Once upon a time in Nexus

[Hypersmith]

Milwe's eyebrows shoot up. "No climbing? You're missing out! Here, let me show you." He scoops Flower up before she can protest, and with a running start, dashes up the mast, stopping at the top and setting her down. He's grinning like a madman.
"Ain't this great?!"

Spoiler: ooc

Show

1 personal mote spent on wall climbing technique.

[fibericon]

Spoiler: Combat

Show

Once the enemy ship has started moving, Nazir looks over at Bilebeard and nods, before looking back at the ship. He draws and fires the bow with incredible speed, so much so that observers only notice that he's fired once the arrow is already in flight, tearing through the other ship's sails and setting them alight.

Nazir nods, satisfied with his shot, before looking back at Bilebeard. "Will that do?"

---

Bilebeard surveys the burning sail. "Aye, that'll do." Looking up at the two monkeying around the top of the rigging, he grabs a spyglass and tosses it up there. He yells up there so they can hear, "If the two of ye're gonna lounge about up there, make yerselves useful 'n' keep an' eye out!"

---

The dragon blood stomps the hull, and wind spirits coalesce around his ship, making the waters choppy. His crew pours out from below deck, and provides covering fire with longbows. The arrows go over the heads of the crew, making them duck reflexively, before you all realize that was the point - they're buying their commander time.

---

Ophelia had always found prayer to be a source of familiarity and comfort. Often she felt unseen gods and spirits were her company and comfort, especially when she and her parents butted heads and after they were gone. Tending the ancient shrine they made their home near proved a soothing break from the workshop, and making weapons to offer there gave her purpose and drive to perfect her craft.

Today was putting her in an especially prayerful mood.

"Captain! They're summoning wind spirits! If they repair the sail, even the Cursed Wind won't outrun them! I'm going to try something!"
Recalling the stories of another god, one to whom she prayed to relieve her parents' nightmares of war and the pains of hungry summers, Ophelia walks to the side of the ship and spreads her arms wide, sleeves catching the wind, and performs a series of semaphore-like kata - though any actual semaphore meaning is coincidental. She calls her prayer strongly into the wind, that it might be carried off into the heavens.

"He Who Flies on Ocher Wings and Plucks the Cactus's Thorns, we cry to you for succor! If these ships clash, many will die in vain, for no crime greater than following a foolhardy leader! Spare us this suffering and open the way to life!"
She speaks the final part quietly, from the heart instead of from the diaphragm, while drawing her last dagger from its sheath.
"In Your name I pluck the first thorn."
She points it toward herself - a symbolic rather than threatening gesture - and then tosses it overboard for the wind to catch.

The formal part of the prayer over, she turns and dashes across the deck, grabbing at arrows that stuck in the wood until she reaches the opposite rail, and tosses those over as well - the "plucking of thorns" to disarm the metaphorical cactus and access its life-giving flesh and water. Though He Who Flies comes from the desert, her parents taught her that He has just as much place on the arid plains where she grew up - and, it would follow, on the sea where drinking water is scarce.

---

The results of Ophelia's prayer are subtle... to everyone other than Bilebeard and the dragon blood captain, who both know exactly what just took place. The tides had spontaneously turned against the other captain, who would now have significant navigation issues to avoid scraping his ship on the debris and rocks at the bottom of the canal.

---

Seeing the other ship losing distance, already out of range of his men, Nazir steps forwards, leaving his officer to handle the men as he moves to the rear of the ship, perched on the edge with his bow in hand. The other ship was far, but his bow could handle the distance and he could handle the difficulty of the shot.

When he focuses, the world outside still slows down to him, and he uses that as he watches the enemy ship, picking out the captain and getting used to the movement of the ships. When he's ready, he fires a barrage of arrows in rapid succession aimed straight at the captain - three to put him off guard, followed by a final carefully aimed arrow intended for the dragon's skull. Around him, his anima starts flaring anew, reinforcing the message being sent - the captain is outmatched.

---

The spirits surrounding the captain attempt to knock the arrows off course, and for the most part, they succeed. The final arrow cuts through his defenses and strikes, leaving him wounded in front of his crew.
He shrugs it off for now, grimacing at the arrow in his shoulder briefly before turning to his troops. He rallies them to douse the flames, all the while losing precious time as Bilebeard's ship gets further away.

But the dragon blooded vessel never makes it out of the canal - at least not in time to catch up to the rest of you. Once out of sight of the docks, you hear a voice from atop the captain's cabin.

"Jesters of the sun king. Plaything of the fickle moon."

A woman in a grey fur cloak is perched atop a ledge, looking down at the party. Strapped to her back is a bow and quiver. What you can see of the rest of her clothing appears to consist of simple leathers, but Ophelia can see the truth - every part of this woman's attire and equipment costs more than the average person makes in a year. The cost of the cloak alone could have fed a small town through the winter.

