bubastan ship would have been a good thing; at least that was something that they could fight against. The invisible stress that they had no idea where it was coming from and therefore no idea how to deal with it, just that they had to deal with it. Harald drove his crew harder, and they lost themselves in getting the mess ready for a party. The sailors on deck put themselves into getting every ounce of speed that they could. Those below were shining everything that they could and worming the cannons; the cannons may have been clean, but it didn't hurt to have them ready. Inventories were done, and what could be restocked was restocked, with an eye towards pirates rather than monsters.

Captain Taylor was well aware of all of this. You judge a man harshest on how he deals with an emergency, and he was yet again impressed by how his men were dealing with the pressure, shifting it into ways that would prepare the ship for an encounter with a Bubastan ship without knowing that they might be dealing with one or a fleet. He himself was waiting for a signal from Hajime while sharpening his weapons; they had worked out that twenty miles should be sufficient for the location of their first turn towards Cyrill, and when they should be able to tell if they were being chased or not.

All this stress over a mere book. He only hoped that the book was worth it; it would be a long time before he accepted another such job. He knew that it was necessary, but the chance of the Hell's Wrath defeating a Bubastan clipper was unlikely at best; the clipper could outrun him and keep him within sight as the warships came to bear. With two clippers against him it would be unlikely that he would get away; one would spot him and the other would harry him and make forward progress difficult, either by dropping mines or using magic to hold him there. Although he may have a mage or two of his own, they may not be able to counter a sudden drop in sea level or a monster summoned from below the ship. And against multiple spells coming from different directions, his mages would be hard-pressed to defend the ship.

It was just a matter of waiting for the Hajime's signal. They did have a contingency plan in place to make sure that the book would get to Cyrill, but he hoped that they didn't come into play. Hajime would shrink the book, shift to sparrow-form, and fly off with the book. If those contingencies came into play, it would mean that the ship was lost and that all aboard were about to die and the ship to be scuttled. So even if Captain Taylor and Rick knew such a plan existed, and Sal knew the particulars, it didn't exactly comfort them.

The holler from the crow's nest made him jump, and then he smiled as he realized that it was what he was waiting for. He debated putting his cutlass away, but decided to bring it with him. He grabbed his hat, which he rarely did because of how many feathers it had. He walked towards his doors and slammed them open, scaring a few men near them. He stopped near the railing, swung his cutlass, and yelled at the crew.

“You bleeding landlubbers! Thinking that all of this noise can hide the fact that you're all nothing but yellow-bellied cowards of the lowest order! HAH! I'm on to ye! Shining your cannons, hoping that they'll find use on some poor woman that you've paid less than that piss you call beer! I don't think so. You can't hide your diseased hides from them, no matter how hot the bath is. I know that you're the lowest form of life! The proof of that is that you're on this ship letting an old man tell you what to do on a sunny day like today! The best ye can do is swab decks, check rigging, and eat food that even the most expensive scholars have no idea what it could be! Trust me, I've spent the change! Now, get ye lily-white asses into the mess and suffer as no man has ever suffered before! Any man standing on his own power in an hour shall be flogged alive!”

He waved his cutlass around for extra effect. He smiled as they crowded into the mess. Inside the mess were plates stacked tall with sliced sausages and chesses, with enough crackers to cover them all. There were bowls of sweetmeats and kegs had been tapped. There were even a few pies of various berries and fruits. There were no women besides Sal, and she was already claimed. It was tame as parties went, but at least there was enough beer to make it interesting. Hopefully the celebration then would make up for the celebration now, but this was enough to satisfy them. For now.

The tension had been broken and Captain Taylor walked into his room. He knew that a plate of food and a stein of beer would be heading there in a few moments. If not, he may have to actually flog someone alive. You know, just to prove a point. He hated that he had to limit the crew's celebration after such a tense moment, but at least he still had his men and they weren't mining ore in some dark underground mine. He would have to make it up to them later, but for now it was enough, and Harald had done a great job considering what he had to work with. For now, it was enough that he had his crew. He pulled up his charts, and checked the planned course again. As he did, he had only one question: Where was his beer?

Dealing With Paperwork - 23,592

2009-11-14T06:43:00.000-08:00

Rick was returning to the boat. He had taken an empty cart into town with a bag full of coins, and converted it into a cart full of alcohol and snacks. The quartermaster was no doubt replenishing supplies on his own, so as to make sure that there were no problems later on, but he had been sent into town with a different set of orders. It had taken him an hour to find all of the cheeses, sausages, and small crackers that the captain had requested him to find, but the alcohol had taken just a few minutes. He had been warned about accepting cheap wine, as it may be laced with drugs and other additives, so he concentrated on beer and rum, looking for mid-level quality and slightly-above price. He had also taken a side trip as well, deciding to add a few bags of sweetmeats and other small items, such as some small breads.

All told, he had the fixings of a great party, and the crew should be able to enjoy themselves. The only thing he hadn't been able to been to procure were women, but he didn't think it was fair to grab women that wouldn't be able to get a ride home. He had debated seeing if any of them were interested in exploring other lands, but the window he had been given was too short for proper interviews, so he had scratched that idea. Hopefully those interested in such would be able to find comfort in the arms of their fellow sailors, as some already did. At least the apprentice racket he had going in that regard gave him an small commission.

It was an easy enough trip into town and back. And then there was the crowd of people waiting at the gangplank. He had to force his way through those attempting to access the boat with their wares and propositions. They were being pointedly ignored by the sailors guarding the ship from invasion.

“First mate coming through!”

“Oh, please. Like they would buy that one.” A portly merchant looked at Rick like he was the biggest beetle, and one he wanted squished. The rest of the crowd didn't look at him in any higher regard.

Rick puckered his lips, debating exactly how he was going to prove his bonafides, and then settled on a basic quote. Using the voice that could be heard over the loudest storm, he aimed his vocal attack at the sailor he saw near the top of the gangplank. “Bosum Jack, clear me a path or I'm personally busting you down to apprentice, and you know what I do with apprentices!”

Within moments a way had been cleared and the cart started its way up. A merchant that thought himself particularly bold but was in reality just particularly stupid tried to follow him up; the merchant quickly found himself pushed off the plank and into the warm water below. He quickly swam to shore, but not fast enough to escape the laughter and scathing remarks of his fellow merchants.

The cart was quickly escorted to the mess where the cook started prepping the food for the party, with some help from bored sailors. Rick grabbed an apple and headed to the head of the keel, leaning on the carved dragon that made the prow. He started carving the apple and eating the slivers, and wondering where Sal was and if she was okay. They needed to return soon or they may start entertaining the merchants out of sheer boredom. Or sending more into the drink. Which actually sounded like more fun...

* * * * *

Under her paper skin Sal was actually sweating. The paper was a lot stronger than it should be; obviously it was enhanced through some magic means. She only hoped her partner would be able to do something about the situation.

Hajime had problems suppressing a smile. The first thing he did was to summon water, toss a ball of it at the man, and ducked back behind his corner. He managed to include Sal in the area of effect, and so his power over her was shattered. He quickly mastered his breathing and then drank a rather volatile substance, which coated his mouth. He then lit a flamestick, which should last for a minute. And he stepped into the open. He knew he was going to spend the rest of that minute drinking the liquid and breathing across the flame just right so that he didn't blow out the flamestick, but the effect was going to be worth it.

The paper mage was furiously looking for some dry paper. Hajime threw a pebble at the man to get his attention. The man turned just in time to see a ball of fire hit him. The man escaped with singed clothing; his eyebrows and hair, however, were now just wisps of smoke and memory. The momentary loss of concentration cost him in a big way, however; Sal managed to escape her bonds.

He smiled when he dared open his eyes; the blast had dried some of the paper in the room. He touched it, and it instantly became solid. Sal's daggers were caught in the shield. With a thought he reversed the shield and attempted to catch Sal yet again. Hajime breathed fire once again, and the knife-studded paper attacking Sal burned to ashes almost instantly.

He grabbed some of the paper that had frozen Sal, and and tossed it towards Sal and Hajime, surrounding them with paper cranes with beaks as sharp as steel. They dove at the two of them. Sal dove to the side and some of the cranes impaled themselves on the wall just behind where she had been. The ones attacking Hajime went down flaming as he exhaled yet another breath. He then turned his attention on the paper mage, who was unable to concentrate as he was busy creating shields of paper to deflect Sal's daggers. He quickly ran out of paper as Hajime burned through it. He grabbed towards the books, realizing that Hajime's assualts of fire and water had not touched them, hoping to use their paper against his two attackers. Sal saw the movement, and his hands were stuck to the floor by daggers. The man screamed, and then once again as Hajime breathed on him one last time. Sal slit his throat, mercifully stopping his screams.

Hajime coughed up the remainder of the liquid, and drank some water. “I so hate that trick. One breath at the wrong time, and...let's just say that it's not pleasant.”

“I can imagine.” Sal collected her daggers. She had used a lot more than she had expected, and it was taking time to sheathe them properly. “They must teach some interesting classes at your academy.”

“I hate paper mages. They litter all over the place. Worse, they claim to be bibliophiles, but destroy all the books in the area. Sorta weird, really.” Hajime had already crossed over to bookshelf and was looking through the books. “Nope. I spent some time with a carnival troupe. I knew just enough alchemy to help the flame-thrower.” He smiled as he grabbed a particularly ancient tome and placed it in his satchel. He quickly looked over the others, shaking his head at each. “It was a fun summer. We parted ways when they headed home for the winter.” He finished inspecting the books. “Not a single book of interest here. These are copies of familiar works.”

“Sorry about that.” Sal sheathed her last dagger. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. I guess. Prince Ta is waiting for us.”

Sal smirked. “He's not the only one.”

Hajime's eyes rolled forward and he shook his head. They had soon departed the temple, going as fast as they could back to the ship.

* * * * *

Captain Taylor was tired of waiting. He debated okaying the pushing of merchants into the waiting sea below, but decided that the water wasn't cold enough to actually be any fun. The cook was almost done with his preparations, and some of the sailors had found and dispersed decorations throughout the mess. He just needed his two guests of honor to get back to the ship so they could depart. In the meantime he had to do something about the guests at the bottom of the gangplank.

First Mate Rick decided to so something while he was waiting. Normally, this was where Captain Taylor either interceded or decided yet again that captaincy was something he needed to seriously debate. As he saw Rick smiling lopsidedly, he knew today was not going to be one of the best days in the history of diplomacy.

Rick had brought out the small catapult. Harald Skaldson, the cook, brought a large pot next to the catapult. Captain Taylor decided that it was time for him to go into his room and lay down. Harald had leftovers from the night before and hadn't had a chance yet to dispose of them. Normally he would have given them to the fish that invariably followed the ship, but it looked like Rick was going to take care of that problem.

Rick put a foot on the ship's railing, and whistled to get the attention of those below. “It takes me about fifteen seconds to load the catapult and fire it. I will then keep loading it and keep firing it until no one remains.” He then started bending the catapults arm so he could load it.

The crowd below wasn't sure what to think. After all, no ship would be stupid enough to fire on the collected merchants, possibly earning a permanent black mark and thus not be allowed to trade with Bubastos ever again, right? They looked nervously at one another. One or two of them were starting to back away when the first load of smelly liquid started flying towards them. Some of them got splashed with the stew, smelling of rancid beef and partially rotting vegetables, with just a little tomato.

Their eyes went wide when they saw that Rick was getting ready for another load. All but three scattered; they figured that the first mate was just paring them down, and that the last one standing there would get the contract. Nothing else made any sense. After another hit, two of them left. Rick hit the last one, and kept loading more of the stew. The last one ran.

Rick looked down, disappointed. He still had plenty of the stew left over. At least the fish were going to eat well tonight.

Into the Temple of the Serpent God - 21,831

2009-11-13T03:32:00.000-08:00

The inspectors had already come and gone, their pockets considerably heavier than when they had come aboard. The inspection was a farce, but luckily a quick one; there were goods that even a large bribe wouldn't protect, and a sizable number of those were on board the Hell's Wrath, waiting for pick up. It was fun to watch Rick go into his act as a first mate on a “poor cargo ship”, bargaining for the lowest bribe he would pay. The inspectors got into the spirit of things, and so there was the quick conflict of supply and demand, as the inspectors demanded what they could from the supply of funds that they had been given for bribes. In the end, thanks to a mix of Rick's bargaining skill and the inspectors' lack of recent entertainment, the bribes were half what they had estimated. Captain Taylor breathed a sigh of relief when the last so-called inspector left, with all goods still on board, and the remainder of the bribe money going into a party fund.

When they finally started unloading, Captain Taylor had sent Rick into the port town to grab as much liquor as possible. The captain knew that locals would come and give them all the wine and beer that they could ever want, and he would need to deny that alcohol as well as he could. As soon as they had finished unloading, the plying would begin, and if he wasn't successful, then there was the possibility that they wouldn't leave port, at least, not on the same boat as they had come in on.

Bosun Jack Comorant entered the mess, which had been temporarily transformed into a trade hall. A number of local merchants had received news of the ship's arrival, and were paying for the cargo that their counterparts on Cyrill had shipped them. In some cases they had to arrange transportation for their goods, but that was their problem. Jack approached the captain. “Captain, the cargo is almost unloaded.”

