James St. Mirth Character in Terranon | World Anvil

James St. Mirth

James St. Mirth

Social

Contacts & Relations

Aeos Shipborne: They served on a ship together years ago. Discovered each other on James's second day in Novandria after he was robbed and left ashore. Now they spend time talking about the good old days, drinking, eating, and even engage in light adventuring.   Nel Milensoryu: They met during James's initiation fight in the Pits. Since then they've gotten to be good friends, if having to show distance and outright antagonism toward each other when in certain company.   Lady Mirabella Rosebrier: They first met very briefly during James's match with Nel, but that was more in passing than anything else. Next, during a festival, she grabbed him out of a crowd and pulled him in to dance with her. Since being stranded in Novandria, this was the first time James relaxed, and in that, while dancing with this halfling bundle of chaos and delight, something changed, deep within him. As time has gone on, and he's spent more time around her, the feeling took more shape until he finally confessed his love to her.

Religious Views

Is a follower of Lucetius, who in private he refers to as Storm Father.  Is tangentially a follower of Peitho.  Since his grounding in Novandria, and slowly getting involved in the politics, and underbelly of the city, his private devotion to Lucetius has grown. 
Since being introduced to Lady Mirabella Rosebriar, a spark of devotional thanks has been lit in him toward Peitho who he has referred to as Lady, the Laughing Girl, and Lady of the Rose.

Social Aptitude

Most at home among the lower classes to middle merchant class due to his having been a sailor for the majority of his life and mingling with those types.  Before his grounding in Novandria he tended to avoid the Upper classes, but studied them and has picked up a few mannerisms.

Mannerisms

Is quick to smile, and quick to laugh.  He tends to be informal with most people, but with a few and in certain company/locations he has started to be more formal so as not to bring unwanted attention to them.
When angry, or lost in certain old memories his accent and speech pattern radically change.  This is not always the case, but most times.

Hobbies & Pets

James is an accomplished leatherworker, having spent many years on ships making and repairing leather goods for the ships and the crew.

Speech

Typically speaks with a coastal Castilian common accent. Will shift to Castillian Halfling at times though, and he is fluent in both.

Wealth & Financial state

Very little.

A middle aged, salt and pepper haired man who's been around and seen a few things, but the two things he knows best are the sea, and the sweet science.

View Character Profile
Age
41
Birthplace
Castille
Children
Current Residence
Novandria, The Warrens
Gender
Male
Eyes
Brown
Hair
Dark Brown to almost black with grey streaking
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Tanned
Height
6 ft 2 in
Weight
193

The Start of a Life After

“You seem to be in good health without any physical side effects from your regeneration. If you happen to feel dizzy, or have muscle weakness, or parts of your body just stop responding, get back here as best you can. We pride ourselves on our work, but regenerating brains is not something to be taken lightly.” The doctor said before having a nurse see James to the door.   “I’ll do just that. Hopefully, you won’t be seeing me again any time soon.” James says with a smile.   “Mr. Saint Mirth, you’re an adventurer. I’ll likely be seeing you back here before the month is out. Maybe before the week is out depending on how badly you need money.” The doctor states in an exasperated tone.   “Well, thank you anyway.” He says back to the doctor, a little sheepishly.   The sun was out, and except for a few clouds they sky was clear. As he walked slowly his mind drifted. He knew that he should be more bothered, more upset about going face first into an Illithid’s maw. But even now, with the memory so clear, there was only a slight edge to it, rather than the razors edge he expected to cut to his soul. “Maybe my time in the Harbor helped. Or maybe it was a bit of her, a little gift from the Lady to keep me sane. Or maybe a bit of both. I miss them and that place terribly already, but not enough to want a quick voyage back.” He chuckles to himself self-consciously. “If I came back too soon, they’d probably both yell at me.”   He took his time in his walking, feeling different, noticing that colors were brighter, smells were sharper, smiles wider, like he’d been living only a half-life, only partly awake for the last seventeen years. And now, finally, he was awake and seeing the world with eyes opened for the first time. As he makes his way toward the church of Lucetius, and his room, and his friend, and his shark puppy, he grabs a bit of smoked fish from a stall near the river, enjoying the flavor more than he remembers ever having done.   “I have changed. Violently. Not in any way I’d recommend to anyone else, that’s for sure. But, I have. And I have no intention of going back to who I was. Not the man who was half asleep. Not the man so drowned by guilt that he was nearly incapable of truly doing anything. No, that man is dead, gone. I…I have to be better than him. I am better than him! And now, I think I can finally leave something good in the world when my time comes again. Alright James Saint Mirth, let’s get to work.”   Not long after, he arrives at the church, finding Koren playing with the shark puppy in one of the side yards. Many hugs and much happy yipping commenced as a truly happy smile comes to James’s face. “Well, maybe I’ll get to work tomorrow.” He says quietly, grinning as he throws a stick for the little land fish to fetch.

An Inevitable Conclusion

“So that’s it then. She’s made her choice.” James sat with his back against a crate on the only empty pier at the church. The voices of ROOKs and night watchers adding to the background noise of the evening. More than anything he just felt empty, adrift. A sudden squall had blown through and snapped a mast. Now he needed to find a place to pull in, drop anchor, and see about getting it replaced.   He sighed, feeling his age again for the first time in a while. “Storm Father, and Lady, thank you. Even if it was for just a moment you let me believe. You let me think it could happen. I know many who would curse you for what’s happened. One in particular I know would be gloating, and using this as another example of the horrible ways of the Flame Hearted Harlot!” He said in a particularly haughty tone and a bad Rus accent. “But that’s not me. I know your gifts can be temporary, and I thank you for even the little moments. The stolen moments.” He sighed, watching as a fin of a large fish broke the water out in the river before sliding under the waves again.   “Nothing to do but keep going. Even after this, deals still need to be made, people helped, and a certain Captain is sure to get back in contact with me. Can’t be a mess then can I. Or at least, I can’t let it be seen.” He pushed himself up to his feet and stretched. Pulling a coin from his pocket, he let’s it play across his fingers for a minute before flicking it hard into the air, letting it sail out and splash into the water. “A treasure for someone else. Sometimes we can’t keep the most precious jewels. To you Storm Father, and luck to the next person who finds that offering.” Still feeling mostly empty, but just a tad less raw, James headed back inside the church, finding a late night bath, and a warm bed.   -----------------------------------------------------   Water all around him. He felt the different temperatures, the micro changes in currents as he swam. In the distance, he could feel others, others like him…and food…prey. But he wasn’t hungry and so they didn’t interest him. You don’t kill needlessly, or without purpose. Food, or defense. He felt something else, something large, far larger than him, and coming closer. He could feel its shape as it approached, could almost hear the sound of the waves crashing against its hull as it cut through the water. And then a voice. A voice not just talking, but calling out, calling to him, beckoning him closer. He knew this voice, but still he swam closer.   As he approached, he came closer and closer to the surface, eventually breaking through, and then swimming above it. His body felt strange, fins changing, breaking apart as his feet touched the deck at the bow of the ship. At the far end, standing at the wheel stood a young man many would call handsome, pretty even. His long, brown gold hair being played with by the breeze, as the lapels of his open, blue jacket and white shirt danced as well. Even at this distance, he knew this man was looking him dead in the eyes with a smile at his lips which had charmed so many people, and terrified others.   “Hello James, welcome aboard. Or should I say, welcome back.” The Captains voice was friendly, pleasant, and pitched to easily carry even in the most turbulent of storms. “Well come on, come closer. Don’t just stand there at the bow staring at me, come. Stand beside me.” Taking one step James was suddenly next to the Captain, mere feet away. “There we go, much better. I must say you’re looking well for your age.” James tried to speak, but couldn’t find his voice, couldn’t make the words move from his brain to his mouth. He wanted to shout at this man, wanted to scream. He wanted to run, throwing himself over the side and diving back down, deep, so far away even light wouldn’t be seen. But just like his voice, his feet refused to function as well.   “Ah, poor James. A man so willing to give his heart, and what has it gotten you? A great, bloody hole in your chest.” The Captain gestured off handedly to him. “But what did you expect? I mean, she’s a noble woman, and you’re just a dirt poor Casti miners son, and a pathetic low born sailor. That’s what they told you, remember?” Every word slammed into James with the force of a sledgehammer. “Why did you even bother trying? It was doomed from the start, and only by absolutely deluding yourself did you ever think it could be different. I know how this works, and so do you.”   “But she,” James started to say.   “But she was different. Really? I mean sure, she didn’t look at you with utter disgust, like you weren’t even worthy to be the dirt under her shoes, but look what happened still. You were a plaything for her. A toy. A fun distraction, and perhaps a way for her to test her intended. And you went right along with it. Like a good little puppy on a leash.” The Captain’s tone never became harsh, staying that friendly, matter of fact tone that one uses to discuss the weather, or some other point of fact. “You were simply a little dalliance of hers so that she could say she’s had a bit more experience in life before doing exactly what she was going to do the entire time. Settle down with one of her own kind, and leaving you behind. Maybe it ended before she got what she wanted, and that’s why she was crying. But don’t kid yourself about it being anything more than that.”   Rage warred with nothingness inside James’s heart as he listened to the Captain. “You’re wrong.” He whispered.   “Really?”   “Yes, you’re wrong about her. She’s nothing like that!” The words seethed from his lips.   “You truly think so? Then why didn’t she really tell you why. Why did she tell you that she doesn’t want you in her sight ever again. Because, and let’s be honest here, that’s exactly what she meant. Maybe she was nice enough to try to spare your feelings by saying [“We can’t be friends any more”], but the result is still the same.” The halfling words came out in Mirabella’s voice, a hint of sadness in them. “You gambled, and you lost. That’s not the pathetic part. The pathetic part is, you knew there was only one way it was going to turn out, and you threw money at it anyway.”   James felt the nothingness winning, felt his heart slowing down, as fingers squeezed tightly. “You’re wrong.” He said weakly   “I doubt it. But look at the bright side, you’ll never have to explain any of this to her now will you? After all, you know how to properly deal with nobles right?” The Captain looked at James, a hungry gleam in his eyes. “All crew make ready, man the guns and prepare to board when we’re asside!” Shouts of “Aye Captain” from dozens of voices erupted as people poured from out of the hold, and from cabins.   “Let fly the colors!” Came a female voice, one that ripped James’s heart out. He couldn’t breathe as he looked down at the deck.   “Salihn.” He said, weakly. He hurt, he hurt so much just seeing her again. A loud snap of cloth made him look up, and there he saw it. That oh so familiar black flag.   “It’s time you went ashore James. Or at least, left here. Now off my ship with ya.” With a wave of his hand the Captain sent James flying over the side of the ship. Not even touching him, just being flung with an invisible, and inexorable force, back into the water. The cold of it shocked him, but he stayed floating there, watching as the ship sailed away. Sailing toward its prey.

A Moment of Conversation

Promises. Words that can either be as strong as iron, or flimsy as tissue paper. But for a son of the Storm Father, promises are a binding contract, so they are always to be made carefully. James sat in his room, looking at the paper rose sitting on his windowsill.   “Don’t break your promises she said. Everything is possible if you just take it.” He chuckled. “Only you could make someone on the verge of breaking stand up and bravely face the storm. Not because they must, but because they now want to. Lady, please make sure she never loses that gift, for the world would be much poorer without it.”   Looking out as the sunlight glimmers off the water of the port, James lets his mind wander, trying to find paths that might not yet exist. “I’m going to get hurt more, a lot more. They’re going to chip away pieces of me, make me bleed out a little bit here, a bit there. But I can’t let them do it to all of me. I won’t. They can have their pound of flesh, if it gets me closer to getting out, but they can’t have all of me. She has a part of me that they can’t take away.”   James smiled, a bit sadly at a memory, and a thought. “You’d only have been walking around for a little while, if you’d met me when I needed this advice the first time, but maybe someone like you could have been there. Maybe they could have helped me from walking the bloody path I did. But no one was there. No one to blame but yourself James. But also, you need to stop wasting time. Yes, you’re in a bad spot with bad people who are lending you to worse ones. And maybe you do deserve some of that. But even so, that’s only on you. You’re not helping right the wrongs you made. You’re not making things better. Listen, I know you’re scared. I know every time you go out there and see all those masks it bothers you. I know when you see ones that look so like the ones they were wearing, before becoming marked by blood, that you flinch. And I know your heart races and tells you to run when you see those masks on obvious nobles. But you’ve still got to get out there. You being alone, cutting yourself off, flinching every five seconds, that’s how they kill you, kill your soul. And you promised to two people now, that you’re not going to let that happen, right?”   “Right. I can’t let them win. I can’t break my promises.”   James picked up the paper rose and lightly kissed it, before putting it back on the sill. Last night was difficult, and things are only going to get harder. But as he remembered the feel of her lips on his, he knows that things will get easier and that it’s worth going on, no matter the pain.

A Reprieve from Nightmares

Warmth. That’s the first feeling. Wonderful blessed warmth. The next is a soft, silky feeling against his back and across his chest. Which is strange because he doesn’t remember having any blankets that felt this soft. The third that he notices is the smell. It’s not unpleasant, far from it actually. But he knows it’s not his, nor is it that of anyone else he’s had in the room. Twitching, and a strange sound. Those two things are what finally drags his mind away from the blessed warmth and sleep, into a harsh reality of an aching body still recovering from abuse.   Looking under the blankets, he can see the white furred arm, draped over his side and down his chest, and he watches as the fingers twitch in their sleep. Behind him is a quiet, but high pitched snore. Under different circumstances he’d have found it cute. But right now, with his mind still fuzzy and a familiar headache of dehydration making itself known, he’s just confused why Koren is in bed with him. He considers trying to move without waking them, except he’d have to crawl over them to get to anything anyway. So deciding to just go for it and get it over with, he turns over onto his right side, his face close to theirs, and he whispers.     “Koren. Koren, wake up. I need water and other things and you’re in the way.” Amusement tinges his voice and he also finds that the feeling of their fur against his skin is quite pleasant. More so after the torture it endured so recently. He gently shakes them, calling their name again. A few seconds later, Koren yawns, and opens their bleary eyes, their expression one of contentment only a felalined race can pull off. Being so very close together, James can see their mind spark to life, and thoughts start to form. Contentment, happiness, concern, then eyes flying wide with embarrassed shock. “Good morning Koren. Or should I say good afternoon.”   If it could happen, their pure white fur would have blushed deep pink, as they pull in on themselves a bit, but also slowly pull away from the close body contact they had shared. “Mastr…James. I’m sorry. I’d…uh…I’d hoped to only lay down until you were warm and then head to my own room but, you were so cold, and it was so comfortable and so…” Their tone was full of worry, and embarrassment. James just smiles at them.   “You didn’t take advantage of me in my sleep did you?” He says with a teasing tone.   “NO! Never! I would never do such…” They stop as James laughs, and soon after they laugh too, though it is smaller.   “It’s alright Koren, I trust you.” Very rarely had James ever seen so few words produce such a profound reaction in someone. He felt their muscles tense before they pulled themself to him, wrapping him in a very warm hug. Which would have been much less awkward if they hadn’t both been nearly naked.   “Thank you.” Was their only response, before they pulled away again. “Sorry.”   “No need to apologize, I understand. And also this isn’t my first time dealing with massive blood loss.” Images from the night flashed through memory, phantom pains blooming all over him, but the one that stood out the most, was the ghost of a burning line along his left cheek. He snaps himself out of it and focuses back on Koren. “I’m betting I was half delirious, barely able to walk, and when you put me to bed, I assume it was you, that I was shivering and as cold as a dockside fish in winter.” Koren just nods at him. “So you, being the resourceful and caring person you are, decided to become my own, personal warmer to keep me comfortable and help recover. Does that about cover it?”   A grin breaks out on Koren’s face, and they nod vigorously. “Yes, yes that’s it exactly!” Their body language spoke of a tsunami of relief at not having their intentions misinterpreted.   “Then I thank you, Koren. Thank you for helping me in here, and thank you for seeing me through the night. However, we now have a dilemma.”   Koren looked at him with concern. “What’s that?”   “Well you see, both of us have very little clothes on, I have a headache strong enough to break a keel, and if I don’t get up soon, this will be less a bed and more a pool.” He gave Koren a cheeky grin. “All that to say, either you can lay here and I can crawl over you, or you can get out first, and let me take care of necessities.”   They thought about it for only a few seconds. “Um…you can crawl over me James. I’m not ready to move yet.” Their eyes flashed embarrassment again.   “Okay, you stay here. I’ll be back in a bit, hopefully with enough water to deal with this headache.” Doing his awkward best to not brush against them as he moved over them and out of the blankets into the cool air of the room. He got himself into a robe, and went to take care of necessities.   James returned, with a pitcher of water in hand and, not thinking, opened the door to his room. Koren was shimmying into their pants. “Oh shit, sorry!” He says as he turns around and walks out the door, his back turned to it, embarrassment adding color to his face. A squeak had come from Koren before James could make his way out the door. A minute later a quiet “I’m decent”came out of the room, prompting James to enter, more carefully this time.   Exhaustion still pulled hard at him, but it was tolerable for now. James set the pitcher down on the desk, and filled two cups, holding one out for Koren. “Here, for you.” He meets their eyes, and forces himself to not blush. He slowly drinks his water, letting the coolness of it soothe his body. “Koren, please sit.” James says as he pulls another chair out for them. Doing anything is better than standing there rigid, they do. As they both drink, and refill the cups and drink again, a pleading look comes into Korens eyes as they stare at James, and the scar, a white line against his tanned skin.   “I know what you want Koren. But I won’t tell you, can’t tell you.” They seem deflated, but then a bold defiance takes over, but James holds out a hand, silencing them before they can put voice to their demand. “I’m not going to tell you because it’ll put you in danger. And before you go on, I know you’re not a child.” James puts a hand on theirs. “And I trust you, deeply. Now more than ever. Outside of my blood, there’s only two others I’d currently trust in my bed, while I sleep, and more so when I’m in that condition.” Korens expression softens, as the truth of James’s words are truly heard. Wonder, and joy at having someone trust them that much, leaves them near tears.   “I would have still made it through last night without your help. But with it, you kept me safe, and made it much more pleasant. I wasn’t looking forward to collapsing on the street, I’ll tell you that.” He laughs, and Koren joins him in the mirth. “So again, thank you. And if I ever find myself in that same position, I invite you to do the same.” Again, that playful smirk on his face, enjoying the minor discomfort of poking at society's mores.   Koren’s expression sobers, their voice soft with restrained fear. “Is it going to happen again?”   Taking his time, James leans back, his hand leaving theres and he takes a long, slow drink of the water, giving him precious time before responding. “Yes, I think there will be. Probably many more.” Tears born of fear, of not wanting to see someone who’s given their trust, someone who’s quickly become a dear friend and mentor being hurt, threaten to fall from their eyes. James waits a minute, letting mind work, weighing possible outcomes and actions, and deciding that this one is worth it.   “I won’t tell you anything about where I go, or what I do, or about anyone involved. But I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you before I leave next time. That way you can be here for me when I come back. You can help me get up here, maybe get some food and drink in me, and yes, if needed, you can be a bed warmer again.” They both smile, on the verge of chuckling. Koren’s expression becomes one of gratitude.   “Thank you. I’ve lost so many already. I don’t want the curse to strike again. I want you to stick around Mae, James.”   “And I’d also like to stick around.” He takes a good sized drink before continuing. “Also, I’ll give you an address and a name. If I happen to come back, and I’m still broken, get me up here, and then go find a Lady Mirabella Rosebriar. She’s a healer I trust implicitly. She’s, thankfully, residing in Rosebriar Hall. She may just direct you to another healer, and if she does, thank her and follow her direction. Also, she might send a page named Ian instead. Just get them here and follow what they say. Understand?”   Koren nods, thankful to know what to do next time. “I’m hoping that you're wrong and there won’t be a next time. But I’ll be here when there is.”   They spend the next little while drinking water and engaging in idle chat as James’s headache recedes. Afterwards, he asks, for propriety's sake, for Koren to wait outside for him to get dressed. Because now that he’s awake, he’s starving and this hunger demands attention.

