Flames of the Phoenix- IC

[Slowpool]

Chapter 1
Life

Scene One
Kasoden's Plight

"Ahh... The sea of skies is beautiful, no? To sail, to soar... To be able to call them one and the same is something we take for granted, I think. See, now- Below us drifts a mother skywhale, nursing her newborn calf! See, in the distance- soft islands of white cloud beside towering mountains of stormy darkness! Feel the sea air, rising from below us, feel it's salty breath reach all the way into the roof of the world- the domain we call our home! Can you imagine what the men and women of old would think, seeing us sail as we do now? Perhaps they would tremble at the sight of the cloudscapes or the mighty galleys that span the skies, or perhaps they would look up with hope and ambition- Might they, too, one day reach such lofty heights? Here I stand, on the starboard bough, stairing forward- not just to our ephemeral destination, but the destination of all civilization!! Will you not join me in my HEBUUUGHHH--"
The skinny little Bard's rant was cut short as an enormous hand clasped around his skinny little neck.
"I told ye'," said the enormous, rotund, filthy and bald owner of that hand, "Te' shut ye' soddin' gob, aye?"
"HURRK ACHH HURGACHKK" argued the Bard.
"Hehehe... I'ss about time I done got rid of 'da noise, aye? Cap'n 'll 'fank me, I bet!"
With that, the enormous, rotund, filthy and bald man lifted the unfortunate Bard off the deck, heaved, and tossed him clear overboard. He sailed through his beloved sky until he landed audibly on the back of the skywhale mother he had so lovingly admired. The whale was not amused, and sped off into the clouds, poor Bard holding on for dear life.

Sadly, this was just another day of life on the Jimmy's Boot.
Sure, the schooner was "notorious". Or at least, one could call it that. It was not that it was powerful or anything- no, with the crew it boasted, it certainly wasn't powerful- but rather, it was well known for being the fastest in all of Highmoon's airspace at running away from a fight. Or pretty much anything.
The greasy old "captain", Jimmy No-Legs, a man who had lost both of his legs to street urchins, would call it "living to fight another day". Of course, anyone who knew anything about him or his ship would call it "living to run away another day".
Recently, though, things were starting to get interesting.
A far-flung clouscape, floating about just within Highmoon's domain, was in some kind of trouble. Kasoden- not particuarly well known, save for being one of the few 'scapes in the region that spent more time below the cloudline than above it. Small or not, when a fish flounders about in the sea, it's going to attract sharks of every kind. Some are the ones who take the first bite- the ones who jump in all frenzied up good. Sharks like Jimmy's Boot? They waited.
Or so the crew of thirty pathetic, cowardly miscreants would claim.
Of course the ship would try and take advantage of Kasoden's plight, but that would mean getting near the danger- and if there was one thing that Jimmy's Boot was bad at, it was doing anything that required balls. It had a reputaion to uphold, after all! They just didn't have the power to stand up to whatever law enforcement was left, and they were wanted all over Highmoon West for smuggling and... well, that's about all they were capable of. But their cowardice made them naturals.
Fortunately, the city had sent out a call for assistance- every 'scape in a hundred miles had messages posted in every mercenary tavern, and promises of potential wealth and noble gratitude were enough to raise some grizzled heads and strap some sword belts. Jimmy's Boot was ready to take advantage, for once; surely, no one would question them helping a city in crisis?
It was not a pleasent ship to be on; large enough for fifty or so people, but still uncomfortable. It was nothing to look at, either. The whole thing vaguely looked like a piece of old footwear. And the crew was certainly not an attraction. So what could the schooner and her captain offer to would-be mercenaries?
A free ride.
Or rather, ALMOST free. So close to free that it would be foolish to bother paying ten gold for a ride on a slower ship, no matter how much more tolerable the smell might be.

And this... This is where the heroes, both noble and anti, entered the tale.

They had been aboard for almost a week. The smelly "men of fortune" would make passes at the women among them constantly, and the men were threatened and insuted to no end. And yet, they never went so far as to harm a single one of those mercenaries. Perhaps they were afraid? Or were they not so bad after all?
Whatever the answer, it had been five days for most of the passengers. Five days on that miserable boot of a ship would get on anyone's nerves. Most of them had kept to themselves, and yet some had decided to find companions amongst the few who did not naturally smell like sweat and shame.
Only one more day, and they would be free to stretch, relax, take a bath for Amrathial's sake.
Could they put up with one more day? Could anyone?