“Good to know, Jack. Any sign of our bedamned first mate's return?”

“No, sir. However, the local wine merchants are lining up. I've never seen them come to us before. It feels a bit peculiar.”

“Everything about this feels peculiar. I can't wait until we're out of here and back in the deep blue.”

“Hear you there, sir.”

Jack left; with the cargo mostly unloaded unto the waiting dock, he needed to start cleaning the mess up. They were going to apparently be accepting more cargo, but they needed to make sure that the space was clean. Within a few hours, they would be ready to go, and the captain wanted to celebrate far out at sea. The knowledge that alcohol was on board would actually protect from pirates; only a pirate with something to prove would attack a ship that was more flammable than usual, and a pirate that scuttled ships just to prove a point was usually tracked down by bounty hunters with something to collect. It was a dangerous gambit if the local navy decided to come and say hello, but it was a gambit worth trying.

When all of the merchants had claimed their cargo and had arranged transfer of their own cargo, Captain Taylor walked up to the forecastle and surveyed the town. He looked upwards for a moment, long enough to utter a short prayer: “Here's hoping all three of you return hale, hearty, and quickly.” He then went over his charts one more time, hoping that there were no surprises on the way out.

* * * * *

Sal and Hajime were on their guard as they entered the musty temple. Sal smiled to herself as she entered the temple; the mustiness meant that no one had maintained the temple, and therefore it was unlikely that there would encounter anyone guarding it. Of course, traps were still a possibility, but at least nothing sentient would be between them and their objective. Sal made a mental note to keep her eyes open; this temple was a reminder of the nastiest century in Jezreel's history, and made to defend itself against some of the most powerful entities. Even worse were ruined traps; the live traps were bad enough, but a trap that had fallen into disrepair could be even deadlier as it was no longer predictable, and therefore capable of greater harm or completely useless, and there was no way to tell until it was activated.

The two of them were traipsing around with almost no defenses beyond their perceptions and agility. The problem with being a thief is that armor gets in the way. Sure, it can deflect and absorb blows, but unless those blows are easily predicted it is pretty much useless; the best armor can be easily penetrated if you know where to hit it. Helmets limit vision and hearing, and the suit slows down reflexes. Worse, on a water world it can drag down the wearer and requires heavy maintenance or the salt water will destroy it's defensive value. Their senses would have to do, both the merely physical senses as well as their intuition.

In that regard, they perceived the musty temple differently. Sal's experience and training let her make use of her five senses to the best of her natural ability, and she had developed an intuition that had saved her neck more times than she could count. It was a true sixth sense, a synthesis of her other senses granted, but a way of looking at something from five different ways and then combining those impressions and resorting them so that she could get a feel for a situation and then react to it as appropriate. It was more than just a mere “danger sense”; it was a more of a “situational sense”, and gave her a definite advantage when it came to dealing with surprises, as part of her was already dealing with the situation as it arose. It was hard to catch her flatfooted, and that made her so valuable as an operative.

Hajime lacked her training and experience, but substituted his own. His daily meditation made increased his ability to deal with the world, allowing him to see patterns in what he had already dealt with, and apply that to future operations. He could also enhance his senses, sharpening them to a razor's edge; although not long-lasting and coming with its own limitations (making him more vulnerable to visual or sonic attacks, for example), it could nonetheless give him just the edge he needed. With a little bit of concentration, he could extend his senses to another level, enabling him to sense magic; although limited to the type and strength of what he was facing, that alone could give him an advantage when it came to figuring out how to deal with something. Of course, he add other sensory capabilities through his spells, but that any mage could do.

The combination of their sensory capabilities made them a scary pair when it came to avoiding traps. She could appreciate his senses, and her intuition maximized his sensory ability by using it where it needed to be used rather than just using it randomly. Thus it only looked like they were strolling through the temple, occasionally inspecting some piece of detritus or ruined carving. They were carefully picking their way through, Hajime depending on Sal's intuition to look at something more precisely, and Sal depending on Hajime's arcane perceptions to make it through safely.

They encountered fewer traps than they had expected. Those that were found were dealt with quickly and easily, as both of them were skilled at dealing with traps; Hajime was an expert with anything mechanical due to his education, and Sal had plenty of experience with disabling traps as a thief. They didn't encounter any magical traps; the lack of such traps, which required maintenance by newer generations of scholars thanks to the Law of Impermanence, was just further proof that the temple had been abandoned. They quickly made their way to the center of the temple.

As they turned a corner, they noticed the glow coming from a chamber ahead. Hajime froze in his tracks as Sal shifted her casual walk to a more stealthy mode, both slower, longer paces, and stepping on the outside of her feet rather than the inner. She melded from one shadow to another, and was able to see what lay in the chamber ahead without being heard of seen. A globe of light danced on a staff as its owner perused the few remaining books in the temple's library. A man held the staff, a white male in his mid-thirties dressed in standard gear. She glanced back at Hajime and he nodded, then advanced to just behind the corner while pulling out his crossbow.

“Don't be scared. Fellow bibliophile here.”

The man continued reading. “About time. I was beginning to wonder when you were going to arrive.”

“So we were expected. Lovely afternoon for some reading.”

“One would think. Too bad that you're not the reader.” He dropped a passel of papers. “Retreat or I'm going to need to stop you. Sorry about that.”

Sal had to force her eyes from rolling up. “Are you sure we need to fight? It would be such a horrible way to start what could be a beautiful friendship.” She smiled just a bit as she heard the quietest click from Hajime's belt and realized that the man in front of her hadn't heard it. Hajime had switched weapons.

“I need to ask you to leave this chamber, or I will be forced to defend it.” He turned towards her, revealing a person that she would otherwise ignore if she had met him in the marketplace. He was pale, and wore thick goggles and what looked like saddle bags across his front, but otherwise had no outstanding features.

Sal put her hands on her most accessible daggers, daggers that were still hidden from view thanks to the well-designed scabbards that melted into her clothes. “Too bad I need a book from here. Let me take the book, and we'll have no problem.”

“Then I guess some escalation is in order.”

The papers he had dropped earlier flew up, engulfing Sal and obscuring her vision. They quickly formed into a prison, solidifying around her and stopping her from moving. Another paper flew into his hand, straightening. “You didn't need to die.”

To Meet An Objective - 20,063

2009-11-12T03:08:00.000-08:00

Sal and Hajime quickly re-established their routines, with a few noticeable differences. Hajime was able to maintain his morning meditation and the evening stint in the crow's nest, but his instruction in the ways of the sea was stepped up a bit. This meant that he had to deal with a certain of hazing, but he was learning a new profession. By the time he hit Bubastos, he knew as much as a journeyman sailor, and was able to sail a small boat by himself, or be part of a crew without embarrassing himself. He knew the Hell's Wrath backwards and forwards, and even a few tricks of the trade that some of the sailors had taken a lifetime to learn. He was even able to make some of the others' lives easier, and showed them the rudiments of reading and writing. Because of his mathematics background, he was able to help with the navigation, which was a major bonus considering Bob Stanton, the last navigator of the Hell's Wrath, had been forced to stay in port due to an incident with his lover and her ex-boyfriend who vigorously debated the point and poisoned poor Bob with just an hour before they departed. He survived, barely, but was recovering, but they hadn't been able to replace him. Thus, Hajime was filling in until they returned to Cyrill. If they returned to Cyrill...

Sal was teaching a different kind of craft. On the second day of the journey, she had found the first mate's logs, and had started reading them. After a mere thirty minutes, she had decided that Rick was an expert when it came to dealing with people, and was very capable when it came to emergency situations, but his record-keeping skills were in serious need of polishing. Besides her success rate in missions, Sal was one of Prince Ta's favorite operatives because of the detail of her reports; to an information merchant like him, attention to detail was even more important than succeeding in the mission itself (obviously worthless if the mission was a scrub, but that's another issue). As such, Rick's lack of detail in his reports scandalized her, and she resolved to do something about it. As Rick had little else to do, she was able to find ways to help him pay more attention to his reports and he was an eager learner.

After two weeks, the volcanoes of Bubastos started to rise on the horizon. The morale of the crew started lowering, and the more visible that the lava spewing from the volcanoes became, the lower it went. Bubastos was not known as a favorable port, and entire crews had disappeared from taverns and re-appeared in the slave mines. Hearty pirate crews were left unmolested, but that's because hearty pirate crews were generally undisciplined and therefore not good for mining crews; disciplined crews, however, would be taking their chances if they left their boats. None of the crew had any plans to leave the boat longer than absolutely necessary, and Captain Taylor already had plans to bring alcohol aboard, something that was against his usual rules. He just hoped that the alcohol wouldn't be drugged or otherwise ensorcelled. Hajime said that he would leave a potion behind that would allow a crew member to detect magic and posion, but he pointed out that it would only work if the enchantment was a basic one; anything more advanced would escape detection.

When they finally moored at the harbor of Bubastos, the crew was on edge. They knew that Sal and Hajime had a mission to do; they only hoped that the pair did it so quiet that they wouldn't drum up a hornet's nest They liked the two of them, but the crew knew that the pair may be the death of them in the port. It was for this reason that their disappearance from the boat was a source of added tension. Their prayers went with them, and the two disappeared into town as libations to Poseidon turned the waters around the boat slightly red.

* * * * *

Sal and Hajime knew that they were being followed even as they went towards their first checkpoint: A seedy tavern near the piers. They knew that they had two types of followers that had to be dealt with, and it didn't take much to deal with them. The physical followers were dealt with easily enough; they had a few drinks, acted a little drunk, and rented a room. The sounds of snoring satisfied their pursuers, and they grabbed a drink. They could grab them at any time, and it would be a shame to waist a chance to get a drink.

Right after Hajime wove an illusion of people snoring, the two used the chance to slip out a window. To add to their chances, they split up; Sal would make her way to their objective on foot, and Hajime would fly there as a sparrow. Although Sal hated carrying his belt, she nonetheless respected the tools and other implements inside its pouches. It wouldn't slow her down much, but it did represent added weight. They had decided that she would carry his clothes as well; although his inherent shifting abilities would not trigger traps based on magic detection, his ring's ability to create cloth would.

Hajime also enacted another trick, thanks to one of Prince Ta's artificers. He knew that they would be watched by scryers as well, even if it was on the level of just keeping track of the number of people who departed the ship. As such, he had had asked for two ceramic balls of white dye that would mimic their auras and throw off the scryers and had received them. He too the small balls with him, and hit two likely targets within a few minutes of departing. The targets were not happy being hit by something solid from a passing bird, and Hajime smiled at their momentary discomfort. He got back on track quickly, making up time for the small yet necessary distraction.

He arrived at the objective, a small abandoned church to Set. Even in sparrow form Hajime cocked an eyebrow, not liking the abandoned temple to a god that had caused so many problems for Jezreel. He had seen the half-serpent naga, and decided that there was no better world for a god of serpents. He had invaded, bringing with him his servants and minions as well as monsters the like of which had never been seen on Jezreel. Other powerful beings had decided to contribute to the invasion. Raven and Thor had contributed tribes of their people, as had Ameratsu; their followers had grown complacent and the gods wanted them to be re-invigorated. They decided that moving some of them would teach the others the lesson of complacency and inspire those moved to try new things. Levistus sent help for Set's desert invaders, but with an ulterior motive; he sent in his cauldron priests to not only help the invaders, but to look for a means for him to escape his icy prison once and for all.

The battle started well for Set, as there was simply nothing to compare the war with in naga history. They had been minor conflicts, sure, and even a number of genocidal wars, but nothing on the scale that Set was bringing to the planet. He not only attacked the naga directly, but brought others over in order to colonize the planet. He also brought with him demons, devils, and other beings of evil in order to cause chaos that he would later exploit. After a century of warfare, Set finally gave up on the world, but his wrath at being repulsed manifested itself and became Set's Ban; he severed the extraplanar connections most worlds had by default, and thus trapping all visitors to Jezreel on the world of ocean and island, and allowing only the dead to depart this world. There were a number of legacies from Set's invasion, from the races and monsters that had become part of the planet to the weapons that were excluded from it. Not the least were the demonseeds; as demonhunters combed the islands looking for beings of pure evil, they would imprison them in small spheres of obsidian. The demonseeds had to be stored carefully, or the evil inside them would be released yet again.

The normally meditative naga found themselves governing races that were foreign to them. They decided to loan money to the various clans, allowing the settlers to create their own kingdoms, but owing fealty to a central government. Most of the humans had no problems with this, and the other races simply had no choice; to deny the naga was to deny themselves the ability to build settlements. Eventually, there were created three castes, not by design but based on how people dealt with the legal system. Obviously, most people paid at least some loyalty to the naga nobility, be it actual or otherwise. Some became pirates, creating their ports and cities, where law was enforced by those who had the most skill at wielding their weapons, be it sword, pistol, or diplomacy. The remainder did what they could, rarely rising above simple communities. Interestingly, this latter group contained not only those that eked out an existence, but scholars as well, as even the bigger cities limited experiments, especially as bigger cities dislike animated monsters and explosions on a daily basis for some odd reason. Thus scholars had departed for some of the more deserted parts of the planet.

Shaking his head to change focus, Hajime shifted from his history classes to the present. He saw Sal arrive, and dropped down to meet her. He quickly shifted into human form and dressed. The two of them then steeled themselves, and headed into the temple, hoping that the way had indeed been cleared.

