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Abductions and Lies; 1st RRDC, 3rd RRD
Topic Started: Oct 3 2008, 03:56 PM (3,425 Views)
Necromancer Sargoth
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Affably Evil
Dr. Morrison hovered over Melissa, who gave little indication of being coherent, save for her eyes. They remained fixed on the doctor’s face, silently pleading for the mean to help her. She noticed sweat beading at his brow; she was making him nervous. What could make a doctor nervous, she wondered.

“She’s lost blood, but nothing too serious,” he said, looking her over. He examined the wounds Melissa’s bindings had inflicted, then moved to the injuries along her front, then to the head. “Looks to be some serious trauma to the head as well,” Morrison shook his head. “Moons, what did they do to you?” he muttered.

The doctor went about his work in silence. He cleaned and dressed her wrist and ankle wounds. He stitched Melissa’s left wrist; the bindings must have cut deeper than she had thought. Melissa shuddered each time the needle pierced her flesh, driven nearly mad by the slow pace of the work. She wished Idelle was there; Idelle knew Sacrulen.

Morrison finally moved on to the head. The cold sponge he used to wipe away the gore sent a shiver of relief though Melissa’s body each time it met her head. Once clean, the doctor disinfected the site with a foul smelling liquid from a blackened bottle. The searing pain made Melissa’s back arch, the first movement she had made in a while. Morrison continued, undeterred, to bandage her head.

Once done dressing, stitching, and scrutinizing, the doctor stood over his patient and cast Sacri once more for good measure. Then seized a canteen of water from one of the guards; he forced Melissa to drink.

Melissa choked on the cold liquid at first, sputtering the water onto the good doctor’s arms. He cradled the noblewoman like a child, holding her head up with one arm, while tipping the canteen with the other. Soon, she greedily drank the water. Her thirst quenched, the doctor laid her back down on a clean patch of floor.

Looking at him with grateful eyes, Melissa felt her strength returning.
"Thank you,” she managed to say, quietly. Her voice was hoarse.

Dr. Morrison simply smiled. “Just doing my duty, miss. Rest now.”

“Wait,” Melissa said, reaching out for the doctor to stay.

“What is it?” the Doctor asked, concern appearing on his face again.

She spoke a single word, but that was sufficient. “Curia?”

“Huh, oh! Hold on.” The doctor rummaged through his bag and produced a single Curia Crystal. With a silver glow, the crystal’s energy was released and washed over Melissa’s body.

A wide smile spread over Melissa’s face as she felt the familiar tingle of her connection to magic return. She felt safer.

“Thank you,” she said again, closing her eyes.

“You’re welcome. You should be fine.”
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Ranger
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Previously Nex Terren
The noble-born cast a genuine smile down at Eleanor, nodding at the words she spoke.

"For your thanks, I humbly return my own. I tell you that I am only playing my part as a citizen of the proud empire of Valua, and an officer in her service."

He gave a sweeping bow at this, with bent knee, flourished hand, and other such elaborate motions it seemed as though he was about to take the woman's hand, and kiss it. The man however, made no such brash action, instead simply standing back up from the formal bow. His smile was still present in his regal, strong, and honest way, a look that said nothing of what he had just did was out of the ordinary; it was simply how he had been raised.

"Captain Madison, third-tier Viscount, at your service. It is a pleasure of making your acquaintance." He nodded slightly, and began to survey the ship around him. "As to me knowing who they are, in general, yes I do. Specifics, I admit myself more ignorant than I'd like to be, but I can tell you a few things. They were pirates, slavers... A mixed up, bunch, though near exclusive from the Valuan area. They were a fresh crew selling their prizes mostly to western copper mines, and Nasr pirating crews. I'm sure that you hear tales of Valua being a safe land." His smile became a little forced. "That's the farthest from the truth as it can be. You see, our fair nation is overrun with their kind."

He laughed at this, but his tone said that he found nothing funny about it; only that he was trying to seem positive about the whole ordeal.

"If the Emperor would lend me more strength... Ah, but I do what I can. If even I can't stop their kind how I’d like to, I do manage to save a few souls as is. But come, I don't need to place my burdens on your shoulders! Let me get you all something to eat, and a place to freshen up before we reach land."

With sweeping motions, he directed everyone towards the stairs; everyone that was left were only a handful of soldiers, the doctor, and the once-slaves themselves.

"I'm afraid that I don't have much to offer you of either--it is a military craft, you understand--but I hope it'll be enough."

“If I don’t get a cigar right now, right deuced cussed now… Do you understand me, man?” Geraldine growled “My… thinks… cannot… thought.”

Madison stifled a laugh, but held it in check with a gloved hand. Laugh turned into a good natured grin, which in turn was reigned in by his noble habit.

"Here, have one of mine." He offered, pulling a silver and ivory cigar case out of his breast pocket. Flicking open the container, he revealed what were by all rights gold, wrapped up and called 'tobacco'. "They're of a Northern Ocean make. I don't know if they're what you’re used to, but I assure you that they have a very fine taste. Took me nearly a year to get my hands on this lot."

After lighting the received cigar with a lighter (that matched cigar case), the valuan captain strode towards the stairs. Swiftly, both cigar case and lighter were tucked into his coat.

"If you'll follow me..."

Two more soldiers had appeared, stretcher between them, and were seeing to Melissa. The doctor explained that it was--for her own good--seeming expecting the woman to fight him on it. Most of the remaining soldiers followed the group out, leaving only one or two behind to examine the dark corners of the ship.

Above deck looked largely as that of bellow, as far as the presence of life was concerned. Already every pirate had been cleaned away, leaving only a few soldiers to deal with the odds and ends. For any wear and age bellow-deck seemed to have, what the freed could see now was a fairly stark contrast. Not even blood stains from the battle damaged the look of the two-mast ship, though there were some burnings from moonstone discharge to be found.