Orange hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, but even this isn't as it seems at first glance. Her appearance is immaculate. Nary a grain of dust even on the bottom of her boots. Not a blemish, not a scar or birthmark dots her flawless skin. Her very presence commands the attention of everyone onboard. The mortals among you have been stunned completely to silence. The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East feels a brief pang of jealousy at being outdone.

"You have defeated an enemy of mine, but it yet lives. I must ask your intentions."

[fibericon]

Spoiler: Bilebeard the second

Show

As you drift to sleep, something comes to you in the night. Something pointy and rude, jabbing you in the ribs. A small voice to your left does its very best to be gruff.

"En Garde, foul creature! I, Bilebeard the Second, challenge you to single combat!"

Ophelia sleepily waves an arm in the vicinity of the disturbance, reflexivly grabbing at it while her brain is busy pulling itself out of the mire of overload-induced sleep.

Your hand hits upon a mess of hair, and there's a yelp just before the owner jumps away.

"Just as I expected from such a horrific foe - terrifying reflexes, even whilst pretending to sleep. Your trickery will not work on me!"

"Nnnh...? Milwe said demons would cometh..."
Ophelia rolls onto her back, curiosity mingled with alarm the growing force that would wake her up.

Now in sight is a small child, in similar (though notably better taken care of) clothing to Bilebeard's. She grins confidently, placing her hands on her hips - one of which is holding a wooden sword.

"Demons? Oh ho ho! Your backup won't save you!"

Ophelia pushes herself to sitting, one hand propping her up while the other rubs her face. Her nausea has subsided to a bearable baseline, and interest in the immediate situation pulls her mind away from more difficult thoughts.

"Art thou mechanical or biological...?"

Her expression changes to confusion, and she scratches her head with the point of her sword.

"Huh? Speak Low Realm!"

"Apologies. Thy body, is it flesh an' blood or wood an' metal?"

"Um... flesh and blood. You're weird. And you're not fighting me, so... I'm Bilebeard the Second! The true captain of this ship! You must be a stowaway!"

"Ophelia Knight, master smith. 'Tis a pleasure. Th' bigger Bilebeard invited us aboard. Thou ain't th' same person, art thou? Doth Captain Bilebeard shrink under th' moon's light, thus accessin' like a ghost the tiniest o' holes in every lair he's plundered...?"

"Um... I think you mean my dad. I hid below when everything started happening. Uh, only because there would be no one to sail the ship if I went down, of course!"

"I see. Mine condolences then."
Ophelia lays back down on her side, using one arm as a pillow. With the potential danger allayed, she slips back toward slumber.

"Hey!" She jabs with the wooden sword again. "You need to earn your keep if you want passage on my ship!"

"Nnng..."
Ophelia rolls away from the jab to her other side, then sits herself back up.

"Thou wouldst have me... play with thee? Ain't it past thy bedtime?"

"Well... no one told me anything, so... okay!"

"Very well. Ah reckon Ah can manage a yawn game or two..."

She dusts herself off and rolls into a polite kneeling position.

"What wouldst the dread little captain bid of her captive Anathema?"

The child offers a highly exaggerated gasp.

"Anathema?! It's worse than I thought!" She gestures wildly with her sword. "All men on deck! Man the... heist... sail... rafters! Fire!"

She has quite a ways to go before she can take over for her father.

Ophelia makes a show of being blown back, falling in slow-motion from invisible cannonfire. As she goes down, something lights up inside her: the innocence radiating from this child, the sense of purity in playing with her. This is something worth protecting; something worth reshaping the world for.

As she comes to a rest on the floor yet again, that inner light overflows into the outside world. A rose-gold casket of light forms around her, then is transfixed by four swords. As she rises again, a rose engraved on the lid begins to blossom. She stands on her hands and knees, and the whole ensemble shatters into a perpetual shower of shining petals around her.

"Thinkst thou thy arrows and cannons shalt vanquish Anathema? Come, Bilebeard the Second, come and show thy valor!"

She raises a clawed hand - really a catlike gesture more than a threatening one - and waits for the girl's reaction. She's not entirely aware of herself, her sleepy mind drawing from half-remembered stories and games she and her father once shared.

Her eyes go wide at the display of essence, and she forgets what she's doing momentarily. All she can do is stare entranced, but it's a far cry from the reactions you received in Nexus. Perhaps the lack of carnage had something to do with that. Or perhaps... your anima, on its own, simply doesn't provoke the same reaction. She takes a step toward your light, but then, your continued performance snaps her out of it. She giggles and lunges forward, stabbing repeatedly in your general direction.

"Ah! My foe yet lives! Hyah! Take that! Hehe!"

Ophelia bats at the sword as it comes near her, making an effort to alter her giggles into evil laughter. When an opening presents itself, she lunges forward between sword blows...