Back to the Sea - 18,402

2009-11-11T18:43:00.000-08:00

Hajime was smiling. He had just eaten a great meal and was carrying the leftovers as well as a bag of takoyaki. The sun was in the sky with nary a cloud and he had a great job that involved a lot of travel. Better yet, his fortune cookie had said that his life was looking up.

Sal's fortune cookie was of the “You are about to embark on a perilous yet profitable journey” type. She was not happy.

“Bubastos? BUBASTOS? All the way to the armpit of the known world for a book is a bit much. This is becoming the worst year ever.”

“Isn't it weird that no place is ever described as the 'genitalia of the world'? I wonder if that's because no one is sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.”

Sal stopped for a moment, debating if his statement really deserved a response or not. She shook her head and continued walking briskly. “Haj, we're about to undertake a voyage to one of the worst places on the planet. There's only a couple of places that are worse, and those places at least have interesting tourist attractions.”

“Good point. Bubastos does have few good points outside of its manufacturing, but that's no reason to be unhappy about going there. The best thing about it is that the mission is short. I hope.”

Sal looked to sky, hoping that some deity would hear her prayer. “At least I hope so. If there's the same fiasco as last time, I'm so going to look into another line of work.”

“I'm sort of hoping that there's no fiasco at all. A different fiasco could be worse, you know.”

She cocked her head. “Yeah, you're right.” She straightened her head. “Then let's hope for no fiascoes, then.” She brightened. “At least the crew is familiar.”

“Yeah. It'll be nice to deal with the same crowd again. Just remember to come up for air every so often; you're one of the few people to get lighter after a two-week voyage at sea.”

Hajime smiled as he docked her blow. He ran off with his treasures before she could actually hit him. She smiled; he was right. And she had no problem with that.

* * * * *

They spent the rest of the afternoon on errands. Well, at least Sal did. Her first stop was at the armorer's; she dropped off her daggers for sharpening. When she came back later for them, she would probably pick up some more. She also hurried off to the herbalist shop for some sea-sickness medicine. She also stopped off at the marketplace to grab some nuts and fruits; she wasn't going to survive another voyage on the limited fare available on ship, and so wanted a few extra options. She also figured that they would probably be running when they left Bubastos, so some added food wouldn't be a bad idea. She also grabbed a few books; she may never get around to them, but at least the possible distractions were on hand.

She also wanted to make sure that she had an extra suit of clothes or two. It would be worth the extra expense to not be limited to just one change of clothes, and not just for purely practical reasons. She also stopped by a store known for less traditional adventuring gear; she wanted to something interesting for Rick when she saw him next. By the time that the evening meal came around, she was ready for the next few weeks, and would definitely not be bored. She spent a few hours in the bath in preparation for the next few weeks she would be limited to her business suit, dreaming of what she was going to do with Rick over the same duration. Okay, maybe she wasn't going to spend all of the next few weeks in her business suit.

Hajime, on the other hand, had decided on only two stops that afternoon. The first was the weapon shop. After an interesting conversation with the weaponsmith, he decided on a simple ranged peasant's weapon: A repeating crossbow. A gravity-fed groove with a string set-up that would set itself after each shot, and came with a magazine with ten quarrels, it was simple enough to shoot although the aim was horrible and the range short. Still, it appealed his love of machines, and he ended up buying a number of replacement clips. He dropped it off (along with his food) and grabbed a handcloth and towel.

He would spend the rest of the afternoon soaking in a hot bath talking philosophy. He needed to commune with his people in order to feel grounded, or at least his adopted people. Like anyone else, he needed to get back to his roots, and this was just the most effective way. It was either the baths or the dojo, and he was horrible when it came to any kind of weapon. He just lacked any real formal education in the martial area; he was more brain than brawn. So he stuck to the baths.

After a few hours of soaking in the piping hot water arguing the intricacies of Buddhist philosophy and how karma applied to the beneficial use of magic, he was ready for just about anything. Some of those old men could really get behind their opinion, and in the baths all pretenses were dropped, all were considered equal regardless of age, so the arguments could get as heated as the water. It seems that stripping off one's clothes, one's visible markers of status, also stripped one of that status (sort of explaining why criminals were so heavily tattooed). There were days when dealing with the discussions and the tempers that could flare would ready a man for almost anything; a mere volcanic island was easier to deal with. After all, you knew where a volcanic island was coming from and where it was headed; not so much a man who had been drinking sake all afternoon.

* * * * *

Mysteriously, the Hell's Wrath had been hired for a run involving a rather large amount of cargo for Bubastos. It seems someone needed someone else to go to that bastard island, and had spread the word that there was a ship going that way as a way to encourage the ship to head in that direction. Within a few hours he was turning away offers, even for his secret hold, even allowing for the extra charges necessitated for that island's specialized legal economy (that is, bribes for the appropriate officials, and even a few of the inappropriate ones). Captain Taylor liked the large cargo; it was almost enough to make him ignore his misgivings. Nothing good came of going to Bubastos and every captain worth his salt knew it. The reason was pretty simple: The law there was draconian, and not in a the usual cheerful-leader-with-a-mustache way. The laws changed on a daily basis, usually depending on who's purse strings were loosest, but personal grudges were a currency as valid as gold. Although the state law was enforced like religious law, personal interpretation was nine-tenths of the enforcement of that law. If the law-breaker didn't have the appropriate fines on hand, then the local guard was more than willing to help with enforcement, which usually involved bone-breaking and lots of hard labor. Sure, the bones may be healed without scar thanks to magic, but the best healing magic usually didn't let the victim forget the pain of the original break. Captain Taylor had been assured that all bribes had been paid, and that he would have two hostages to take out any frustrations on if there were any problems.

Seeing his two favorite passengers walking up the gangplank had made him feel better about the whole mess, especially when they had done what few passengers had done before them: show up on time. He smiled as he saw Sal; he knew of at least one member of his crew that would be happy to see her (strangely, he hadn't done the usual and tried to deal with his heartbreak with a hair of the dog, so to speak). On the other hand, he was happy to see the kid; he was good for crew morale. The next two weeks may be filled with some serious apprehension for the future landfall, but at least it would be a fun two weeks. Besides, his crew had faced worse odds, and at least there were assurances that they would survive the encounter.

In the meantime, he had a boat to run. Most of the work had been done, and the cargo had been loaded. but there were the details that his first mate would be unable to deal with once Sal had come aboard. It had nothing to with Sal; it had everything to do with his first mate's usually inebriated state the morning they left port. He was used to it, by now and didn't mind it; after all, it made him make sure that the boat was ready to go, and it was a captain's duty to make sure that the boat was ready to go. He just wished he could relegate it to his first mate like other captains.

A New Mission - 16,849

2009-11-10T05:06:00.000-08:00

They received the message to meet Prince Ta almost as soon as they disembarked the ship. As Hajime wheeled down his lab, Sal walked to the edge of the wharf, unsure exactly where to go next. One of the older boys playing marbles near the wharf separated from the group long enough to confirm their identities, apologize for playing marbles, give them the envelope, and run back to the game. He had a chicken riding on the game.

Sal opened the envelope and read its contents. “It would appear that we are invited to dinner at Summer's Phoenix tonight. Courtesy of Prince Ta.”

Hajime tried to sneak a look at the paper. “Weird how he knew we were coming in today. I would love to have his information network. There doesn't seem to be any information that's out of his grasp.”

She crumpled up the paper and tossed it into air. “Well, he has been setting it up for decades, and he certainly has access to the technology it would take to do so.”

Hajime started searching through his pouches for something. “Well, yeah, but there's more to it than that. That level of organization can be sorta scary.”

Sal started walking towards town. “Yeah. But at least it serves the crown. For now.”

Hajime gave up looking for whatever was making his brain itch and ran to catch up with Sal. He could always look for it later.

* * * * *

Sal and Hajime checked into an inn, one with a hot bath and private rooms. Before they actually went to their rooms, they asked that a bath be drawn in the two rooms and be left to cool. That left them some time to do some quick shopping, which they did. Separately.

When Sal returned, she just wanted to get out of the clothes that she had been in for so long that they practically a second skin. She shucked her clothes and tossed them on the bedShe loved baths; the water didn't move unless you made it, and it smelled pleasant, like whatever flower she had a whim to smell. The ocean moved and smelled of fish and salt; even now she felt a little nauseous just thinking about it. She lit the cinnamon candle and breathed in the fragrance. She took what seemed hours to just soak in the tub, and let her body forget the last few weeks. When she felt that he body had forgotten enough she rose out of the bath and dabbed herself dry. She put on a the clothes that she had bought, a nice, sensible shirt/pants ensemble of cotton died various shades of yellow, with a brown vest. She brushed her hair, tying it back with a leather thong. She felt more human than she had been in weeks, and ready for dinner.

Hajime had bought a few things he missed during the voyage, such as apples and dates. It would be a while before he wanted to see oranges or lemons, or any citrus fruits for that matter. He also bought some new quills and nibs, as well as some replacements for his alchemy lab. When he finally bathed, it was with all of the ritual he could muster, starting with a quick wiping down followed by a long dip in the water, breathing in the steam. He hated the gaijin-style baths; there was just something wrong about being forced to bathe alone, almost a punishment. He would have to track down a communal bath tomorrow. Worse, there was no real separation of cleaning from bathing, so it felt like he was simmering in his own dirt. He got out, wiping the water off and wrapping the towel around his waist. He brushed his hair sat on the bed in a lotus position. He had enough time for some meditation, to re-find his center now that he shifted from being surrounded from the element of water to that of earth. Afterwards, he let his ring dress him in something fitting the dinner and ended up in a white suit with tan boots.

They met in the inn's foyer and gave bundles to the innkeeper for washing before leaving for dinner. Sal was amused by the Hajime's garb, and he was duly impressed by hers. Invitation in hand, they walked to dinner.

* * * * *

Prince Ta was waiting for them, picking through a tray of hors d'oeuvres. He looked up as they approached the table, smiling at Hajime's bold choice of white in the city that had considerable carriage traffic. He looked at Sal, and his smile almost changed to a leer. He quickly recovered and glared at a waiter, nodding at her to get the point across. Normally Sal would have balked, but it felt appropriate to the situation so she allowed it, even enjoying the added attention a little. Hajime sat down, resisting the urge to switch the chair around, but realized that the chair was one of those that was only comfortable one way. So he settled for slumping into the chair.

“It's nice to know that the two of you can clean up rather well. Kudos especially to you, Salmandra.”

Sal allowed herself to beam a little. “Thank you, Prince.”

Hajime had already started picking at the tray himself. He looked up just long enough to answer. “Thanks, your excellency.” He grabbed a pepper popper.

“You're popular in Coldport, for some reason. That may not be necessarily for the best. The report should make for an interesting read.” He grabbed a particularly tasty morsel. “However, I hope that you're ready for something a little more challenging.”

Sal smirked. “It sort of makes me nervous when you say that it's more challenging.”

“Surely you exaggerate, my dear. I would never force you into something beyond your ability. As your employer, I can just order you there.” He smile a little. “However, that implies that the two of you are my only operatives, and I would like to think that I have more than two operatives. If I did not, then obviously I would need to hire more.”

Sal smiled, relieved. “Thanks for that benevolence, Prince.”

Hajime took a break from stuffing his face with appetizers. “Your excellency, these are excellent. What are they, if I may ask?”

Prince Ta leaned over to Hajime, an eye cocked conspiratorially. “Takoyaki. The finest devilfish this side of the Lesser Pentacle money can buy, cooked into a fluffy pastry, deep fried in virgin oil and served with soy sauce. A bit rubbery, but otherwise very tasty.” Prince Ta leaned back.

“Nice. It's so hard to find a decent octopus recipe.”

Sal turned a bit green. “I so need a mission landside.”

“Sorry, my girl. Next time I'll try the more vegetarian snacks.” Prince Ta shared a quick smile with Hajime. “However, your next mission involves a little more sea travel. Sorry, couldn't be helped.”

“Fine. Just give me time to hit an open herbalist this time.”

“Well, you do have until tomorrow. All I need is for you to retrieve a small book. The path is clear; all you need to do is show up and claim it.”

The waiter removed the remaining takoyaki and replaced it with several dishes. The fried rice was steaming, with egg, scallions, and carrots strewn throughout it. There was a bowl of shrimp and broccoli, mixed with just a hint of soy sauce. And, of course, there was a bowl of steaming mixed vegetables. Prince Ta was served first, with just enough to fill his plate. The waiter served Sal next, with Sal taking just enough to fill half her plate. The waiter debated serving Hajime, and then decided to just place the food next to him before being excused by Prince Ta. Hajime smiled at the chance to serve himself, filling his plate to over-flowing. Not because he was hungry, understand, but because he never knew when his next meal was coming. He knew that it was going to come, just not precisely when, and better to be prepared.

Sal wasn't happy with the chopsticks, feeling that wood should be used for building not eating. Nonetheless, she was managing. “So, the way has been cleared....?”

“Of course. I would advise stepping lively, however. The locals don't like strangers, and have been known to do some very, um, not-nice things to them.”

Hajime was very comfortable with chopsticks, shifting quickly between picking and shoveling. “Great. Looks like another mission that can get can hot.”