However, this was certainly not the sight that deserved the most attention; the pirate craft was of little concern compared to what else was there to be seen. Connected to the brigadier’s craft by a collection of steel ramps was a ship that could have been mistaken for the Delphinus by Enrique himself, if it were not for the cruiser's size.

" 'Order,' " Madison introduced, sweeping a hand towards the ship. "The one thing that Arcadia can not escape, however she tries, or however she's tricked herself into thinking. Everything has a place, a cause, an effect, and this ship and her crew are no different." His eyes twinkled for a moment at Colaya, then Eleanor, seeming quite proud of the message he was delivering. "That's part of the game of life that men try to set aside, but there's always a path to any possibility. You just have to understand the clockwork enough. If you do that, the world will never betray your best interests. No, not in the long run."

"Sir!" A soldier marched up to the Captain and saluted.

"Yes, soldier?"

"We've searched the vessel, and we can't find the prisoners possessions or weapons, or any stolen cargo, Sir!"

"That isn't good news," the captain frowned, "Likely they sold it off already, or sent it with another slave runner. Send men to question the Captain anyways--not that there's much point--and set a watch out for any craft in the area. If we're lucky, and their items are just on another craft, and the two were traveling together."

"Yes Sir!"

"Dismissed." He nodded, command equal parts kind and authoritative.

During this conversation, there was an opportunity, if any wished to take it; with both soldiers and captain distracted by the discussion, no one was looking if any wanted to hurry back to the pirate ship, or on, ahead, to the armadan craft.

"If you've ever seen the Emperor's ship," He continued, "you'll be sure to notice the similarities in appearance. Scaled down to a fifth the size, though, and even more so in terms of firepower and armor. Imperial engineers found cost efficiencies in the design of the Delphinus--if, that is, one wasn't concerned with creating a modern Gigas--and thus the Minerva class was born. A patrol vessel well able to handle brigandagers, if not wars. When we go inside, you can easily see the scaled-proportions; the hallways aren't hardly wide enough for a single man to walk down!"

He laughed at this joke, walking through a door of the ship. And the truth of this statement was proven true; the Captain found himself immediately turning to the side, and pressing against the wall, to allow a soldier--performing the same maneuver--by.

"Not that way!" The doctor scolded the two soldiers bearing Melissa. It was as biting as the man could manage which, for the kind-hearted physician, wasn't saying much. "The medical bay is that way. Careful as you can!"

"Most ships in the armada aren't this wanting for space, but that's all they'll assign to protect a township." He shrugged. "I wish they could spare more. It would cut down on the pirate--ah, here we are. Officer quarters. Knock before going in, but I'll be sure to arrange the officers to stay out, and don't worry; they shan't mind you using the facilities. I'll have fresh clothes--ah," He paused, reconsidering, "The ladies might wish to reuse their items; I don't suppose you'd wish to borrow any of mine--but to the men I'll see something to you. I think I'll be able to find something that'll fit in all your cases."

Nodding to himself, as if that was all, he took a step aside to let his guests by.

"Well, after you freshen up, have a guard show you down to the officer's dining hall if you care for a bite to eat, and I'll be sure to have the Dr. Morrison visit for anyone with wounds. I'm sure he'll be done tending the lady by then--" His face darkened at the thought of this, but returned to its pleasant host state in an instant, "--he'll be done by then, and he'll be able to see to whatever wounds you have. I apologize for that, but, well, the Crown has own lent us one doctor."

He gave a bow as formal as the one he greeted everyone with, and then with a final flourish, the Viscount Madison departed in his characteristic stride--one that embodied kind grace, and complete control. And down the hallway of 'Order' he disappeared.

A man in the shadows lurked, watching the whole scene. Haggard looking, with the stench of cheep iloqua about him. For a moment he drew a dagger--a thing naturally forged with steel, and not a speck of moonstone--and considered using it. Then, however, a look of doubt flashed across his features, glass eye rolling unwillingly up into his head. Giving a final survey to see that nobody had spotted him--at least they gave not a sign as best he could tell--he quietly shrank back into the shadows, fake and flesh watching; never moving from the once-bound prisoners.




“Sir! The valuan ship just started to pull away!” The pirate sneered, looking through spyglass. “What are your orders?”

And then, from bellow deck, strode the very embodiment of love of adventure and roguish charm. The man's slender lines filled out the silver trimmed, blood-red coat handsomely, something cut of a pirate’s fashion. His features were pleasant yet a bit wild--currently claiming a look of challenge—and they spoke of the late twenties in years. That age seemed too old for the laughing dare in his eyes, too young for the daring venom that he hid just out of plain sight.

With an indifferent audacity, he snatched the spyglass from the sailor’s eye, and began to examine the sight for himself. Hardly a brief survey later, he slapped it down, and tossed the costly equipment in the general direction of its owner, chuckling quietly to himself. The wooden planks creaked as he walked over them—their fresh lumber not yet dried out fully—as he made his way in the general direction of the windjammer’s large, oak wheel.

" 'Fortune,' " Madison said absent-mindedly, mirth still clear to hear in his voice, "The one thing that bounds Arcadia tighter than any measure of rope or chains, however she tries to weasel herself away with logic. Chance is the law of this land, and for Lady Luck I named this ship. " His eyes twinkled for a moment with something between adventure, and danger. "That's part of the game of life that men try to set aside, but no amount of planning or careful consideration can get you everywhere. You just have to trust yourself to Fortune herself. If you do that, the world will never betray your best interests. She certainly hasn’t me."

“Sir?” The crew hand questioned hesitantly. He was a fresh sign-on; a man who had yet to understand the captain.

“Ha! Would you look at that! I have a coin with me. How about that? Well, tails says that we continue on with our plan, heads says that we blow ‘em to deep sky!”

Without another word, he flipped the coin into the air. Up, and about it spun, sunlight glimmering and flashing off its surface. Laughing, he snatched it from the air, slapping it on the back of his wrist. With hand placed over the coin, he stared down, ready to remove the only obstruction between himself, and fate’s instruction. He looked like a man staring down the entire valuan fleet with only a lifeboat, and a slingshot, and yet with a confidence that he would win.