...And boops the girl gently on the nose, mindful to show teeth when she smiles widely at the cuteness to maintain the veneer of menace.

She leaves herself open while transfixed by the moment and the girl's adorable face; when the sword inevitably comes back, she takes the blow and falls aside with a dying gurgle.

"Doth thou... see now, Bilebeard? Through valor an' wits... an' a kind heart... thou hast undone... what no armies..."

She reaches out for a final boop.

"...couldst..."

She falls still, even holding her breath for a dramatic beat to allow the girl her reaction before breaking character.

She jumps up and down wildly, cheering and laughing. "Yay! This is my greatest victory ever!"

After an appropriate wait, Ophelia bursts up from the floor, both arms raised so that her sleeves flop down in her face.

"AH AM HEALED! Praise Bilebeard th' Hero!"

She then settles back down and lets herself laugh sincerely along with Bilebeard the Second for a while. That does more to soothe her own spirits than any amount of sleep could have.

Bilebeard the Second stretches and yawns. "Ignore that... I have plenty of..." Another yawn punctuates her sentence, "...Time before bed."

Ophelia reaches over to ruffle Littlebeard's hair, calling her bluff.

"Y'know, little girls have'ta get lotsa rest t' groweth big an' strong. Show me where thou wouldst sleep an' Ah'll tuck ye in, okay?"

"I'm already big and strong... but I guess I can be bigger and stronger..."

She starts wandering off toward her own room - a very small area closed off from the rest of the sleeping quarters.

Ophelia follows her, and tucks her in snugly as promised. The warm feeling in her chest reminds her of her mother, with a sort of bittersweet tug that she's only half aware of.

"Thou art a very special person, Littlebeard. Ah'm mighty glad t' have met thee. Mine thanks."

No response. She's out like a light.

Ophelia softly hums a little lullaby anyway. Before she knows it, she's passed out sideways on whatever surface saw fit to catch her.

Spoiler: The glory of the sun

Show

When sleep takes you again, you find yourself in featureless surroundings. A man stands before you - largely human, save for his four arms. They bear a lance, a shield, a laurel branch, and a horn. The blazing iconic anima is unmistakable. This is the sun - The Unconquered Sun. Your patron. The greatest of gods. And he has seen fit to bestow you, personally, with a piece of his own power. But you know, as he looks upon you with the warmth of his glow, that he sees the weakening of himself a small price to pay for empowering you.

Ophelia quickly glances around and dusts herself off - a nervous habit related to her profession and being unaccustomed to presenting herself around other people, let alone important ones - then drops into a bow with her forehead on the indistinct ground.

"T-T-T-Thy Radiance!"

"No no, there's no need for that. Please rise. We have much to discuss. It is good to see you finally ascend to your true beginning, Ophelia. You aren't the first of my chosen to return, nor will you be the last. In fact, some have already lost their way. And it just breaks my heart to look at all the pain they've caused. People condemned as creatures of darkness, crusades in my name, as if I've ever advocated genocide. But you can't help them all. You have your own circle to protect."

Ophelia, bewildered, does as told and rises. She unconsciously finds something she can understand and latches on to it.
"Th-thy shield an' lance... Mayst I study th' craftsmanship?"

"Of course. They were made by mortal crafters, after all. I've taken these symbols as aspects of my being. But you may yet bring more than war."

Ophelia absently nods. Something about the experience prompts her to open her heart while her mind is busy reeling.

"The First Age was a golden age, full o' wonders an' beauty both technological and o' th' human heart. But peace an' luxury gave way t' vanity an' greed; th' world we haveth now art the price of our failin's. Can we have learned from our mistakes an' recover the utopia we lost, but better for our trials...?"

"That is up to you and yours, and the others may well need your help to get there. Nezir is a proud warrior, but legendary is the rage of a dawn caste. Point his blade in the right direction. Milwe will carry a burden none can help with. Sometimes, understanding is all we can offer. Bilebeard… well. He means well, and he's more than he seems. And finally, the lunar you're travelling with: lunars were always meant to stand by the side of solars, but do not ever mistake her for being under your thumb. Luna is nothing if not clever, and I fear The Wilting Flower of the Twice-Conquered East will make a grievous mistake my own chosen once made so long ago."

"...Why me?"

"You're of the zenith caste, Ophelia. A priest. Among those closest to me, and those expected to carry my own will to creation. Yes, The First Age has come and gone, and there are those who call today 'The Age of Sorrows', but perhaps this new age can outshine the last. It will take great care on your part, but I believe in you. After all, exaltations do not simply choose people at random. Ah, but that look of concern...

You're young, Ophelia, but a lot is expected of you. You will be expected to guide your circle, but at the same time, never make them feel that you seek to control them. You aren't the youngest solar - there have been those that exalted before their teenage years. And a small child with the power to decimate an army is far more frightening than an adult with the same power. Be wary of how people perceive you for this reason.