Red on White Stone Floors

Early in the day, while he was having breakfast in the Church mess hall, a courier arrived with a letter for James. Thanking the courier and giving them a tip, he looked at it. The outside was addressed to James, Church of Lucetius. Not wanting to hurry, he finished his breakfast before opening the letter.   “Be at the Wayward Traveler no later than 5pm. Bring your fighting clothes. You will board a blacked out carriage and be taken to a patrons estate. There you will fight, spill and draw blood, and do your absolute best to make sure the money they’re spending to rent you is money well spent. Congratulations, your fight with Kagun is paying off even more. Pray to whatever gods you want that this continues. Because these fights make us money, and when we make money, your debt goes down. Who knows, if you live through enough of them you might actually be free. If you live. But as far as tonight is concerned, you will live, one way or another. Here’s the most important part. Follow these instructions exactly, and tell no one of them or what’s happening. This is a private event, invite only. If you tell anyone, there will be consequences, and they will be severe. For you, and for them. I hope that’s clear enough for you. -M”   James suddenly wished he’d skipped breakfast. Phantom claws of memory tore at him, and the voices of conversation around him became a leonin’s roar, and the cheering of a bloodthirsty crowd. It takes several hard minutes for him to pull himself out of it, and for the memory of the pits to resolve to the reality of the mess hall. As the utterly black chains of fear slowly fell from his body, something else took its place. Determination. Determination and even a bit of joy. An old joy, almost manic in glee, at testing oneself, and seeing the blood of his opponent splashing around him.   James didn’t like that part of himself. Didn’t like that it hadn’t stayed buried and asleep, as it had been for almost two decades. It would be so easy to let it wake up. He could slip into it like an old favorite coat, and he knew it would fit perfectly even now. “No,” he says to himself. “No, I won’t let you get any more than this. I can enjoy the fight, but I refuse to revel in the blood and pain. Never again.”   Taking his plates to the kitchen, James cleaned them, and then picked up a large pitcher of ice water. For the next several hours he is in his academy, practicing. Letting muscles warm up, in preparation for extreme abuse later that night. When the pitcher was empty he was done. He cleaned himself up, and dressed, not well, but well enough. And following instructions, makes sure to pack a bag of his fighting clothes.   Ten minutes before the instructed time, James arrives at the Wayward Traveler. Parked nearby is a very nondescript carriage, with all windows covered. The driver stood near, and opened the door for him, having clearly been told what James looked like. No words were said as the door was closed and the carriage pulled away. For what seemed like over an hour, they traveled. The only changes were the smells, going from the strong scent of water, to those of the city, eventually to the countryside. Coming to a halt, the driver came around and opened the door.   Taking a quick look around James can see they’re at the back of an immense manor house. Something only one of the old money could afford, as it was likely passed down for a long time through the family. The driver led him in through what was obviously the servants entrance. Inside he was quickly handed off to another of the household staff. They looked at him with a mixture of absolute terror, and extreme disdain. Like one does to a wild animal that lives its life in the muck of a swamp, while also being a beast that could rampage at any moment.   The tense journey ended quickly as he was led to a room, and shut inside it. It was a very well appointed, but clearly simple thing. However it was still well beyond anything he’d ever stayed in. Refreshments were provided, as well as some food. It was simple fare for the household, but still good. “At least they don’t want me starving before I perform like the good trained beast I am.” He speaks quietly and sits down, enjoying more water and a small bit of the food.   James lost track of time in the room, having started to look at all the books on shelves. He could read the spines of a few of them, and identify the languages of many others. A knock sounded at the door before a well dressed, older manservant walked in. “You are to make yourself ready. You will be presented soon, and then the show can begin.” He stated curtly, but with that scornful civility that only those brought up among the nobility can muster. After saying his peace the manservant turned and left, closing the door behind him. For the briefest of moments, James considered trying to run, to escape. But it would be pointless. He’d be caught and found, and that’s only if he could get out of the manor and surrounding grounds without getting stopped. And then, even if the Syndicate didn’t, or couldn’t track him with that damned vial of blood, he’d be leaving everything behind. And for the first time, truly, facing this, he realized that he couldn’t. He’d started to put roots down here, not around things, but around people. And he couldn’t bear to part with them now.   Sighing for but a brief moment, James stripped and redressed in his fighting clothes. Clothes that left most of his body bare. If he’d known that he was being watched, maybe he’d have done something different. If he’d known it was a few of the serving women and men and others who were taking a peek at this monster, this beast in their house, maybe he’d have hidden from their gaze. But then again, probably not.   This time the knock was followed by a well dressed guard. She was professional in everything she did, and the weapons at her hip had no doubt seen much use in practice. And maybe even some on live flesh. “It’s time. Come with me.” He hesitated for a moment, not sure what to do about his other clothes. “Leave them here. They’ll be returned to you when you leave.” Her tone was almost ice cold. No feeling, no emotions toward him. James complied, and followed.   The halls were richly decorated, portraits hung on many of the walls, along with exquisite paintings and tapestries from ages past. He heard the buzz of conversation before he saw them. He was stopped in a small alcove, all but completely hidden from anyone, yet he could see all of them. Dozens and dozens of masked guests, all in clothes and decorated in jewelry that could see every member of the Warrens eat well for several years. Disgust boiled up in him. None of these people knew, but worse, none of them cared. He’d stolen gold, but these creatures, they’d stolen people's lives. Because they saw it as the natural order of things. That people like him, and Nel, and so many others, are simply there to do what they say. To be ground to dust at their whim, because it amuses them for a moment, or gives them a small chance to game a rival. They’d brought him here for blood, and they were going to get blood, oh yes. He was going to do what he’d been told, like a good little slave. But he was going to take what little petty revenge he could. He would see how many of those dresses that could buy a house, and those suits that could feed a family he could splatter with blood. His, or his opponents.   “Good gentle folk, please pray attend.” Into the center of this room, this bright white room stood a figure. They stood out, but James could not guess anything about them, not their age, nor how they presented themselves. However, he could tell that they commanded power, for the energy of the room shifted immediately as they spoke, all eyes focusing on them. “Tonight, I bring you a spectacle from the old world. In the hallowed days of yore, Emperors, Kings, Dukes, Counts, Barons and all the rest enjoyed an entertainment which has not been enjoyed by those like us in generations.”   They were a fantastic speaker. They knew exactly how to pitch their voice, and how to structure their speech to command the greatest amount of anticipation. Even James couldn’t help but be captivated, even as he thought of how his blood was going to stand out on the white canvas of the floors and decorations of this room.   “Tonight, I give to you something which, if you find it pleasing, I hope to rekindle in this country. Tonight, I give to you, the Munera!” Delighted, but proper cheering went up from the assembled crowd. Clapping and hungry smiles containing bits of lust at the coming event could be heard and seen on nearly all the gathered. “Some of you were there when our first Champion took to a sadly, disreputable place. I’m pleased to say that we have rescued him from the depravity of his former life, to be exalted here. Good gentles, I present to you, the Crashing Wave!”   The speaker pointed a hand to where James stood, and with a small shove, his guard pushed him into the light, and sight of all those gathered. He stood tall, proud. If they wanted a beast, then they would not get a cowering prey animal. He felt their gazes upon him as he walked toward the speaker. He’d been looked at before, appreciated, admired, even lusted after. But this. This was that but with a horrific feeling of violation with it. Even the erotic longing he saw on the faces of some as they looked at him, all of him, made his insides recoil. He then remembered those looks, or at least ones close enough. Like a poltergeist rising, the memory of long ago, of his second ship, of the Captain and officers. Yes, yes he knew those looks. Only this time he didn’t have a crew to mutiny with him to put these animals down. He didn’t feel the need for a shower, he felt the need to almost peel his skin off so that he wouldn’t have a part on him that’d been touched by their eyes.   But none of this showed on his face. His eyes were hard, hunting, a predator's eyes among those who thought themselves above, safe, from a hunting shark. The speaker gestured to a spot next to him, and James stood there, in his relaxed ready posture. He did his best to look at everyone, without truly looking. He wanted to remember them, to know them, to be able to find them when the time came. He knew it was almost futile, but it kept him occupied, and less bothered by the penetrating gazes.   “Our next champion hails from the east, beyond the Iron Curtain. He has stood against impossible hardships, and they only made him stronger. No man or beast has ever bested him, and a trail of the broken and bloodied have been left in his wake. Good gentles, I present to you, the Iron Wolf!” From the opposite side of the room where James had stood comes a Half-Orc. He was dressed in as little clothing as James, and scars told the story of his life across his dull green skin. If the sight of James had caused this crowd arousal, the Half-Orc practically caused climax.   The smirk on the Half-Orcs face could have said a dozen things, but James couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. However a spark was kindled then. That old excitement of battle, of testing yourself against someone, with victory being assured only one way. He was here, what was going to happen would happen no matter his feelings about it. But he had control, he had the ability to influence the outcome. So he would enjoy this, or at least he’d try.   “Feast your eyes upon your Champions. Revel in the knowledge that you will be the last to see them as they are. For after tonight, new scars will stitch across their skin, and a new canvas will be made. And as for the brushes our artists will wield to paint a masterpiece, I present to you, these.” The manservant from before steps forward, carrying a beautiful box of polished black ebony. He approaches the speaker and opens the case, then turns around, showing the contents to those assembled. Inside are two pairs of black leather gloves. And on top of where the knuckles would be, are sets of viscous looking bronze stars.   James had seen things like it before, but never for something like this. The stars looked beautiful, but were designed to tear flesh and cause bleeding with every strike. They weren’t deadly, merely destructive. They would rip and tear with every hit, but only cutting shallow gashes. Until they started to warp and deform under powerful blows. Then they could slash with the best of blades. He’d stood up to the claws of an enraged Leonin, nearly determined to kill him and peel every strip of skin from his body. This would be better, and worse.   The speaker took the box, and turned to the Half-Orc first. He took out one of the pairs and slipped them on, securing them in place around his wrist. As the speaker presented the box to James, he picked the remaining pair up. For a brief moment, he admired the craftsmanship of them, before sliding them on and feeling the padding behind the brass caps settling into place perfectly on his knuckles. Securing and testing them, James stood ready.   “Good gentles, it is time for our artists to begin their works. But first, let us prepare the studio for them.” With a few dramatic gestures, the room began to shift and change. Some features sunk into the floor, while others rose. What had been slick white marble took on a texture that allowed for more grip, but the color didn’t shift. A circle appeared on the floor, merely a line of black color, showing the outline of the ring they were to fight in. The assembled people backed up till they were just outside of it. A hush pregnant with raw desire filled the room. The speaker bowed to James and the Half-Orc before walking away to join the crowd.   He turned back with a flourish. “Champions, fight well, and show us what artists you are. Begin!” With a gesture the sound of a bell rang through the room, the time of crimson had come.   There was no touching of gloves. That was for a different kind of fight, a kinder fight. This was the fighting of the desperate, of animals, of spectacle and show. But it was still a fight. James squared off against the Iron Wolf and he against James. Circling each other as two predators, watching, learning. A few punches thrown here and there, testing defenses, testing reactions. Agonizing seconds dragged on, and then a sudden flurry of violence. Amid a series of blows and blocks, one finds purchase. James feels his knuckles connect against the stomach of the Iron Wolf. Then the strange sensation of those bronze stars biting into flesh, and tearing. Pulling back out of range he sees the results of a blow well struck. A ragged line of torn flesh, and blood welling up inside it.   The Iron Wolf grinned. Not an evil one, or one that enjoyed this spectacle, but one that admired an opponent of skill. Again the two came together, and again James landed a strike against the stomach of his opponent. As he tried to pull away the Iron Wolf stepped forward, requiring a hasty defense, causing the blow to land on James’s shoulder, instead of against his head. Biting, pinching, grabbing, and then tearing. Those feelings ran through his nerves as they pulled away from each other. A pain, dulled by adrenaline burned in his shoulder. He knew it was only the first of many to come.   On and on they fought, trading blows, leaving marks in each other. As the wounds increased, and places were struck multiple times, the blood flowed more freely, no longer welling up, but spilling out, running down their bodies as tiny crimson waterfalls. The pure white stone around them became splattered with streaks of red. A canvas colored with the most precious of paints. All around the circle they moved, striking every chance they got. Along the floor, and lines stitched up dresses and across porcelain masks, did the crimson color fly. Whenever they came close to the edge of the circle, hands reached out, touching them, caressing them, as if from the most wanton lover, begging for another intimate stroke to bring ecstasy.   Through continued violence, defiled skin was torn off, shirts of blood being worn instead. Hands reached, hands touched, hands became coated in crimson gloves, which then turned to touch dresses, masks, hidden flesh under opened clothing. The noises from the gathered were a riotous combination of cheering, celebrating, and lustful moaning. If from the sight of the two fighters or the hands of those around them seeking sensual places, he did not know, nor care. The fight continued, with neither giving ground, but giving blood to the profane rite of this moment.   Bronze moved, bent, shifted and broke under the titanic forces unleashed by the two, against the two. Nerves of both were on fire, their bodies enveloped in a blanket of pain, and exhaustion from exertion that seemed beyond mortal ability, and the loss of so much of that precious, vital fluid, was taking its toll. The end was coming, and both knew it. Even in pain, and feeling his strength evaporating, a part of James was happy, almost ecstatic. Here was something pure, something simple, something he knew well. But he still would not let himself fall into that trap, for a trap it was. A trap of the past, of a person long dead and left behind.   The final blow came at last. A furious exchange, little skill and more raw determination to use what tiny bit remained to finish the other and be the one remaining standing. James landed his blow, it was perfectly aimed, but his strength bled from him too fast, and it hit with little force. The return blow from the Iron Wolf sealed it. The fist caught him on the left side of the face, and the stars, now mangled beyond imagining, slashed a line from ear nearly to his lips, and almost deep enough to have fully separated the tissue.   James felt the blow, knew it for what it was, and he felt the strip of fire along his cheek for but a brief moment, before blessed darkness claimed him. Around the room, there was little cheering, for all the guests appeared to be caught up in furious coupling. The violence of combat had led to a manic orgy. Bodies writhing against each other as climax after climax came to them, seemingly without end. All having given themselves over to the frenzy.   James woke into a world of aching pain, and almost no light. All over he hurt. Muscles from having been used far beyond their ability, and new skin feeling too sensitive in his clothes. He realized then that he was dressed in his regular clothes. And nothing had that distinct unpleasant pull of dried blood against fabric, which he knew meant he’d been healed. But his cheek, that felt different. Slowly sitting up in the swaying carriage, he reached up and touched. There was a furrow from the start of his ear, disappearing into his beard, and stopping mere millimeters from his lips. A new scar. A reminder of what had just happened. A memento to look back upon and realize that what had happened wasn’t a terrible nightmare that would fade with the dawn light. A gift, delivered by the Iron Wolf, but given by the speaker.   He wanted to be angry, but that was barely a spark against his exhaustion. Same with his tears. Simply existing while conscious was almost more than his faculties could handle. Soon after the carriage stopped, and the door opened. Exiting the vehicle, James found himself not at the Wayward Traveler, but at the church of Lucetius. Almost too grateful for words, for if he’d had to walk back, surely he would have collapsed in an alley for the remainder of the night. James began his slow trudge through the yard of the Church. Soon he heard the sound of hooves against cobble stone as the carriage pulled away.   It was late, very late, and most should be asleep at this time. But one wasn’t. One blessed person wasn’t. Having heard a carriage arrive, Koren, who had been unable to sleep and decided to practice in the academy room, quickly closed up and headed out to the yard. Seeing James shaking, and stumbling they ran over, panic and fear coursing through them. “Maestro, Maestro! Are you okay?” They came up, great concern in their voice. James laughed, saying a silent prayer of thanks to the Storm Father for having kept this one up.   “What did I say Koren. You can call me James unless I’m trying to thrash you in that room over there.” James tried to laugh, but it came out more as a cough instead. “And no, I’m not okay. But it’s nothing anyone can fix right now. If you’re willing, help me to my room. Also, when we’re there, and I ask you forgiveness for this, can you help me undress and get into my bed. I’m afraid I’d be unable to do either, unassisted, at the moment.”   Korens eyes glistened in concern and worry for James. They slipped under his right arm, taking a load of his weight onto them, and they started to walk. “Slow and steady Mae…James. Slow and steady. We’ll get you there. And yes, I’ll help you.” It took what felt like hours to walk into the Church, and up the several flights of stairs to the room James occupied. Dull orange light filled the room as they entered. And as they crossed the threshold, nearly all of his strength was gone. With a mighty effort, the small Leonin moved him to the bed and got him down.   This man, who’d seemed this pillar of vitality, even at his age. This stone monument that nothing could best, now sat on his bed, bent like a willow, and practically withered like overripe fruit. Koren knelt down, and carefully pulled off his boots, then his jacket. As they helped James with his shirt was when they noticed the furrow of the scar struck in his cheek. Koren winced, but did not ask. Not yet anyway. Next came the more difficult part, and the one that could stretch the boundaries of propriety, if they truly cared about that thing, especially in this case. Undoing the buttons they carefully assisted James out of their pants, and then undid their garters and removed the stockings.   “Water, please before I sleep, water.” James cried softly. Koren filled a cup and brought it to him, helping him to drink. After he finished, they helped him lay back in bed and draped the blankets over him. They then took their time carefully gathering and folding everything, and neatly stacking it near the dresser. A noise alerted them. A tiny whine of someone descending into a bad dream came from James. Koren moved back over to him, and saw he was shaking, shivering. Putting a hand to him, they felt how cold he was.   Desire to comfort their Maestro, their friend, overcoming any shame, and knowing that shivering under that many blankets was never a good sign, Koren also stripped down, though not as much as James. Gesturing at the lights they winked out, and they crawled under the covers with him, helping to warm him with their own body heat and fur. James stiffened at the touch, and then relaxed. Koren lay close to him, worry still in their heart, but now feeling they’re helping at least a little. “Sleep well James. Let the Master of Waves take you far away from the storms in your heart and mind.” They whispered to him.   And with that, they relaxed against him, and fell asleep.