“Are you insane?!” The sailor demanded, “The idea of attacking a, Valuan ship? A blasted modern one at that!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the captain drew a revolver from his belt, shoved it against the man’s skull. The sailor dared not move, only let out a small gasp of shock.

“I am not mad.” The Captain said, darkly enough to darken the sun, if he’d have only looked up.

Hate filled his eyes, fury claimed his features. The whole look about him was that of vengeance. Vengeance that needed to be his, that had to be his. Vengeance so fresh, so newly found, but infinitely more important in its youth. The man’s lip curled back in a snarl.

Black gloved finger pulled the trigger.

Only a click was heard.

Smiling, he removed the weapon from the man’s head, stuffing the sidearm back into his belt. The sailor, hardened pirate he might be, couldn’t help but shake in the aftermath. Gingerly, he placed a hand to where the pistol had been pressed against.

“I’m Captain James, not ’mad’,” He laughed, as if this was all a grand joke at some party, “and you, my friend, are lucky. Half the chambers are empty, and you happened upon one of them. Now, let’s see about that coin, shall we?”

Plucking the gold piece from where it still rested, he surveyed the result.

“Would you look at that? Tails it is then! Stay out of sight, men, and follow that craft into port!”




Captain Madison sipped on a cup of tea, a valuan book of poetry in his hand. It was in the officer’s dining room that he sat in—a small room, with ceiling higher than it was wide, and though trimmed in polished bronze, otherwise unadorned—waiting for his guests. With fresh coat—only possible to tell due to the loss of the blood stain; it was the same style, same brilliant white—and fresh gloves, he had beaten everyone else in changing. Before him, on the table, rested several choices of food. None of them particularly expensive, nor overflowing with quantity, but were enough to satisfy hunger.

Why was he here? He wasn’t hungry, and there were better places to read, but he was sure that they would have questions and concerns, and it was his job to answer them. But for now? Well, ’Last Night, Moonlit, Remember?’ occupied his thoughts.




Write out the events that have transpired by your character's point of view. If you followed your gracious host, write your characters freshening up, changing clothes, and coming down for a bite to eat. If your character decided to split off from the group to explore, write out such, and expect a DM follow up post.

I'm honestly sorry for holding this up, and, upon request of Gordreg, I am punishing myself with a one-strike against Henry for my tardy DM post.


Nex Terren 2/3 Tuesday, 11-04-08
PG 17 1/3 Wednesday, 11-05-08
Colaya 0/3 Thursday, 11-06-08
Solstice 0/3 Friday, 11-07-08
Gordreg 0/3 Saturday, 11-08-08
Necromancer Sargoth 1/3 Sunday, 11-09-08

Follow this schedule, and expect a DM post on Monday, 11-10-08.
Edited by Ranger, Nov 7 2008, 03:56 PM.
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Ranger
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Previously Nex Terren
Henry frowned down at Melissa, watching the Doctor's work. The guards had been taken away, so he could have no vengeance upon them, and as for actually tending to the woman herself? He knew as much about medicine as he did about being a normal human being. In the quiet, mousy way of Henry, the man stormed off. Oh, why was he being like this? Acting like a child, he knew. But... he did care. The idea of a woman being treated like that angered him, and he felt like there was something that he should be doing. Someway that he could help the woman. But for a man as useless as he, there was always nothing.

"My ships..." He murmured.

"I'm afraid that I don't have much to offer you of either," The Valuan noble said, his tone apologetic, "it is a military craft, you understand--but I hope it'll be enough."

Henry silently berated himself for not paying attention. 'either of what?' he wondered, studying the faces around him as if to find some sort of clue. 'Was it important? What did I miss?'

“If I don’t get a cigar right now, right deuced cussed now… Do you understand me, man?” Geraldine growled “My… thinks… cannot… thought.”

Henry coughed in disgust as the Valuan presented cigar for the woman. He couldn't stand the smoke of those things; couldn't imagine how anyone did that to themselves. He certainly never would. Might as well light his own hair on fire! Coughing--and trying to stifle it as best he could--he briskly made his way ahead of the strange navigator so he'd be least exposed to the fumes. When this strategy proved hopeless, he shot a sour glance at the woman (not actually meant for her to see), and coughed again. He tried to convince himself that the woman couldn't have already puffed out that much smoke, but his instincts told him otherwise. She did, after all, look quite able to do anything that she put her mind to. Do it, or ram her head into the problem until she broke through, or killed herself in the process.

Hurrying to the top, he broke into the open air, and nearly drew back at the sight. Henry didn't take so much as a single glance at the ship he had been prisoner of, instead looking at the valuan cruiser. What a beautiful thing! What a marvelous thing! All polished steel, painted in magnificent colors, sleek lines, and grand turrets. All these things surrounding and artistically bringing the eye up to the panicle of the command bridge, towering over the rest of the ship like some sort of god. This ship was amazing! The next closest he had ever seen was back in the Valuan Naval Academy, where the training officers only managed to see pre-crystal war patrol craft. But this! This! Henry felt blessed to see such a craft...

"Two-thousand, and... and..." He said, pursing his lips, "No, I'd better recount them... I might have missed a few... are those rivets there...?"

" 'Order,' " The valuan introduced, sweeping a hand towards the ship. What was his name...? Mardi... Mader... Madie... Madison was it? Yes, Henry thought that was right. "The one thing that Arcadia can not escape, however she tries, or however she's tricked herself into thinking."

Henry ignored the man, and returned to the task of counting rivets. It was a quick business, but he wasn't as concerned with the rivets he could see, but all of them. His mind attempted to wrap around how many there might be on the belly of the craft, or the back. He thought that he had a fairly good estimate, but then, how many were on the inside? Troublesome notion that. Couldn't the builders have only riveted the outside? Didn't they concern themselves with how hard it would be to count all of those... all of those thousands of rivets...

"...Eighty... no, I'd think there'd be more on the..."

