A Song of Whispers

“Don’t go crazy when you see her.” Sasha was looking at him...a bit wistfully. Tycho wasn’t sure what she was on about, but figured he would find out soon enough. She smiled and briefly looked aside, revisiting fond memories. She turned back to him before swinging the door wide. The light flooded in, momentarily blinding her.
 
Tycho's eyes were indiferent to ligh, but he was stunned all the same. He inhaled sharply, and his torso reeled backward slightly, as if stuck by the shockwave of the woman’s visage. Sasha was exceedingly lovely, but the angel who stood before him, Raffaella Deleanu, was beauty incarnate.
 
Raffaella, who had been smiling and chatting with Gavin, glanced at Tycho dubiously, clearly thinking ‘This boy is our captain...a dragon slayer?’ She regained her smile, and she was clearly thinking, ‘I have him already.’
 
Tycho pretended he had been befuddled by sudden and blinding light. Li’ell, a languid elf standing behind Gavin was shaking her head and asked, “Blinded by the beauty or the day?”
 
Tycho shot her a squinting sideways glance, momentarily angry and contemplating a response when he realized Raffaella probably didn’t speak elvish. His face slid back into his sultriest, smuggest smirk. Li’ell chuckled, conveying her amusement and walked off; Sasha and Gavin went with her, each with a nod. Tall’s soothing voice was riding the winds and weaving in and out with the sound of water and gull.
 
Tycho strode over to the diminutive Raffaella, took her hand and kissed it with a shallow kneeling bow, “My lady.”
 
“My lady? Oh, they weren’t wrong about you” She spoke in Rhopan, “An odd one. With an odd crew...elves, a dwarf, an orc. Most peculiar.”
 
Tycho broken into Rhopan as well, “Perhaps for some, but I am rather unique among the Folk.”
 
“Ahh. Is that what'cha think?” she was clearly and genuinely amused. She had joined the crew precisely on account of Tycho’s growing reputation as a renegade, and she in particular, on account of his growing reputation as beast slayer, with a growing collection of rare and exotic trophies. She had joined the crew to care for those trophies, and to be Tycho’s Loresinger, a rare place of honor and prestige for Rhennee women. “Sasha said the space is...limited.”
 
Tycho gestured to the hatchway and stairs down, “It is a ship...few ships can boast a Lorehall. Oh, and my apologies...your quarters...need a few days yet...that being said, you’ll find the Ogre spacious enough...just a little short on privacy.” They meandered down to the aft section of the lower deck and into a room that housed crates and furnishings, haphazardly pushed about. Tycho lit the lanterns by casually waving his hand, which the woman registered with only a stuttering flicker of her eyes.
 
He whirled his arm in a wide circle once while he spoke, “I'll send Makki and Baktah to lend some muscle with all this. Baktah has the steadier hand, if that matters.” There was an awkward pause, “So you’ve known Sasha for...”
 
“She’s already told me everything about the Ogre...and about you,” Raffaella raised one eyebrow and smiled. Her smile belied that the stories were flattering. A brief pause, “So, you can stop your small talk and fishing about.”
 
Tycho returned her smile, perhaps a bit more smug than usual.
 
“Oh you're a proud peacock aren'tcha? Well, she also told me not to tryst with yah. Peacocks are trouble...the worst kind. I trust Sasha, so don’t waste your time with me, eah.”
 
“There are those who...crave a little trouble.”
 
“I'm sure you can find a lass who does."
 
Tycho chuckled to himself, bemused, then half-whispered, “Rhennee women.”
 
“Aww, you have that elf of yours. She’s right easy on the eyes, if I must say...and she’s feisty; I can tell.”
 
Tycho was becoming annoyed; but more with Sasha...she had told this one too much.
 
“And, what would that constable woman think?” She gave him a wink.
 
His smirk had been replaced by a blank stare, then an incredulous smile as he exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. Though it was a trivial thing, he was dumbstruck to learn his crush on Derider was was known to this woman.
 
“It’s a ship, tongues wag.” she said in elvish, and shrugged her shoulders. The boards creaked as she walked over to the dragon’s skull. Her eyes lit up as she felt its shocking metallic weight in her hands. She shifted back to the Rhennee cant, “I know about this ship, its crew...” she gave him a silky smile, “...its captain. Any Loresinger worth a pint of mead must know all these things, and many more beside. We the crew can all do our part, but only you can come back with a dragon’s skull. Leave the ship to us and go adventure; bring back more of these. I’ll weave grand tales of your legend...that, you can have of me.”
 
The two appraised each other for a moment, then she went on, “Oh and before you finish my quarters, you may want to prepare a room for Ilsa.”
 
Tycho was growing tired of feeling at a loss in this conversation. He only knew one Ilsa, “My aunt...the Siren?”
 
“She’s your great aunt, yah’git, and she’s to be your Helmsmen and Vetha...Anca doesn’t really count.”
 
“I decide who counts...and I didn’t send for Ilsa.”
 
Raffaella guffawed, “You don’t send for the Silver Siren; daft boy. She’ll be along when she pleases. She can pilot an Ogre like this and teach your barge rats what it’s about...learned back when she was a spy...if that’s a thing to believe.” She changed her cadence and tone to punctuate her next words, “The Family; they are interested in your little home here. Oh, and they are very interested in you. A male Vetha...,” she shook head, and her eyes got comically wide, “...to think a Rhennee Wizard!” She was scornful; at least trying to be at first. A smile was creeping in as she spoke though. She was holding a dragon’s skull; she was now a bonified Loresinger and crewed up on the most unique of all Rhennee vessels. The possibilities were too titillating, platonically speaking, to maintain any scorn.
 
Not always intuitive, Tycho noticed the smile and realized there was no game to win. She was an ally, here of her own accord, but also here to live her own dreams. His cocksure grin returned, “So, they know? Unfortunate, but...”
 
“But?”
 
“It feels good. I feel free.”
 
“Well, good for'ya.” Tycho was unsure if she was being sarcastic. She went on, “Your fate, as to the Folk at least, is in the hands of Ilsa Ralesh now. You’ve only been spared on account of how you started down this river...”
 
Tycho became anxious; she was about to bring up Izen, he was sure of it. She clearly knew things, why not that?
 
“...Your taboo pursuits began through Sylvexen’s will and not your own. Well that and the Family wants your ship.”
 
Tycho was momentarily relieved, then started to spin up. She waved him down, “Not wants to take it, of course, but ask yourself: how can your ship be in the flotilla if ya'aren’t in the Family? So, there is an ‘ogre’ sized reason to overlook your transgressions...even that business with Izen. Like anyone cares you gutted that worthless piece of flotsam...Folk or no."
 
Again, her demeanor shifted: she took on a warm, supportive tone and spoke very calmly, almost slowly, "Now here’s the important part: I’m not here as someone else’s messenger...what I tell'ya, I tell'ya as your Loresinger...one who can sing of whispers as well.”