Prince Ta's grinned just a little as he put a shrimp tale down. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Voyage Back to Cyrill - 15,397

2009-11-09T13:50:00.000-08:00

In the morning the Hell's Wrath got off without a hitch; all the problems had been dealt with the day previous. Foodstuffs and water had been bought and stored, the remaining room was filled with cargo from various merchants (with the various illegal goods hidden in very secure places), and replacement crew had been hired. There were of course the usual last minute replacements as some crew decided that staying in Coldport would be a great idea, usually convinced by someone that could make the nights a little less cold and the days a little more interesting.

The magesguild was decidedly unhappy due to the events at the inn-cum-listening-post. They had been selling amulets to get into the inn for decades; now they needed to make new amulets to deal with the new guardspells. On the other hand, the thieves were very happy, as they had been trying to figure a way into the cult for years and nothing helps get someone past stringent rules like an emergency membership drive. Some of the local operatives also managed to make the cut for the membership drive; sort of interesting how many duelists you can find when you do some looking for them, especially in organizations that have assassins on call.

* * * * *

Once the ship hit the deep sea, Captain Taylor felt better. It's not that he hated the towns, necessarily, it was more that it always felt like a compromise of some sort, and he hated compromise. In the port he was just another businessman, and was afforded the respect any other businessman was afforded. It was sort of funny; although Coldport was potentially brimming with captains and those that had held command, the feeling was much more intense, possibly because it felt that they had renounced what had made them special, and in fact he felt slightly discriminated against because they felt that he still clung to the glory. In other ports he was treated as a necessary evil, but in Coldport he was treated as a sign of times past, times that would be better forgotten by those who felt envy for his command as only an addict recovered can feel envy for the addicted.

But on the high seas...the pleasure of the wind and sea were his. Responsibility for the lives and fortunes of others kept him grounded, kept his head where it belonged, so that he listened to those under him, not as people but as extensions of the ship. Too many people forget that respect is a two-way street; you earn that respect not because of the title but because of what you do. A captain that claims the title needs to keep in mind that you claim the responsibilities as well; the paradox of pleasure is that it only comes at the cost of pain, and the greater the pleasure the more pain it costs. A sea captain knows that only far too well, as even the most familial of captains knows that he must keep a certain distance between himself and his crew; he may be forced at any time to sacrifice a crew member in order to save the ship, or at least put them in peril. To be familiar with a crew member was to invite paralyzing grief at the wrong moment.

There is a reason that ship captains associated their ships with women; no one understands a man better than his wife; no one stays with him longer and no one understands him better. Crews may come and go, but no one stays with a captain longer than his ship. No matter how insane the captain or temperamental the ship, captain and ship were as married as a couple on land, and any other women were mere lovers. He smiled at the number of lovers he had had, and how he always returned to Hell's Wrath like a puppy dog expecting to be kicked, and half wanting it as punishment for his transgressions. How could mere wood, nails, and spit become a living being?

But that didn't mean that he couldn't be father to those under his command. That kid Hajime was interesting to him; he was already speaking like a sailor, and become the favorite of his crew. The sailors weren't able to pass along their knowledge to their own sons, sons left behind on dry land in order to become “better people” (whatever THAT meant), and so they frequently adopted young passengers willing to learn. He smiled at it each time; it was nice to know that his crew still had a touch of humanity, no matter how they may say otherwise by bragging about their various crimes against humanity. It was always fun to see a man who would stab a man in the back and rape his wife for a small piece of gold would be incredibly patient with some kid when it came to teaching him about sailoring.

Even he himself had caught himself teaching the kid how to read the weather. He knew how to read an astrolabe, and Hajime had even taught him a trick or two. He knew the academic lessons of weather, but not the reality of it. Captain Taylor had been teaching him how to tell the weather by his feet, and how the ship beneath him could warn of shallow shoals or storms ahead by how it rocked, and it was for that reason that he wore shoes of thin leather or went barefoot.

Below his decks his first mate was entertaining another. He wasn't about to deny his first mate the chance to be entertained or to entertain someone, as long as it didn't interfere with his duties, and so far it hadn't. He was making all of the meetings and meals, and he was still making his duty hours at the wheel. If anything he was starting to approve the first mate's romance, especially as it their sparring matches were not only good for his fencing, but for the morale of the crew as well. He debated yet again allowing women crew members, but the debate died quickly; they would most likely prove to be too distracting in the long term. It wasn't the ones with loose morals he feared; they would be tossed away easily enough if things got rough and the women themselves would definitely help when it came to defending the ship. No; it were the good women he feared, as they would distract those that loved them in the most dangerous situations, and encourage the men to take fewer risks; in a career where danger was something faced everyday, not taking risks could be deadly. Nah; he wouldn't allow women on board on the chance that they were good women. That could be downright deadly, and a captain's first responsibility is to make sure that the ship survives, be it storm, sea, or the love between a man and a woman.

A week later they finally made port in Cyrill. They unpacked, dispersed the cargo (both legal and not), and were ready for more. Hajime and Sal had already disappeared. A few hours later, they would be all but forgotten. But that's how it had to be. A crew celebrated the living by forgetting about them while hoping to see them again.

Into the Heart of Darkness - 13,818

2009-11-08T17:56:00.000-08:00

Sal and Rick were just outside the inn cum listening post. There had been no traffic in or out for the last hour; yet another signal to the surrounding area that this wasn't a regular inn. They quickly determined how they would enter the building, and then walked to the building. It wasn't until they had reached the building that they noticed it had grown a few extra shadows, and that those shadows had more points than they should. They were actually happy to see them; that meant there were fewer of them inside, once they got past the blade barrier on the outside.

Based on what she knew, they decided to avoid the whole mess and see if they had made things tougher in the alley. They flew from shadow to shadow, attempting to remain unseen by the cultists. The cultists could care less about the flitting shadows; they were so used to the bats that frequented the area looking for insects flying around the lamps and the owls looking for mice that ate the leftover grain from the day's merchants that they ignored anything that didn't directly approach the inn. Of course, this made life interesting for snipers as they had to quickly distinguish between flying objects and determine which were okay and which were dangerous,

In a few moments, the couple had crossed the distance. They stopped just short of the shadow's end, and looked towards the rear entrance. Two men stood outside the rear entrance; they looked a little tougher than the average cultist, but Sal and Rick were confident that they would be easy enough to deal with and so jumped straight into battle.

When the men saw the couple jump down, metal appeared in their hands as if by magic, and they moved as if they were of one mind. They had drilled for so long that they knew each other's moves and were able to adjust their personal styles so as to aid each other while attacking their opponent. A truly impressive feat, especially as the two fencers were masters in their craft.

However, they were melee fighters up against a melee specialist and a ranged weapons expert. Rick engaged them as quickly as he could so as to distract them from charging Sal; he fought defensively, parrying the best lunges and thrusts that the cultists could muster. While he engaged them Sal moved a little closer, prepping a few choice daggers. Rick was feeling the stress of their attack; they were still formidable fighters.

“A little help would be appreciated here!”

“I'm almost there! But you are doing so fine!”

“I could be doing finer!”

Sal smiled, and her daggers started flying. Her first missed, hitting the wall behind them. Her next two didn't, finding their mark deep in the back of one the cultists, making him fall to his knees, and then to the ground. The other didn't last much longer; as he attempted to retreat Rick lunged, his saber separating the cultist's heart from his circulatory system. Rick wiped his blade as Sal and he started walking into the building.

“That was close.”

“Don't complain; you were doing fine. Now, let's go find the kid.”

“He'd better be alive.” He sliced the air in front of him to emphasis his point. He sheathed the blade, and then the two of them ran into the lion's den.

* * * * *

The subject of the rescue itself was just beginning to wake up. The rug may have been smooth and fluffy on top, but it it was rough and scratchy on the bottom, as his bare flesh had no problem reporting to his brain. Between the rug and the stone altar, Hajime was not very comfortable. Then again, comfort was probably not high on the list when the idea was to make the sacrifice suffer a bit before sending his soul to Hell. At least he didn't feel it if he didn't move any. He swore in Greek under his breath; the language was very good for swearing, unlike his native tongue (which was far too polite). He had to get out from under the rug.

He concentrated on his ears for a moment, willing them to grow a little longer, a little bit more able to focus sound. Although it tired him a little bit, it was worth it if it kept his hide intact. He strained his ears, listening for the slightest breath. After a few moments, when he couldn't bear it any more, and when he hadn't heard anything, he dared to peek out. He felt a little weird when he saw no one in the room, but shrugged as he decided to take advantage of his tormentors' absence and put his ring on. He smiled; too many had been fooled into thinking that his shape-shifting ability came from the ring and was not instead an inherent ability. All the ring did was clothe him appropriately to the situation he found himself in. He let the fabric fall over his form. He was amused that they had brought his gear here, and quickly put it on.

He took a look around. He figured that he may as well rest a few minutes. He saw a large black box, which piqued his interest a bit, or at least the large antique lock on it. He walked over to it, looking around, making sure that no one was actually there. He was always looking for new locks, or at least those new to him, and the antique lock was just so inviting. Besides, it was a BIG BOX; he was curious what was in it, and figured that since he wasn't a cat there shouldn't be an issue. He brought out his picks and attacked the lock.

It was open in moments, making him sort of sad. He opened the box, figuring it was a simple money box. He put his picks away, opened it, and smiled; sure there was a few thousand in gold and jewels, but there was also a very beautiful bauble inside. He slowly picked up the necklace, inspecting it with his magic sense. He was very happy with what he found, a simple golden chain carrying a few ruby spheres wherein someone had locked what his sense showed was a fire evocation spell in each. He put the necklace in his vest pocket, making a mental note to be very careful with the contents of that pocket.

He decided to leave before anyone came back and left the room quickly before he jinxed the moment. He heard a battle happening in the distance and decided that he would head that way. If nothing else he might be able to help the invaders and escape with them. Too bad that his own magics would have to suffice, no matter how limited they may be. He hoped that the wills of the cultists were not as strong as he suspected they were...

* * * * *

There was, of course, a reason that there were no one guarding Hajime. That reason was running toward his old room as quickly as it could. Sal and Rick were going through guards as quickly as they saw them. The cultists were quickly learning the difference between ritualized duel and the realities of combat. The two of them were not afraid to use any tactic to succeed, whereas the cultists kept relying on their dueling skills. Their basic strategy was for Rick to engage them while Sal did something clever. She had debated just throwing daggers at them, but realized that wouldn't be very effective if they were attacked by another group while she was recovering her weapons. Besides, they had plenty of weapons lying around if you just knew where to look. Their candelabras were placed well; Rick just had to bring them under one and she would cut the chain loose, stopping a group of them at the same time. The tapestries also helped, entangling them so Rick could cut them down. Candlesticks, chairs, and other furniture made excellent weapons for stunning them in small groups.

However, this method did not exactly make for the best in stealthy operations, and so their opponent could hear them coming. They were beginning to organize, and the resistance was becoming harder to deal with. The number of cultists they had to deal with each time were increasing each time, from one or two at a time to three or four.

They took a moment to breathe, waiting for the next wave of enemy targets. Sal smiled at Rick, and Rick smiled at Sal.

Sal was leaning against the wall, ready for the first person through the door. “This is a horrible first date, you know.”

Rick was crouching just to the side, back to the wall. “It could be worse, I supposed. There was this in Auf Tien, where some necromancer raised some dead in order to kill a tavern-keeper he owed a bill to. He decided that if the guy was dead he wouldn't owe him anything. Shame the place was torn down; I was trying to convince my date that the place had the best spaghetti in the hemisphere.”

“Bet there wasn't a second date.”

“Nope. Some of the zombies' guts were sticking out. The necromancer had killed some of them rather violently. I don't think that she's eaten any pasta to do this day.”

Sal allowed herself a smile. “I would definitely have a hard time topping that. Even my date in Pirates' Cove couldn't top that, and that was pretty heinous. I ended up having to fight my way out of that, too, but it was just drunken ex-research assistants.”

“I don't know. At least there were no pirates in that area.”

“You obviously haven't dated one of the faux pirates of that cove. Even the worst pirate would be more fun. And at least they're more direct about what they want.”

The chuckled a bit. Then their bodies tensed as they heard the footsteps running towards them. They looked at each other, puzzled by the sound of one set of footfalls being chased by three others. They both shrugged, deciding to let it play out before they did anything.

A form in black clothing flew past them, followed quickly by a trio of cultists. The form got a few steps up a staircase before turning around, at which point they recognized who it was. Hajime shifted gears immediately, concentrating and then he uttered a single word, and a pattern of swirling lights appeared in front of him. The cultists slowed, then stopped, entranced by the lights.

“Hi, guys. Thanks for coming, but could you do something about these guys? They may be able to break through this spell any time now.”

Sal tossed her daggers and one of them fell. Rick leaped, cutting another down. Hajime let his concentration drop, and the cultist looked surprised for just a moment before charging Hajime. Hajime leaped down the staircase. The cultist turned to follow, but grabbed his abdomen and heart, which coincidentally were where Rick's saber and Sal's dagger, respectively, had landed.

Sal grappled Hajime, and Rick slapped him on the back. Hajime enjoyed it for just a moment, and then let go of Sal. “Time to get out of here.”