An Unearned Reprieve

::17 Years Ago::   “It’s done. And maybe I’m a coward for doing it and running rather than standing with my crew and being executed with them.” James Saint Mirth, stood by a simple shrine near the port. A hidden area where one could get away from people and talk privately with the Wave-Master. “Maybe I should have done this in your temple in town. But again, maybe I’m too cowardly. If anyone in there recognized me, or guessed my name, I probably wouldn’t leave there alive.”   He looked out to the ocean, several islands in the distance but his eyes look far to the east, back to where home was, back to Castille and more simple times. “I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, and no right to seek it. So I’ll do neither. I don’t even know how to start atoning for what I’ve done. Maybe turning in my crew, ship, and our hideout location to the Royal Navy will help a little. Maybe shave a tiny bit off of what I deserve. But let's not kid ourselves. I deserve what's going to happen to them more than they do, because I'm the one that lead them. I was the Captain. And here I am condemning them to a fate I cannot face myself."   His vision turned blurry as tears of grief, pain and self loathing streamed down his cheeks. "Five years. For five years I've committed atrocities. For five years I've lead others in a quest to fill the ocean with blood and gold. And I would be doing it still now if…" His voice caught, almost choking as he remembered the face of that kid. The terror, the relief, the surprise, the pain, and finally the light in his eyes going out.   "I've now condemned my friends to the gallows. I've sent the Royal Navy to hang them all. I wish she could understand, Salihn, my amada, I’m sorry. I know your eyes, and what they'll look like when you see those sails on the horizon charging to our island. I know that you'll be confused, then you'll fight, rallying all of the crew in a futile effort to get the ship ready. I know you'll fail. Maybe, if they’re all lucky, they’ll die in the fighting, never knowing I betrayed them. Betrayed her. Maybe they'll get lucky and die under a broadside from a frigate or two, like we always said we would."   Sobs wracked his body, his legs giving out and sending him kneeling into the sand. "I'm so sorry amada, but I can't do this any more. We did what we had to do in the beginning, did only what was just and right. But that lasted the barest bit of a moment. Then we let vengeance take us, consume us. We let madness guide us. And we left a charnel house in our wake. So much blood. So many dead. We didn't care what their intentions were, we didn't care if they were good people. All that mattered was that they were highborn. Just like all the others who'd ground us under heel, who'd taken us, hurt us, abused us, tortured us. They were all the same to us, and so they all had to die."   After what felt like an eternity, his tears stopped falling. James didn't feel like he'd earned a reprieve, or forgiveness. No he knew that would take several lifetimes to earn. But he felt he might have earned a chance. "Storm Father, I ask you now, this most unworthy of persons. One who has maimed, destroyed, ruined lives and murdered innocents, I ask that I be allowed to see my family one last time before you take me to the depths for what I've done. Just that. Let me hold them, thank them, tell them I love them. After that, I'll gladly walk into the waves or sail to the deepest part of your waters, and let you take what I rightly owe you."   James spoke with a very soft, but steady voice. "But if you decide that I am not worthy of even that, I will understand. Let whatever ship I'm on be spared from whatever fate is meant for me, and may my family never know what I've become, and what I did."   Taking off the last things he had, a signet ring, and a few pieces of gold, and one beautiful and exotic shell that his amada, his beloved, had given him. He left them at the shrine, in the sand. He'd already had every scar and tattoo removed. Many of those markings would give him away in an instant. He could still feel where the flag tattoo had been. His flag. But now, all that remained was perfectly unblemished skin.   “And now I go to face whatever justice a coward like me deserves.” The sun was setting behind him, the beautiful lights of it gliding over the surface of the water as he looked toward the coming of night. “Ship sails in a couple hours, with the tide. And in a few days, the Royal Navy ships will sail for our island. I’ll see you all again, when my debt gets called in.” With that James got up, and brushed the sand off his pants. A last few tears formed and fell. He caught them with his thumb, and then rubbed the wetness against the shrine. “Salt water is the cure for everything. And I submit myself to it’s judgment.”   James walked back through the island jungle, toward the port on this island. To the ship he’d already bartered passage on, saying that he’d been a local pilot and ship guide for the last five years. If they knew, they’d turn him in for the reward. But now, James left his fate to the Gods, and accepted whatever judgment they cast down for him as he left those islands for the last time.

The Ruination of Hope

::22 Years Ago::   James headed out to the Mast and Anchor tavern. The building was large, and situated very near the docks. It was known to cater to all types, from the lowest deck hand to the most noble of captains. Between the hours of the lunch rush and dinner, James entered, looking for the man he wanted to meet. Given descriptions he’d been given, finding the man proved no difficulty at all. In the middle of the place, at a large table sat Conde Oscar Rosa Tudela Criado de Medina Sidonia. He was dressed in, what on anyone else would be, the most outlandish, and even foppish style. However on him it just seemed right. His clothes were of the richest fabrics, and the brightest colors. The smile on his lips shined brighter than the sun off the water.   James approached the table, and the Captain regarded him. “Conde Oscar Rosa Tudela Criado de Medina Sidonia?”   If it was possible, the mans smile became even brighter. “That’s me lad! But please, Conde Criado is fine for now.” He looked James over, taking in everything about him. “I get the feeling you’d like to discuss business. Just so happens that is what the rest of these fine people are here for as well, so please, sit, and let’s talk!” He motioned to an unoccupied chair.   “Thank you Conde Criado.” James said as he took his seat. The others at the table were all smiling as well, and James’s seat was right next to a particularly attractive Half-Elven woman. “And you’re correct. I’ve heard that you’re looking to take on more crew, and I find myself desiring to be out on the sea again.”   “I am indeed! Needing some fine sailors, and even a few greenhorns for a long voyage, eventually to end up in the western isles on the other side of the Lucetan Ocean. Does that sit fine with you?” The Conde asked, a clear tone of hope in his voice.   “That sits fine with me sir. Always wanted to see those Islands anyway, so why not get paid to do it, eh?” Polite chuckles and genuine nods happened all around the table.   “Now that right there is the right attitude. Always best to get paid to do what you wanted anyway. Of course there’s likely to be danger. Pirates, huge beasts, and worse stands in the way of our voyage. I hope none of you are put off by that?” Laughter and enthusiasm rang around the table. A few fists pounding into wood in exuberance and cries of “Let them try” were echoed. “And now that you’re all interested, let’s discuss pay.” The Conde says a number that’s more than double what he was earning before. And based on what James saw from everyone else, it was a similarly large number.   “If you’re still interested in the morning, come by my ship The Lady’s Kiss and we’ll get you signed on as crew and assigned. We’ll be leaving the day after with the morning tide.” Conde Criado stood up, and laid a bag of coins on the table. “You can consider this a taste of things to come. Divide that up, use it for drink, for food, for companionship, whatever you wish. But know, if you want more of that, I take care of my crew.” He grinned at all of them and headed out. They all opened the bag, gasping at the wealth inside. Each of them took an even share, and it was still more than they’d had at one time. For most of the evening they all stayed together, talking to each other and learning about their new companions.   James learned that they were just the latest group, that already several had been hired and they all were the last the ship needed. By the end of the night they’d all agreed that it was worth it. They’d all heard great things about this ship and it’s noble Captain. Even the most jaded among them felt that Conde Criando is one of the good ones. The next morning James find The Lady’s Kiss. On the dock was the ships bosun, a smiling, if brutal looking, half-orc. He looked up and saw a couple of the people from the night before on board already. James nodded, and signed his name in the ship’s book.   There was a quick introduction to the rest of the crew, and the ships officers. Everyone was smiling, and there was an air of joy and frivolity on the ship. They all got their assignments and agreed to be there early the next day before they sat sail. Most of the rest of the day was spent with everyone familiarizing themselves with the ship, and their sleeping locations. At night James came home to his family, absolutely ecstatic. He told them all what had happened, and that he was off again on a long haul trip that should easily see all of them set up for life when it was over. Over many laughs, smiles of pride, and more than a few tears, the family spent the evening, preparing.   Very early the next day James was up. It was still many hours before the ship was due to leave. Walking into the kitchen was his mama and papa, along with Yasmin, his eldest sister. They enjoyed a nice, early morning, home cooked breakfast. His mama making sure to feed him enough that he’d not have to eat for the next few months. After a few more laughs, and many long hugs and professing of love for each other, James made his way down to the ship. Others were arriving just as he was, but many were already aboard.   Once again, everyone was smiling, there was true joy coming from everyone and a boundless energy between all of them. They all stowed their gear and quickly went to task. Cargo was checked, dock lines released, sails unfurled. James looked back at the port city as they left. From high up on the mast he could easily see where his family now lived. He smiled in that way only those who have boundless hope can. He sent feelings of love back to his family as the ship picked up speed, and began it’s long voyage to the western islands.   Five days later, well away from land or any other ships, out among the truly vast and empty expanse of the ocean, is when things changed. None of them knew how bad it was going to become. The officers were all still smiling, but now it wasn’t for joy, but horrific lust. They’d all just sailed into the jaws of torment itself, and they’d done it willingly, with a smile on their faces.

Last of the Good Days

::22 Years Ago::   Luck exists, and anyone who tells you differently is lying, or grossly misinformed. But luck can be fickle, and when it does run out, it tends to do so at the worst time and in some of the worst ways. For three years James sailed with the crew of the Moon Dancer. In those three years James earned more money than he though he’d see in five lifetimes. He never had too much on him, having always sent most of it back home.   Within the first year, his family had moved into a much bigger place, and everyone was eating healthy for the first time that they can remember. Going to bed always with full bellies. By the end of the second year, his papa had bought a house in the port city that James had left from. And by the end of the third year, Yasmin had her own shop and was selling her wares for ten times the prices she could get around the mines. The others were attending classes. James was beyond satisfied by his choice to leave. He’d done the right thing, the proper thing, and saved them all.   The Moon Dancer was on its way back into the port of Santander when the luck ran dry. A sudden and violent storm hammered the ship, and before any of the sails could be pulled up, the masts snapped. And without the sails, the ship drifted straight into shallow rocks. They didn’t break the ship, but did damage it something fierce. It took three days to get hauled into the port and put the ship into dry dock The ships inspector told the Captain, and the Captain told us the bad news. The Moon Dancer was going to be laid up for several months at least.   The crew was heartbroken hearing this, though most of them had enough money saved up to stay with the ship, a few others didn’t. James knew his family was relying on him at this point, that their new positions were fragile for the moment. So he had to get back out there and earn more to keep supporting them. Captain Keenfellow understood, and now that James had been sailing for three years, he was certainly not a greenhorn. The Captain wrote out a letter of recommendation for James to give to any other ships captain he decided to sign on with.   With more than a few tears he said his goodbyes, and the wish to meet and sail together again. Waving his goodbyes he went into the city to spend a bit of time with his family. Their house was even larger and more beautiful than James could have imagined it. Still a simple thing in comparison to what the merchant princes lived in, but compared to the shanty they were in before, it was the height of luxury.   Walking into the house and calling out for his mama and papa, a gasp and squeal and suddenly his mother appears from around a corner. It had been three years since they saw each other last. Her eyes filled with tears as she called out to her beautiful boy and hugged him with a strength that belied her slight frame. Looking up James sees his papa standing in a doorway, a pride shining bright enough to rival the sun shining from his eyes.   As the sun set on the day, the entire family gathered together to share stories and catch up over a feast which James could never have imagined them all sharing. His parents and siblings talk about what happened after he left, and how much their lives changed with the money he sent back. There’s no jealousy or envy, just pure love from his parents and siblings. He listened to their stories, smiling, a few tears of joy falling. And then, while more food is being enjoyed, the time comes where they’re begging for his stories.   Well into the late of the night James talks. Starting with leaving from home in the middle of the night three years ago, to arriving in port earlier that day. He tells them about places he’s seen, all over the coasts of Europa and Avalon, and the wonderful people he’s met. Eventually his siblings and mama find their way to their beds. James and his papa spend time out on the porch of the house, looking out into the bay, and sharing a good drink.   “When you left that night, I was angry. First at you, but then I realized that it was at the mine owners and the impossible situation they put us in that made you leave. It took me a week to get over it. And after that, terror set in. I’ll tell you, I thought I’d never see you again, that you’d die out there.” His papa points to the ocean.   James takes a drink. “It was a close thing some times, but we managed to get through every time. I guess the Storm-Father was looking out for me.”   “It seems that’s the truth. Let me tell you son, that first bit of money you sent us. We were in a very bad way. You leaving made things a bit easier, but the situation at the mine got worse. We hadn’t eaten in several days. And when that arrived, son I cried. All my fear just evaporated, and pride took it’s place. And as it kept coming, and we got letters from you, I couldn’t help but be beyond grateful. You saved us James. You saved all of us.”   Tears flowed from both of him, and they embraced, James squeezing with strength even beyond what he had in the mines. “Damn boy, even your grandpa couldn’t squeeze that hard! Maybe I should have gone to sea myself.” His papa laughs and James joins in.   “You’d have made a great sailor Papa. But now you get something better. To be the proud father of one.” James grins, the last little bit of fear about having made the wrong decision evaporating into the night wind.   The next few days were spent surrounded by love and joy. Yasmin showed James her shop, a small thing, but one that was pulling in good money. The others talked about their education, and what they wanted to do. In all his years, he’d never seen his family so happy and healthy.   “When do you have to head out?” His mama asked.   “Soon Mama. The Moon Dancer is going to be undergoing repairs for at least six months unless they can get a mage in there. So in a day or two I’m going to head down and start talking to Captains and see about getting on another crew. It’s wonderful here, but I’m afraid I’ve caught that age old disease, and the sea is calling me.” He laughs, but it’s a small one, filled with a little sadness about leaving his family again. Although this time he’s leaving them much better off than last.   “Well, in that case, let’s make sure to give you a good sendoff before you ship out, okay?” Tears were being held back in her eyes, but she could see that watery destiny in his eyes.   “That sounds wonderful Mama.” He stood up and hugged her, letting silent tears of relief and love fall onto her shoulder.   Over the next couple of days, James spent time in the port proper, asking around about ships and Captains. There was one Captain who’s name kept coming up, partly because of how long it was, but also he was one of the few Nobles who captained his own ship. He was a human by the name of Conde (count) Oscar Rosa Tudela Criado de Medina Sidonia. He was known to sail long distances, and often in dangerous waters. However his pay was much higher than any of the other captains and even his disability package was second to none.   James made the decision to go see this Conde, and find out first hand if he was a captain to sail under.