Gadies and Lentlemen, welcome to "Flames of the Phoenix".

[bannable]

"Five days," muttered one of the "men of fortune" as he watched the bard fall. Or perhaps "halfling of fortune" was the better term. "I believe that makes me the winner."

"Phaw," the raven on his shoulder cawed, "you will bet on anything."

"Not likely, " he replied, smiling, "just on this smelly thing."

Fives days on this bucket and there were a handful of faces the militant Magus had recognized. A blonde thing - Mephala, he thought her name was - that had helped when the food riots in the east broke out. He thought her reliable, but couldn't remember much beyond that. And then there was a particularly seedy looking fellow he'd have sworn he should know, but couldn't put a name to him.

Tossing his dice idly, he realized he was just as excited to be rid of this boat as to actually get to work. Smiling a bit, he looked around for one of the faces he recognized. "Mephala! Care to roll some dice?" He pointed to the bird on his shoulder, "My friend here imagines himself a gambler."

[Feather Sigil]

Too slow.

Mephala watched through stretched fingers as the whale and her new passenger flew off in the opposite direction. Her fingers slowly clenched into a fist as the events of the last minute replayed in her mind.

Truth be told, the bard--what was his name? Emil?--had been rather annoying, what with his endless, long-winded orations about nothing in particular. At the time she was sitting at the bow, letting the sound of the wind push his voice aside and allow her to meditate. Mephala hadn't even really heard his one-sided argument with the crewman, only returning to the real world once his shriek shattered the silence. She rushed over to him as fast as she could, even had her foot on the edge of the ship, but it didn't matter. He was long gone. At least he, miraculously, landed on the whale; he had a chance of survival, Amrathial willing.

The Lifewarden lowered her foot and took a few steps back, breathing deeply. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Already she could see herself walking into the crewman's path and speaking out against his actions. The cat calls? Easily ignored. The smell, the mess? An excuse to meditate more often than usual. But this...and yet, if they were willing to condemn a man to his doom just for being--very--annoying, what would they do to someone threatening to turn in one of their own? Or attempting to bring one of their own to justice--somehow--aboard their ship with nothing around for miles? She'd give them a very hard time if they tried to toss her overboard, which would only lead to a brawl between her and the crew.

She thought she heard someone laughing behind her as she placed her hands together and lowered her head. Someone else--Danat--asked her if she wanted to gamble. Oh, sure. Perhaps they could wager on whether or not the next person to be tossed off the ship would land on a whale.

'Lord Amrathial, please watch over...Emil. Let him come to no harm and let the whale guide him somewhere safe.'

Mephala sighed.

'Forgive me, my Lord. Had I been swift enough...'

Her prayer finished, she turned around and immediately found the gravid crewman--he was hard not to notice. She approached him.

'You there! I admit I wasn't fond of his speeches either, but what gives you the right to almost murder a man just for the sake of keeping him quiet?'

[Karsh]

Skye

Of all the passengers on the Jimmy's Boot, Skye was perhaps the most unusual, which was saying quite a bit. The shifter stuck out like a sore thumb, wandering about the ship almost like a caged animal. Kasoden was too far from any other nearby Cloudscape to fly there in one go, so he had been forced to seek passage on the ship. Even the shipmates gave him a wide berth, as he had a wild look in his eye which they had only seen elsewhere in the eyes of the enormous eagle which accompanied him.

The eagle spent much of her time perched up on one of the masts of the ship, letting out a piercing shriek every once in a while, which Skye would respond to with a similar cry.

Skye was particularly anxious because he could smell that they were getting close. He longed to be in the sky once more, but couldn't risk setting out on his own.

Currently, he too is perched on the railing of the boat, almost like a dog trying to smell the air as it rushes by.

On the trip, he had said fewer than ten words to anyone, and his silence was certainly unbroken at the moment.

[Chambers]

Corven

"Fool should have known better." Corven says in a soft voice, looking up at Mephala as he leans against the rail. He nods to the large pirate and smiles. "And he's got all the right he needs, long as the Captain says so. Because that's who's in charge here - the Captain."

"Course, it was a stupid thing to do, even if allowed." He shakes his head at the pirate. "You're easy to pick out in a crowd, and it's for sure that that fella doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut. Hope you like hiding out on the ship for awhile."