Sal let go of him. “Hadn't we best grab that necklace first?”

Hajime looked at her, with one of those “what are you talking about?” looks. He smiled and opened his vest a bit. “Why would we do that?”

Sal smiled as she a couple of rubies. “Guess we don't have to. Good going, kid.”

They quickly departed the inn. Apparently they had been running out of cultists, as they only encountered a handful on the way out, and those that they did run into ran the other way. As such, they were outside and on the way to the ship in moments. They just had to wait until morning, and they would be on the way back to Prince Ta without any issues. Sal and Rick decided to spend their remaining hours in Coldport warming each other up, while Hajime did some cold reading in his room before going to sleep.

Of Capture and Rescue Plans - 11,811

2009-11-07T12:29:00.000-08:00

Sal quickly boarded the ship. The guard was asleep so she was able to slip aboard. She looked into Rick's cabin, and didn't see him, so she went to the berth shared by Hajime and her. She unlocked her berth and entered, and crashed unto her bed. She allowed herself a few moments to feel grief and angry at her failure and the capture of her junior operative. She hoped that he had somehow gotten away, but knew that she would be attempting to rescue him. The kid may have known what he was getting into, and may have been willing to risk even his immortal soul in order to ensure the mission's success, but that wasn't an acceptable excuse to forget about him. She was sure that he could become a valuable asset, and that the risk entailed in rescuing him was worth it.

More to the point, the cauldron priests still had the necklace. Rescuing Hajime was a great and altruistic goal, but he had known the risks, and the extraction of the necklace was still her main goal. She had to find out where the necklace was, and then figure out a way to snag it. That was now more complicated due to the absence of Hajime's unique senses, but she would find a way; she always did. She had hugged her pillow long enough; now it was time to get serious and start planning.

She found her notebook and a graphite stick, and grabbed them. She wondered where the nearest all-night tavern was, and then realized, with a smile, where it would be: where there was a concentration of sailors. Ah well, she was trying to get away from the sea, not its sailors. She locked up the berth and started walking for the nearest tavern.

* * * * *

The barmaids of the Green Dragon had decided that the handsome first mate was part octopus and were doing everything they could to avoid serving him. No matter which way they approached him his hand ended up on their buttocks. Although the attention was sort of fun earlier that evening, as the evening grew older he grew drunker, and so the attention had become less fun. It had hit the point where the tavernkeeper's apprentice was serving him, and even he was starting to get worried; Wastch was a cute kid and he knew the stories of what sailors who had been too long at sea might do to cute kids like him.

Between attempts at molesting the barmaids, Rick was regaling the tavern's crowd with tall tales of his personal history. If he were to be believed, then even the legendary kraken was but a small fish compared to him. Admittedly, everyone (including Rick himself) knew the stories were as solid as a siren's song, but they were entertaining, and they drew the crowds in because they were so entertaining. An informal contract had been drawn up and signed between teller and listener: He would tell the tales and they would believe him.

“...and so I was forced to run through the center of the Cruz Vert marketplace in nothing but a yard of the bluest and softest silk cloth---”

“No. I was at Cruz Vert during the Little Shrimp Party. There's no way you would be wearing blue in that area!” A drunk landlubber was beginning to forget that all-important contract.

Some of the crowd stared at the man; he was large, unkempt, and in rags, and those were his best features. He could take on any man in the room, and he knew it. The rest of the crowd knew it as well, but a few were willing to try anyway, and a number were willing to bet that a group could take him. Others were looking at the chairs and glasses, and wondering what kind of damage they could do. Rick just smiled larger.

“So, my experienced sir, what would I be wearing in that area at that time?”

“I don't know, but it wouldn't be blue. Wear blue during the Party, and you're bound to be tarred and stuck to a boat for the night.”

“Well, if you had just waited a moment, kindest sir, I would have gotten to that. And my inevitable escape from that particularly unkind punishment.”

“No, you wouldn't. You're nothing but a---” There was a crash and the man fell forward, unable to continue to his no doubt negative review. Where he had been stood Sal with the remains of chair in her hands and the rest falling on the man in front of her. Sal was smiling the kind of smile usually only seen on cats. Later, some of those present would swear that they had seen fangs and heard a growl.

“Anyone else not to want to listen to the finishing of this tale?” Everyone either smiled or shuffled their feet, but there were no audible disagreements. “That's what I thought. Please, first mate, please continue to regal with your fabrications and prevarications, sprinkled with just a pinch of that wonderful spice of truth.”

Rick smiled, unsure if he had just been called a liar or not, and continued with his tale, starting with how he had managed to escape a crowd of thousands looking for him and he having nothing but a yard of blue silk to defend himself with. The crowd cheered as found a nook to hide in, and the door at the back of the nook, where he was able to festoon himself in much more appropriate colors. Of course, he purposely forgot to mention what those colors were in order to negate the ability of anyone to correct him, and the crowd politely let him get away with that gaffe.

When he was done, he saddled up next to Sal. Wastch made sure that their beers were full and quickly disappeared into the crowd, watching Rick's hands nervously. Sal looked up from the notes she was making. “Well, that interesting. Often need to deal with critics like that?”

“Not usually. I will need to remember that particular technique of dealing with critics, however. Probably seed the audience with a person to do just that in the next port.” He noticed that she wasn't smiling at either joke, and so dropped all pretense of merriment. “What's wrong?”

She didn't even look up as she corrected something. “I failed tonight, and I need to do something about that.”

He quickly looked around and realized something. “I just realized you were lacking a shadow.”

She looked up, glaring at him. “When I fail, someone always pays the price.”

“You don't need to be so grim about it.” He put his elbows on the table and then put his head on his hands in a deliberate show of non-interest about what she was writing. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Are you sure? It's not exactly legal and it could be dangerous. It's one of those 'lucky if you're killed' kind of things.”

“Legality is never an issue. You know, part of being a pirate and all.” She brightened a bit. “As for the other, we'll just have to be a bit more careful than you were last time.”

“Well, if you're sure. Ever hear of the cauldron priests?”

“Well, sorta. It would be hard not to in this neck of the woods. Great duelists, very efficient at finding what they want, and Coldport's biggest joke when it comes to security. They're actually part of the local mages' and thieves' guilds lesson on how not to set up security.”

“Geez. Now I'm really humiliated. I really need to rescue Hajime or we'll both die of total embarrassment. Well, I'll die of embrrassment; he'll probably die from some really nasty torture first.”

“Guess that means that we need to work on a plan and in a hurry.”

“Yep.” She smiled, and then one end bent a little further. “And just out of curiosity, why were you running around in a blue piece of silk?”

He blushed a bit. A very little bit. “Let's just say that she was as beautiful as the moon, and her father was as angry as the sun. Fortunately, I was as fast as the wind.”

“Next time, you should be a little faster. Blue really can be fatal during the Little Shrimp Party. Let's just say that I should know.”

“Oh?”

“But that's my little secret. For now.”

They started planning the rescue. She had the intelligence garnered from previous reports and current experience, and he had apparently far too much experience burgling for a pirate. She was feeling a bit better about the rescue, which she would have had to go alone just a few hours previous. She was happy to have another sword along, especially one that could knew how to pick a lock without using a flintlock.

After an hour or so of planning, double-checking, and debating secondary plans if things should go again awry, they left for the rescue. Wastch fell against a wall, relieved. The first mate had been getting closer to where he had been putting the beers...

* * * * *

A number of cultists were milling through the meeting hall around their sleeping prisoner. Each wore the finery of a duelist, with loose red pantaloons, a loose jacket with red and black stripes, and black gloves, boots, and codpiece. They normally brought terror into the hearts of their potential victims, but mostly because of the pointed steel at their side, a rapier that had been crafted by skilled artisans of the weapons trade and then enchanted by sorcerers that were easily bought. Backed the master fencer's skill that each wielded it with, they would bring fear to those who knew of them.

And the hall was insribed, every foot of basalt and marble, with the symbols of their faith, drawn from some dark mythology. The story of their fell lord betrayed by one more powerful than he because of their lord's need for power manifest in the slaying of the superior's daughter when she no longer served their lord's need. Their lord was hidden away in the depths of a frozen sea, given the means to communicate his orders to those he was allowed to command. He was allowed freedom once each year, just long enough to meet the others of his rank and confer so that their overall strategy would remain a secret from their inferiors.

The cultists joined for power, for wealth, and for revenge. They wanted power over those that they saw as inferior to themselves, to decide their life or death, but were denied by birth, government, or other obstructions. They wanted wealth, not as a road to power but just to show that they had acquired the ultimates means to do simply enjoy themselves. They wanted revenge, not for others loved or any other righteous reason, but for slights usually imagined. And they had the means to do so through their Stygian lord.

The cultists may have failed in the security department, but they knew that the sparrow they had captured was probably not a sparrow. Shapeshifting wasn't exactly unknown, and there were ways to deal with it. They had to do some quick research to find out where the scroll with the appropriate magic was kept, but once they had done that they simply had to read from the scroll and Hajime was transformed from bird to boy. They restrained him on the sacrificial altar, and they used weights on the ends of the cord; if Hajime attempted to transform, the weights would keep him restrained as he transformed. Because of the difference in sizes of the two forms, he would likely lose his wings and legs in the transformation.

They didn't know what to do with his gear, so it ended up next to the altar. They didn't want to deal with any potential curses from the ring, so they didn't touch it and left it around his neck, right where it was. They then blindfolded and gagged him; they figured that a rescue party would be launched soon, if one were launched, and that they had best prepare for it. They covered him with a thick blanket to hide him; there was no need to make it easy for the rescuers, and they wanted him for after the rescue attempt. He would make a great sacrifice to their Stygian god, and hopefully Hajime's soul would help keep him warm in his icy prison.

Sparrow Down - 10,022

2009-11-06T20:22:00.000-08:00

The temple was dark. Not just dark in the sense that they couldn't see, but dark in the sense that even with Hajime's summoned ball of light they had problems seeing what was in the inner sanctum. Hajime thought that it may have been because of some sorcerous darkness, but then he just realized it was because of the walls painted black and the dust in the air. Sal debated leaving behind the address of some decorators for the cultists, but then realized that they probably would get free decorating by virtue of killing the decorators after the job. She instead left the address of their competitors.

Sal's body froze as the hair on the back of her neck straightened themselves out. Her hand moved to her knife of its own accord, just as her eyes started watching Hajime. The boy was a rookie just out of the academy, but it was his fresh eyes that were a solid advantage in this line of work. Of course, it didn't help that he could somehow sense magic, and he had some background in sneaking out of the Five Ponds Koi Academy; most apprentice wu jen did, of course, but that background helped detect magical traps. Because of that, when her neck hairs straightened, her body froze as her eyes went to the Nihonen youth.

Hajime was ignoring her. He knew that his survival depended on her ability to react quickly to danger, and the more information he could give her the more likely she could save the both of him. He extended his senses out, looking for the familiar glow he could sense. His brow furrowed a bit as he had to work through the interference of the room itself, but then the room seemed to snap into focus, with different areas glowing at different strengths. Although the feedback caused him a little pain, he didn't lose the vision. He had been shown what the necklace looked like; now, it was a matter of matching the right glow and finding the right object in a haystack of magical items. It took a few moments of ruling out items, but he was able to find it. He focused in on what he thought was the necklace, and determined that it matched the fire evocation he had been told it was.

He motioned to Sal to stay where she was but be prepared for anything. He had noticed the sigils on the floor just in front of her; if she touched them, she would become one with the walls in a very non-metaphysical way. The box that the necklace was in had no magical aura; that actually made him more nervous. After all, this was an item important enough that they were calling in a specialist to take it home, but there were few safeguards. That meant either that they were just lax in security, or that they attempting to hide it in such a way that it wouldn't draw attention to the necklace. A third possibility, that it was a trap, was in the forefront of his mind, and he took what precautions he could.

He attacked the lock of the box. However, the lock on the box was too hard for him to pick, so he looked for alternatives. He frowned to himself as he noticed that the hinges were on the outside. He quickly unscrewed the hinges and opened the box from the rear. He smiled as he saw the crossbow rigged to shoot if the front was opened, and then frowned as he checked the vector of the crossbow; a jeweled gourd hung from a hair-thin wire that the crossbow was aimed at. He had a new-found respect for the trap-makers as he quickly deactivated the crossbow.

He then had a chance to look at the necklace itself; all he saw was a string of clamshells where he was expecting to find ruby spheres. His eyebrow cocked itself for a moment, and then his eyes rolled up as he realized that he wasn't looking at an illusion; his magical sense had been fooled. As he quickly retreated, he signaled to Sal to get out. She backed out quickly, and Hajime hoped to be just a few steps behind her. He heard grinding, and pushed himself, his heart pounding and his forehead sweating. He jumped to the doorway as he saw a block starting to fall down. Sal thrust a hand forward to grab Hajime, helping across the last few inches, but the falling block forced her to pull her hand away. Hajime hit the stone, knocking the wind out of him for a moment.

Sal heard footsteps hurrying to her location, forcing her to melt into the shadows. She would need to get away and come back later, hoping for a chance to extract the necklace and rescue her fellow operative, in that order of priority. She found a nook just as the cultists came in. She didn't have a chance to look at them as she raced out of the temple; fortunately they were more interested in what they had trapped than what was getting away. In moments the cold winds of early morning hit her as appeared in the alley behind the inn. She debated her options, and decided that the best place to run to would be the ship, so she started running back to it, praying that Hajime could survive until she returned for him, or escape on his own. If not, it was nice knowing him, but time to get another helper; Hajime knew the risks going in.