It's much to take in, and much to overcome. Any mere mortal would have faltered long ago. But you are no such thing, are you? Look at your hands. Look at how hard you work. Look at the pain you're willing to endure to make this world hurt less. These are not the acts of a selfish girl."

Ophelia nods, numbly at first, but with growing acceptance.

"...Ah can do it. Ah can remind th' others that every battle is for th' sake of buildin' a world where Bilebeard the Second, and th' Third an' Fourth, an' people like her (and me) can grow up happily. And when the swords are lowered an' the fires die down, mine hammer shalt be th' first at work t' raise up th' foundations o' that world."

...Her confidence and resolve are somewhat out of character; she'd likely be a lot more hesitant if this weren't a dream and the Unconquered Sun weren't standing right in front of her.

He smiles again, having seen what he was looking for.

"Come see me during calibration, at the Circle of Meetings. I suspect, you will have much to teach me."

"Eh...? A-Ah'm not sure what thou meanst, but if'n ye have tools Ah can try t' calibrate thee right now...?"

"You'll know." And just like that, he's gone.

Ophelia is left with her confused thoughts, which quickly spiral back into dreams of the less lucid variety. Clockwork pirates march on a tiny fortress, which she cackles over menacingly while bearing the Unconquered Sun's lance and shield. When the pirates overrun the fort, the arms melt into golden puddles and she bends over to work with a toothpick-sized hammer and pliers.
When she's done, the pirates are dressed in soldier's regalia and patrol the fortress rather than assail it, and everything is glided. Others have come to watch her work, but when her mother and father appear with a pony and a Warstrider - both also gilded - she runs away from the growing crowd to greet those them.

It gets weird and fuzzy when the sun reaches down tendrils of fire and tickles her until she can't breathe, then flares her Anima and suddenly has the power to braid the tendrils together with moonbeams which harden into beautiful blades for the mole-men to eat.

[Hypersmith]

Spoiler: Midnight

Show

You're woken up by a sudden noise. A deep voice very near your face. "Welcome back." A cat sits on your chest - black as the night sky. Even its eyes are completely pitch black.

Milwe lays still, desperately wanting to close his eyes, but knowing it won't make a difference. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight rise and fall with his breath. He breathes a quick question. "It's time, huh?"

"Not yet. This is just a friendly visit. Did you enjoy the gifts I gave you? You may have not yet realized it, but you can do things your brethren cannot. That was my gift to you. But as the petty goddess told your sister: nothing for free. Though such sacrifices are beneath me. To wound an ally is to make them less useful, or worse, shorten their lifespan. No, that won't do at all. I do want to see you succeed in all facets of life, after all."

"There's going to be a price to pay sometime. Things like this don't just happen. I've become, within a day, enough a thief to do what it would take me and twenty -no- forty men to do before. So when it's time to pay the debt, you'll be there. I hate the Order, but I see no lie."

"Oh, is that what you think this is? Curious. The propaganda machine is well oiled, but... oh, but that gives me wonderful ideas. Let me explain: I can't exist in the daylight. This complicates matters for me. There are certain things I need done that, as a result, I'm simply incapable of doing. Ah, but you have your own worries at the moment. Burdening you with mine simply won't do. Without your focus, how can I expect your success? I will wait for you to… settle. Don't make me wait too long, solar. Just know that your aid will be required."

A nervous smile snakes across Milwe's lips. "What, and the fact one of the Wretched is approached by a being that can't exist in light is meant to be reassuring? Ah well. Waiting more won't help my focus, it'll drive me insane. What do you want me to do?"

"You misunderstand. The solars are glorious. I cannot exist in the sun, because I am its shadow. But I digress. What do you know of the calendar spirits?"

"I didn't even know the calendar had spirits."

"Oh yes. I suggest speaking to your priestess. She would give a more... objective viewpoint. I seek to bring them under heel. Where they belong."

"I'll ask her I guess. And how am I supposed to help you do that?"

"Certain satraps favor them. Care to steal a province?"

Milwe shifts a little. The thief in him thought nothing was more exciting. The part that wanted to see justice meted out was still uncomfortable. "If I stay in charge of it once you're done, it might be tempting."

"I wouldn't dream of being in charge of it. That sounds like the sort of thing the lawgivers, like you all, would do. Well, the seed has been planted. Until we meet again." With that, the cat dematerializes into a wisp of smoke before vanishing completely.

Milwe grits his teeth to resist the urge to shout in frustration. It would have been easier if it was just possession and a loss of his will. He continues to bite down, hard enough that a tooth cracks - he reflexively opens wide at the pain and hisses, then sits up and cradles his jaw for a minute, thinking.

"The lawgivers. Glorious solars. Propaganda. Gifts, and free will. All so nice if true."