The Possibility of Chance

“James Saint Mirth to see Ankre Thunderborn.” He said to the attendant outside the Ankre’s office. Looking up at him, the attendant went through a book found James’s name, then went through another that showed a schedule.   “He’s got a few minutes right now. But please be quick about it.”   “Thank you!” James respectfully enters the Ankre’s office. “Ankre Thunderborn, I hope you are well today.”   “Well enough for a dwarf my age. Let’s the the pleasantries out of the way. I like what you’ve done with your room. I like what I’m seeing in Koren and how they’re coming along. And thank you for inventorying that room. Now…what do you want?” Thunderborn spoke in a gentle, but stern tone, as he was wont to do.   James takes a breath, readying himself for this big favor. “Anke Thunderborn, I would like for you to give me, or more specifically a person I’m going to be looking like, permission to instruct a Lady of noble birth on the Gods, in this case, the Wave-Master himself.” James stated it as matter of factly as possible. The old Ankre just looked at him, the silence stretched and tension built. Finally Thunderborn spoke softly, and cautiously, breaking the silence.   “Tell me Mr. Saint Mirth. Why should I give you this permission? And why should it be you, and not one of the young priests? And most importantly, why do you need to look like someone else?”   James knew this was the make or break moment. “This noble Lady is someone I fancy. And given the differences in our station, and the mile wide traditional streak of the branch of their house, I was barely able to be around her before. And now something’s happened, and her minders are like sharks chasing a fishing boat. They know me, my face. So if I want to spend any time with her, I have to…get creative.”   Thunderborn sits still, his face like a granite statue, no expression, not even a hint of one. “And does this Lady fancy you, Mr. Saint Mirth?” His tone is almost completely flat.   James thinks about the times they’ve shared, brief and few though they’ve been. “She’s, got a complicated situation Ankre. She hasn’t had her coming out yet, and she’s intended to be engaged to another. And now something’s happened to her, or maybe her parents got tired of her sneaking out and they’ve decided they need an entire pack of watch dogs to growl at anything that tries to come close.”     A small glimmer of something, a little mischievous maybe, shines behind the Ankre’s eyes. “That’s not the question I asked. I asked if she fancies you.”   “Honestly Ankre, I don’t know. I know things she’s said, and way’s she’s acted around me tell me she finds me to be safe, and a comfort to her, and I think she could very well come to fancy me. But she’s been told only of disappointment, and that things have to be the proper, traditional way, and she isn’t allowed anything else.” James looks him in the eyes with as pleading a look as he can without it being desperate. “She could be a rose. She is a rose, but she could be mine. I don’t know yet, but I at least want the chance to find out. And with how her family is treating her now, I can’t spend more than a handful of minutes near her before her minders start trying to set me ablaze with their gaze alone!” He smiles at that last part. “And her religious education is lacking, I wasn’t kidding at that part. I will legitimately be teaching her what I know, but I’ll be wearing the guise of another so her minders let us be within a boat length of each other.”     Ankre Thunderborn looks seriously at James, a truly penetrating gaze trying to punch a whole straight to his spirit and find the truth. “You say this Lady hasn’t had her coming out yet. How old is she Mr. Saint Mirth.”   “Twenty-four, Anker. Apparently she was meant to be married before but things fell through and the marriage was broken off, and her coming out postponed. She was then sent to the convent of Lorelai here.”   Again, for several minutes the silence stretched between them, Thunderborn showing no expression and eyes peering into James. “What’s this ladies name?”   “Mirabella Rosebriar.”   The old Ankre holds the expression for a few seconds more, but can’t suppress the chuckle that breaks though, no can he stop the smile the comes to his face. “By all the Broken Keels boy, you know how to pick them don’t you?” His laugh becomes full throated and booming. James nervously follows suit. A little while later the dwarf stops laughing, but the smile doesn’t leave, and his eyes are shining bright with mischief. “You’re deciding to truly put our tennents to the test aren’t you? I know of her branch of the house. This won’t be iron versus iron, or even metal versus metal. You’re attacking a forty gun gunship with a rowboat armed with the shittiest paper money can buy!” He laughs again, and James feels some relief at this, his laugh being genuine and one of relief and release.   “What can I say Ankre. She showed me something I’d never seen and gave me hope for something i never dreamed I could have.”   “Mr. Saint Mirth, you’re lucky I’m a bit of a sucker for hopeless seeming causes. But I’ve had my own fair share of love in my time. And the Wave-Master knows, when rules and traditions get in the way of something like this, then they need to be ignored. Okay, I grant you permission to train this Lady Rosebriar in the Gods, specifically in relation to the Wave-Master. I grant this to you in whatever form you happen to wear. And you may do it here as if it’s in the church it’s less likely you’ll be denied this.”     “Thank you very much Ankre Thunderborn. I promise you I will not let any problems arise from this.” James said, grateful that this absolutely insane plan isn’t dead on arrival.     “Oh it better not Mr. Saint Mirth.”   “If it does, then I submit myself to the revocation of any and all favors you’ve given me, and I will leave you and the church alone from that moment on.” James says, with all seriousness. Ankre Thunderborn just looks at him, a sly smile on his face.   “No Mr. Saint Mirth. If you doing this brings problems to this holy place and it’s people, I’ll take back nothing I’ve given you, and you will not leave. I’ll tie a damn anchor chain around you myself and keep you in the yard till you’ve learned better!” The old dwarf tried to be serious, but the smile and laughter put lie to his words…mostly. “Now go and I wish you luck if finding out if she’s your Rose, or another pretty flower out of your reach.”   James bows to the Ankre, and leaves his office. “Now, how to write a letter that won’t get thrown in the fire as soon as it’s delivered.”

Into the Sands of Blood

Coming back to his room in the Warrens from his excursion and excitement at the Red Lion, James is about to take off his jacket, when he sees a letter, on his leather working desk, set up neatly. The outside just says OPEN on it. Taking out the letter from inside the sheet reads   “Wayward Traveller, now. M”   Sighing, know that this is in no way good news, James goes heads off, and arrives decently quickly at the Wayward Traveller. It’s a standard night, so busy but not crowded. Looking around he spots her where she usually is, looking over books. Marlene snaps her fingers at him and points to the bench across the table from her. James complies as quickly as he can without upsetting anyone.   They sit in silence for several minutes, Marlene going over some books, checking figures, ignoring him. James waits, knowing that pushing now will only make things worse, and it’s not worth it, not yet. She finally looks up at him, cold, malicious eyes meeting his. “You’ve rested long enough meat. Time you truly earned your keep for all the generosity I’ve show you.” Her voice, like scum slicked water washing over him. James starts to speak to ask what she wants him to do, but as he goes to, he sees her tense, waiting to strike him. He closes his mouth and waits. “Oh look, you can learn. Will wonders never cease. Now, you’ve been slacking where as your friend Nel, she’s been putting in some good work, hard work. Hell, last night was the hardest I’ve seen her worked. Or at least worked over.” James does his best to hide a slowly building anger as she watches him, waiting.   “Here’s what you’re gonna do. Next week, you fight. You’ll work the crowd, you’ll smile, you’ll play nice, and everything will be nice and easy. Hell, you’re gonna like your first fight. Feel free to mess them up a little, make it look good, because that’s just to get you warmed up.” Her voice takes on a very dangerous tone. “Because your second fight of that night, well…that one’s gonna be a little bit different. See, we like to have regular fights, they keep everyone happy, drinks are bought, bets are placed, and the business gets its cut. But every now and then we like to do something special, something to really get the blood flowing, and the bets coming hard and fast.” The shadows behind her eyes are a wall of blades, threatening to eviscerate everything they see, but also take a truly sadistic glee in every bit of pain it causes. James watches her, but a cold sweat begins to form on him, feeling like he has an idea what she’s going to say.   “You’re going to be fighting someone who hasn’t been around here for a while. Kind of a crowd favorite actually.” Marlene leans in close. “And there will be no rules except the only weapons you can use are the ones you’re born with.” She watches with a glee as she can see that James understands exactly what she means. “Oh yes meat, you’re going to go until you can’t any more. And the other guy, he’s gonna make it take a long time. The patrons have to get their money’s worth after all.” She sits back relaxing in the way only petty tyrant kings can when on their thrones. “And you know what, I’m not even gonna ask you to take a fall. Isn’t that generous of me?”   James doesn’t say anything, not knowing if he’s supposed to. From most people, a slap stings, maybe leaves a mark that fades in a few minutes. James doesn’t even see it coming, and the blinding shock and pain keeps him from hearing what sounds like a gunshot, as a hand as hard as iron slams into the side of his face, nearly taking him out of the booth. “I said, isn’t that generous of me?”   Pulling himself back up, and trying to clear his head of the ringing, he is able to just get out. “Yes boss, very generous.” He can taste blood in his mouth from his cheek having been cut against his teeth.   “You see there, with the proper training even you can learn when to speak. Now get out of here. And don’t forget, Tuesday, 7 o’clock. If you’re even one minutes late I’ll hang your balls above the bar and feed your cock to the dogs.”   James makes his way out of the booth, stumbling a bit as his head hasn’t completely cleared yet, and makes his way out. The people in the Wayward Traveler give him plenty of room, not wanting to be close to anyone subject to Marlene’s displeasure, in case it rubbed off on them.   All the way back to his place, he can taste the blood in his mouth, and hears her words, a cold dread sinking into him. “This is going to be a punishment fight. She’s going to make sure I hurt and hurt bad. But” He stops and thinks for a second. “But, I don’t have to just sit there and take it. Wouldn’t be good for the crowd if I did. I’m allowed to fight back, and win. She didn’t tell me what my opponent is, but she’s going to want someone who won’t kill me quickly, so that eliminates several of the nastier types I could be facing.” A feral grin breaks out on his face, revealing teeth stained red with blood. “But I can fight, and I can win.” A movement happens in his heart, the feeling of an apex predator just waking up, and seeing that food is on the horizon.    

Waves of Gold

::25 Years Ago::     After walking for nearly a full day, James finally came to the port city of Santander. He’d never seen a city so big and full. Sure the mine and surrounding area and villages were probably larger overall, but the amount of people he could see milling about, the sounds of hundreds, no thousands talking, even at this distance. And there, far away, at the edge, the sails of the merchant ships. The hope he had for saving his family. Having stood there long enough gawking at the sight before him, James set off to get into the city proper.   “So many people, so many different people.” He looked every bit the poor miners boy that he was seeing the shere profusion of wealth around him. Even the humble shop keeps seemed as merchant princes to him. And even with all this, it was easy to spot the high born folk. It was the way they carried themselves, and that most of them stayed in very fancy wagons, some of which seemed carved from solid blocks of gold. James kept out of the middle of the road, having seen enough accidents at the mine to know that simple rule. The smells that wafted through the are were the scents of Peitho’s halls, or Fodla’s hearth to him. Foods and drinks he’s never tasted, spiced with substances he’d never heard of. And incense and perfumes to tickle the nose and arouse passion. It was all so overwhelming. But he had a mission, and was determined to succeed how only a sixteen year old from a hard life can know.   Step by agonizing step, through complete sensory overload, he eventually made his way to the docks. The smell of the salt water pervaded his senses, permeating his mind, and gave him a feeling of rightness, that this was something he was always supposed to have, to be near. Most of the ships were unloading and loading cargo, and many harsh words were shouted in strange tongues as James made a complete mess of himself trying to navigate through the lines. A few even gave him a light cuffing to hurry him on his way. James tries asking around about joining a crew, but most of the crews on the dozen or more ships in the harbor shout at him, telling him to get away, calling him worthless dock rat, and worse things.   There were ships of all sizes in the harbor that day, and more besides moored out, waiting for their turn. Small sloops to massive merchanters crowded the docks. However, only one had a desk set on the docks next to the gangplank. It was a huge ship, bigger than all the rest, and was one of the single largest things he’d ever seen. Behind the desk sat a bored looking Sea Elf, their skin a combination of blue with white stripes, like sunlight reflection off the bottom of the sea. Their hair was set in several braids, and was a brilliant emerald green. Knowing people behind desks tend to know things, James approached the Elf, who, without looking any less bored set his eyes on him.     [“Hello, my name is Jam”]     “Sorry kid, I don’t speak ‘afling. You speak ‘ommon?”   James stared at the Elf for a few seconds, his brain working to figure out what they said through their extremely thick accent. “Common? Yes, I do.”   “‘Ood, what’cha wan?”   “I’m hoping to join a crew sir!” He said with all of the enthusiasm and bravado of youth.   At this the Elf perked up a bit, seeming slightly less bored now, and gave James a hard appraising look. “Do you now? I see ‘our ‘ands be a ‘orking persons ‘ands. You ‘ver sailed ‘efore?”     Taking a few more seconds to translate, his brain starting to catch on. “No sir, never sailed. Miner.”   “You a ‘iner eh? Why you ‘ant ta sail kid?” The piercing look the Elf gave James told him that the wrong answer would see this conversation ended right then and there with no hope of salvage. Deciding that honesty was the best answer, and unable to come up with a creative lie, James spoke.   “Because my family has been poor, and half starved for most of our lives. Because I can handle hard work, not afraid of it for certain. Because mining doesn’t pay enough because those that own it are starving us to line their pockets. Because I don’t know another way to do right by my family. And because a crazy old sailor showed me how much he had made on only a part of a trip, and it was more than I’d seen in my entire life. Said the seas were made of gold for those willing to brave the waves. And so I can take some, and give it back to my family so they don’t have to starve just to get by.” He tries to sound strong but his voice quivers as he continued, stopping just short of sounding truly desperate.   The Elf just looked at him for a few minutes, his gaze holding James to the spot. “Okay, I ‘elieve you. But mining an sailing are two ‘ifferent beasts. There’s always a chance you ‘on’t be ‘omming back. That the Wave-Master feels you ‘ould be better at ‘erving him under the ‘aves then on them.”     “Sir, I’ve faced possible death or laming injury every day for the last three years. This doesn’t seem any different except you’ll pay me proper for it.” A smile, one that’s mischievous and a bit sassy breaks out on James’s face.   Seeing that the Elf smiled back, one much warmer than anything he’d given yet. “Alright, now ‘ere’s what…”   [“SAEVEL! Is that my new cabin boy you’ve got there?”] The shout came from above, high on the deck of the ship above them. And while the accent of Vodacce was strange, James could understand them just fine.   [“Aye ‘aptin. ‘Ust ‘aiting for ‘im to sign the book!”]   James looked incredulously at the Elf. [“But I thought you said”]     Saevel laughed and looked at James. [“Just a ‘ittle joke we like to ‘lay. ‘Sides, ‘ommon be the trade ‘anguage of the ‘orld. Didn’t want ta take the ‘ime to ‘each ya!”] He slides a book out from under the table and opens it up to the section with the title Greenhorn. [“The pay is fifteen ‘old a ‘onth as a ‘reenhorn. ‘Tay on a ‘ouple a trips, an you get ‘egular crew pay, chis thirty gold a ‘onth. Bonus for ‘reenhorn is twenty gold ‘or ‘hort trip, up to ‘undred gold for the really ‘ong ones. Can you ‘rite?”   James stood there, poleaxed. James could barely comprehend the numbers he was hearing. Having never sailed before, being this “greenhorn”, and the pay for one month was what he’d make in almost eight, since the mine owners had cut his pay. He’d be making more than his father did. Much more so if he stayed on. And a bonus? James wavered on his feet for a second, feeling dizzy. Saevel looked concerned for a second before James was able to catch himself. With a shaking hand, he signed the book.     [“‘Lright ‘aptain. ‘Ooks like you ‘ot ‘erself a new ‘abin boy!”]   [“That’s wonderful Saevel, send him up will you, might as well get him started. Oh! And don’t forget about his in shore pay, we’ll make sure to address that before we head out.”]   Saevel stook up and held out his hand to James. James eagerly took it and shook. [“‘Elcome to ‘aptain Elkin ‘eenfellows crew, and the ‘hip Moondancer ‘ames ‘aint Mirth”] Saevel motioned for him to walk up the plank and onto the ship. Greeting him was a halfling in the most ostentatious clothing he’d ever seen, with colors set to blind someone if they looked at them too long.   [“Welcome aboard the Moondancer James. I’m Captain Keenfellow, Elkin to my friends, and as my cabin boy I hope that’s what you’ll become!”] The Captain turned and started walking toward his cabin at the back of the ship under the stern deck. [“I like to keep my crew happy, so while we’re in port everyone gets twenty silver a day to be able to go out and have a good time while where here. I don’t care what they spend it on, just so long as it doesn’t bring trouble back to the ship. Now here is my cabin…”]   Again, these numbers were thrown at James, and he could not believe it. This was a dream, and if so he prayed to never wake up. He’d just been promised more money then he’d ever thought possible. He could hear the old sailor in the back of his head, laughing and saying “see, I told you so boy. Now go find your fortune.”