Hajime was praying for himself. He figured that Sal would be safe, and just didn't have time to really worry about her beyond that quick thought. His mind raced from one creative and nasty end that the cultists would do to someone that he had entered their sanctum to the next. He reigned in his panic before it destroyed him, and totally shut him down. He heard the door grinding, and realized that that he had just moments until he was going to have some visitors that would probably want his skin flayed from his body, probably with him alive and awake during the process. He quickly debated his options, using the panic to sharpen his intelligence rather than dulling it. The first thing he did was to look for some kind of window or ventilation; apparently there weren't supposed to be any long-term visitors as he didn't see anything that would let him out. He then looked for something to hide behind, but quickly ruling that option out; the sigil that was on the floor covered the walls, making any spot behind an item potentially as deadly as just getting caught. The door was almost a foot off the ground; a little higher and the cultists would be able to start crawling in. Some had already lowered the spears in hopes of pinning him before the door was completely open.

He had one option left, but he had wanted to make sure that other options were closed to him. After all, the best thief was one that didn't leave a clue of his existence, even when caught. His last option would not only leave proof behind, but his best gear, and he definitely didn't want to leave his hard-to-find gear behind. He put his ring on its cord and then on his neck, and jumped up. His clothes fell to the ground, along with all of his gear, and he flew to through the open door on feathered wings, dodging the spears and other weapons converged on it. As he flew towards the ceiling, a cultist pointed a crystal wand at him and uttered a single word. Electricity ran through his body, and it began shutting down. In mere moments, his four-ounce body felt like it was made of lead, and he was falling earthward. He collided with the floor, and just couldn't get up. As black filled his vision he saw a blurry priest walking towards his small body. Hajime's last thought was spent hoping they thought he was a bird.

Making Landfall - 8660

2009-11-05T12:01:00.000-08:00

The next few days went fast. Hajime kept up his meditation-exercise-crow's-nest-sleep routine, and Sal and Rick began fencing in earnest. She kept to her wooden sword, and improvised one for Rick. After a night or two, Hajime was sleeping alone in his berth and the pair started going to bed earlier each night. Although they kept the romance chaste above decks, and limited their contact to their fencing, verbal and swords, it didn't take a genius to figure out that they were enjoying shipboard romance below decks.

The crew were happy about this, especially as they disliked the first mate moping around deck. As typical, it wasn't because they cared for his personal welfare (well, okay; they did, as the first mate was well liked), but because he became nasty and nastier the more he moped, which he would have started had he not found a distraction of some sort. As he was most definitely distracted, he left the crew to do their job. He was a little meaner on his shift, but only because he impatient to get below decks, but he didn't get as nasty as normally did.

In a few days, they reached port. The crew worked liked men possessed, with just mooring, unloading, and securing the ship between them food that had to be eaten, beer that had to be drunk, and women that had to be loved. The work was finished in a few short hours, and the captain's inspection was more the captain messing with the crew than anything serious. Hajime and Sal had disappeared into the crowd well before that.

They had had to remember to wear thick clothes. Coldport was the northernmost port on the planet, established because the original settlers wanted to be far away from any law enforcement, and you couldn't get much farther away than northern shelf of ice of the planet. The biggest problem was that food had initially to be imported, but that was solved when a couple of sorcerers on the run had created a series of tunnels beneath the town to escape their pursuers; fortunately they weren't scholars, and so tunnels remained. When things had cooled down, they ran back to more civilized lands. A couple of kids found the tunnels by accident. A weathercrafter smiled, and tried something: He made the cave walls fertile while hanging some eternal lamps on the ceiling. Thus were arable acres created underneath the city, and enough greenery created each year to support the settlement's needs (as long as the tunnels were fertilized each year, but there was less and less magic required as more of the natural stuff was made available). Over the ensuing years, the settlement flourished as like-minded individuals gathered. Within a few short decades Coldport was as bustling as it could be.

(The original problem regarding law enforcement became a moot point early on. Although they established a listening post (like just about everyone else), the idea of sending even an army into a port of well-trained pirates with an easily defended tunnel system was easily the cause of many headaches of those who wanted to eradicate the pirate problem.)

Suffice to say, Coldport was unlike any other pirate port (which really isn't saying anything as all of the pirate ports were different from each other). In this case, Coldport was basically a retirement village for pirates, but that didn't really mean anything either as “retirement” for a pirate could happen anytime after the first big haul; for most, that first haul sufficed, stilling the need for adventure in their lives. For some, it was accompanied by their first amputation; prosthetics were sadly a big business in Coldport. But so was information; the residents still kept their ears to the ground, monitoring what happened to old bunkmates and the activities of their ships. This kept them in the loop as far as news in general, and sometimes their rumors became established fact.

However, this meant that some organizations kept “listening posts” here, waiting to hear about some ship with a huge bounty on it or tracking certain goods. It was usually just a matter of time before something was heard. Of course, the posts were sometimes targeted; if you were an information broker, they represented a veritable treasure trove, where data had been gathered and distilled down to a workable essence. Thus, the better listening posts were highly secured, with physical security buttressed by magic, and security guards providing an extra set of eyes. It is often said that what an army couldn't penetrate individuals could; listening post security was very efficient at dealing with those individuals.

Of course, being the representative of their respective organizations far away from civilized lands meant they acted as a clearinghouse for the items that they found. Although they generally sent the acquired items to their homes on an annual basis (or sooner as situations warranted it), nonetheless they did act as temporary storage for a number of interesting items. If the item was interesting enough, then someone would show up to chaperon it to the headquarters of whatever organization's listening post it had shown up at. Thus, if someone monitored the goings and comings of the right people, an interesting pattern would quickly develop. Prince Ta had done just that, and thus had been able to find out where a number of those posts were, even though he was over a thousand miles away. Once he had established where they were, he had to merely pick and choose until he found those of groups he felt merited special attention, and had hired locals to keep an eye on them and even stage occasional incursions into them to find out what they were interested or if they had found interesting objects. The agent would then contact Prince Ta by magical messenger, and Prince Ta would deal with it, or not, depending. Thus, when the local group of cauldron priests had found a necklace that purportedly created fireballs, he had felt it necessary to relieve them of the necklace. Thus did Sal and Hajime find themselves outside a listening post on a cold night.

The listening post was a small inn; nothing to ostensible, and it actually seemed to fade into the buildings behind it. There was nothing remarkable about the inn, and there were few patrons of the bar. It was set far from the harbor, and the wines it served were a bit more sour than usual. In a larger city, this would guarantee it anonymity; however, in a port based off information, attempting to hiding yourself was the biggest reddest flag you could attach to yourself. Curiosity may be the leading cause of death among felines, but causing curiosity was the leading cause of death for listening posts.

Thus everything was known about the inn. The magical defenses were well established and amulets to protect against them were sold at the local mageguild. The physical defenses had been spied and scryed, and so how to avoid them were a matter of just asking the wrong people. The security was a joke; the signs and counter-signs were well-known and the post had been infiltrated a number of times as an initiation for the local agents. However, the inner sanctum was still an unknown. Sal and Hajime were going to penetrate it, with any luck, and bring back a rather nifty necklace. And then return the same way they had come to deliver it to Prince Ta. Or at least that was the idea.

The security was easily dealt with. Sal went through them like a hot knife, She struck from darkness and took them out without thinking, without pausing, a panther among sheep it didn't waste time with because they couldn't provide even the most feeble sport. It wasn't that they were that bad; it was that she was that good. She had been trained on the plains of Tigouslan among the panther-men; she had learned to use whatever cover was available to cover her movements, and to use spring from them, killing her prey. She stopped every few steps to listen, to find her prey, to confirm where it was, to ensure that she was invisible. Because killing wasn't as acceptable in civilized lands as it was on the plains, she had had to change her methods to allow for it; she used a rag and some camphor to knock out the guards and then she lay them down silently.

She liked how they covered areas in overlapping sections; one guard would go into a room and the other would cover them. It was an intelligent idea, as long as the covering guard wasn't taken down first. If she hadn't some way of knowing about it ahead of time, she would have been caught several times over. However, she had agreed to carry Hajime's equipment so that he would be able to scout the areas ahead of time and warn her through a set of claw signals they had developed for when he was covered in feathers; his sparrow form was ideal for scouting an area ahead of time, as everyone ignored sparrows. How they ignored a sparrow with a ring around its neck was another thing, but people usually did. Fortunately, his equipment was so light that it didn't cause her even the slightest pause.

They went through several rooms that way, and then ended up against the door of the inner sanctum. Hajime flapped down, and put a claw into the ring. Hajime triggered the change, becoming a teen-age boy. At the same time, the ring glowed faintly, covering his form in black clothing and staying just ahead of the shift just enough that Hajime was never exposed. When it was completed he breathed in and smiled at Sal, who gave him his equipment. After he had his belt on tight, he reached into a pouch, brought out a pair of lockpicks, and then started picking the lock with the two small pieces of metal. After a few minutes of picking at the lock, Hajime stepped back a little bit, surprised.

“This is weird.”

Sal didn't like hearing what she heard. “You picked it?”

“Yeah. We thought it would be worth a try, but we didn't think it would actually work. This is...interesting.” He put his picks back and let Sal move to the door.

She hated hearing that something was interesting. “Great. Given the amount of security we've seen so far, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. No wonder they want to move it so quickly.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She opened the door, and the two of them went in.

The Voyage Begins - 6879

2009-11-04T21:44:00.000-08:00

In the meantime, Hajime had established a routine. He woke before the crew every morning for three hours of meditation. He had spent years at the monastery learning how to find his center, and then how to lose that center in the universe. He became, for a few hours each day, part of the fabric of the universe; he could feel in his bones, his nerves, his very soul the elements that made up Jezreel. The air that its creatures breathed, the water of its oceans, the metal of its inhabitants, the earth of its crust, and the fire below it; all of the elements were as part of him as he was of it. That awareness fueled him for the day, and it made his spells that much more real, and that added level made it easier for him to cast his spells. The meditation left him focused and his will stronger; he always felt a little better afterwards. Although he knew the meditation wasn't necessary, it would probably mess with his rhythm if he didn't do it every morning.

He also put in thirty minutes of physical exercise. He did it in his shorts so he started out somewhat chilly, but he quickly warmed up. He did some basic kata; although he never got into the martial arts that the monastery taught, he did know the basic exercises, and so kept them up as a form of exercise. The sailors saw his tattoos (which included a small red Oriental dragon attempting to eat itself above his heart and several rectangles in an arch formation with a sun behind them on his back); curiosity ran rampant as to the arch's meaning, but they knew better than to ask a magic-worker about his secrets. A quick cleansing thanks to a simple spell, and the stink of perspiration was cleaned from his body, although it was hardly as refreshing as a real shower.

Afterwards, he would bring out a few chemicals and mix something up. He figured it would be a good idea to have some decent potions around, and so he concocted at least one a day. Usually it was nothing major, but once in a while he created something that explode, fizz violently, or just change color randomly for a few minutes. His worst disasters combined all three of them. For some reason, the big, bold, scary pirates covered in scars and tattoos gave him plenty of room for as long as he needed. He wasn't sure if it was going to be okay, but he relaxed a bit when he saw some of them watching and placing bets. After seeing some of them getting a little friendly with each other, especially the younger members, he was sort of pleased that his potion skills kept the crew away. It was normally part and parcel of the job to be lonely as a magic-worker, but that he created concoctions that could re-arrange the landscape on accident really helped enforce that loneliness.

After he put his alchemy lab away. He climbed up the rigging. In order to feel like he was contributing to the ship, he had volunteered for time in the crow's nest. Although a necessary post, it was the most boring one, with nothing to do It was the closest he could get to flying; if he got too far away as a sparrow, he wouldn't have been able to catch up to the fast-moving ship. However, it was enjoyable to see the shapes large and small scurry from the ship; even those that might have been large enough to properly challenge the ship's crew and armament changed direction just enough to avoid the ship. He would usually eat his dinner there; again, his training helped here, as even the worst meal that the ship's cook was a delight compared to the usual meal at the monastery. He also did some drawing and writing; one could tell by his illustrations when he had adjusted to ship's movement, as the lines became sharper. There wasn't much to draw, so he just illustrated his journal. There were no worries about surprise as a ship would have had to be invisible to sneak up on him, and if they did use invisibility, then it would surprise everyone.

After his shift in the nest, he settled in and went to sleep. Although the passenger's berth was decidedly spartan, it was comfortable for what it was. Hajime fell asleep quickly and hardly moved, compared to his sick companion. A few hours of rest and he would repeat the day.

* * * * *

After a few days at sea, Sal was feeling better. At least, she could move without feeling like she had to vomit, and her overall complexion had improved from pale to just a shade below her usual tan, and her muscles felt rubbery from lack of use. She needed exercise, and the sooner the better. She knew that any serious exercise was going to hurt, but the pain just meant that you were alive, right? So she grabbed her practice sword, found some room on the forecastle, and started stretching.