He lays back down, but the worries overwhelm him now, so he lays in the darkness, unable to sleep, watching till the first rays of light announce the return of the day. For a moment, he wonders if it would burn him away to smoke, then nothingness. Eventually, he makes his way to the deck. It was time to clear his mind.

With the chain and sai down on the ground in front of him, he stands with his feet wide apart. Slowly, agonizingly so, he begins the first motion of the Kata, sliding one leg back to center mass, bending the other knee, twisting the hips, lowering the opposite hand to strike, raising the other to maintain balance. Partway through his exercise, the sun has risen, and he smiles despite the sweat at the effort of maintaining his pace.

[Elfbird]

Ophelia wakes up on the floor again - either the ship rolled her off or Littlebeard kicked her off.
Her body is stiff and vaguely nauseous, but her heart and mind feel exceptionally refreshed. Not unlike the anticipation she feels before setting out for Nexus every year: a grand adventure is on the horizon, this one unlike any she's undertaken before, and yet all those adventures in her youth were like preparation for this one and all that might follow.

Of all the stories her father passed down to her, which she in turn will pass onto the next generation, some of them will feature her now.

Her spirit thus inspired, she eases her body into motion and finds her way up to the deck, grabbing a mop along the way. She greets Milwe with a smile and bow, stands a respectful distance away, and begins her own warm-up with the mop standing in for a spear. Her style is much simpler and less intense than Milwe's kata; it resembles military spear drills more than anything, but with non-martial dance movements thrown in. The effect is graceful, certainly, but somehow a little childish, lacking the refinement of either a true soldier or dancer.

With her back to the rising sun - to avoid blinding herself - her elongated shadow flies across the deck in exaggerated motions that make it appear to spar with the shins of Milwe's equally long shadow on the other side of the deck. It's reminiscent of Blackbeard the Second coming up so short against Ophelia last night.

[Hypersmith]

Milwe keeps his concentration on perfecting the movements of the Kata. Though he notes Ophelia's presence, keeping his balance at such a slow pace consumes too much of his concentration to do much else. Despite his best efforts at stalling, the exercise comes to end, and he walks back and forth a little on the deck to limber his legs with quicker movements. He watches Ophelia's form out of the corner of his eye as he does. There were better ways it could be done. A proper weapon would do wonders to correct the overcompensating step there, and there were a few movements that looked pretty, but wouldn't serve much purpose in working the correct muscles. The kind of thing a supernatural being could afford to do.

His attention locks onto her shadow for a few moments, it's movements impossibly fast and light, flickering across the deck and back, a caricature of her form. He smiles at the greatly elongated mop's form, picking up his own weapons. A prettier exercise could be a good opportunity to study them more. He gives his chain a few experimental swings, then tucks it away, picking up the sai instead. He moves to put his back to the sun and stand closer to Ophelia, careful not to intrude on her space, but closing the gap between them significantly nonetheless.

He spins the weapon on his palm, then allows it's momentum to translate to his index finger. It loops around it despite his touching only the blade, as though defying gravity. He gyrates his hand to keep the weapon going, even transferring it to spin on different fingers, even his wrist at points - he begins stretching his arm out to begin a basic Kata, this time at an accelerated pace. He speaks to Ophelia with ease, and a tad of merriment to his tone.

"Good morning! We're all still possessing our senses, the sun is rising, and I have wonderful new acquaintances to spend time with. Now that it's a little calmer, how about we take a moment for proper introductions over some breakfast?"

[fibericon]

When Ophelia explains the location of her home to Bilebeard, it becomes obvious that she'd have had a lot easier time getting to Nexus by ship. West along the Yanaze River, north along the River of Tears, and finally East to the end of Avarice River would bring them within a few hours walk - at the cost of about two thousand miles of sailing. If the more direct route - about a thousand miles across land - sounds faster at first blush, you don't know Bilebeard's ship. Not to mention the fact that Ophelia can probably curry some favor with certain spirits to get the ship going even faster.

The major downside to this plan is obvious - once you're at the end of Avarice River, there's only one way out. If the wyld hunt decided to put up a blockade, you might find yourselves in trouble. Of course, Bilebeard is feeling plenty confident about the ship under him - even moreso than usual. Whether everyone else feels that way remains to be seen. Either way, the party has a non-trivial amount of travel ahead of them, and the perils of the wyld hunt to battle.

What will it be, celestials?

[Volthawk]

In the morning, Nazir eats as he works, studying the maps Bilebeard had of the area and thinking. When the others start arriving to eat, he calls them over to join the planning. His first question, though, is for Bilebeard.

"Bilebeard, you've had encounters with the Realm's naval forces, right? If we were to sail there and they did attempt a blockade, do you have any thoughts on where they'd be, roughly speaking?"

[fibericon]

It takes several days to make your way up to the end of the Avarice River. Moving toward the limits of Hawkrider Range on foot is a lot slower, especially when you get to the mountainous region. Granted, the mountains in this area aren't much, especially not for the likes of you. Ophelia leads the group through a final mountain pass, and her childhood home comes into view.