---

The short week on Jimmy's Boot had been easy time for Corven. The Boot was a piece of hofa compared to the ship he had grown up on, but all ships adhere to similar routines. Doesn't take that long to get back in the flow. It'd been a different experience this time though, watching the crew work instead of being one of them. He knew few of them, either by face or name, having spent the last few years off the skies and working in the city.

Those on the crew that did know him knew better than to talk about old days among passengers. Too many ears around, and too many loose lips that blab about things they shouldn't be hearing in the first place. A few more days, if that, and he'd be in the city.

[Elfstone]

Shilta Meshna

Shilta sighs at the disturbance. She had been listening to this boring crewmembers argue all this time. First about the food then gambling and now dropping the bard from the ship? What utter bores. She would be glad when she was free of this tiny ship and allowed to wander or even better to get in a good fight. She ached to practice her abilities but fighting with fire on a ship was not a good idea. Although if the others continued to test her like this she might just teach them a lesson. She decided to get up and walk to the prow of the boat where she could see farther and hopefully escape the chaos.

[sum1won]

Jon scarcely looked up from the collapsible bench he was working at as the argument started. It wasn't his ship, and hardly his concern. Sure, it was hardly a sign of discipline, but discipline wasn't a problem. Besides, the bard had been throwing off his concentration, anyways, so it was about time someone confronted him.

Of course, when the bard was tossed overboard and everyone started shouting, that became a problem. His hand slipped, and there was a muffled thump from his bench. As the smoke rose from the object he'd been working on he looked up and glared at the scene, jamming his hat on over his head.

Bah! What'd you have to go and all start shouting for? Look what you've done!


To the astute observer, its fairly obvious what his priorities currently are. Work at his bench with as little disturbance as possible until he could get off this lousy ship and its crew of cowardly incompetents.

[Slowpool]

The massive and smelly crewmember who had tossed the Bard over the edge of the boat cringed as the lovely priestess addressed him. She could not tell if it was fear or simple shock.

"We'w," he said in an abashed voice, "no'fink sez I can't, do it? Little rat were bleedin' me ears! I don' like me ears ta' be bleeded!" Mephala caught the man giving her a once-over look and grinning in a most unpleasant way shortly after he finished his defense.

[Feather Sigil]

It was hard to tell which was worse: the incident or that nobody but her seemed to care. Even the crewman before her seemed to regard his actions in an almost childlike manner, like the bard may as well have been a bothersome fly; he seemed surprised--confused? Frightened?--at her reaction. There was no malicious intent in his voice at all; he seemed more driven about ogling her. Again.

'What?'

What am I supposed to do with that?

'The only thing that "says" you can't do it is his own life! He didn't deserve to be thrown off this ship just because you couldn't handl-'

It didn't make sense that with only a day left on their journey the captain would suddenly feel murderous but then there had always been a simmering tension on the ship since they left. Chances were things were simply reaching their breaking point--the darkest moment before the dawn--the way things became a combination of tense and explosive so quickly. Nothing she would have to say to the crewman would do anything to truly resolve the situation anyway--better to keep the peace, lest more people get tossed overboard just for "bleedin' ears".

That didn't mean she wouldn't ask the captain whether or not he ordered for the bard to be thrown off but that could be done later, in private.

'...On second thought, forget it. The argument would be pointless anyway. But whether you hide or not, I assure you: your deeds will catch up with you eventually.'

With that, she walked away. Until today, nothing on the ship, not even Emil, had bothered her enough to elicit a reaction but that was because she had almost completely retreated into herself, letting the days pass by, ignoring just about everything. It was what allowed her to best deal with the myriad nuisances on the ship.

Mephala glanced at the craftsman in the corner, tempted to approach him and try to help undo the damage done to his work, but the wrathful look in his eyes was enough of a hint. As she made her way towards the middle of the deck she realized it wasn't physical speed so much as a lack of attentiveness that had been her failing. Of course she hadn't expected that a passenger would just be thrown off for such a petty reason but she certainly hadn't been paying attention to anything happening on the deck--she was just trying to ignore it all for the sixth day in a row. She looked all over the deck now; some of the faces seemed almost unrecognizable. Had she spoken a word to any of these people?

At least one was familiar. Danat. Mephala vividly remembered the rice riots in Naraf Al Iban. Sometimes she had felt like she was in several places at once: she tried her best to help the ruling magiocracy maintain order, keep its more militant troops from simply slaughtering the rioters, stop those same rioters from hurting innocents and heal just about every person (on either side) she could see--all at the same time. Because that was her lot in life--if she didn't maintain that vigil, people were tossed off of ships, or stabbed, or magically transformed into chickens and then eaten for supper, right under her nose.