The First Student: Part II

As Koren did what was asked for them, James got a drink of water for himself, and went through a couple stretches. Koren quickly returned with the two mid sticks. James took one from them and got into a relaxed stance. "Here, come next to me and try to match what I do. You want to stand like this most times. You can see that this looks pretty normal, just as if you're standing around minding your own business. A number of people out there will tell you that you need your feet in a certain place, at a certain angle. And yes, that's useful, and looks pretty. And yes, it works for duels. But I'm not teaching people how to win a duel. There are no rules when someone comes at you with the intent to do you harm, actual harm. Your one job at that point is to survive. And if you can live another day, then you've been successful. Someone comes at you, you're not going to have the time to get into some fancy stance. You're going to have seconds to react, maybe less. And the less you have to think about the better. Understand?"   Koren nodded their head with a vigorous yes. "Okay, so just stand however is most comfortable for you." James walks around them, looking at their form, seeing how their muscles tense or relax. "Drop your shoulders, you'll tire yourself out fast and get a nasty headache if you keep them scrunched up like that." Having become more civilized since being stranded, James walks back around in front of them. "Some of what I'm trying to show you will be easier if I can physically correct you or move you. Do you mind if I put hands on you?" They look confused, as if no one had ever asked them that before, because no one had. Yet here was this human, this seemingly huge human that could snap them in two if they wanted, and could probably pick them up and throw them across the entirely of the hall, and they're asking permission to touch them.   "Ye...yes. Yes Maestro." Their voice was unsteady, puzzled, but also profoundly grateful at the simple act.   "Okay then, here, let me show you." James slid the stick through his belt and walked behind them again. "You've lived so long being ready to jump that you don't know how to relax. I get it. Happens to the best of us. Now," James puts his hands on their shoulders and presses down lightly, "those muscles you feel straining against what I'm doing, those are the ones you have to make relax. Take your time, you probably haven't had to feel just one muscle before, or just one part of your body. Just breathe, listen to what I'm saying, and feel where I'm touching." James waited for Koren to breathe steadily, and nod before continuing. James pushed in through their clothes and against their fur, running fingers along the areas with the most tension. "There, do you feel that? Like rock that is, but it's not supposed to be. Try to focus on just the areas I'm touching, feel your body, feels your muscles, breathe and tell them to relax. Don't rush it, we've got all day." Slowly they started to relax, the muscles going slack, until both of their shoulders drop.   "That feels strange, almost unnatural." Koren stated with a soft, and confused voice.   "That's because you've been doing your best to put your shoulders up to your ears for so long that your body's grown used to it. And you're not going to stop it with just one time of this. You'll have to keep doing it, forcing yourself to pay attention, check in, and drop them until one day, they'll be properly relaxed all the time." James responded with a caring, and understanding tone for having done the same. Removing his hands from Koren's shoulders, he walks back in front of them, drawing his stick. "Now, here's the dirty little trick that they do their best to hide in those fancy dueling schools. No matter the weapon, almost all the basic moves are the same. Now there's some specialized ones that you can do with certain weapons, or some things you probably shouldn't do, like attempting to stab someone with a hammer. But in almost all circumstances, a cut is a cut, a thrust is a thrust and a strike is a strike." James stopped for a second and looks at them. "Have you ever received weapons training before? Have you ever used one?"   Koren's head dropped slightly. "No. No one wanted me to have something on me in case I decided to steal something, or I didn't have enough money to buy one. And my claws have done a good amount of work so far." That sad tone returning to their voice.   James smiles. "That's okay, it means you don't have a lot of bad habits the need to be worked out of ya." Koren perks up at the bright tone, and manages a small smile. "Okay, let me show you what I mean about basic techniques." James points to one of the sailcloth wrapped columns and walks within striking distance of it. "Now watch." Treating the stick like a saber, James makes a simple cross body cut from shoulder to hip. He then resets and does the same but straight across the stomach. His third strike rises from hip to shoulder. His forth comes straight down from the head with the "point" ending in the chest. "All of those, just simple cuts, nothing fancy. Now let me show you some of the thing I've seen." Without moving his feet James begins a very fancy and pretty flourish repeating all the same cuts in the same order, with a continuous flow of the stick, stopping once again with the point in the chest. "Same cuts, same basic techniques, just a few more things thrown in. You learn the basics, get those under your skin so you know them well, and then you can start adding style to them, combining and chaining things together until it's all a smooth flow. And don't worry, we will work on footwork, but I don't want to overload you too much the first day." James chuckles, and despite trying not to, Koren follows suit.   "Okay come here and stand in front of the target, I'll be next to you." As they move over, James holds his stick out. "Now the one thing I will say is grip is important. You don't want it to be too tight, or too loose. Also where and how you hold each weapon will differ depending on the balance, but for right now, hold yours like I'm holding mine, but don't try to choke the life out of it. Just let it set comfortably in your hand. Again, it'll take a while to get used to but you'll catch on." He thinks back to all the time in the beginning when he first held a sword, and how quickly his arm would tire because of trying to kill it by choking it. Touching Koren's hand and helping them to adjust their grip, James eventually looks satisfied. "Okay, first cut, bring the stick back to your left shoulder, you want it slightly angled. That's it. Okay, now just slowly swing it forward, you want the tip to drag across the target from shoulder to hip. Just imagine someone standing there, or just something that looks...well kinda like me. And slowly, that's it...good!" He smiles as Koren continues. "Okay, now bring it back to your side, and cut across the belly. That's it. Now back to the side again, but held at a downwards angle, now up from hip to shoulder. Very nice. And finally bring it up over your head, now flick it out and straight down. Very good Koren."   They beam at the praise. "Thank you Maestro."   "Now, just do each of those ten-thousand times and you'll be just about ready." James says in a matter of fact tone that causes Koren to blanche.   "Te...Ten-thousand...each?!"   "Oh don't worry. You'll reach that number faster than you know." He says in, what he hopes is a reassuring tone. "It may seem like an insurmountable number, but like all things, diligence and practice will bring it closer, faster than you can imagine. Okay, here's what you're going to do. Until I say stop, you're going to do those four cuts. Don't get fast, this isn't a speed contest. Focus on the target, and work to make the tip of your "sword" go exactly where you want it. You can do them in any order you want, but for right now, we're only doing those four, got it?"   "Yes Maestro." Koren says, staring at the canvas, focusing hard on it.   James laughs soft enough that they can't hear him. "Okay then, begin." For the next half hour the sound of a slow drag of wood against canvas can be heard. James picks up a steel, one handed practice blade, and after a quick bit of warm up's, begins running through training forms. After half an hour, James having worked up a good sweat turns toward Koren, watching them. Their technique has gotten sloppy and he can see their frustration mounting as their fatigued muscles just don't want to do what they're telling them. "Hold." Koren's arm drops like a lead weight.   "I'm sorry, I got bad there and I couldn't make it better." Frustration, and personal bitterness oozed out of their tone.   "Koren, it's fine, you did well. This is your first time picking up and using anything like a blade. Now, do you know what happened?" He tries for a consoling, understanding tone.   "No! My arm just stopped doing what I told it to do and I couldn't fix it."   "Our muscles can only go for so long before they give out. Oh you can push them far beyond their limit, but like you saw, the technique starts to suffer. It's fine, part of this was to get you doing the techniques." He turns Koren toward him and puts his hands on their shoulders. "The other part was for you to feel what's it's like when your muscles tire out. The rest of you can feel absolutely fine and ready to run down the docks all day and night. But your arm just can't do anymore. You'll be able to go longer as you train. We've just got to get your muscles used to it, and keep pushing them further. Don't worry, you did quite well." He says with his signature smile and tone.   Koren looks up at him and quietly says "Thank you, Maestro." their tone speaking to the truth of their words.   "Okay Koren, get some more water in you, and hand that stick here. We'll meet up again tomorrow, and I'll work to meet up with you a bit every day to work with you on this. Now I also need to go adventuring some times as I've got to keep myself fed as well. And when I'm away, you're welcome to come in here and practice. But for now, make sure you don't let your arm rest for too long, but don't work it hard either. You don't want it going stiff on you. Just make sure you're moving it a bit every now and then, maybe stretch it." He states while putting the sticks back up along with his blade.   "Koren...thank you for telling me all of that. I know reliving memories like that can't be easy. But I don't think you're cursed, just dealt a bad hand." James turns toward them as they finish drinking a cup of water. "And I'm looking forward to seeing just how much of an amazing swordsperson you are."   Their eyes tear up, once again hearing words of encouragement, belief in them. But also remembering what's happened every other time someone has shown them faith. "Thank you Maestro. I don't know if I deserve it, but thank you." Their words just loud enough for James to hear them.   "Alright, I'm sure you have other duties to attend to. I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early!"   "Yes Maestro!" Their face a mass of conflicting emotions, but joy and excitement is still on the top, they walk out, one shoulder still trying to meet their ears, but their sword arm shoulder is completely sagged. They walk out with a step much lighter than they came in with, and James's smile follows them out.   Sitting down at the benches and using a repurposed crate as a writing desk, James pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen.   "Dear Mama, You are not going to believe what happened today, and who just walked into my life. Let me tell you about them. Their name is Koren..."  

The First Student: part I

James is in his Academia de Ciencias Marciales. Oiling down the practice weapons, making sure the metal ones are free from rust or cracks, and going over the wooden ones to make sure they won't splinter. The school had been open now for a few days, but it hadn't been graced by anyone other than himself. A knock at the entrance on the door frame draws his attention away from his unnecessary task. "Yes, you may come in." He says with a voice that easily carries to the far side of the room, in what he hoped was a welcoming tone. Walking through the door and into his sight was, for one of their kind, a rather small Leonin. Their movements had some power in them, but their body was lithe, and moved with a rough, but natural grace. A good sign for any sailor, or sword wielder. Their fur was the purest white, and as they approached, James saw that he was taller by more than a head. They came to a stop a few feet away and rocked back into a sailors rest posture. There was a nervousness about them, as if walking into a trap they already know but can't avoid.   "Are you here to deliver a message, or something else?" James asks politely.   "I was sent by Ankre Thunderborn. He said..." their voice cracks from their throat suddenly going dry. "He said I'm to be your test." They look up with a look that appears fierce, and determined. But James has seen enough false bravado to know it from true.   "Did he now." James says this with a soft tone, but one with no indication of approval or disappointment. The Leonin's reaction is almost immediate. While everything in their frame and stance still says determination, a flash happens behind their eyes. Bitter disappointment. James walks around them, looking their frame up and down, seeing their muscular development, looking for scars which may tell a story. "What shall I call you then?"   "Koren, sir." Their body tenses in, excitement?   "And what honorific should I use for you Koren?" He says as he walks back in front of them.   They eyes, now looking filled with desperate hope. "Mx, if you please, sir."   "Mx. Koren, before I agree to teach you, I would like to know some things about you first." James walks and pulls over a couple of small benches, and gestures for Koren to sit on one.   "Of course sir! Whatever you need to know." An almost desperate eagerness in their voice.   "Okay, before questions, enough with the sir. I'm no Captain, at least not yet. In here, you can refer to me as Maestro. It means teacher where I'm from." A small bit of laughter escaped from him as he corrected them.   "Yes, of course si...Maestro!"   "Good. Now Koren, how old are you?"   "I've seen nineteen winters Maestro!" They answer with too much eagerness. The answer shocks James for a moment. Their people tend to be taller than him, and yet here's one past the age of majority, who's shorter than even most humans.   "I apologize for the insensitivity of this question, but, why are you so short compared to others of your kind?" Their expression told him this isn't a happy story.   Koren hung their head, looking down at the floor, and spoke quietly. "It's because of my fir...Maestro. In my parents pack, this color was considered exceptionally unlucky. One of the unluckiest colors one could be born with. There are none in the pack with a color like mine. I was told that when I was born, the pack priest declared me cursed. At only a few days old they left me out in the woods near the Pride's savannah." Their words are choked by old emotions. "I was found by a crazy old Reborn Dwarf. He didn't remember quite how to feed something that's alive and helpless, but Baba did his best. I went hungry at lot as a kid. Healers say that's why I'm so short."   "Thank you for telling me Koren. I do not hold your short stature against you, though I'm sure many have. You are a being in your own right, and have been dealt the hand you have. To have made it this long, and this far means you've likely done an excellent job with a difficulty most never know." James says, pride leaking into his tone. Koren's ears perk up, not having heard that tone directed toward them very often. "So why are you here. Why aren't you out there on a ship, or doing something else with your life? Why here, why now?"   Koren's ears drop. "Because I'm cursed, like the priest said. Bad luck has always followed me around. When I was eight, Baba met his final death at the hands of a mob as he was trying to get more food for me. I made my way to the city where he was going and saw his body dismembered, and hanging from the city wall." Tears leaked from their eyes, running into their fur and matting it down. "I wandered into the city, and was kicked, and beaten and cursed at by everyone there. I hid, scrounging whatever food I could. Even made what I could only call a friend with a few people there, others like me. I lived like that for two years, in a constant bruised state from either kicks from the passers by, or by toughs taking what little I had. Eventually the city council declared that all indigent and poor people were a blight on society and needed to be removed for the good of the city and the safety of it's gentle folk. They sent the Knights Resplendent to deal with the problem. Some of us they jailed until they could be sold off. Some of us fled. Most of us...most of my friends they slaughtered in the darkened alleyways we called home." They held back tears, remembering very bad times, and the deaths of so many they loved. James gave them time to collect themselves, not in a rush and letting them tell the story at their own pace.   "I was sold to a traveling show. I was a ten year old cub, and for the third time in my life, second that I remember, I'd lost everything and everyone I'd known. I did all the dirty jobs for them. They weren't cruel to me, but they didn't love me either. But for the first time I went to bed with a full stomach every night, and that went a long way for me. For four years I stayed with them. Even starting to perform some parts on my own. I was once again happy." Koren sighed, feeling the weight of another wave rushing toward them to crash down on their heads. "We were performing at a town, near the edge of the Iron Curtain in Patlov. A lot of the troupe thought being so close to that awful wall was a bad idea, but our Master convinced us. Said "the people needs their spirits kept up, and they'd be willing to happily pay to have a smile for a while." So we went. And it was good. For two weeks we danced, capered, told jokes and stories. It was wonderful. And the Master was right, they needed to laugh and money flowed freely. We spent two weeks there. We were going to head out the next morning so we were pulling out all the stops for our last show of the night. Right after the crescendo, screams started. They quickly spread across the town and toward us. Creatures straight out of a nightmare came right at us. Slaughtering, and eating anything that came their way. Myself and four others grabbed what little we could and ran. We ran and escaped while our friends gave their lives to help us escape. Three times in my life, and twice that I could remember, everything I loved, everyone I knew was taken away from me. I looked back as we ran and saw my friends get ripped apart." Koren's body wracked with sobs, tears freely flowing down tightly shut eyes.   James let them weep. He quietly got up, filled a cup with cool, fresh water and came back. As Koren's sobs lessened, he held out the cup. "Here, you should drink this." Koren reached out and took the cup, finishing it slowly. For several minutes, the only noises that intruded upon the room was that of distant workers, and the whistling wheeze of a nose clogged after crying.   "Thank you." Koren said after several minutes more. "We ran, and never stopped running. We lost granny Matilda before the sun rose. Maybe it was the running, or what we'd left behind, but her heart just gave out. Thax'dona disappeared. They went to relieve themselves and never came back. Paskova walked off into a river that was swollen and running fast with the water from spring rains and ice melt. I couldn't stop her. Marano stayed with me until we reached the coast. We holed up for the night in a port city, and before sun rose they'd left me with only a note wishing me luck. I stayed in that city for a while, scrounging, performing, barely making enough to eat. I eventually got a job down on the docks because of my agility and size I could help untangle things most people couldn't reach or throw latches no one else could see so that the cargo could get moving. It was good work, but misfortune always dogged me. I untangled heave line, a part of the cargo net breaks, causing a few crates to fall and shatter. I'm blamed for it, pay is docked. I help unlatch things, but some small valuable piece of the cargo or a ladies effects goes missing, I'm blamed for it, pay is docked. For four years this went on, until finally I'd had enough. I would have quit if I hadn't been accused of taking a precious family heirloom. They searched everything I had, and all of me, stripping me down to nothing. Even after all that I got five lashes and was told to leave."   "As I was leaving the docks, my clothes in tatters, barely covering me, a bosun ran over to me. I'll admit, I cowered, afraid that I was going to get beaten or blamed for something again. But he took me by the shoulders, told me his Captain wanted a word, but that it was a good thing. and to come with him. So I did. There was the most beautiful elven woman I've ever seen! I forgot the pain from the lashes on my back as I looked at her. Took her a few times to get me to understand, but she told me that she knew that I didn't steal the heirloom, because they'd watched the person who did, and they worked for the Dockmaster. They wanted to offer me a position on the ship. They saw how fast I could move, how easily I handled things, so they figured I could climb the rigging easily enough and help with other tasks. I signed up right then and there. We sailed out with the evening tide." Koren sighed heavily, the next wave crashing over them in their story. "We were out for five days. This ship which had never suffered an accident or an equipment failure encountered a sudden storm as we were crossing the Sapphire Sea, heading toward Avalon. It came upon us suddenly, no warning. We couldn't even pull the sails in. It snapped both masts. Took us hours to cut them loose and all the rigging. The ship had oars and we were close to Novandria, so over the course of two days we rowed the ship into port. That was six months ago." Koren relaxed, as if a huge weight had been lifted from them. "We got here, I got off as the ship was going to be in dock until the masts could be replaced, and I got hired on to work in the church. Been doing whatever they ask of me since." Koren looked up at James, they're eyes meeting. "And today I got told to report to you for training by Ankre Thunderborn. That's my story." They sat there and waited for James to pronounce judgement.   James just smiled. "You've had a hard life kid. Harder than any three people should. And now I think I know what Ankre Thunderborn meant." James stood up and put a hand on Koren's shoulder. "If you'd like to learn from me, learn how to fight, how to use whatever weapon you'd like including your body, then I accept you as my first student." Koren's hands open, the mug dropping to the floor and bouncing, clearly have expected to be tossed out after telling James everything that's happened.   "Yes, please!" Koren spoke with tears running from their eyes again, seeing a lifeline when they expected none.   "Okay then Koren. Drink some more water, and move these benches back over against the wall. Then go to the weapons rack and pick up two of the mid length sticks. We'll get started as soon as you're ready." James said proudly, thanking Lucetius.