Only this time, it's different. There's a pulling at her chest that she never felt before. She's almost forcibly drawn home. Something has changed, but it's not here. It's her.

[fibericon]

It seems that the wyld hunt didn't know to head them off at the pass, because Flower and Ophelia make it to their destination without issue. The front line is quiet. How much time would the three be given to prepare? Hours? Minutes? Would it matter? If the wyld hunt is marching an army, they're well and truly far behind.

An arrow sails out of nowhere at Nazir's head, and his blade comes up to bat it away before he even realizes it's there. Five dragonbloods have approached from your right - two of which you've seen before. The man in the tavern and the ship captain.

The large man with short red hair that you met in the tavern stands at the forefront, wielding a jade smashfist, and clad in a reinforced buff jacket. Directly to his left is a darker skinned man with a shaved head. He's short and stocky, clothed in a reinforced buff jacket, and carrying a dire lance. Slightly behind them and to the left is the ship captain, wearing lamellar and carrying a wavecleaver daiklaive. Behind them are two women - perhaps one was the sister mentioned? One has disheveled brown hair, barely reaching her shoulders, and an olive skin tone, that almost seems to have a green hue to it. The arrow may have come from her - she carries a long powerbow, and wears a reinforced breastplate. The woman on her right is lithe and pale, her long, bluish blond hair animated by a slight breeze only she can feel. She carries a simple longbow, but also a reaper daiklaive, and wears lamellar.

Nazir identifies the olive-skinned woman as Violet Forest. She's a Lookshy native with a large family (though that goes without saying). More importantly, she commands a full talon of strictly disciplined soldiers.

The battle rages on for an extended period. Bounteous Ox and Violet Forest focus their attacks on Nazir to keep him away from Diamond Knife Maiden. Violet Forest's anima springs to life - a massive, blooming hellebore. But Nazir's skill proves too much for either of them to land a blow.

They didn't need to.

Diamond Knife Maiden makes the Sign of the Hooded Headsman. Her essence congeals into a barbed chain, and in the blink of an eye, shoots toward Bilebeard. His severed head hits the ground, and the reality of the wyld hunt becomes much more apparent. No peace talks. No white flags. No mercy.

But the solars eventually wear down the dragon bloods, and summarily execute them. Poisoned, injured, and exhausted, they now have to inform Bilebeard's daughter of his demise.

[Volthawk]

Nazir leaves the site of the battle without doing much to it, preferring to get the others and just take a moment to recover before having to deal with it all - they'd probably know what to do with the bodies better.

The scene that meets him - someone in some kind of magitech armour, armed with a golden spear, and Flower - was not quite what he expected, and his dulled wits means he takes a little longer than usual to respond, deciding to be more cautious after what he just went through. His eyes focus on Flower, the fatigue and injury not quite stopping him from noticing that she seems fine and alright with the other person. He doesn't, however, catch on that Ophelia is absent or make any connections along those lines quite yet."Flower...what's going on here?"

[Hypersmith]

Milwe takes a moment to wrap his chain around himself. The weight feels more like a burden than a comfort at the moment, but such is the nature of these things. He trudges along behind Nazir, mumbling to himself about fixing his clothes and taking in the girl, getting her back to the desert to meet the rest of the family, finding the time to take care of her and fight whatever was wrong with him, hope it didn't get worse with -

He almost bumps into Nazir, and sensing the tension and seeing the armor, pulls his Sai from his belt. He gives Flower an apologetic shrug and tired grin, but his heart isn't in it and it shows. It shouldn't be that bad. Hopefully. She was frail enough to go down quickly.

[Elfbird]

Spoiler: During the Battle

Show

Ophelia sprints the last few hundred meters across the plain to her home. Though it's scarcely been a fortnight since she left, so much has happened - so much weight placed on her shoulders - that it feels like a lifetime since she worked the forge.
The moment she sets foot within the mountain kami's domain, she's wrapped in a feeling of comfort - you will always have a home - but it's juxtaposed with a feeling of tension, of movement. This is her home, but it's not where she needs to be right now. Her steps and gestures are filled with that impetus even as she enjoys the dual familiarity and novelty of showing Flower - her first-ever guest - around her humble house and workshop.

After the tour of the living areas, Ophelia asks Flower's help with "somethin' mine father left me" and leads her into the catacombs inside the mountain proper.
She touches the rough-hewn walls fondly, and begins speaking in a strange mix of prayer language and casual conversation - perhaps as one might speak at a loved one's grave.

O Heart o' the Mountain, I thank thee for watching o'er mine hearth and home. Thy kindness art more comfort than I can rightly tell. So much hast transpired: I hath fallen into companionship with the legendary Nazir Taran and Captain Bilebeard, and a secret prince and princess of the old Thorns which Father spoke of, and together we Exalted - Exalted! - and now flee the Realm as anathema. Alas that I have aught to offer thee, but surely I vow to return and repay thy long faithfulness ere I own the means of which. And... here."