Back into the corners of his mind he crunched numbers, trying to draw a connection between those outdated craft he had seen in the past, and this beauty. His mind drifted down a possible layout of the corridors, judging bulkheads and reinforcement beams. Not meant for war--Henry thought he heard the man say that--so one would reason that it would be built less solidly... the Engine! The though occurred to Henry, and on the instant he gave up on his tally. How could he ever guess how many they used in the engine? Besides, it wasn't like anyone was thanking him for the work he was putting into it...

"Thomas..." He pleaded softly, though he did not hear himself.

Blinking, Henry looked up, and around. Where was he? There was a bed, a desk, a shelf... he had the distinct feeling that he shouldn't touch any of those, even though he was honestly tempted to explore them. The furnishings were minimal, and only a small port-window let in the day-time sun. Each of the three items were made from a dark wood--which even he could tell had stain-jobs that wanted. The chair was neatly pushed up to the desk, the covers on the bed in place in he military stile Henry ought to have expected. He could find no decorations, or personalizations, and so who the room belonged to, Henry was forced to wonder. But wait, what was that? Henry shuffled forward, finding a bronze coin fallen beside the desk. Well worn, to the point of being difficult to see the empress's face. However, Henry could make out something; carved into the coin were a few letters. Whoever had defaced the coin hadn't put much care into the work, and so Henry's eyes squinted to make out the two letters: J... K? JK... What did they mean? Joke? Jack? J... J...

He shoved the coin into his pocket. He'd have to figure this out later.

"Freshen... up? Yes, yes, I think that's right... and something to eat... I think..."




Dressed in a black coat with matching undershirt and pants, Henry tugged nervously at the outfit. He wasn't very fond of the color black--it made him think too much of pirates--but he supposed that it would have been rude to reject them, wouldn't it? The guard led him down he cramped corridors, leaving the autistic man lost as to where they were, exactly, inside the belly of that ship. No windows dotted the short journey, and Henry's limited since of direction had abandon him completely. 'Not that it really matters...' he told himself, 'that's why this soldier is showing me the way...' Then, a final door led Henry into the officers' dining room. With a jump, he realized that he was nearly the last one there--if not the last. He wasn't sure if he remembered how many prisoners there had been. The number of riveted jumped back to mind, mocking him, and Henry swatted it away.

"If you don't mind me asking..." Henry said, sitting down. The Valuan had just finished saying something to the others--forcing Henry to scold himself for taking as long as he had--and so a quiet had rested over the table. "Exactly how many rivets are in this ship?"
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PG 17
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Before the guard could respond, his commander began to speak. Mikeil thought it was a reasonably good idea to pay attention, so he turned around to look at the man.

"Captain Madison, third-tier Viscount, at your service. It is a pleasure of making your acquaintance." He nodded slightly, and began to survey the ship around him. "As to me knowing who they are, in general, yes I do. Specifics, I admit myself more ignorant than I'd like to be, but I can tell you a few things. They were pirates, slavers... A mixed up, bunch, though near exclusive from the Valuan area. They were a fresh crew selling their prizes mostly to western copper mines, and Nasr pirating crews. I'm sure that you hear tales of Valua being a safe land." His smile became a little forced. "That's the farthest from the truth as it can be. You see, our fair nation is overrun with their kind."

Mikeil nodded slowly. The man was right, after all. The streets that Mikeil had just recently been walking were overrun with vermin. His laugh afterwards was a little forced, but Mikeil understood his trying to lighten the mood. He offered them a place to rest and freshen up, and Mikeil relaxed. He could do with a bit of rest. The Commander made a motion for them to move towards the stairs, and Mikeil took it. He was first up, followed closely by the guard he had been talking with. He looked around the deck, seeing nothing living. The pirates had been dealt with. Just across from the pirate ship, a large Valuan military craft stood imposingly. It seemed to be a newer model, bigger and more deadly than previous ones. Mikeil let out a small sigh and moved his metal arm up and down. Sometimes the weight got to him, and these was one of those times. A moment later, the rest of the party made their way up, and Mikeil turned to face them.

The Captain began to speak, gesturing at the ship. As he talked, Mikeil moved around him and leaned against the wall of the upper deck.
" 'Order,' The one thing that Arcadia can not escape, however she tries, or however she's tricked herself into thinking. Everything has a place, a cause, an effect, and this ship and her crew are no different. That's part of the game of life that men try to set aside, but there's always a path to any possibility. You just have to understand the clockwork enough. If you do that, the world will never betray your best interests. No, not in the long run."

So, he was proud of his ship. Fair enough, any Captain would. Suddenly, a patter was heard from the stairway. A soldier appeared and delivered his report. None of the missing items or weapons had been found. Mikeil cursed and smashed the wall with his mechanic hand. He broke some of the outer panels, and wrenched his hand out irritably. Shaking it, he followed the rest of them onto the Valuan ship. The Captain continued his speech about his ship, But Mikeil was choosing to ignore him now. Frankly, he did not care much about ships. He just wanted his weapons and to be back in Valua.

Finally, they had reached the place where they could clean themselves up. The corridor stretched out before them, and Mikeil started forward. He found a door marked bathroom, and entered. He started the sink going, and splashed water over his face. That felt better, he thought to himself. He stepped outside, and a soldier stood there, holding some clothes.
“These are for you, ser.” He said, handing them out.
“Um…thanks.” Mikeil said, taking the proffered clothing. He entered the bathroom again, and hastily changed. The clothing was very similar to what he usually wore, so it did not bother him much. He exited again, to see the guard waiting for him.
“Ah…” Mikeil said, holding his normal clothes.
“Let me take of that, ser.” The guard said, taking the cloths from him. ”would you like to be escorted to the Officer’s dining Hall now?”
“Um…yes please.”
“This way, ser.”