The Acceptance of Inevitability

After hearing the Reborn Goliath speak about being the sea, James finished his usual tasks, and a few unusual ones, such as finally filing his paperwork for citizenship. After a good evening meal and a few words with friends, he finally heads back to his place to bathe and settle down for the night. As he drifts off he still hears the words of the Reborn echoing in his mind.   Floating, held comfortably in the water, above him waves dance over the surface, silver moonlight shining down. He's been here enough times to know what coming. He hears the booming, echoing, and getting louder. He hears the shouts. Fear, grips his heart, desire for this to never have happened driving nails deep into his soul. No matter how much he shouts, silently screams, thrashes, it's always the same. The blood, the death, the revelry in slaughter. Murder, it's just murder with poor justification. How he wishes he could change the past. How he wishes he could talk to that boy, no not a boy, that man, who's heart was driven to such darkness, that wholesale slaughter seemed to be the only salve for the wound. How he wished that man hadn't survived the impossible odds that were against him.   Yet that man did. Murder and murder again, blood drenched body and blade, laughing at the pain he caused. Taking perverse pleasure in watching the light go out in the eyes of so many. The man was stabbed, shot, burned, wounded a hundred different ways and a hundred more. But the man survived. And each time went back for more. More blood, more slaughter. And nothing could stop him. Not until...   Movement in the water. Not just one. Many. So many forms flitting in and out of the shadows. All sleek, all deadly. And all just at the farthest ranges of perception. Splashes above, bodies and pieces of ship crashing into the water. There, for a brief moment a form larger than all the others, glimpsed as a darker shadow in the blackness. Hate grips him, how he hates this, he hates what's above, but in this moment he hates this beast. He's hated it before, fought it before, cowered before it, frozen stiff in front of it, and every time it still slices into him, teeth breaking, crunching, tearing, rending flesh and bone. Nothing has worked, and still he hates this beast.   "The sea does not care." The words of the Reborn echo in his mind. The sounds of them reverberating through the water. And for a moment, the shadows flit away. "Ripples on the ocean. A storm is not the sea. A wave is not the sea." Each time the voice speaks, the shadows are driven away. "Your mind is as vast as the sea." The voice fades away with those last words. And with the fading the shadow forms return. The large one, larger than the others, larger than ever before it seems, swims around him, only it's shadow showing where it is. "The sea does not care" James repeats. "A pebble's ripples are not even remembered by the sea." The shadow looms larger getting closer, tightening it's circle. "Your mind is as vast as the sea." The beast turns, now driving straight toward James, as it has so many times before. But something is different now, something in him is different. Gone is the fear, gone is the hate, gone is the panic. Replaced by simple knowledge. A single truth. Just like the sea, the shark does not care. It hunts, it mates, it lives. It exists as it is supposed to. "My mind is as vast as the sea." Rocketing in with incredible speed, eyes black, silver light highlighting the sleek body, teeth begining to pull back, James stares at it, calm, finally understanding something. "And I am one with everything in it."   The water around him is warm. He can feel the presence of others, food and not food, all around, but keeping distance. He smells the blood above, feels the thuds of the explosions, but isn't disturbed by them, they do not concern him, they are not of his world. He swishes his tail, pushing himself along, effortlessly gliding through the water. When he is hungry, he will hunt. When he is tired, he will sleep. When the season comes, he will mate. But right now, all he needs do is swim. The sounds of shouts is far behind now, fading quickly as they no longer matter.   In his room, curled up in his blankets, a short burst of golden light flashes, and burns around his wrists, etching marks into both. As they fade, they leave behind the images of a ring of sharks teeth around each of his wrists. After a few minutes, James is breathing deep, and steady again, experiencing a peace he hasn't had in years.

The Philosophy of the Sea

After another day of helping with the cargo yard of the church, a short day as there have been less ships these last couple of days, James wipes the sweat from his brow, then heading inside he hears a sermon going on in one of the side rooms. Approaching closer, hearing the words more clearly, it's not a sermon, but more a philosophical discussion or teaching moment. Curious James walks over to the small room, finding an empty seat and listens.   "So you see, in times of great stress, of great sorrow, or great hate, we should strive to be like the Sea." A Reborn Goliath was standing at the head of the room, all eyes on them as they spoke. Their magnificent beard, immaculately groomed, jostled with their speaking. Their voice carried easily and clearly across the room. "If you have not been out on the sea, take the time to do so, and you will learn truths hidden from nearly every other eye in the world. The sea is massive, far larger than any mortal in existence. We can all agree upon this." Many heads nodded in agreement at this obviously simple truth.   "And it can be said that our minds are like the sea. I can see confusion among some of you, but consider this. When you sleep, you dream. When someone tells a good story, you can see it even though you aren't there. You can remember favorite scents, the taste of favorite drink, maybe the first time you went fishing. All of those things are not as you are now, but are part of something far larger than you. But your mind can go there, be there, remember them." Less confusion and people are starting to follow along. "Even more, you can daydream, you can see things that are not there, imagine possibilities, both possible and impossible. You can tell yourself stories that feel as real as you being in this room, right here right now. Your mind can be just as massive as the sea." Everyone is nodding now, including James.   "Now consider this, you are on a ship, out at sea. Many sailor have called themselves Masters of the sea. Does this seem correct to you? If you are a Captain on a ship, are you master of all of the sea?" After a second most heads are shaking no. "Are you even the master of of the sea around you, maybe just to the distance of what your eyes can see? Or even closer, maybe just the few yards off the wake of your ship, maybe you consider yourself the master of that. After all, you have disturbed something, you've left a mark, you've changed the waters with your passage." A lot of heads nodding, agreeing that yes, they could be masters of that, but James isn't so sure.   "Tell me this then, when your ship has gone by and disturbed the waters, if you came back to that exact spot a week later, would there be any evidence of your disruption? How about a day later? An hour?" The reborn waits. "No, of course not. It will have faded away and been as if nothing had ever been there in the first place, as if no disturbance ever took place." Most faces look off, considering the words, a few facing this thought for the first time, a form of existential dread coming to their countenance. "So you see, you are not masters of the sea, merely beings upon it. The same is for everything else that touches the sea. Be they massive hurricanes, to a tiny pebble thrown in it, they are all the same to the sea. A temporary disturbance which quickly dissipates and is likely forgotten. So our minds should be the same. Something disturbs your mind, be it an insult, be it a loss, be it an embarrassment, or any other thing. Remember that your mind is not the ship on the sea, but the sea in it's entirety. Say you face a grave embarrassment, so you feel shame and wish to hide away from your act, from whatever or whomever witnessed it, or caused it. This is like a ship in a storm. Your mind is the storm, and you are the ship. You are letting yourself be tossed this way and that, wind ripping across the deck, sails tearing. You cry out "Oh Lucetius, save me from this storm", except can he save you from yourself? You have forgotten that your mind is the sea. It is not the storm, nor the ship in the storm. It is the sea, vast, and undisturbed by such trifles. You have forgotten that in the great sea of time, this moment will be forgotten. This great shame you are experiencing will not even be a ghost of a memory. So why should you be bothered by it?"   They pause speaking for a minute, letting the minds in the room mull over the words. The Reborn walks around the room, meeting peoples eyes as they speak again. "Someone has said an insult to you. So what? If you insult a wave as you stand on the shore, does the sea care? And if the sea does not care, was it ever actually insulted? If someone insults you, and you do not care, what has that person done? Nothing but harm to themselves. They have attempted to cut the sea in two with a butter knife. An act less than futile, and which only serves to show their own lack of character."   Every head in the room, and several who are standing outside nod in understanding. James feels that something has changed in here, some momentous shift has happened due to the words spoken by this wise Reborn to the gathered beings. An understanding starts to coeless for him as well, but he's not there yet.   "Take these words and think on them. I will be here for some time yet as the Wave-Master has chosen to bring me up from the depths to speak at length to any who would listen." The Reborn laughs, and the room joins them in the act. Many people walk up to the Reborn, shaking their hands and speaking to them. James quietly stands and walks out. There being something in the back of his mind, but he's not sure what yet.

Starting Down the Path

Finding a day without rain, and decent weather overall, James makes his way bright and early to the government offices in the city. Arriving there soon after their opening, he quickly get's shown to the office that handles new citizens. After a little back and forth and being told what paperwork he needs to fill out, James is given the forms and told to come back when they're done. He thanks them and heads back out, eager to finish the other work he needs to do, but now feeling fully and truly starting down the path of his plan.   It's a very slow day in the yard at the Church of Lucetius, with many just waiting around. Gathering them together he tells everyone that he's got two barrels of the good Eisen dark ale waiting to be delivered. And that anyone who helps him with cleaning out the old storage room, and helping him catalogue what was in there, is welcome to enjoy the ale, so long as it doesn't interfere with the rest of their duties. With the help of the workers, the room is completely emptied in quick order. The inventory takes longer but as the sun sets, the inventory is done and the two full barrels of ale are delivered by a rather stout, white furred bearkin and their cart. James greets Nel kindly, helping them unload and tap the barrels. As the final paperwork is done and the crates are taken to various areas based on what's in them, a cheer goes up from the assembled people. Making sure he's not the first in line for the ale, he eventually fills a mug with the wonderful beverage, get's another for Nel, and they both walk into the now cleared room.   They talk about ideas for it, plans, dreams, and the good it can do helping people learn the arts martial. Thinking over the materials in the crates outside, including a few of dull weapons that they were surprised to stumble upon, James looks at what needs to be done before he can say it's open. "Only another day, maybe two if I go slow. Three if I want it to look good." The well worn wooden floors of the room, along with the stout wooden pillars make his plans a lot easier. "La Academia de Ciencias Marciales, the Academy of Martial Sciences. That's what I'm calling it. Gives it an air of refinement, don't'cha think?" He laughs as they talk, drinking sparingly, while the workers, with a monumental effort and time, see the barrels drank dry.   The next day James is in the room, sweeping it out, and wrapping a thick layer of old sailcloth around the pillars. Putting together some crude weapon hangers, he sets the weapons in them, finding a bit of everything. None in true combat ready fashion, but more than sufficient for training. Making some deals around town for scrap wood or sections of trees to use as striking targets or throwing targets, he takes his time to get those delivered. "Maybe I'll include archery at some point. But for right now, I think I'll stick with the close in stuff." His final bits are several very heavy bags made of well sewn sailcloth filled with sand hung from the ceiling. He ends that day with a bit of training, like his old teachers drilled into him. An hour later he leaves, locks up the room, saying a few prayers of thanks. "Yes, this is a fine start to this indeed." Finally able to take a breath, James sits down to go over the paperwork and write the information needed for his citizenship application.

Letters Home

Late in the night at the Skybound Inn, James sits at a table, drinking a strong tea. In front of him are several blank pages and a pen. After dealing with frustration at how to start, he just does.   "Dear Mama,   I know it's been a while since I've written, and I'm sorry for the delay. A lot of things have happened recently, and I've just now gotten the time to sit down and put pen to paper to tell you about them. I've found myself to be grounded in Novandria, of all places. There was a minor accident, and altercation, which has resulted in this, but it's nothing to worry about, and all parties seem reasonable. I'm quite certain that I'll have that dealt with soon. Tell Papa that he was absolutely right, the Ale here is the best I've ever had. Yasmine would love the clothing shops here, and I'm sure she could easily turn heads with her designs.   I've met some people mama. Not all of them good, but most are very kind and wonderful. I've actually made friends faster than I think I ever have before. When I can I want you to meet them. One is Nel, she's a white bearkin, and she has the warmest heart I've ever known. She runs a school for the unfortunate children in the city, and is doing a wonderful job at it. All the kids love her, and she's keeping them fed and happy. Oh, I also ran into Aeos! Yes, he's here too. I told you about him before, about 10 or so years ago. He's made my stay here much more comfortable and friendly. I'm lucky to have found him again.   There's someone else mama. I've met someone. I truly lovely and amazing woman named Mirabella. She has quickly become a guiding light to me in this city I barely knew. I don't yet know her feelings towards me, but we've spent some time together and talked late into the night. There's a peace with her. I don't know if anything will come of it, but I'm honored to be able to call her a friend. Hopefully some day I can bring them to Bilbao to meet you an papa, and the rest.   I won't say my time here has been easy, but I'm figuring things out. I've made some friends, rubbed others the wrong way, may have gotten into a scrap or two, but nothing serious. I am getting well paid for my troubles though. Also, I may have a patron for my leatherworking! I decided to attend an artists ball, and someone noticed my skills. We're going to do a commission first to make sure my skills are up to his standard and liking. But if they are he has stated an interest in patronage. So tell Lucas his big brother might finally have made something of himself. I might not be a Counsel like him, but I'm making my way.   I'll be better about writing you more in the future mama. Please give my love to Papa and my siblings. I'll try to make it home soon, if only for a little bit.   Your loving and devoted son, James Saint Mirth"   Finishing writing he waits for the ink to dry, then folds it properly to fit in the envelope. Attaching the stamp to it he finishes his tea, cleans up the papers and pen, and heads out into the night, making sure to drop off the letter before heading back to his place.