Ophelia stops at a blocked tunnel and, with some effort, pries loose a certain rock that causes the rest of the blockage to collapse, revealing a small chamber where stands, under a dust-covered canvas tarp, a suit of elite magitek armor.

"Lady Flower, 'tis mine great pleasure to introduce thee to Gunny, mine father's old Gunzosha Commando powered armor from the olden days and the chief laborer of these mines. By mine reckoning, we shall have great need of his strength in the coming months, and I sense mine Exaltation qualifies his operation at... rather less of a price... Then, may I beg thy aid at arming?"

. . .

Ophelia sighs contentedly inside the Gunzosha. Attuning was far more comfortable now than the time she used Gunny to rescue her father from a mining accident. The gentle weight on her limbs, the easy strength behind them, and the growing warmth of the padded inside all recall to mind her father's embrace. After another moment's relaxation, she urges the machine to life, using the walk back out of the mountain to familiarize herself with its characteristics like a new and precious tool in her hand.

The helmet and breathing apparati distort her voice, making it sound cruel and impersonal if one isn't familiar with the cheerful tone beneath her formal dialect.

After starting to pack up the workshop's more portable components, Ophelia leaves Flower to the task for a moment to check on the old shrine. Something had been nagging at her, that feeling of being called - it wasn't satisfied by merely coming home. The gilded spear that had been there since before her family arrived...

Carefully ascending the wooden stairs in the heavy Gunzosha, and opening the door as gently as possible...

Images of The Unconquored Sun's golden spear transposed themselves over the orichalcum direlance enshrined before her. The tug at her heart physically urged her across the floor, which groaned terribly but bore the weight. The lance felt as natural in her hand as the Gunzosha itself, and drew upon her essence in much the same way. This is the moment all of us have been waiting for, she felt: the shrine and the lance and Heart-of-the-Mountain and all the forces that conspired to lead Ophelia to this point in her young life.

Ophelia Knight, The Heart at the End of Sorrow, chosen priestess of the Unconquored Sun. I'm awake now.

As Ophelia leaves the shrine and glances back to see what might be taking the men so long, Gunny's enhanced vision shows her the flared Animas and bloodsoaked grass that mark the finale of their battle. Unsure of the circumstance, and her elation subdued by the reality of pain and death, she marches back to Flower's side and stands guard against any further unseen assailants.

"Lady Flower," she says quietly in that harshly reverberating voice, "there has been battle, and much bloodshed. Make ready to treat our returning champions; the entirety of the workshop is at thy disposal. The forge is set, should thy arts have need of fire or steel."

She reacts warily to Milwe's halfheartedly hostile approach. To be under compulsion, or some manner of bargain or betrayal, and Captain Bilebeard's unexplained absence... She hates to think such things might be true, but there is precedent in story, and the gravity of recent events urges her to almost uncharacteristic caution.

"Ser Taran, Lord Milwe..." she echoes, "art thou well met?"

[Vrock_Summoner]

Flower quickly puts up her hands in a show of non-aggression and stands between the armored Ophelia and the other two. ”Hey, easy, you guys! It’s just Ophelia. Her father owned this suit of armor. Put down your weapons, please.” After the brief moment of panic to go with her explanation, a wave of concern washes over her face. “Holy carps up a waterfall, you guys are a mess. Please, step inside, I can treat your wounds. Where... did Bileeard get...?”

[Hypersmith]

Milwe watches carefully. It takes him a little longer than expected to notice that it isn't just a suit of armor in front of him. The Sai would probably be less than useful at getting through the joints of that thing.

He was spent anyway. If they were hostile, he was dead. He leans against the door frame. The wariness is still there, but it's overshadowed by fatigue.

"I'll talk to his daughter later. She'll probably need some time. We need to clean up the fight and bring him back to the crew to convince them to leave."

He still grips the Sai in hand as he takes a couple steps in and lies sprawled on the floor.

"If that thing is as strong as it looks, I'm officially asking to be carried back to the ship." His attempts at humor aren't accompanied by much of a smile from him.

[Elfbird]

Ophelia waits for a long breath. When it's clear that Milwe's collapse is no ruse, she leans the lance against a shelf and gingerly lifts Milwe up onto a cleared table in full sunlight.

"Lord Milwe, I shall carry thee and Ser Taran both, but anon must Lady Flower tend thy injuries. The health of the living before honor for the departed. Captain Bilebeard, doth he lie wounded yonder? Shall I fetch him, or ferry Lady Flower thence?

[Hypersmith]

Milwe sighs at Ophelia's further questions, then looks firm at her then Flower, holding the gaze.
"He passed quickly. Beheading."

