Thar Shaddin

He sighed, wanting to snap at her again. But he couldn't. He had enough to worry about without her dagger like eyes staring him in the back the whole time.

"It's a crossbow. You point it at someone, pull the trigger, and it shoots a bolt at them." He twisted it to show her the little box on the bottom of it. "When you shoot, and then draw it back, it loads another bolt. Got six shots, all together. I'd use it. Might just save your life, if it comes down to that."

Lines deepened and stretched as Kuyeix looked at the strange contraption the impudent man shoved at her like it was a spear. It was not a spear. It was like nothing Kuyeix had ever seen before, or been asked to use. She could appreciate intricate contraptions, for certainly she knew her share of traps and snares and other things having to do more with magic than clever woodworking, but she could not appreciate the cavalier attitude he took when expecting her to instantly know what a thing was and did. Perhaps Raven had such a power, but Kuyeix was only a totem in that regard -- she could do things other humans couldn't, but she was still human. She was no god.

"Point what? Pull what? You are not making sense." She glanced past him and towards the ship, hiding her annoyance with the peace of long practice. "Here is your meeting, go to it." She gestured beyond him as the ship drew closer. As far as she was concerned it would be a matter of spears and insults, as happened when two logboats met each other.

"Scheiße." He growled the word out, falling back into a language he barely remembered, one he had last spoken before he had climbed into his first rigging and watched waves crash against the bow of a ship. He moved next to her, holding it out like he intended to fire the crossbow.

"You point th' pointy end towards someone, see?" He pointed it at the railing. "Then y' pull th' trigger." He pulled the trigger, and the little projectile flew forward and hit the wood, embedding with a deep thunk. He pulled back the slider, and another bolt moved into place. "See? Ready to go again."

He sat it down next to her and moved to go back to his place for whatever came next. "Try not t' die Stinky. I'd actually miss hearin' you complain every five minutes." He looked at the incoming ship. "Shouldn't be nothin' much. But it never hurts t' be prepared in case it is."

"Tch." Kuyeix watched the projectile launch itself into the wood. "Tch, you are think I need your. . ." she gestured to the crossbow as he set it down, and watched him as he moved into place. "I am totem. I do not need your tricks. I have Raven's."

For the rest of his comments her only reward was silence. She left his wooden small spear launcher where he had set it, some base part of her offended that he expected her to perform as some common warrior. He was playing the part of a person of the moeity, for that was a role she was never again obligated to play. The support she would provide him (if and only if she deemed him worthy of such attention) would be wholly that of one chosen by Raven. The Trickster, today, was feeling peckish, she decided, and she saw no need to pick a side in this foolish and unexpected endeavor. These were not hers -- she would not war for them.

She was calm as she watched the other boat approach, propelled as if by magic by the giant wings (not so unlike a bat's, those wings, though certainly they were not so elegant or structured with that apparent purpose) that stood atop its flat surface. Deck was a word that had been bandied about, and it was as good a word as any. The People did not have a like word, and Kuyeix was not about to make up her own for the express purpose of avoiding their language. There were men on its deck, and they mirrored the bristling formation of those who stood upon the same deck as Kuyeix. She did not understand why they fought, for surely if there was a war between them it would have been thick upon the tongues of those who had crowded the docks like walking clouds of mosquitoes. No, then, if it was not war then it was perhaps some sort of raid -- for slaves or wealth -- and that was something that suited her just fine.

She was an outsider to their conflict, no matter which ship she stood upon, and she had the confidence and favor of Raven to see her through it no matter who proved the stronger. And, going by the faces that became ever the more defined as the two ships became closer, there was desperation and determination to both the strangers and those she'd traveled with.

Raven approved.

Shiv growled, but more in anger than annoyance. He wasn't asking her to fight, he was trying to help her protect herself if it got to that point. She thought she was so smart, but she wasn't. Her pride blinded her to everything. She could think her hooey magic shite was going to be the only thing she needed, but that wasn't his problem anymore. He had given her the tools to help herself. If she didn't pick them up and use them, then he wasn't going to make her. He squinted towards the ship, watching the blur of it start to get defined edges. He hated not being able to see what was coming.