A Knife Couched in Courtesy

His eyes go over the letter for a fourth time. Each word a dagger thrust rammed home hard. Without trying James can hear the derision in their voice. His breath comes hard, anger in every one. In his heart, a frightful storm brews, lightning and thunder, slashing rain begging, pleading to be released.   "You could just have said thank you. But no, I'm not good enough for that. You could have accepted the gift without word word, and that would have been fine. I was willing to let your first letter be a misunderstanding, that your paying for a gift wasn't an insult. Merely you doing what you thought was appropriate." The words come out of clinched teeth. "But then you send me this!" He slams his fist into the parchment on the table, a resounding boom washing through the room. His whole body trembles, tears form and fall. Rarely in his life has he ever been insulted in such a way, words cutting straight to the bone. Twice. He held out his hand for friendship, and it wasn't refused, it was cut off, with most of the arm above it as well.   "Were you anyone else, I could respond properly and well to this. But you're a thrice damned noble who cares not about your lessers beyond their immediate use. Because, of course, why would some peasant sailor ever deign to even try to be your friend. Clearly I'm just playing at it and don't know your high and mighty ways. I'm just some pathetic lesser creature wanting recognition from our great patrons above who allow us to live another day. And we should be grateful for it! FOR THESE FUCKING SCRAPS!" He grips the table, knuckles white, but stops himself from throwing it across the room. He sits there, body locked ridged, jaw clinched and tears of rage sliding down his face. Close, so very close the storm came to braking upon him, turning it's power against him without another outlet.   For minutes he sits there, his breathing slowing, heart calming, and the storm abating till it's just distant rumbling, ready to be called upon, but no longer straining against it's bonds. His body relaxes, releasing his grip on the table, and he reads the letter once again. "Very well Larux Dyrr. I'll respond to your valet. And I will do so as if they are you. I don't truly know why you felt the need to insult me so deeply. Maybe it's because you want me to prove myself a danger so I leave Mirabella alone. Maybe it's just because of your noble upbringing and you've never learned to look at us as people. None of that actually matters, you've made your thoughts clear. I will not give in to this provocation. Not publicly, not anywhere where it could be seen as me being unstable, unsuitable, lesser. I will respond as I should, as a gentleman would. And not in the way people of your station would like, not with a call for blood, because that would only prove you right, and I'll be Damned to the depths before I give you that satisfaction. I will respond as I should."   James get's up, leaving both letters on his table. He packs a small bag, dresses for the weather, and heads out. An hour later, the gunshot sound of shattering wood can be heard in the scrap yard of the Church of Lucetius. A crude holder, constructed to contain broken boards so someone may practice their control, and strength on them. Several boards are set up, side by side, and with a bare few strikes, each one shatters. James stands in the cold, dressed only in his shorts, sweat pouring off his body, knuckles going bloody, as he gives release to the storm within. A poor substitute, but one that the storm accepts. He keeps setting up boards and breaking them, for time uncounted, until his muscles finally give out, all their energy gone.   "Thank you Storm Father for giving me this, this place, this time, so that I don't do something incredibly stupid. I pray you gift me with perfect words to give back to Larux Dyrr. The words they deserve to hear, and that they'll understand. I am ever your son, may your fortunate winds always find me."

Friendship and Bloody Tolls

James sits in his room, looking at gifts from friends he never would have imagined he'd have in this life. Simple things, but heart felt, all of them. He opens the bottle of rum and pours a finger into a cup before recorking it. Picking one of Nel's cookies from the basket, he takes a bite. They say the best foods are made with love. As he savors the flavor, he swears he can taste the love, the friendship that Nel has for him. A taste of the rum next, and memories of days spent with a friend, playing cards, long nights standing watch, helping each other to their hammocks when the rum ration was extra generous. Next to the bottle are several packages of spices, a gift from a friend he barely knows, but is grateful to have nonetheless. And flowers, more flowers than he's ever had in his entire life, colors he's seen in the setting sun, pure white clouds, and that of growing things, and colors only seen in rainbows. This hovel he has been given for a living space smells of love, of affection, of friendship unbound and unbothered by who he is.   And sitting over by his bed, set lovingly on his pillow, is a book. A simple book. But a book that holds promise and possibility. His heart does not know how to handle all of this. Quiet tears slowly roll down his face as he sits there, surrounded by the undeniable proof that he is wanted in this world, that he has a place in it, that he has made a positive mark on the lives of some. He slowly drinks his rum, while unfamiliar tears fall. He smiles though, and he knows the tears are for joy, for happiness that he's never had. At least not like he does now. This is friendship not forced by proximity, but friendship genuinely sought and freely given. "I only hope that I am worthy of the love you all show me. That I do not break these tenuous bonds of fidelity. To all of you, I give thanks." He raises his cup in salute to each of the gifts, then downs the rest of his drink.   Putting the cup down, James strips before laying in his bed, dousing the light, and pulls the warm covers over him. And quickly he is taken by sleep.   Floating, drifting in a warm sea. Under the water, the light above shines through, shimmering. He looks up slowly, his eyes feeling heavy, and the gentle waves pass over, both close and far above. In this place, he could stay forever. It is safe, it is warm. The distant sound of thunder can be heard, a rolling of deep sound through the water. He closes his eyes, only meaning to blink, but in this place a moment is an eternity. The thunder approaches, growing more frequent, becoming sharper, higher, no longer just a bass rumble. His eyes open, the light turned crimson. A sea of blood, and he is floating in it. The sharp whistling sound of balls of iron tearing their way through the air to deliver death and destruction upon whatever they encounter. One, two, a dozen or more all ripping through the air above. The sound of the hammer blow of impacts, shattering wood, denting metal, tearing flesh. The light above is disturbed, pieces float on the wave tops, on the surface. Wood, canvas, and bodies.   Accompanying the sound of the guns are shouts, both painful and joyous. The sounds of people torn apart, limbs severed from their still living forms. The sounds of victory, of joy at a conquest, the cheers of people reveling in spilt blood, and ended lives. One voice carries above the rest, above the din and crash of the battle, the slaughter. A voice so young to be so hot with blood, with gruesome death. "Alright mates, take the ship, and let all who stand against be sent to the depths! Blood and Treasure!" Voices, dozens raised in salute with the same phrase before shouting incoherent screams as they rush over, the owner of the young voice joining the fray with a fury and passion unmatched. Sword swinging, guns firing, limbs severed and lives cut short. And from it all, blood, an ocean of blood.   Terror grips him, seizes his heart. He wants to shout NO, to stand in the way of the bloody tithe. He tries to surge toward the surface, but he is held back by chains and weights he cannot see. The owner of the young voice, fine clothes, silks and more now covered, drenched in the crimson gore of slaughter, an almost rictus grin as the sword strikes again, and again, and again, endlessly. He cries out, screaming his very soul for them to stop, but no words come, no sounds come from him in this crimson sea, this ocean of blood. In the distance he sees it again, the predator stalking this place. The massive shark who always takes what's his, and cares not about the goings on above the waves. Maybe it simply doesn't care, maybe it's come to grips with what the strange beings do above his home, but none of that matters now, as there is prey in its home, and it is hungry.   So many times James has faced this creature, and every time it ended the same. Every time his heart was gripped by fear, terror so intense he was unable to move, and just sat there, waiting to die. NO! The thought rings out clear. Fear grips his heart, terror, but something else now too. An anger, a rage building within him. He knows he's going to die, and nothing can be done about that. But he'll be damned if he just lets it happen without even trying to fight back. It comes for him again, as it always has, it's form swift and silent, it's eyes locked on him, the teeth showing, the only white things in this crimson sea. James shouts his anger, his hate, his rage at the creature, throwing fists of nothing at it, knowing it won't stop what is to come, but refusing to just accept that fate silently. The same happens as it always does, jaws open, teeth flash and bite, and he is torn asunder, flesh stripped from bone, and pain, so much pain. Pain of the teeth, and pain for what's happening above. He feels his life slipping away, his anger, his rage, his fear, his sorrow, all of it means little as the beast continues to bite down, bones being no impediment to the blades it wields. The last though he has as the waters now go dark is, "at least I tried this time".   In his room, James's body twitches fitfully, he cries out in his sleep, thrashes, arms lash out and back, and then calm. A form of peace comes over his sleeping form, a wistful smile comes to unconscious lips as dreamless sleep washes over him.

La Academia de Ciencias Marciales

After finishing a shift in the church cargo yard, James heads inside, searching for someone in specific. After asking around he finally tracks down Ankre Gustav Thunderborn, Master of building affairs, going over an inventory list in his office. Knocking politely on the doorframe, James waits till he’s acknowledged before entering.   “Ankre Thunderborn, I have a favor to ask of you, and the church.” James speaks with a strong voice. The aging dwarf looks up at James, nods and motions to continue. “There are a number of people that I know, who have shown interest in learning to to properly handle weapons, and other fighting techniques. I have an extensive knowledge, and would like to teach them. The issue is, some of these people who want to learn are ladies of the higher classes, and I am decidedly not on that social level. So to keep them from suffering any repercussions for “impropriety” while I teach them, I’d like a medium sized room, or at least a roofed section, that’s able to be easily hidden from casual observation. There has been a lot of violence out in the city recently, and these people, and ladies would feel better if they knew how to handle a blade or any weapon a little better. Others just want to be able to keep their edge without it looking suspicious.” James stands at rest, waiting for Ankre Thunderborn to speak.   Minutes go by, as the dwarf looks at James, then over the figures and plans he has laid all over his desk. Eventually he returns his attention to James. “Ever since I took over this position three years ago, I’ve been barely able to keep up with the day to day operations of this place. That’s what happens in one of the busiest ports in the whole damn country.” The Ankre takes out a pipe, stuffs it with deliberate care, and lights it properly, relaxing into his chair. “Mr. Saint Mirth. You haven’t been here long, not in the city and not at this church. I’m not in the habit of granting requests just because of their asking, and even less so from someone not quite proven.”   “I do not expect to be given it for free Ankre. I expect to spend whatever you and the church requires, and I will spend sweat in abundance to see this through, if you allow it.” James stands still, but a nervous energy builds inside him.   Ankre Thunderborn regards James with amusement in his eyes. “Like I said, you haven’t been here long Mr. Saint Mirth, but from what I’ve heard, you have done good work around here, no complaint, and even helping a few of the younger ones to get caught up to speed.” He takes a large pull on the pipe, letting the smoke slowly out. “Ever since I’ve gotten here, I’ve wanted to go through some of the old rooms, clean them out, inventory them. You know the routine.” James nods his head, feeling hopeful. The dwarf pulls a set of architectural plans from under the pile and spreads it out on his desk. It covers the entire church building. “There’s five rooms near the yard, that are a part of the main building, that have been closed up for some time. I don’t know why, and the most recent inventory I’ve seen was 30 years ago, and even that was incomplete. So here’s the deal I’ll make you. You pick one of these rooms, you clean it out, get me an inventory and you can use it. You’ll also do another full day of Bosun’s work, including training others so we can finally not be barely keeping our head above the water with all the cargo coming in. And lastly, you will have to pass a weapons knowledge test. Once you’ve done that, you will also teach new initiates or others that we feel could use to have the shine knocked off, and actual knowledge gained, not some fancy house sword trainer’s dancing. I can see in your eyes that you’ve been in actual fights, ones where life hung by a thread. That’s good, we need that. So do what I ask, agree to my terms, and you can have your training room Mr. Saint Mirth. And if you happen to come across any weapons of a non-magical or non-artistic/historical nature, you’re welcome to keep them to use. I think there might be a couple of crates in there. Do we have an accord?”     James walks forward, and offers his hand. “That we do! Fair and accepted.”   “Fair and accepted.” The dwarf grasps his hand, giving a strong handshake. “Okay, first you’re going to need to pick a room, then I’ll give you the key, and show you where it is.” James studies the map and picks out one of the medium sized ones that’s also right next to a covered area outside the building mostly blocked in by walls. Ankre Thunderborn nods, pulls out an old iron key, and hands it to James. “Follow me.”   Following the dwarf who’s pipe is puffing like a smoke stack, they walk through a winding path, one sure to keep prying eyes from knowing where they’re going. Out into the small side yard the dwarf points to a set of old, double doors, large enough for big cargo boxes to easily slide into. The lock turns hard, having not been used in a long time, and James opens the door. Practically from floor to ceiling and back to front is a very tightly packed room of crates of all sizes. “Good luck Mr. Saint Mirth. I’ll leave you to figuring out how to accomplish this task, and I’ll have the paperwork for inventory waiting for you tomorrow!” With that the dwarf heads back inside, very pleased.   “Well Storm Father, you said nothing worth anything is gained without spending something. Or maybe that was just a drunkard in a tavern. Either way it was good advice.” Looking around as the size of the side yard, and the room, James gets an idea that’ll make this all go a lot faster. Because if there’s one thing yard dogs like more than getting paid, it’s free ale.