The guard led him further down the hall, and down a flight of stairs. He took the second door to the left, opening onto a spacious room. He stood at the entrance of the room, holding his hand out. Mikeil stepped in, and the guard closed the door after him. He noticed that he was the first one there, except for the commander. He took the seat closest to him, which was on the side and farthest from the Captain. Doing his best not to make eye contact, he looked over the table. Not exactly cuisine, it still looked good. Mikeil restrained himself, however, and waited for the rest of the party to arrive.
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Colaya let out a sigh of relief once he realized that the woman was going to be ok. The doctor had done a fine job tending to each of her wounds carefully. Once he had finished treating her, and after the nobleman had a quick word with her, two more soldiers appeared with a stretcher.

At this time, the captain went on a rant about the pirates that had captured them, but to be honest, Colaya wasn’t listening one bit. He was getting anxious to leave the murky room that they had been in for quite a while.

Afterwards, he addressed everyone, instructing them to follow him to the deck. Colaya walked up the steps and was greeted at the top by a nice breeze. There was a gentle wind flowing through the skies, and it blew against Colaya’s face, temporarily cooling him.

Colaya closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the wind, but he reopened them once the captain talked to them once again. ”Order…” The man spoke, making a gesture towards the magnificent Valuan vessel.

Wow… Colaya began pondering to himself once again. It looks a lot like the Delphinus… It didn’t matter whether it was only a fraction of the true Delphinus’ size, as it sparked a flashback in Colaya’s mind. Back to the time when Vyse and his crew fought against one of the Valuan Admirals, Gregorio. It was a spectacular sight to see for all of the inhabitants of Esperanza, and it was what eventually made Colaya to leave to explore the world.

Another soldier appeared, and spoke to his commanding officer. The soldier informed him that the captives’ belongings were nowhere to be found on the entire ship. Hearing this, Colaya butted in for a moment and said “Please… We have to find our items… You see, my spear is one of the only things I have left of my real parents…” Colaya dropped his head to look down to his necklace. He picked up the Black moonstone shard that dangled from the end of the band, and he held in the palm of his hand. Colaya rubbed it with his thumb, and the shard let out a soft eerie glow for a second, before returning to it’s previous state.

Colaya dropped the necklace, and it fell back down to hang from his neck. The party was moving on again, so Colaya slowly followed. He was feeling a little depressed, hoping that he’d be able to get his weapon back.

He remained silent for the rest of the time, even after a guard gave him a pair of clothes to change into. Colaya entered the facilities, and he quickly perked up. The bathroom had mirrors in it, and he became intrigued with his reflection. It wasn’t very often that a pirate would get to see himself in a mirror, so it was only natural for Colaya to act in such a way.

Colaya noticed a piece of dirt on his face, and he tried to wipe it off. Unfortunately, he only succeeded in smearing it across his cheek. Colaya continued to inspect his reflection, and after removing his bandana, he noticed that his hair was matted down to his head. I guess I SHOULD try to wash up a bit…



After Colaya was finished bathing himself, he returned to the clothes where provided for him. He picked up the first article of clothing, which was an elegant jacket. It was part of a uniform, and it was mostly white, besides the golden buttons along the front, and three crimson red stripes. Each stripe started up at the collar, and two of them moved over the shoulders and down the arm to the end of the sleeves. The third stripe started on the back of the jacket, and moved down along the spine until it reached the very bottom. The bottom half of the uniform was much like the top, although it only had two stripes; one on each of the sides of the pants. A black belt with a large buckle, and newly shined black shoes were also given to Colaya.

Colaya admired the clothes, and quickly put them on. They felt very comfortable on him, and they were just the right length and size. Colaya looked into the mirror once again to examine himself. He came to the conclusion that everything looked alright, that is, except for his hair. Even though it was straight and clean, it still looked shaggy and unkempt, and didn’t quite match the rest of his appearance.

Luckily, there was a comb placed under the mirror, seemingly placed there to solely solve Colaya’s problem. Colaya brushed his dark black hair back, until he decided that he looked “suave” enough. There were still a few strands of hair that hung down in the center of his forehead, but they just seemed to refuse to be pushed back along with the others. Colaya looked into the mirror one last time and chuckled to himself. Heh… If only Sophie could see me now…

Colaya exited the room, and there was a guard waiting for him. “Hello…” Colaya stuttered, not expecting someone to be waiting for him.

”Right this way… The soldier instructed him. Colaya followed him down the narrow hallways and around the corners. Seems like a maze in here… Colaya thought to himself, as he wondered how everyone else knew how to traverse around the ship.

”Here we are… The guard stopped in front of two large doors. Colaya entered the room, and saw that he was the second to arrive. Captain Morrison and Mikeil were already sitting at the table, and walked across the hall to join them. He sat down towards the middle of the table, and settled himself in.

Colaya realized that he still didn’t thank the man for saving them all, so he decided to break the silence. “Um… Thank you, Captain Madison… For saving us… Oh, and for you gracious hospitality and these clothes…” Colaya raised his arms slightly to reference the uniform. “You really shouldn’t have wasted such fine clothing on me…”

Colaya softly laughed at his own comment, although he truly meant what he said. Colaya felt guilty for being a burden on the captain, but somehow he felt happy at the same time. It was probably because he actually got to dress so eloquently for once.

Unfortunately… For some reason, Colaya also couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this was just “all too good to be true”…
Edited by Gordreg, Nov 7 2008, 11:34 AM.
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Ranger
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Madison smiled, graciously as the two entered; Mikeil first, and then a few moments later, Colaya. He adjusted in his chair in a casual position; one perhaps not befitting to the classic idea of a noble-born. Even in that slightly reclined positioning, however, his grace and command were still well present. He took another sip of his tea as the young man began to speak.

“Um… Thank you, Captain Madison… For saving us… Oh, and for you gracious hospitality and these clothes…” Colaya raised his arms slightly to reference the uniform. “You really shouldn’t have wasted such fine clothing on me…”

The man laughed good-naturedly at this, sitting down his book.