He heard what was coming soon enough. The sound of arrows thunking into the deck and railings was pretty distinctive to him. He dropped, growling in anger. He crawled along the railing, trying to keep himself close and tight to it and avoiding the arrows. Why hadn't they called out first? That was usually how this worked, as far as he knew. They talked, then if it didn't work they fought. People won, lost, or went from one ship to the other. Something must be extremely wrong for them to open fire first. He made it to a wooden box on the ship, kicking at it until a side came loose. It wasn't much, but it would do.

He used the improvised shield to protect himself from arrows, moving closer to the crazy lady. He didn't like her, was starting to hate her a bit in fact, but he wasn't going to let her get filled with arrows like a spearback. He crouched down by her, holding the chunks of wood as he felt arrows thunk into it with an off rhythm.

"If you got anythin' that protects y' from arrows, y' might want to use it."

Five beads in total, each made of a different substance and binding a different charm. Kuyeix had so few charms left that she feared the use of these would prove a disastrous choice later, but she was not so certain of Raven's protection that she would risk her life now. Hah, if she failed Him she would doubtless find herself cast to Otter, doomed to wander the rest of her miserable existence as one of those human-halflings in a bare caricature of sanity.

A bear's spine. An eagle's wing-bone. A raven's eyeball. An otter's bladder. A wolf's paw. These were the bits Kuyeix had taken to form her bracelet. She had spent several days preparing it, using attributes she had most highly prized. Though she had other, stronger charms with her, most of them had been claimed by Raven after her long flight. She had two left that were stronger, but that were less likely to aid her in this fight. And it was a fight. She grinned down at Shiv, at his world, at what had lead to this fight. "Me," she said, laughing, as she turned to look back to the small figures opposing them. She would not fight for the side of the ship she stood on, but she would protect Raven's interests. "You tell me when you are go to fight this moiety. You tell me, I watch you."

The charms were not direct protections. They did allow for her to utilize her magics better, to process information faster and react to it faster. While they did not all directly help her situation, they were sufficient to allow her to analyze the numbers ranged against them and the weapons they possessed. She would not be able to watch all of them simultaneously, but she would be able to hold focus for long enough spurts of time to prevent most combatants pointing weapons at them to lose their sense of the world. In order to do that, she needed a clear line of sight on them, and while she had no problems with hiding (how often had she done just that?), but the problem was always line of sight. That, and stray arrows. Not everyone seemed to be intent on aiming, as evidenced when Shiv's board caught an arrow whose archer Kuyeix had not seen in time. Problematic. She needed to hide, but she would not do so if it meant abandoning Raven's chosen. A game of chance, then? The ships drew closer. Men were crying out, shouting, scared and angry. Yes.

He rolled his eyes at her again, then watched as the ships got closer. It was always the same. A volley of arrow fire, then they would get close enough to shout at each other, then it would be decided from there. Their ship was a fat sow, deep in the water and wallowing without win. The one that they were facing looked quit, and he knew that with just a bit of tacking, they would easily chase them down and grab them. And if they ran, then it was slavery, not willing conscription. He didn't think his captain would pull that with them.

Just have to wait and see.

So instead of running to battle or something like that, taking an arrow through the throat like an idiot, he waited. He hung back with the dumb woman, and he waited. He'd rather jump to another ship than die.

The basilard watched archers draw their bows and fire. There was only modest organization, which was acceptable. A steady rain of arrows was less predictable and might ultimately strike more than synchronized firing.

Besides, the basilard was confident its current wielder knew naval tactics sufficiently. A large man with features belonging to the far northern reaches of Tian Xia, unusual among pirates, he wore a long brown coat with stylized weaves of blue. Its sleeves had been removed forcefully but hastily sewn so as not to appear tattered. Plate armor covered his left shoulder and stomach; his hands were also gauntleted, leaving his right upper arm bare. To the basilard’s constant worry, this was also the arm that held it. It held no desire to examine the ocean floor for a century or two. “We need more men if we’re to stave off the empire’s fleet.”

By far the man’s most defining characteristic was his left foot. Once, it had been a wooden post attached midway down his lower leg. Now, his flesh exited his pant leg as the black talon of a raven, magnified in size so as to fit his otherwise human shape. To generate as much fear as possible from the freakish shape, the pant leg was cut off at the point where the scaled flesh began.