After a few minutes of basic stretches, she did some basic calisthenics. After a quick battery of jumping jacks, sit-ups, and push-up, and a few minutes of running in place, she was ready. She tied her hair back, again, and grabbed the handle of the practice sword. She went through her basic draws and swings, just loosening up. She needed the big swings to rattle any tight muscles loose; the tight ones were cramping left and right, but she worked through the pain. She could feel the sweat streaming down her forehead, and knew that she would probably stink, from the perspiration, but she smiled; the sweat was purifying, and it would wash off easily enough. She had to move her clothes around a bit as the sweat fell into uncomfortable places, but that she could actually do something about it made her smile a bit.

After a good half hour of this, she shoved her sword into an imaginary sword, and she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing her change from battle mode to relaxed mode. When she opened her eyes, she smiled a bit, one end turned up further than the other. Standing before her, with his exposed muscles glowing a bit thanks to the sun, was the first mate. With a wet cloth and tall drink of something frosty. She grabbed the cloth, wiped her forehead and arms, and returned it (which he graciously accepted), and relieved him of the obviously heavy weight of the mug. She gulped down some of the salty beer, thankful for moisture and salt. She sat the half-full mug down and actually looked at him for the first time.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I figured you needed something after your workout.”

“Not quite done yet, but the refreshment is appreciated, kind sir.”

“It's nice to see that you're finally getting back to what I hope is normal for you. I was beginning to get worried.”

“No need. But thanks. It was...appreciated.”

She knew that he was looking at her, inspecting her. Although she knew that there was some objectification in his inspection (after all, she was the only woman on board), she also knew that he was looking for some sign of weakness that he could exploit, and intrigued because he was having problems finding one. Her skin was smooth, with just a trace of the scars that a swordswoman normally picked up, with corded muscle just below the surface. A life of activity rendered her without an ounce of obvious fat, and even her hair, which was obviously usually in a ponytail, was smooth and shiny, the sign of someone who was not a stranger to hot water and soap. She took care of herself, and woman like that usually had no sign of weakness. On the outside. He smiled, looking forward to the challenge.

Of course, she was inspecting him at the same time. He had a little more fat than she would have liked, but a habit of tanning with a drink at hand would cause that. He definitely exercised, but it was more for the purpose of showing off than for saving his skin. However, the obvious love handles weren't that large, and she had seen his abdomen; she felt the need to do some laundry. His calves were bricks, and his arms had just enough fat on them to make them smooth, and not in an unpleasant way. She had seen the grace with which the man moved, and knew that he could handle himself in fight. However, he was more lover than fighter, and would need some serious practice to get him in shape.

She moved a full pace back, pulling out his rapier as she did so. She threw the thin sword at him, and he deftly caught it. She smiled.

“So, think you can wield that piece of metal? I need some practice, and all I can find is you.”

He assumed an en guarde stance and she allowed her body to assume a defensive stance. He smiled, then lunged, as she parried the intentionally clumsy blow and rolled past him. She brought her own weapon down, but it was parried as he attempted to riposte, his blade tip ending up near her throat before she stepped backward, her body compacting like a spring. She lunged, parrying the blade, and chopping at...air. She smiled, and then ducked, narrowly avoided the slice at her neck. He smiled, winking at her, and she noticed that their display had drawn a crowd. She could see Hajime taking bets out of the corner of her eye, and a quick read of the crowd said that she was being bet against.

A quick jab near her face reminded her that, although she was the better fighter, he was more in tune with the fight. She crouched down, annoyed that she had allowed herself to be distracted. However, the fight had done what she had wanted it to; her muscles were loose and reacting without her thinking about it. Nonetheless, she could feel the soreness through the adrenalin, and knew that she had to wrap the fight up soon, and that it had better be a crowd-pleaser. She smiled as he lunged yet again at her.

She matched the lunged, missing him, but putting her sword just a few hairs from his. She twisted her sword, disarming him, and the crowd watched as the rapier arced above him. She jumped on him, using him as a vault, and grabbing the sword in mid-flight. She landed on one-foot, swinging around just as he did. She put her wooden sword across his throat, using it to brace the rapier's point at his throat. He went down on one knee, arms spread-eagle, smiling.

The crowd cheered. The crew knew he was more lothario than thug, and the final move was a nice dramatic flourish, so they went with it. She sheathed her sword, and returned his sword to him hilt first across her forearm. He took the sword and sheathed it.

He looked at her, grinning, “By the way, we haven't been introduced.”

She returned his grin. “ Interesting. You appear to be correct. Obviously, this needs to remedied.” She searched for Hajime, and quickly found him, in the center of a group of sailors that were yelling at him about their wagers. She rolled her eyes; they were arguing in vain, considering his eidetic memory. “HAJIME! Get you ass over here!”

Hajime smiled weakly at the other guys, and then ran to Sal. “Um. Thanks. What's up?”

“ I need you to introduce me to this stud.” She pointed at the man leaning on the hilt of his rapier.

“Salmandra Watson, First Mate Richard Mathers. Richard Mathers, Prince's Operative Salmandra Watson.”

He leaned forward. “Just call me 'Rick'. Nice to meet an operative.”

She ignored him and glared at Hajime, who had a hat full of coins, and bent down just enough so that he was the only one who heard what she said. “So. Half of those are mine, right?”

She smiled as he looked at her, puzzled. Under her continued glare, he decided that she was right. It was nice to be back. Especially when the loser walked over and offered to give her a massage. And she would need it; the muscles were already screaming at her. But only after a quick bath. Oh. But only after she finished the beer she had sat down. She needed the beer. Purely for the liquid and salt. Honest.

Hiring Crew - 4757

2009-11-03T21:02:00.000-08:00

The deep blue sea, interspersed with brown patches of kelp and black forms just below the surface. Above it, birds soar serenely, looking to strike at any fish that comes near the surface, diving, splashing, returning to the skies above with their squirming prey. The fish below are split between two two groups, the fish that swim in well-coordinated schools, their very movement confusing those in the second group, the predators that prey on those too slow to evade them. There are the plankton-eaters, those giants that create the largest, scariest shadows but wouldn't harm a flea; their baleen would filter it out of their foodstream. And then there are the reptiles and whales, usually predators but sometimes just more of the plankton-eaters. Everyone down here is at peace, knowing that you can only avoid your fate for so long and lacking the memory to really worry about it. Fish are Buddhists by definition, living for the moment and not caring about a past they can't remember nor the future they can't contemplate.

A world of beauty and symmetry, where everything is counterbalanced by something else. Unless the apothecary was taking the day off to see his mistress, whose husband was away taking care of business. In which case you get a special view of the vast expanse rolling beneath your feet, a ride that you voluntarily get on and can't get off any time, no matter what, trapped by the battle between your will and your inner ear. Sal was cursing that apothecary, hoping he caught a disease so painful that he would be relegated to a state where he couldn't do anything about it, even though the right drugs were just a few a steps away and out of reach because he couldn't stand.

After dry heaving once again, she leaned against the rails, offering no solace to her stomach. The crew was busy; even on though the ship itself was on course there were still chores to do, mostly maintenance, but each one still necessary to the welfare of the ship at large, be it eternally swabbing the deck to avoid the buildup of salt on the deck to sewing even the smallest rips in the backup sails. The cook was busy trying to make the hard tack, salted meat, and dried fruit interesting, but failing miserably; someone had forgotten to restock his spices. The navigator checked and rechecked his math, hoping that the crew hadn't glued his astrolabe's wheel, again (the crew got easily bored). The captain was enjoying the smoothness of operation, both his crew and his beloved vessel. The first mate was busy...working on his tan. He was resting up for when he took over at sunset, when he would fill-in for the captain as master of the ship, but only until Something Interesting happened, which rarely did; monsters rarely attacked ships anymore (doing so would bring attention to them, and in an era of heroes that was always a Bad Idea) and pirates only attacked during the day (only a moronic landlubber wouldn't realize that you needed to see something in order to sneak up on it, and most ships ran with as few lights as possible to ensure invisibility at night).

She smiled just a little, hoping the movement wasn't enough to trigger another communion with the sea. The first mate was sort of attractive; he was young enough to be worried about his physical appearance, and his ministrations were paying off. He helped the swabs in order to maintain a certain bulk, practiced with saber to keep up his skills but really to maintain his grace, and brushed his hair to keep it smooth, employing wax to keep it and his goatee shiny. Even now he worried, applying a light coconut oil in order to make sure he didn't burn in the harsh sun so that his skin was a dark tan, but not so dark that his light blue eyes were lost in the dusk. She had one wistful thought of what she would do him if not for the rolling ocean...and had to quickly turn before the crew threw a mop in her general direction.

She hated her life right now. If she could move from the railing she would show that first mate why you didn't look that good to someone as bored as she was. Too bad she had other worries.

Coming Together - 4023

2009-11-02T00:03:00.000-08:00

That was on Cyrill, the deal-making center of water-covered Jezreel. On the volcanic island of Bubastos, two warriors were determining who was better. Santiago Bahamez was the champion of his local swamp, of the reptilian Hriss, he swung his battle axe with abandon. Blue scales under black leather, he dodged his opponent's rapier, swinging at every chance. Gryz the Whip, named for the flogging he had received on Auf Tien, poked and parried the battle axe with rapier, the first third reinforced to create a formidable fencing weapon. As this was a duel based on speed, the only sounds were the grunting of the warriors and the crunch of their footsteps.

The Levitian's swarthy brow sweated rivers as he attempted to find a weakness in the Hriss' armor. Every time he thought he had found one, it disappeared in one of Santiago's lightning dodges. At the same time, Gryz was able to easily dodge the predictable path of the axe, sometimes easily, sometimes close enough that rips appeared in his shirt. They could be desperate enemies only as best friends could be, and they were the best friends villains could be, but the match was necessary to determine leadership. With such stakes, each was fighting as they had never before, axe swing meeting rapier lunge, dodge versus parry. They would determine who was better, even if one of them left the pit under a sheet.

Santiago managed to break past Gryz' defense, and swung his axe. Gryz fell to the ground, rolling under the swing. Standing yet again, he changed the direction of the blade, holding backwards, and then thrust towards Santiago, who merely stepped out of the way. Santiago swung from above, and it Gryz spun out of the way, using the momentum to spear at Santiago, who executed a back-flip to avoid the blow. Santiago attempted a sweep kick, but Gryz easily jumped out of the way. Gryz held his blade in a stabbing position, forcing Santiago to roll out of the way.

Above it all, in a throne just above the pit in torch-lit shadow, sat Lord Ashigaru. As grunts came from below, his red eyes followed every movement without moving themselves. He watched the two warriors vie for the position of his third-in-command, the being that would command a fleet that would bring back the Stygian Edge, assuming it was where he had been told it was.

The crunch of gravel below stopped. Gryz had finally tired of the precision fencing that was the pride of the Levitians, and had started just pummelling Santiago. A fist surrounded by the rapier's steel basket had finally knocked the Hriss to the ground, and Gryz put a boot on the axe, stopping its swinging. He had pulled back for a final blow, looking up at his lord for the signal to save or end his foe's life.

Lord Ashigaru appeared to think about it for a moment. A smile crossed his scaled countenance, and he gave the thumbs up. Gryz smiled as he bowed, and then helped Santiago up. The two disappeared into the tunnels surrounding the pit, heading for the nearest bar for a round of drinks and lies about the fight. Lord Ashigaru knew they would have served the other well, but was nonetheless pleased that Gryz had won the fight; Santiago was an able strike leader, but hardly the admiral Gryz was. Nonetheless, a battle for leadership needed to be fought to ensure that there were no hard feelings.

He smiled as he thought about the mission's target. The Stygian Edge would be his, and with it he would rule in flame and fear. It was a good day to be alive for Bubasto's serpentine ruler.

* * * * *

That afternoon, back on Cyrill, the interviews began. While Sal tried to find a boat that fit their criteria (pretty much the cheapest yet fastest ship she could find) Hajime started researching the target. After all, even the best intelligence forgot something. In this case, the cultural dossier had been forgotten. Which meant having to go into the backshelves of the worst library on Cyrill, hoping to find something despite their complete lack of organization. Hajime had learned early on to hate the backshelves.

Sal knew she was going to hate looking for a ship as soon as she showed up at the docks. She was able to quickly find which ships were in her budget, and was even more quickly disgusted by what she saw. The docks weren't necessarily divided up neatly into “good ships here, bad ships here”, but a quick talk with the harbormaster's apprentice sent her in the right direction. She soon had five candidates.

Within minutes, she had the list even shorter; the candidates practically eliminated themselves. One guy had huge forearms and a serious speech impediment; although he definitely looked the part, his inability to properly articulate even basic words like “am” would have driven her crazy within the first few days. If she wanted to succeed in her mission, it would help to not be arrested for murder when she arrived in port. Another had a story for everything. She knew the type; every time he spoke, he would some anecdote for whatever he was discussing. The only way to shut him up would be to get him laid and she wasn't sure that Hajime was ready for that experience. Of course, there was also that one over-kohled pirate who had to be on drugs; although she recognized that some pirate captains were “eccentric” and that they drew power from those “interesting traits”, she needed a captain that wouldn't try some interesting maneuvers while she was onboard and get them killed while pursuing some rich loot.