"Oh, thank you for the complement, but my wardrobe isn't that fine. I, honestly, don't keep up with such things, but I'm told my styles are outdated. It would make things much easier if fashion didn't have to change all the time, or a man just could avoid caring." His eyes twinkled, saying that he mostly spoke in jest, "But yes, my wardrobe is nothing like you'd see in the Imperial city, of course I can't claim to be as rich as those city folk; not fractionally so." He motioned toward the food, "If you're hungry, eat. Don't let any formalities stop you; this isn't a party demanding your utmost manners. It's a meal. I suppose such beliefs are why I never fit into Valuan city life."

He smirked at this, sipping his tea once more.

"And we should be in port in just a short time; however with the frantic nature of a ship docking, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to see to your needs, and I know if I were rescued from a ship like that, I'd demand at least a good meal. It's a quiet port.Fransmille is a village whose meager fortune is founded on fishing, a tin mine, and whatever little trade trickles through our harbor. It's a pleasant place, and until you can find voyage elsewhere, I hope you'll enjoy yourselves. I surely do; it's the most peaceful, and blessed place in all of Arcadia. You won't find kinder people anywhere else."
Edited by Ranger, Nov 7 2008, 04:26 PM.
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SummerRayn
A.k.a. "Sol"
Geraldine's eyes lit up as the man in the white coat produced a cigar. She hungrily bit the end off of it and gave it such a starting pull as the man lit it that it almost put out his flame. She sucked the thick smoke much deeper in than it was ever meant to go, and closed her eyes in satisfaction as she blew it back out through her nostrils. She gave a deep sigh of relief as the craving faded, and with it the disorientation, and the rigid panic that the combination of craving and disorientation had created. When she opened her eyes back up, they focused clearly on the man in front of her.

"Thank you muchly, sir. Muchly indeed." She nodded her head at him as he retreated.

Gerrie gave the cigar another pull, looking around her with keen sight and keen interest for the first time since she had woken up. If she saw anything hiding in the shadows, if she heard anything or formed any opinions of her fellow prisoners or any ideas of what had happened in the last few minutes now that she could process it, she gave no indication--except a thoughtful nod to the room just before she left.

Having never been particularly concerned with her presentability in normal society, Geraldine's form of washing up involved washing the blood off her wrists and bandaging them, wiping the smeared parts of her makeup clean, and scrubbing her arms and legs with a wet rag without shedding her clothing. Thus, she was at the table before most of the other guests, grinning at them as they came in, puffing slowly and luxuriously on the cigar.
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As the handsome officer gave a sweeping bow it seemed for a moment as if he was about to kiss her hand, and Eleanor felt her cheeks flush with warmth and colour, her person stunned into a moment of silence by the elaboracy of the act. That he did not press the action through was actually something of a comfort, for it allowed valuable seconds to recover her wits - time enough for Eleanor to give an embarrassed cough, and to raise her hand to her mouth to appear to cover it.

"Yes, yes, of course." Eleanor gave a vigorous dip of her head, trying to shake herself out of her fluster. "Indeed, there is only so much that any one person might do. Nonetheless, I find I must thank you, Captain Madison... both for my salvation, and for your generous offer of hospitality." she gave another nod, still quietly rubbing the fresh bruising about her wrists from the bindings. "Even the little that you can provide is most welcome indeed."

And she broke away, directed up the stairs by both Captain and soldiers alike. The climb wasn't hard - indeed, if not for the aching in her limbs from their binding Eleanor doubted it would have been problematic at all. Nonetheless, bound they had been and so each step taken felt slightly stiff, slightly off, as if she were not yet fully awake. And rather unfortunately, she had been taken captive in morning-slippers rather then her preferred choice of boot, so she could feel the ship-wood underneath her feet as she climbed.

But climb she did, rising out of that horrible place and onto the deck of this pirate ship. A scarred deck; for Eleanor saw at once the stains of battle smeared across the local scenery. Blood and powder-stains were still scattered about, leaving the ship's deck with the look of the war zone it had no doubt been for a short while previous. And in front of them sat a ship; the lines and shape familiar to any Valuan (even a biologist with little interest in matters regal or military), yet with the colour scheme and size distinctly off from the expectation.

She listened as a soldier came with news for the captain, and wondered exactly what that meant for their plight. Did her belongings still languish away in her room at that sailor’s island guesthouse; or had they been removed by now – either horded by villains, or thrown way? What of her sketches, of her sampling tools and reference books, and of the small menagerie that she’d studied in her guesthouse room? Moons, and what of Dool? She bit her lip, wondering and worrying about just what might have happened to the Dralnog in her absence. Hopefully he would have hid himself away in one of her cases, but… what if he was found? Dralnogs were considered as much a pest in mid-ocean as they were in Valua, and without her to keep him safe…

She chewed upon her lip, only half-heartedly looking back to Captain Madison’s ship when prompted. Yes, there was that similarity in shape she’d recognised… this was clearly a very modern ship, then; she hadn’t even known the Armada was building again. Then again; there wasn’t too much she knew about the modern Armada - aside from those details bought up when her brother and father argued over the breakfast table, on the increasingly infrequent occasions that all the family came together these days. For now, it was easier just to be grateful.

And so she followed across the steel ramp onto their rescuer’s ship, the dull thump of mouldering wood beneath her feet giving way to clanging thunks as she stepped across metalwork, still half-listening to the ongoing talk. This vessel – had the Captain given a name? – was hardly spacious, and more then once in the walking Eleanor found herself having to flatten against a corridor to allow others past. She found herself nodding a few times, and making a few polite comments to suggest she was at least paying attention out of politeness, if not out of interest.