Unbearable Weights and Dreams

::31 years ago::   James helped his mother, Joan, set the table. It wasn't much, and at only 10 years old, he couldn't carry everything at once, but he tried. His little sister, Yasmin, just over a year younger, helped with the napkins. Of the other two, the newest, Lucas, was currently in a sling on his mothers back as she finished preparing the meal, and the next, Claudia, was safely in a crib that his father, Liam, had built. At only two, Claudia could be an absolute handful and would get under foot very quickly. A few minutes after the table was set, the familiar thumping of his fathers booted feet could be heard on the small porch. As usual, he came inside, covered in dust and dirt from his job at the mine. And no matter how hard of a day he had, seeing his kids always made Liam smile.   "Now don't go tracking that dirt or dirtying up the children Liam! You go get washed up, then you can hug 'em." His mother aid. "Of course dear, can't have dirty children around the table now can we?" His father said with a smile, as he quickly rubbed Yasmin's hair before going off to the wash. Liam's job at the mind paid just enough for them to keep the kids fed, and a roof over their head, but not much more. Joan did a little work when she could, but with four children it was difficult to have time to do anything other than take care of them. Later, a freshly washed and dressed Liam came out. "Alright little ones, come on and get me!" They all ran over, happy to hug him. It was not a life of means at all, but it was a life, and there was love.   ::28 years ago:: "Alright son, it's time you started learning the tricks of the trade if you're gonna help the family." Liam was taking James to his first day at the mine. Being a kid, they wouldn't let him handle anything too dangerous, but with another mouth to feed on the way they needed the extra income badly. James walked proudly beside his father, and at 13 was rapidly approaching his fathers height. "I'll do my best papa! I'm going to be the best miner there is!" Liam laughed at his sons enthusiasm, and hoped that he kept it. Liam had been a miner his whole life, just like he father and grandfather. When the mines ran out in Avalon, Liam's grandfather had just enough to get his family across the sea to Castile, where many new mines were opening up and they were hiring anyone who would work. Liam sighed inside, not letting James know where his thoughts were headed. Liam had lost both his grandfather and his father to the mines. His grandfather to the diseases that plague miners, and his father to a collapse. He was just a few years older than James when the foreman came home and told them the news. When a new kind of mine opened up, an open pit mine, Liam jumped on the chance. He'd never told anyone, but the idea of being stuck underground in a collapse was a terror that kept him up some nights, even now, years after having changed mines. "You'll do a fine job, I'm sure of it. I'm going to hand you over to Treyver Summerbush when we get there. He's a wonderful halfling fellow who'll show you the ropes and get you started!" James beamed up at his father, wanting to do nothing more than make him proud.   ::26 years ago:: A 15 year old James swung the pick, breaking up the rocks from the latest blast they'd done. At 6 foot and a smidge, he was taller than most in the area. Just some of the truly big people, the real heavy lifting races, stood above him. Sweat poured down his body as he swung again, and again, breaking rocks with mechanical precision so they could be hauled away to the crusher. Antonio, his younger brother would be turning 2 soon, and his mother had just given birth to Luna, named because she was born on the full moon. All of the children who were old enough tried to work, doing something that could keep them, at least fed, but there were days, with 8 mouths to feed now, that some went without. Never the children though, they needed all they could get. James and Liam would work extra hours, doing whatever was required, even some of the more dangerous work, simply to get a few more coins in their pocket. The mine had been sold in the last year, and the new owners cared only about one thing, profits. If they could have gotten slaves to do the work, rather than paying honest people for honest labor, they would have in a heart beat. Anything to save a few coins to line their pockets. Liam had been promoted as a shift supervisor, but even that pay wasn't enough. The new owners slashed pay for any new promotions, so his papa was earning half what he should have been. That money would have been enough for them to start putting away for the future, maybe even a bigger house. But not with what they're earning now.   "There's got to be a better way than this." James mumbled, half to himself at a tavern a few miles from his house. Being near the coast they got to see all kinds of people, and James had started to visit The First Bell only a few weeks ago. He never had much to spend, but could afford a small ale now and then, and had gotten a taste for it. "Wot you say der'e kid?" A very rough looking man said next to him, looking James over. Feeling bold James repeated. "I said there's got to be something better than just barely starving in the mines. Better work, better pay, something that isn't as likely to kill you." "Welp, I don't knows 'bout de less likely kill ya part. But if it be better pay ya need, can always sign on wit a ship an crew. Der is more money den a person can spen in a lifetime out der on da waves!" "Really? I somehow doubt that." "Alright, some'n like you, big stron' boy, ye could earn top pay on a ship. Here, let me show ya a little secret." The man leaned over close to James and opened up a pouch. Inside it was more money than his family would earn in a month, combined. James stared at the money, dumbstruck. "Ya see, dis here, dis is for one layover! Not even da whole voyage. Dat be ten times dis much!" "How? How do you get that?" James asked. "What does it take?" "Ye leaf all dis behind. Ya get yourself to a big port, one wit lots a ships. Der always be ones takin on new crew. But ye be out der a while. Could be weeks, could be months on da water. Depends on da cargo. Longer out, better pay." James sat there, looking at the money, thinking of the possibilities, but then stopped. He looked up at the man, this grizzled old sailor and said, "Thanks old timer. Maybe if life were different, but as it is I can't go leaving my family behind, even for a few weeks. Thanks for letting me dream for a bit though." The old sailor closed up his bag and looked at James with a sad, but understanding eye. "Aye, it be a hard decision to make, and it not be fo' everyone. But if ya ever feel da pull, or ya need to get out, it's about a days walk nort, and you'll find da port of Santander. If ya be wantin' a way out, an more coin den ya ever seen, go der and find a ship." "If the stars change, I'll be sure to do that. Thank you old timer." Not long after that James finishes up his ale and heads home to prepare for another day.   ::25 years ago:: "Liam, we can't keep this up. We've not enough to feed us all with what pittance they're paying you, and even with what the kids are earning, everyone around here is poor and barely has enough to eat. We're almost starving as it is." The desperation in his mothers voice tore through James's heart, knowing that she was right. In over a year, his fathers pay hadn't increased one bit, and his own had been cut due to minor issues which the owners said would cost them hundreds. Yasmin was making more than him right now selling her woven fabrics. "I know Joan, I know. And I can't think of a way out of it. We're not going to give up any of the kids, and the owners have already canned three people who've asked for raises." The frustration, and unseen tears of his father drove James outside into the evening air. It was just past dark, just after dinner, the cool air blowing across the town. He wanted to scream, he wanted to march right up to the owners and beat them, take what was rightfully theirs. Not for glory or fame or a desire to be wealthy, but just so he didn't have to hear that sound in his parents voice ever again. There was a scent on the breeze, something he'd only dreamed about, maybe smelled once or twice in his life before, but it was strong this time. He had no idea how it had traveled that far, but the smell of salt water, of the ocean, washed over him. He'd given almost 3 full years to the mine, and had almost less than nothing to show for it. He was stronger than most, could go longer than most no matter the heat. And he remembered the words of the old sailor "If ya ever feed da pull". That was the best description he had, there was a pull on this wind, strong. It had it's hooks into his soul and was urging him onward, northward to the far away port. "A days walk" is what the sailor had said. "One less mouth to feed" James said quietly into the wind. He knew what he had to do. Quietly going to the room that most of the kids slept in, he packed the few clothes he had, got his water skin, and scribbled out a quick note. "Papa, Momma, I know times are hard, and with what the mine is doing I'm not pulling my weight any more. I'm going to go make things better. If I succeed, you should be getting coin from me soon, and more than I could ever have made in the mines. Also you'll have one less mouth to feed, which my pay wasn't covering anyway. Don't cry, please. I'll see you again soon, and I'll write when I can. I love you both, and I'm off to find a better fortune for my family. Your loving son, James"   Not wanting it to be found early he put it in the clean pot that his mother would use for making breakfast. Sneaking out of his house, a strange lightness filled James, a weight lifted off his shoulders, his soul, that he'd forgotten was there, having gotten so used to it in the mines. He turned north, walking with a quickened pace, off to the start of the rest of his life.

Snowdrops and Lily

::Two days before the Red Sky::   His heart was on fire, burning, but not burning up. The air was below freezing, but at this moment James could have run naked back from the convent to his bed, and wouldn't have felt a bit of cold. The feel of her against him, the taste of her lips, the joining for a time. There was something very special that happened there, he was sure of it. His soul felt so light that he almost swore he could fly if he but wanted it a little more. Any chance to touch her, to be near here, was worth the price.   "Oh sweet Laughing Lady, thank you for this. Thank you for making me feel like the luckiest person in this city. Thank you for having her ask me to dance." *he says softly, trying not to just shout it out at the top of his lungs* "Storm Father, your son has found a treasure like no other. A treasure sweeter than any fruit, more intoxicating than the finest wine, more beautiful than any flower I've ever seen, and more valuable than all the gold in all the world!" *He sighs happily* "Oh Storm Father, let me tell you of her. While many women possess beauty, hers surpasses all I've seen. It's outside and in, her heart is loving, and open as the most welcoming port in all the world. A place where any ship can find safe harbor. Even one as beaten up as mine." *he shakes his head* "She loves everyone. Even those of us who don't deserve it. But she is the first one to make me feel as if I do." *he twirls, arms out as a light snow falls* "Oh Lady of the Rose, I ask not that you turn her heart to mine, not that you grant me her love, but that you make me worthy of it. Let me be the safe harbor for her." *He keeps walking on, silent for a few minutes* "Dear Lady of the Rose, I know that she is still deciding if she loves me or not. If her heart desires me to grace her life, her love, her bed, or anything else! And if she decides that this old salt dog of a sailor doesn't deserve that, help me take that with grace. And let me remember this night, this one perfect night together, in your Temple." *he sighs wistfully* "Yes, let me always remember and be thankful for this night."   "This one perfect night." *James finds his way home, the flames tamped down a bit, but still keeping him warm in the cold.*

Red Sky at Morning

She left, having had enough said in her presence, said at her but sideways. Lady Rosebriar did what you're supposed to do in high society, say you have a pressing engagement elsewhere and find your exit. But in this short time, I've come to know parts of her quite well. I saw the hope in her eyes when I talked about joining the guild, of rising to Master Captain. And then I saw that hope shatter as the words of Maelie brought a hammer down through glass. I saw hope, happiness, potential joy turn instantly to despair. I watched the ship that Bella had built in her mind, one full of possibilities, struck down in a maelstrom of incredible power, the ship shattered, thrown against rocks, and all that was left was a few floating slivers of wood, and a sail sinking slowly into the sea. I need to go somewhere, I need to have a talk, and I need...I need to bring an old friend.   *James left the Skybound, an anger building in his heart unlike any he can remember feeling. It was a spark, not a fire, but it was still there. Barely paying any attention, and with the potential of violence surrounding him, his trip back to his apartment was not interrupted. Hooking the ring catch securely into his belt, James slides the warhammer through it, seating it properly and strapping it down. Turning sharply on his heel, he heads back out, to the north, straight at the bay. His manner of walking, with a weapon at his hip and dark cloud hanging around him get's people to move quickly out of his way, and catches the attention of a couple of Rooks, but besides watching him closely they let him by unmolested.   In the haze of his anger, James arrives at his destination. He walks past the massive wooden doors of the Church of Lucetius. Carved into those doors are images of the sea, ships, sailors fighting wild monsters of the ocean, mountains of gold, and storms. As a reflex, James pulls out a few coins and drops them in the donations box, while finding his way to one of the private small rooms. Pulling the iron bound oak door shut, he throws the lock bar, not wanting to be disturbed by any being able to be stopped by a door. Removing the binds on the weapon, and pulling it from its ring, James lays it reverently upon the altar. In this room there are no pillows, just a wooden floor, like that of a ship, to kneel upon. James kneels, one knee on the floor, as one does in respect, not supplication, for that is not his purpose this time. He bows his head, his right fist helping him balance as it pushes against the wood.*   "Storm Father, I come because I am bound. Not by the mistakes that I have committed, nor the oaths made. I am bound by the rules and laws of this society, and what breaking those would do to someone I care about greatly. Someone who..." *James takes a steadying breath, the fire in him dimming* "Someone who might be my Rose. She had no reason to be kind to me, no reason to let me near, no reason to let these hands, hands which have done terrible things. No reason to let them touch her. But she did. Like your Rose she is a High Lady, and like you, I am but a humble and poor sailor. I have offered her my heart, but it sits as a treasure on an island that she and I will sail to, and at any time she may ask me to drop anchor, or turn around. And that is something I can accept." *the fire erupts, the burning in his chest building* "But what I cannot stand, what I cannot abide are those who would insult her, casting doubt on her. Hurting her with words as as harpoons into a whale. I see them, all these little hurts, her hurts. And all I wish to do is break upon those who would cast such spears at her as a Storm, unrelenting, unforgiving, not letting one ship through, none escaping." *The thick wooden walls of the room are all that keeps his words, and the roar he shouted them with, from any ears other than those of potentially divine origin, from hearing. James breathes a few time, the storm inside abating, still there, but more distant now. His voice quiets as he prays* "But I cannot do that. I cannot break them, wreck them, send them to the depths, because to give in, to do as the storm does would hurt my Rose. And if I would break anyone else who would dare hurt her, if that pain came from me instead, then I would gladly tie an anchor chain around my legs and join my ancestors in the sea."   *he stays there, in silence for a few minutes, letting the calm of a gently rolling ocean wash over him, letting the proper words find their way into his mind and onto his tongue.* "I do not ask for vengeance, I do not ask for retribution. I ask for only two things. I ask for patience, the patience of a great Captain who knows their time will come, but only if they don't turn the ship too soon. And I ask to be a shield. As you told your Rose that you would give her your hands to fight for her, to shield her, and to wipe away her tears, help me see how to do that for my Rose. Because whether she accepts it or not, I have given her my heart." *he remains there, for how long he doesn't know, minutes, hours? The gentle sound of a ships bell breaks through the silence, and even though the walls and door shouldn't allow sound in, they allow this one.* "You're right Storm Father, Ship Master, I have spent enough time in here, when I should be out there. Thank you Storm Father, your son thanks you." *Reverently standing up, he retrieves the warhammer from the altar, and slides it back into its ring, strapping it down. He leaves a couple coins on the altar, unlatches the door, and makes his way out.*

The Shadow of Malice

Leaving from the alley, leaving Nel behind, his expression shifts as we walks further from her. From one of derision and arrogance, to one of sadness tinged by a little fear. He wanders, walking aimlessly, letting his feet carry him where they might. "Damn them" he says under his breath, the steam carrying away the words into the night. "They’re not going to stop with just this. I don’t feel too bad about keeping bad people from hurting Warrens folk, or others, but this is a test. This is just the beginning. This is to see if I have the “stomach” for violence.” He sighs in disgust. “The winner is decided by how much damage is done. Well if it’ll keep people safe, there’s a lot of damage one can do to a body that won’t kill someone. But how long till they ask me to do this to someone who doesn’t deserve it?” A deep part of him hardens at the thought, “we’ll deal with that when they ask.”   Kicking rocks down the streets, his mind wanders trying to figure out all the angles. His breath catches for a moment when he realizes something. “Mirabella. If I get seen by whomever I’m having to hurt, and they want retribution, and they figure out or see the two of us together, she’ll be a target.” Sadly he whispers, “maybe I should tell her it’s over, to go away.” A sudden pain grips his chest, squeezing his heart, even at the very thought of loosing her like that. His heart flutters like a panicked animal, and feels like fingers are reaching in, trying to tear it out. He shakes his head, casting away the thought of pushing her away, and the grip loosens, his breath coming into his body again. “Okay, I get it, no pushing her away. But what can I do to make sure she isn’t hurt or targeted by people I have to go after, what can I do for her?”   Having heard of the reputation of the Syndicate, a strange notion occurs to him. "In a very weird way, them knowing about her will, strangely, protect her. Because they want my loyalty, they will want me to keep being a good boy, following orders, breaking legs and whatever else they ask. The last thing they want is me distracted because she's in danger from some bit of business of theirs I was involved in. That's kind of twisted, but you almost have to respect the idea. I should do some basic hiding. Maybe I'll get that tattoo I've been thinking about. Then I could truly hide and not worry as much."   Nodding in determination James heads back home, designs flitting through his mind. As he walks away, for the briefest of moments, it seems that the shadowed reflection in the puddle of water hesitates for just an instant, before doing what it’s supposed to do.

The Shadow of Malice, Addendum

Heading back to his house, with ideas dancing in his head about how to carve, shape, dye and harden the leather to make a mask worthy of a creature from one of the penny dreadful novels, he doesn't notice the bag in his apartment until well after he shuts the door. James does a double take, and stares hard at the bag. Looking it over, a tiny bit worse for wear, but he knows for certain, that's his bag. The one stolen from him that night behind a tavern on the docks. He carefully opens it, pulling the draw string on top to loosen the canvas. A letter falls out and glides over the floor, settling a few feet away. Ignoring it for the moment, James looks inside. Except for some money, everything is in there, everything. Looking to the left he see's that even his pack with his bedroll has been returned, and it's currently slid under his bed. happy to have his armor back, but dreading the reasons why, James walks over and picks up the letter.   "I figured you'd need this. After all, we can't have you dying on us till your debt is paid. And it will be paid in full. M"   James crumples up the letter, both happy to have his belongings back, but disgusted because he knows it's just one more thing Marlene is going to hold over his head. He takes his time, laying out all the gear, the weapons, the armor, the shield, inspecting them, cleaning and sharpening them as needed, and realizing that he's going to need a bigger chest to store all this in now. A happy thought does come to him though. "At least now I'll be better able to stand between her and anything that would harm her. That might make this worth it. No, that does make it worth it." With a small smile on his face, he continues with his cleaning and sharpening, preparing his gear for the fights to come.

Nightmares and Dreamscapes

James gently opens his eyes, he's floating in the ocean, under the surface. His lungs don't burn, and he doesn't feel cold, just a warmth as the rhythm of the waves going overhead cause the silver moonlight break and scatter through the water. Slowly sounds can be heard. First a soft whooshing sound of the movement of the waves above. Then in the distance muffled shouts. The shouts get louder, and all other sounds are are drowned out by a shattering boom. The first one is followed quickly by several more. Behind him the sounds of pain, anguish and people dying bad and ugly deaths, followed by more explosive booms, this time, the silver light is marred by the flashes of red and acrid artificial clouds of black powder from cannons. The sound of cannon balls screaming over head, tearing through the air, and then the hammer blow of a god into the side of the ship, iron hitting wood, thin wood splintering, shattering, more screams. The light overhead, that silvery pure moonlight is washed in red. Blood spreads over the water, covering it as the sounds of screaming are now mixed with the booms of small arms, and the clash of swords, and voices screaming in the lust of battle and blood. More red, the water turning to blood, he's no longer floating in water, but in a sea of crimson. A spike of fear drives itself through his heart, he knows he's not alone. There's no place to stand, he's floating, he flails around, trying to see what's out there, what's in the water with him. In the distance, at the edge of vision, a form moves, massive, sleek, gliding through the crimson sea, a shadow. It moves away and James looses sight of it. The spike of fear grows thorns, panic seizing him, suddenly he needs to breathe, his lungs burning, on fire, turning around he sees it, a massive shark speeding toward him, it's too late, too close, nothing he can do. He feels the impact of the beast and the ripping of the teeth, just before he's torn from the dreaming world into the waking one. Sitting in bed, soaked in sweat, heart racing, and his body hurting from the impact and teeth. His lungs hurt, breath coming ragged from his mouth. The terror and panic slowly subsides, but the sounds of the cannons, and the screaming stay with him for a while yet. No matter what he tries, it doesn't leave.   He get's up in frustration, opening the chest in his room and pulling out a bottle. Popping the cork he starts to drink. The smell of strong alcohol, along with vanilla, molasses and spices fills the room. With every swallow the sounds get less and less. When the bottle is three-quarters empty, the last of the voices fades to silence. James puts the cork back on the bottle, and tries to put it back in the chest, but misses and the bottle bounces to the floor, followed quickly by James slumping over out of the bed and onto the wood of the floor. The cold of the room bites into him, and he tries to get up, grab the blanket, anything, but his body is no longer listening, his vision fades and darkness, and sleep finally claims him.
Article template
Character
World
Terranon
Category
Player Characters in People
Author
Shadowwolf78
Publication Date
10 Aug, 2022
Creation Date
10 Aug, 2022
Last Update Date
10 Aug, 2022
Visibility
Public
Views
95
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0

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