She suddenly felt exhausted.

'Danat. You wanted to wager, yes? Perhaps we could all use a little fun.' She sat next to the halfling, trying to restore her composure. 'What brings you to Kasoden, anyway?'

[bannable]

"Who me? Not me," the halfling replied with a look of feigned shock, "Fjolnir here did."

The bird on the halfling's shoulder gave a short hop and fluttered its wings before cawing out "Phaw, a bet. Yes."

"He thinks this boat will run into some trouble before we make land, and wants to wager a gold piece on it. Of course, being the cheap bastard--Phaw!-- that he is, wants me to provide his gold. What do you say?"

[sum1won]

Jon futzed around with his tools for several more minutes before giving up and packing them away. The damage to the bench wasn't anything more extensive than a few scorch marks, but it's fairly obvious to him that he won't be finished with the gun as quickly as he'd like, especially to get the sort of quality he preferred.

With that, he wandered over to the side of the ship to see if he could still see the skywhale from where he was, perhaps using one of the larger weapon scopes. As it happened, his wanderings took him directly between the large fellow's eyes and Mephala's assets. Completely unintentionally, too.

Spoiler

Show

(1d20+9)[29] Completely unnecessary spot check.

[Slowpool]

"I din' do no'fing wrong!" The enormous crewmember skulked of (or rather, lumbered) to a small group of three mates working to swab the deck. He looked back towards the priestess and made a face like both a scowl and a pout. The four began to mutter with grunts and rude gestures, and the other three glared back at Mephala in ways just as unpleasant as the large one's had been.
-----

Skye the shapeshifer had perched himself alongside his enormous eagle companion on the prow of the Boot. Searching out across the northern sky, he noticed many things- a small pod of skywhales wandering in the general direction taken by the Bard's terrified ride, an arrowhawk shooting down to the ocean's surface no more than two hundred feet away, and an increasingly large number of seagulls spanned across the northeast. It made sense, since the closest land lay in that direction, and that was his destination. Suddenly, and not for the first time in his life, Skye felt very small in a very big world.
------

Shilta wandered to the ship's prow, not too far away from an earthy smelling and wild looking man perched there next to that enormous eagle; she had heard some of the crew idly discuss eating it, at one point or another. Far off to the west, she managed to spot a pair of larger ships travelling closely together; the Boot was too far away for her to be sure what kind of ships they were, but she could tell they were heading east as well.
------

The gunner Jon lifted the weapon scope with a flourish and gazed out after the poor Bard and his surrogate Ride of Fear. Even with the aid of his fancy device, he could only see a speck in the vague shape of a whale, flying in a panicked zigzag. Who knew they could move so damn fast?

[sum1won]

Jon peered at the skywhale for some time, marking its rapid progress away from the ship. As it faded from sight, he started to sketch in a sheaf of paper, thinking:

The beast is fast. I wonder if it could be harnessed for some sort of speedier personal transport, though something with more directional control... or even many of them for a larger ship...

[Feather Sigil]

Mephala smirked as she looked around the ship. Things had settled down but it was hard to miss the glares from some of the crew. She didn't mind, though; there would always be glares, until people started dying, at which point the praise couldn't come any faster. 'I'd say he's already won but I'll hope for the best. You're on, Fjolnir. Nothing else will happen, whether within...'

Off in the distance, she saw what looked like several sails and rotor blades.

'...or without.' She didn't really believe her words; now that the pot had been stirred, as the phrase went, anybody with any pent-up emotions suddenly had a rather large potential outlet.

All around she heard the cries of birds, loud and faint, echoing throughout the vast sky. Glancing at the massive eagle that had accompanied that odd passenger, she sighed as pangs of envy shot through her like arrows. Even being on an airship wasn't really flying, it was being carried. What was it really like to fly, to just take off and move freely through the air, without relying on machines?

'How fares Naraf Al Iban, Danat? Has the recovery from the food shortage progressed smoothly?'

[bannable]

"Well, it fares well enough now that there aren't any fools left who think they can oppose the Magisters there." The halfling smiled. "Well enough that they don't need me, for now at least. Always a good thing, if you ask me."