“You are most kind, Captain Madison.” Eleanor dipped her head again as they parted, and allowed herself to be ushered away into some vacated quarters along with the Nasrean woman, who was by now smoking the Captain’s cigar and filling the room with the odour of tobacco. The actual tobacco-smell wasn’t too bad, though around the woman herself an odour of old cigars seemed to have turned the air itself quite stale and cloying. For a moment, Eleanor wondered exactly what to say in greeting. ‘Excuse me Madam, I know that we’ve been tied up together and carted about by pirates, and whilst the rest of us wanted freedom you just wanted a smoke and for that reason attacked one of our captors’ crotch with your teeth. Are you feeling alright in the head?’ hardly sounded an appropriate or polite greeting, and so Eleanor held her tongue and set to washing herself; wiping her face clean with a sponge to wash away the sweat and the grime. The Nasrean woman finished quickly, leaving Eleanor alone with the washbasin and a few piles of assorted clothes.

Sitting herself down, Eleanor kicked off her flimsy footwear before rising again to examine herself in the mirror. She looked a little bedraggled – but then, who wouldn’t after an ordeal like that? – And Eleanor could still see a few faint lines on her cheeks where the gag had pressed a little too tightly. Unfortunately, a few creases aside, all her clothes looked in quite good condition, exactly what she’d been wearing in the breakfast room right when she’d been taken. Still…

Eleanor smiled. No, this skirt had a slight crease in it… it was obviously something that she couldn’t wear again until it was clean. She slipped quickly out of it, and tried on a few of the pairs of naval trousers waiting in a pile until she found one that fitted, more or less. Buttoning it up, she stood again, and gave a slow turn in the mirror. It wasn’t as comfortable as she’d have preferred, but it would do for now. Searching the room further Eleanor found a pair of naval boots in her size and slipped them on, before standing to check herself in the mirror again. Quickly brushing out the kinks in her hair, she at last decided herself ready and walked out the door.

As the last person to walk into the dining room, Eleanor found that the others had already seated themselves. The Captain was seated with a book in his hand, sitting casually in a relaxed manner that Eleanor would hardly have expected from a Captain of the Armada on active duty. Seated as he was, he looked still as dashing a figure as he had before even in a crisp fresh uniform, the copy of Artens’ ‘Dark Clouds, Deep Maw’ in his hand adding a scholarly air to the overall effect. Nearby, she could see the nervous man seated, looking as though he was just about to fidget, and the metal-armed man sitting opposite to the captain. The young man was also speaking, thanking the captain in a soft voice, whilst the Nasrean woman still smoked on her freshly-mooched cigar. Sitting herself down, she nodded quietly to each other guest in turn then looked at the food before them; a quite reasonable selection that reminded Eleanor just how hungry she actually felt.

And with a great feeling of relief, she listened as Captain Madison gave his permission to begin – and to begin without anything of Valuan formality, no less! Her hungry smile broadened further, and she reached out into the table to load up her plate with roast kantor, tartus dumplings and a selection of vegetables.

“Captain Madison, your modesty does you credit… credit that you are most certainly overdue.” Eleanor smiled. “I just wish you would allow yourself some, but I fear you might be far too good in nature and spirit. Nonetheless, I thank you again for saving us – all of us.”

Reaching across the table, she picked up the kettle and poured herself a cup of warm tea. She raised it up for a moment, a silent tea-toast to the Captain, and then took a sip for herself.

“Speaking of which… I believe that we are not yet all acquainted with one another, even after sharing our ordeal.” Eleanor noted, relaxing slowly back into the chair as she started to spear another forkful of food, deeply grateful that the laws of etiquette had been banished. “For my part; I’m Eleanor Sadlanar, a biologist of the Valuan University.”

And immediately she opened her mouth to put away the forkful of food, chewing thoughtfully as she listened to any reply before finally swallowing the mouthful down.
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The doctor sat by Melissa’s side in silence until a pair of guards arrived with a stretcher, and the others began to filter out of the room. The guards moved in to help Melissa onto the stretcher, but she flinched away.

“Please, miss,” the doctor said, with an apologetic smile, “it’s for your own good. You need to rest; at least work your strength back up before trekking about.”

Melissa frowned; she wanted to walk after being bound for so long. “Well, you’re the doctor. Lead the way then.” She had granted her acquiescence begrudgingly.

Morrison knew the noblewoman’s consent to be carried about in such a manner would be tenuous at best. They were a funny sort, these highborn. With the frequency they ride in carriages, you’d think that they enjoyed being carted about. Still, they hated relying on others. Trying to make them do something was like trying to catch a looper. Morrison thanked the Moons for whatever temporary authority his position as doctor had granted him.

The doctor trailed after Captain Madison, the soldiers bearing Melissa in his wake. They made it up the rickety steps with a bit a difficulty, but had an easier time traversing the deck and making it onboard the Armada ship.

Melissa sat up despite the doctor’s protest to get a better look at the vessel that had rescued her. It was unbelievable, inconceivable that the Armada could be producing new ships while the majority of the Empire still lies ruined. She buried her ire by reminding herself that had it not been for this ship, she would even now be a prisoner.

The noble captain introduced the ship as “Order.” The concept clearly meant a lot to the man as he made a small speech about his ideals. Melissa found the whole idea to be laughable. Order is the mask that Arcadia wears from time to time to hide the Chaos, the utter madness. All Valua, pinnacle of civilization, was wiped from the world in the duration of a day. She once believed in order, yet that was before her home had exploded into fire; before she had been kidnapped twice; before she had witnessed time and time again the refusal of the world to line up neatly. Nothing knew its place because nothing had a place, not anymore. Order is a lie. She had not always been so cynical, but life had taught her well.
“What a lovely ship,” she said with a smile to the doctor, who returned the smile.

They continued on, into the tiny kid sister of the mighty Delphinus. The corridors were extremely narrow, and Morrison grew short tempered as the two soldiers went the wrong way. The doctor chastised the men, who had to walk backwards a few feet in order to turn around and head towards the sick bay.

“Doctor,” began Melissa with worry, “I thought your treatment to be complete. Why are you taking me to the sick bay?”

“Just to be safe, miss. It’s all for your own good, I assure you.”