Are you certain this is a wise idea, master? The basilard questioned from its sheath, held to his hip by a leather strip. Every battle held risk, and the basilard was uncertain of what should occur.

“A bit late to pull out now.” The captain responded, scratching at a rough, unkempt beard parted by numerous scars. To the worry and fear of both his enemies and his own crew, the captain had never bothered responding to the basilard telepathically. He began to walk down the ranks of archers he had assembled, inspecting each as he passed. His raven’s foot extended a bit farther than his right leg, giving him a lopsided gait.

The basilard held a low opinion of its current wielder. He had no interest in traveling to Marn, but was content to raid the seas and employ its powers. The basilard had not risked a contest of wills. The man had been controlling his ship for years, and the rough times it had fallen on had not dulled his iron command of others.

They arrived at the other side, where a man dressed in light armor and a robe cut about the legs for combat waited. He was completely bald and had a tattoo of some kind of cat on his scalp. It wasn’t high enough quality to determine the exact species, though its claws were extended over each eye. Despite his obviously militant attire, he held no weapon. The captain addressed him. “Be ready. You will be the first over the edge if they do not surrender.”

The captain then passed a few small capsules over to the martial artist which the basilard recognized as smoke bombs they had acquired from an alchemist during a recent land raid. The intent had been to capture him, but complications had arisen which had resulted in the alchemist’s death and the Tian Xia navy alarmingly close behind them. If the captain was using a limited resource such as these, he must have a lower estimation of their chances that he let on.

The martial artist nodded and accepted the capsules. It was likely they intended to throw them across to the other ship, masking the presence of the martial artist and the rope he would sprint across under a haze of noise and smoke.

The basilard understood that he was mute. They had spoken occasionally over telepathy, where the basilard had found that his name was Jun and he was of a reserved disposition, but he remained fully human. Such contact was much more difficult than it was with the captain.

As the ships drew ever closer, the captain prepared himself. Eventually, he lifted his raven foot and wrapped it around the junk’s railing like a bird resting on a branch. Its grip was iron.

With a voice like an elephant’s trumpet, he screamed inarticulately out across the distance. With attention then focused on him, he explained the terms he expected them to face. Ever one for curt explanations, he shouted “Surrender, now, or embrace your death!”

Shiv heard the command to surrender, and honestly it sounded like a good idea to him at this point. He wasn't a coward, didn't really like to back down from a scrap, but this wouldn't be a scrap. This would be a massacre. And being alive, that was preferable to being massacred. He didn't want to leave the seas just yet. And judging by the amount of archers, that were represented to him as a big mass of blurry men with pointy things in the air, it might not be a bad operation to join up with. Keep him alive, keep him running on the seas a little longer. A smile came to his face. They might even finally separate him from stinky.

Their captain, a portly man that wore a stained and much patched silk shirt and pant combination, waddled his arse onto the deck, next to the railing. His son, a bull-thick man that reckoned himself a fighter, stood next to him. Shiv didn't have much of an opinion of the son. He was loud, brash, thought he could fight good. They'd tussled as a 'friendly wrestling match' once already. He'd went for the eyes, so Shiv had went for the balls. He had an amazing falsetto under those conditions. Could be an opera singer.

The sailor used the palm of his hand to push sweat back on his face. His thoughts were rambling. This was taking too long. Just get it over and be done with it for crying out loud. Fight and die, tack and run (which would almost assuredly lead to dying), or surrender and toss some crew over onto the bigger pirate ship. He rolled his shoulder, thinking about it. Just volunteer, get across, let Stinky stay behind. The plan was perfect. He looked at the captains chin wobbling as he talked. Well, perfect plan if fat-arse didn't screw it up.

The captains voice was thin and reedy, but he could still be heard across the deck and hopefully on the other ship.

"Surrender? How rude. We will be willing to meet under a flag of truce and discuss terms of trade." The little fat man waved a hand, sweeping it around and tugging at his greasy beard, "If you must push the issue, we will of course defend ourselves."

The son puffed up at that, all flexing muscles and what Shiv hoped was a real sword in his scabbard. They were all going to die.