So it came down to a ruggedly handsome captain with a really nice ship and a rather shifty one with a ship that had seen better days. She had to decide against the guy with the really nice ship. A ship in that condition had probably not seen any actual action and the captain was probably newly minted out; it was likely that he was some rich man who had fallen in love with the sea and thought that piloting a yacht around a race course qualified him as a seadog. A handshake confirmed that he wasn't the man for her; it was firm enough, but the hand lacked any real calluses. She knew a number of rich men that were honest-to-goodness seamen, but this poser wasn't part of that crowd.

On the other hand, the shifty captain had calluses galore, and a quick investigation confirmed her worst suspicions. This guy was the real deal; he had been sailing for almost two score years, and had a reputation for facing the worst that the sea had to offer and always seemed to bounce back from the worst tragedies. He was married to his ship, even though that didn't stop him from the occasional dalliance at a port, and the marriage had changed him just like it would any other man, making him more solid than most bachelors and making him somehow more handsome than his mere appearance. He was covered with callouses, scars, and tattoos, and he wore several layers of clothes that had been patched and repaired so many times that the original fabric was likely gone and completely replaced by thread and patches. He had most of his original equipment, but the gloves he wore were likely for support of his arthritic hands and the hat probably hid a large bald patch.

His ship wasn't in much better condition, as it was covered in barnacles and tar (and most likely held together by those, some bailing wire, and too much spit to think about), and if you looked closely enough you could see the scratches in the boat's wood from cannonballs and monster attacks. She could see that modifications had been made to the ship's keel and rudder, and the ropes may have appeared slack but would tighten in such a way as to maximize the sails' ability to catch the wind. Both masts had been reinforced, yet allowed a certain space for bending. She smiled at the old boat, which had obviously been cared for like a beloved wife, and wasn't the captain's prize possession but part of him, possibly even dearer to him than his own soul. She didn't like to read, but the captains log piqued her curiosity. Captain Jonathan Taylor ran a tight ship for as loose as his lips were.

She haggled, he bargained, and finally a deal was struck. Thankfully they were heading in the same direction, and she was able to use Hajime's and her skills to bring the cost down lower. This would not be a vacation, but she had been worried about keeping busy on the way to Coldport. She had some shopping to do, most on the advice of Captain Taylor, and had to grab her junior associate, but she should easily make the sunrise departure time. She also needed to go by the apothecary's; for as much time as she seemed to spend at sea, she had never grown a pair of sea legs.

* * * * *

For his efforts, Hajime was hardly rewarded. Not that it had been hard to find information on Coldport; just the opposite, actually. The problem was more in determining which information was dross and which was tainted too much to use. He hated this part of research, as he frequently had to determine how to tell the truth from near-truth, and he didn't like guessing. He smiled as he realized that he the intelligence and, assuming the report was up to speed, he should be able to cross-index the information to determine which sources were legitimate, and use them to create a reasonable cultural profiling of the pirate port.

A few hours of work later, and a few false starts, and he was well on the way to creating a profile. He even made notes on several local myths just for completeness' sake. He smiled as he realized that the expedition to Coldport should be reasonably easy; the port served as a retirement village for Jezreel's pirates. Any pirate that had survived more than a few booty grabs were welcome to hang their hat there, and the population was easily one of the oldest of any port. The people there were more relaxed than other pirate ports, and, ironically, had a very good relation with law enforcement; after all, the crimes that most of them had committed weren't technically crimes due to location, and so the local cops just had to deal with the occasional fight. It was almost as if being in a life-and-death struggle had gotten whatever it was out of their systems and they were calmer now.

Yep, Hajime thought to himself, should be easy sailing.

Beginnings - 2195

2009-11-01T00:29:00.000-07:00

No. That's what he should have said this morning.

Instead, Hajime was chained to a cold wall in the dank dungeon of some second-rate castle with someone firing up the branding irons. And his pants are nowhere to be seen. He smirked to himself; some people would pay decent money for the privilege of being where he was now. The scrawny kid from the docks of an oriental port wouldn't mind trading places with one of those well-fed lordlings right about now.

He wasn't planning on staying there long, of course. Even naked, chained, and about to receive some intimate attention from a large man with white-hot irons, he still had an option. He could feel the heat from the coals as the torturer stirred the coals, and the rancid sweat from past interrogations almost overwhelmed him. Hajime started to sweat as he realized that the torturer could probably get whatever answer wanted from him, so he had better start working on a plan to escape from the torturer's no doubt tender affections.

He sent out his senses into the immediate area; he needed to make sure that the apparently steel manacles holding him were in fact steel, and not something more. As they didn't exactly glow to his enhanced senses, he had some reason for hope. He retracted his senses and quickly assessed the room he was in: The door was closed tight against his potential screams and there were bars everywhere. No normal person would be able to escape from the manacles, and, even if they did, they wouldn't be able to get out of the room. The only way he would be able to escape is if he somehow managed to fly up to the open window venting the heat from the coals. He allowed himself a smile at the site. The torturer smiled wolfishly at the sight of the kid smiling; the more in control that they felt they were, the easier they were to break.

That wolfish grin was quickly replaced by a falling jaw as the torturer saw what was happening to his prisoner. His muscles spasmed, as his body shrunk. Feather replaced hair, and those feathers quickly covered his body. His fingers splayed and the bones grew even as his arm bones became the same length; in mere heartbeats his arms were replaced by wings. His legs shrunk, and his face lengthened as his nose and mouth fused, becoming stiff, and then hard, becoming a bird's beak. In mere moments the chains clanged against the stone wall as a sparrow flew up and disappeared out a window. The cold air hit him like a lover's kiss as he flapped into the night.

* * * * *

Hajime landed on a rooftop where he had left his clothes, wings flapping to slow his descent, and quickly shifted back to human form. He liked his avian form, but you'd probably never see him don it at a party. Of course, the warm feathers were a definite plus, but the clothes were working solution for the cold air hitting his unclothed body. He grabbed a silver ring on a leather thong and put it around his neck. After a quick debate, he threw on some clothes. He grabbed his shoulder bag, withdrew some climbing gear, and started going down to ground level. Once there, he prayed thankfully that he had chosen the right dark alley (no traffic and, better yet, no hidden loiterers) and walked up the alley towards a small bookstore.

The bookstore was closed, so he made a mental note to be there in the morning. However, his appointment forced him to wait; Salmandra was always a few minutes late. She didn't disappoint; in a few minutes a leather-clad form with more weapons bristling from every gorgeous curve appeared from the shadows behind him. He turned slowly, knowing that if he spun around he might trigger some stupid trained reaction; he didn't want to experience her blades first hand.

“The information is solid, Sal. The lord is setting up for an invasion in the next three months.”

“Good. That means we get paid. Excellent work.” She added a perky smile, but let it die.

His eyebrow went up. “'We'? I did all of the work. I even got caught because some of the intel was off; I found a stunner on the second floor. The supposedly clean second floor, according to your information.”

“Nonetheless, its a 'we' situation, Haj. You still need to prove yourself, and until then all profits are split. As per contract.”

“Great. The contract.” Her lip went up a little on the right side; she liked to torture him a little.

“Yep. But that's just business. You otherwise okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. I'll have my notes written down and ready for you by morning. Anything you want highlighted?”

“Normally I'd suggest avenues of egress, but I doubt they would apply to most people. Note the location of the stunner; the trap itself may change, but it's unlikely that the location will. Also, anything you remember about the path to the dungeon; we didn't have a clue about its existence. I mean, we figured one existed, but...”

“Yeahyeah, I'm pretty sure I remember that.” He shook a little.

She caught the shiver. “Figured you would. Now, run off and write. We have an appointment tomorrow morning.”

“And there she is with the 'we' stuff again.” He started walking off as she disappeared into the shadows. He made one stop on the way to his rented room; it was going to be a long night, so he had better grab some beer and snacks.

* * * * *

As the memory of his Grecian ally faded and that of his mission were brought forward, Hajime dipped his quill into an inkpot and started writing. He had to remember to write in the formal Naganese script, filled with more curves than his native Nihonese, and with more tonal marks. Nevertheless, he had a sure hand and the papyrus was of a better quality than he was used to, so Prince Ta should be no problems understanding his report.

The mission itself had gone off easily enough. He was to just check the map, so he flew in and compared notes. The map they had been given was accurate, until the second floor. He had been hit by an electrical jolt, and had been transformed to his human shape. Paralyzed, a guard found him and took him to a cell. The paralysis wore off soon enough, but he decided to stick around to see what else was there. The tour was short and abrupt, straight to the torturer's dungeon.

He paused, grabbing a pretzel and some beer. He scratched his still-new unit tattoo; another part of the contract he didn't like. At least it was regular ink; the tattoo from the last organization would last a long, long time.

He put a few finishing touches on the report, and knocked off. The pages were almost dry already, Tomorrow should go off swimmingly.

* * * * *

Hajime walked into the Spectacled Rhino, and headed straight for the table with Sal. This was not the usual dive bar he was used to meeting her; the tables here were clean and there were people actually waiting on the customers. He had problems cutting through the curry in the air, but it was a welcome change from the smoke and cheap booze he generally associated with Sal's usual watering hole.

He grinned, shaking his head, as he saw who was sitting next to her, as he was wearing clothes he felt the “common person” wore, but the clothes were new enough that it would be seen as a costume. Prince Ta tried too hard to be a “prince of the people”, whatever that was, but the affectation was appreciated. Too bad that he sat on his coiled tail, and that his green skin marked him as a naga, one of the local rulers, but not one of the highest, thus allowing him the occasional lunch with those who served him. Nonetheless, he had the regal bearing, a Roman senator with the short black hair and thin beard and mustache apropos to his rank.

Hajime had to restrain himself from turning the chair around as he sat on it, but at least he remembered the short bow before he sat down. Despite her calm, he could see Sal's hands frozen to the table, an obvious sign when you realized she was usually constantly in motion. He pulled out a sheaf of papyrus and handed it to the prince, who put the report down without even looking at it.

“Excellent job, I suspect. Salmandra usually picks the best people, and it was just a quick surveillance job. I just wanted to see your attention to detail.” The pronouncement deflated Hajime's pride a bit. “But it just means that you are ready for an actual mission.” Hajime's ears pricked up. “I need a little bauble picked up, and I think the two of you could handle it easily enough.”

Sal was attempting to eat some sort of noodle covered with meat and vegetables. The food was great; nonetheless, next time she was going to try and steer the meeting into a restaurant that used forks instead of chopsticks. “This could be interesting, Haj.”

Hajime was of a different mind; he was almost finished with the salad that had virtually appeared when he sat down. The service really was excellent. “Hopefully I'll get to wear clothes this time.” He shoveled more of the greens.

“I am hoping for that as well. At any rate, all you need to do is find is a particular necklace. Apparently some minor cult has found a necklace that explodes and thus we need to deprive them of it. Fortunately, we have some excellent intelligence on their headquarters.” Prince Ta handed Sal an ivory cylinder; she handed it to Hajime who put it into his shoulder bag. “It should be an interesting little adventure for you.”

Sal and Hajime shared a quick glance involving raised eyebrows. She looked at the prince first. “Well, let's hope it's not too interesting. The more interesting the the trip, the more likely we'll need replacements.” She smirked. “And you know how hard it is for you to replace operatives.”

A waiter appeared with a menu, surprising Hajime that such wonders actually existed. “I seriously need to stop letting you choose the restaurant, Sal.” He quickly ordered some meat and noodle dish. “But it would be hard to find such an experienced set such as we, Prince Ta.”

Prince Ta cocked his head a little and then returned it to its normal upright position. “Yes, I'm sure it would be hard to find another set of operatives with your eclectic skill set. I'm sure that the thieves guild is out of rogues this time of month.”

“And that's why I like you, Prince. Blunt and honest.” Sal poked at her meal. “I guess I should have said that it would be harder to hire operatives.”

“True. So very true. And I am having such problems hiring them now.” He moved some of the meat around to get a better shot at the vegetables. “Too many are moving into guilds and adventuring groups. Someday soon there may not be any that I could hire directly, but through an intermediary.”

“And then you would pay us what we are worth.” Sal smiled at the pained expression Prince Ta affected. “But don't worry; I'm sure that there will always be someone you can hire.” She dug into her salad.

Hajime looked at the prince over his water glass. He put the glass down, still surprised that the water inside was clear. “This place is so unusual compared to our usual haunts. Clean water, good food, polite conversation; who would think that places such as this actually exist?”

Sal glared at him. “And that's why I love working with you, kid.” She had decided that poking things was the appropriate way to use chopsticks. “So, Prince, what is our first stop on the quest for your necklace?”

Prince Ta was looking into his tea cup, deciding if the remainder of the tea leaf at its bottom meant anything or not. “Well, it does involve hiring a boat. And that's always interesting.” He decided that it didn't, and put it down. He went on to the remainder of his noodles.

Sal's eyes rolled up and settled quickly down as she speared her own meal, much to Hajime's amusement. Sal caught his badly disguised grin and knew he was going to suffer. She didn't know how exactly just yet, but she knew he would suffer. The rest of the meal was marred only by Prince Ta's attempts at small talk, but at least the food was excellent. Prince Ta left shortly thereafter, but left enough that they were able to order something to go and still leave a generous tip. Sal always did like doing business with him; the pay was miserable, but the perks were worth it.