Melissa frowned as the captain and the others grew further away. She felt cut off from the other prisoners, and began to get slightly anxious. They arrived in the sick bay without incident. A few crewmembers had to clear out of the corridor to allow the stretcher through, but other than that the trip had been simple. The sick bay was a stark, sterile room. The steel walls had been painted white and a polished steel floor was uncovered. The bright moonstone lighting hurt Melissa’s eyes and gave the whole room a pallid feeling. Spartan beds were lined up along one wall with a large metal shelves covered with supplies and medical equipment along another; the doctor apparently had a small office connected to the bay.

The soldiers moved Melissa to a bed, two down from soldiers wounded in the fighting. The doctor drew a curtain round the bed and instructed her to disrobe. Slightly scandalized, Melissa at first refused. The doctor assured her, however, he merely wished to treat her other wounds. She looked down at the torn front of her robe. The memory of being dragged along the rocky ground flashed to the front of her mind. After a sullen silence, she consented.

The doctor performed his work quickly, without speaking. Each scratch flared with pain as he disinfected them; he picked bits of gravel from her skin as well. The whole process seemed to drag on for eternity. Afterwards, the doctor checked Melissa’s other dressings, done somewhat hastily earlier. Confident with them, he disappeared for a time. When he returned, he possessed a fresh set of clothes for her.

The clothes were ill fitting and intended for a male, but Melissa knew her other clothes were in a ghastly state: torn, blood-stained and begrimed. She thanked the doctor, dressed quickly. The doctor pronounced her fit to walk about the ship, and she made to leave the sick bay, but realized she did not know where to go.

“Excuse me, Doctor Morrison,” Melissa asked.

The doctor had already moved on to another patient, but he turned back to face the noblewoman. “Yes, miss?”

“I am afraid I do not know the way back to the others… could you…”

“Oh, how foolish of me!” the doctor said, an apologetic look on his face. “The captain and the others are in the officers’ dining room. Ah, let me accompany you. The captain wanted me to stop in anyway.”

Morrison handed off his work to a nurse and grabbed a fresh coat. The two worked their way through the narrow corridors and made it to the dining room. They arrived last, and stepped into the room while the others ate. It appeared introductions had just began.

“…not yet all acquainted with one another, even after sharing our ordeal. For my part; I’m Eleanor Sadlanar, a biologist of the Valuan University.”

Melissa apologized for her tardiness, and moved to take one of the remaining seats. The doctor waited by the doorway, apparently apprehensive to join the meal.

“I do believe I have heard of your work, Eleanor,” began Melissa, feeling out of place, but getting more comfortable. “I used to be involved with academia as well. I am Melissa Vander, former professor of Blue Magical Studies at the Valuan University of the Arcane Arts. Sorry if I gave anyone a fright; the good doctor there has patched me up quite well though!”

“Captain, I am indeed in your debt. Once I am safely returned home, I shall write the capital about your valiant service to our Empire, to be sure.”
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Previously Nex Terren
The captain nodded politely at Eleanor at her introduction, and to the noble lady's his brow rose, and an impressed look dawned on his face.

"I second the statement of hearing of your writings, miss Sadlanar, though I'm sorry to say that I've never read any of it. The good doctor--" Madison indicated the man in the doorway, "--Is however quite intrigued about what all you say. He hold several academic ties to other professors at your University. Perhaps I'll have the chance to question you about ghastlings; those creatures have always puzzled me, to be honest. They seem more legend than truth."

The Doctor blinked at the mention of 'ghastlings,' as if the topic was unexpected. He gave a nervous chuckle at the comments about himself, and then hastily excused himself, fumbling with his words a little. He opened the door, giving sight to a collection of officers walking down the connecting hallway. Morrison was forced to wait, letting them pass, and then he silently slipped out, closing the door quickly behind him.

"And Lady Vander," The captain continued, "It is truly an honor to have you aboard my humble ship. I've never had the opportunity to see any of your great family, though my father--Charles Madison--did do business in your area, and spoke highly of your house. As for the letter," His smile broadened at this, "I am most deeply in your debt. Our Crown is rightfully concerned with the rebuilding of the capital city, but I think that project casts an undeserved shadow on the northern coast. There's talk about building a new fort off on the eastern coast, yet they can't offer funding enough for funding patrol craft in such threatened towns asTanemura, and Millbrooke.

"As to myself, well, I suppose I've already offered an introduction, but if you'll humor me I'll offer it again. Captain Madison, and third-tier viscount. I can't possibly attest my house to be fractionally as great as LadyVander's," He inclined his head, "But of it's short, quiet history, I am proud. You won't hear much of anyone speak of house Knear, nor that one Madison Knear is the first born, outside the town of Fransmille." Suddenly he laughed despite himself, "Oh, forgive me. If you're curious about my name, my nobility is from my mother's side, and my father refused to let his family name die out with him, so he gave his surname to me as my first. Whatever my parents decided upon, I go by my father's name in my title as, well, I believe that's as it should be; from father to son." Suddenly he straightened, and his tone became a good deal lighter, breaking away from family history. "But that's plenty enough about me; I didn't mean to bog down the introductions--"

"If you don't mind me asking... exactly how many rivets are in this ship?"

Madison blinked at recently entered Henry, not quite sure what to say. After a moment though, he recovered, and began to treat the strange question as respectfully as he could.

"To be honest, I don't know, and I doubt any of my staff does either off-hand. Can I ask as to why? I don't understand where you're coming from with that question, but..." He waved his hand aboutvaugely, no real message implied by this motion.




A member has spoke that Summer's post was too short. Though she may contest this (standard her, and three other Crawlers voting in her favor), currently she is handed a strike.

Before I could even get this up, said Crawler insisted that he never technically said that Summer's post was "too short."


Nex Terren 2/3 Tuesday, 11-11-08
PG 17 1/3 Wednesday, 11-12-08
Colaya 0/3 Thursday, 11-13-08
Solstice 0/3 Friday, 11-14-08
Gordreg 0/3 Saturday, 11-15-08
Necromancer Sargoth 1/3 Sunday, 11-16-08
Edited by Ranger, Nov 10 2008, 07:34 PM.
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