Watching, waiting, scheming. That was the life of a totem, picking and choosing moments to act beyond the quiet support given to moeity and, for her, Raven. She watched the threats that might claim Shiv, that might cause her to fail in her duty, and that was when she saw another piece of the puzzle.

A raven's leg.

That belonged to no man. For a dizzying, confusing moment she thought she might be looking at another totem, one who had failed Raven and either fled or been cast into exile. It was unknown how long a totem might live on the sufferance of one so capricious as Raven, but this was certainly not -- she'd never heard of --

she stared, fascinated, and almost lost her grip on the ongoing dangers. Unconsciously, she raised a hand towards the other ship, the other side, reaching out towards that leg and all the varied and tangled, dangerous undercurrents it represented. She took a step closer to Shiv, to the hated burden that had been placed upon her, and accepted that there was still another for her to take up. A failure. A failure that Raven had put in her path. This, then, was to be the gauntlet for that failure to redeem himself with. If he won this fight, she would take him and help him regain his lost honor, that he might return to the true land and the true path. If he failed -- forbid that -- he would damn both himself and her. It was not fair, but Raven cared little for such things as fairness.

She reached out to take his shoulder. "Come, back. This is fated at Raven's choice. We do not fight. There is man we talk to. Raven's will. Come." She would gesture towards the other side of the ship -- a place only a noncombatant or a coward would choose to go.

Accept The basilard whispered into the pirate’s mind. Our troops likely are more experienced in melee and we will not need to waste our alchemy.

“I know that,” The pirate growled beneath his breath, a scowl upon his face. He was unable to resist turning his head to face the weapon: a habit the captain had been unable to drop and one which the basilard had voiced its disapproval of frequently. Such actions gave away far too much to the observant eye. "And they are my men, not ours."

Fool. I have told you a thousand times-

“Shut up,” The captain commanded, his voice accompanied by force of will. The basilard hissed with impotent fury and sent out a burst of light; but it was powerless to refuse its master. As a minuscule droplet of seawater rolled down the weapon's gutter, the captains own men shared nervous glances. They had seen the blade’s powers firsthand and feared the demon that their captain seemed to only barely control.

The great black talons spread outwards, releasing their grip from the railing alongside the ship. Once his claws were planted on the deck, he fortified his stance for another shout. With one hand cupped to his lips and the other holding the basilard high, his voice broke across the waves: “We accept! Prepare to be boarded to discuss terms!”

The basilard dulled its glow as best as it could, given its state. The bright, clear sky stole much of the effect away; perhaps only the most attentive on the enemy crew might have noted its earlier luminescence. It willed itself away from the waves and this brute’s control; there were too many risks upon the open sea, too great a chance for idle hands to leave it resting amid sea stars and kelp.

It had to free itself sooner, rather than later. It vowed privately that it would risk searching for opportunities more aggressively than it had been; this meaningless show of power was the last straw.

Shiv had seen a fuzzy flash, something in the distance. But his eyes weren't that good, and for all he knew it had just been the sunlight flashing off a weapon or something. The woman wanted him to back off, and he was fine with that. He didn't want to die today, and that stupid fat captain would make that happen. So he followed her tugging hands, keeping himself in front of her at least. He had seen pirates snatch at women, no matter what they looked like, as a hungry mutt would snatch at meat that was dripping juices in front of them. And as much as he didn't like her, he still had pride in himself, was still Eirik sometimes, and Eirik wouldn't let someone snatch her like that.

But she wanted the other side of the ship, and he couldn't go there. No matter what, he couldn't go there. He hissed the words at her, her tugging hands and commanding eyes.

"I can't, woman. Lightning spirit take my eyes, I can't." Spirits wouldn't let him live if he went over there, even if it was with her, who for some reason they kept lumping together. Midship was best he could go, driving the line between fickle spirits destroying him, and keeping him safe. He broke loose, pushing her towards the other side of the ship behind him, and stood.

Shiv wasn't a coward, had never been a coward. Spirits had protected him because he was strong, because he wasn't a coward, because he venerated them right ways and kept faith with both them and himself. Her talk with ravens might tell her otherwise, but Ravens and Wind told him to stand, always. That was what the ravens told him, and so that was what he would do. Spirits would see him, spirits would keep him.