[Karsh]

Skye

After observing the others for some time, it becomes apparent that nobody will attempt to exact justice for the bard who had been unceremoniously chucked overboard. Slightly surprised and amused to observe such behavior among "civilized" folk (save of course for the woman who had objected), Skye hops down from the prow of the boat and roughly makes his way to the corpulent fellow who pitched the bard overboard.

Jabbing him roughly in the shoulder with a thick, calloused finger, Skye glares at the crewman. "Is the policy for chucking others overboard that they offend the senses? If so, my disgusting, overweight friend, I would be hoping very hard that there's another pod of skywhales below the ship at this moment if I were you. The fishermen within a hundred leagues hope so as well, for when that never-before-smelled stench of yours combines with the water, I have every confidence it will kill every fish in a hundred leagues.

It's a miracle that your rancid stench has not yet leveled the other crew and passengers, now that I think about it."

[Feather Sigil]

Mephala opened her mouth to speak but paused at Danat's words. As she had learned from fighting along side him, he and many others in Naraf Al Iban's military upheld the rule of law to its absolute limits, sometimes placing it above the lives of others. It was part of the reason why the recent uprising had been such a bloodbath; both sides were completely ruthless. She had left after the conflict ended and all casualties had been taken care of so she did not know what happened to the survivors of the short-lived rebellion. The possibility of Danat's people executing the lot of them appeared almost immediately.

"...Don't tell me you killed-"

An unfamiliar voice, that of the odd-looking passenger, rose above the common chatter. The rotund crewman had a new challenger.

"Excuse me, Danat."

The bishop quickly rose and walked across the deck again, ready for the fat man to attempt to toss yet another passenger overboard. One way or another that wouldn't happen again if she had anything to say about it. Except that the odd passenger intended to throw the crewman overboard himself. But would she help him, or stop him?

"Throw him over the edge and you're hardly better than him. Repulsive as he is he still has a life and taking it won't bring Emil back."

She turned to face the crewman. "But maybe we should get rid of him. Your hideousness, your odor, your endless leering, your lack of concern for life--Da big lug were bleedin' me eyes, me nose, me 'art! I don' like me things ta be bleeded!--by your logic you should be right out there with him. You wouldn't like it, would you?"

[Chambers]

Corven

What? Another one wants to argue? Corven grimaces and checks the location of the other crew. If they keep on this fellow, they'll find themselves outmatched and trying to fly without wings.

"Hey, settle down." He says, his voice low. "What's done is done. You can't help the minstrel...but you can help yourselves." His eyes dart back at the crew and then back at the bishop and wild one. "I don't know how Jimmy runs his ship, but you can bet that if you cross blades with one of his men, the rest will be on you before you can think about the horrible mistake you've made."

[Feather Sigil]

(OOC: For my previous post I had rolled a 7 for Bluff. I wasn't sure whether or not to put it in a IC roll, hence why it's in the OOC thread. Also, minor dialogue edit.)

Even as her taunt left her lips Mephala could feel the sheer insincerity, the lack of conviction, behind it. She probably sounded quite silly. She never was much of a trickster or a liar; neither her past life nor her current one took place in an environment that promoted or taught deception. Nonetheless, hopefully he would be able to better understand, or perhaps simply begin to understand, his wrongdoings simply by hearing his own words turned back on him.

Once again--why couldn't she recall anyone's name but the bard's?--chimed in. She briefly looked at him, wondering what he would do if the worst came to pass.

"I know that and as long as I'm still here I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn't happen to anyone else." Mephala turned to the crewman. "Including you. My poor theatrics aside, if anyone attacks you for this, believe me, I'll help you--and if you attack anyone else, believe that I'll stop you. If you truly can't see the wrong in what you've done, then I feel sorry for you..." Then back to the odd one. "...and we have nothing more to say to him. Don't let anger bring you down to that point, friend; it isn't worth it. Let it go."

[sum1won]

Jon approaches them quietly, keeping an eye on the grumbling crewmembers.

You know, probably wouldn't hurt to watch each others backs for the rest of the journey. Crew's pissed, and they obviously don't care much for passenger safety to start with. Besides, this lot has a lousy reputation to start with. Likely why passage was so cheap.

[Slowpool]

Mephala's application of logic on the rotund crewman ricochets from his face like light off a mirror. His face remained as confused as ever.

"But... but..."

It became clear that the concept of conscience was absolutely foreign to the man, and judging by the looks of confusion on his mates' faces, that deficiency was widespread.

OOC: Internet troubles. Mah bad.