[fibericon]

Flower of the Twice Conquered East recognizes the signs of poisoning on the spot. More than that, the sickly sweet fruity smell is unmistakable. This is from a wood aspected dragon blood. Strong men have died from brushing up against a dynast at the wrong time. Of course, Thorns knows. How they managed to distill paraldehyde from a dynast's anima is... something you don't want to think about. But at least it helped you learn how to treat its toxicity.

With Nazir and Milwe bandaged, they should heal rather quickly of their own accord. Another perk of your new status.

But something else occurs to you all. Violet Forest led an army in life. Citrine Mind Sage captained a ship. Bilebeard's crew may be in trouble.

[Volthawk]

Nazir just responds to the explanations with a nod, relaxing a little as he comes inside, taking a good look at the armour as he passes Ophelia. As he gets patched up and has the opportunity to recover and think more clearly, Nazir offers a more explanatory response to the girls' questions.

"We were attacked by five dynasts. Their sorcerer killed Bilebeard, but we managed to kill them before they killed us. While Bilebeard is coming back with us, to let the crew deal with him as they will, I'm less sure what to with the dynasts. We'll need their jade, and you two can figure out what to do with their bodies. It can wait until we ensure our people are safe, though. I've heard impressive impressive things about Violet Forest's troops, and while my men are damn good, they'll be outnumbered. I can't let them handle it alone."

[Hypersmith]

Milwe sits up sharply at the talk of further battle. "The kid! What are we doing wasting time here?

He pushes himself to his feet, heading for the door with great intent, regardless of his injuries.

[Vrock_Summoner]

”Woah there, hotshot! Ease up on the racing into danger, I just stopped the ‘bleeding to death’ thing!” She rushes over and catches him, then looks at the other two with an edge of sorrow in her eyes. “Look, I can carry Milwe. We’ll pick up... what we need to, from the battlefield. I hate to ask, but, Nazir, Ophelia, can you two rush ahead and try to deal with things at the ship? I think Milwe and I would just get killed at this point...”

[Hypersmith]

"They couldn't kill me then and they got the drop on me, what makes you think they can do any better now?" Milwe pouts. Even so, he stops, looking anxiously at Ophelia and Nazir. "Big and scary, both of you. Don't get full of yourselves and forget the kid. I'll be there quick."

[fibericon]

The scene at the end of the river is tense, but may yet be salvageable. Bilebeard's ship is blocked in, and the troops on either end are in position for battle. Because they're all well trained and not random thugs, they haven't started fighting without orders to do so. Bilebeard the second is nowhere to be seen.

Violet Forest's troops stand out from Citrine Mind Sage's crew. If one of the former falls into the water, they're sinking all the way to the bottom. That said, with a sizeable compliment of archers, they might not even need to board Bilebeard's vessel to take out the crew along with Nazir's men.

[Elfbird]

Running full-tilt across the plains of her homeland, Ophelia and Nazir trace back toward the ship. With the swordsman's strength and a moment of spoken coordination, Ophelia vaults onto the deck of the Cursed Wind, landing with a thunderous impact. She takes a strong stance, first surveying the Cursed Wind's own soldiers and crew and then facing the other ship, pounding the deck with the butt of her orichalcum direlance to build atmosphere.

"Hearken to me, gathered warriors! Hear me, thou proud soldiers! Listen, and flood the sea with thy tears!

"Thou callst this the Age of Sorrows. And why? A young girl hath lost her father this day! Yon harriers and soldiers hath lost thy beloved captains to Death's embrace! You! Hast thou parents? A wife? Children of thy own? Shall they too not weep for thee?"

Moving the heart of an army is not so different from moving the heart of a god, Ophelia thinks. She lets her own heart spill forth, without disguise or restraint, in hopes that the flood of emotion will reach her audience. So caught up in the moment and act is she that she's oblivious to her anima banner flaring enormously in response to her passion.

"For what but petty hatred and ignorance doth we lay good people low? You! Art this the legacy thou wouldst give the world? To compound sorrows upon sorrows everlasting?! To leave broken hearts and broken homes in thy wake, who for want of love shall break yet more?! Nay, the Age of Sorrows shall not end - unless we end it! Here and now, each weapon cast aside--" she tosses her own lance away, rolling across deck until it hits a mast-- "--is a dozen lives saved! A daughter who shall see her husband again! A wife who shall weep for joy instead of grief! Go, then, and by thy own hands shape the world all our children and grandchildren shalt know! The future is in thine hands!"

Ophelia, finished, lets her gaze linger on the far deck for a moment longer, then turns her back and waits. Whatever happens next must be their own choice, not one made under the gaze of a demigod who could smite them for disobedience.

The golden age I want to bring about... I can lead, but not command. The First Age was lost by the hubris of gods; it can only be regained by the compassion of mortals, shared the world over. Then, how can I mend the wounds that have lead to this...?

[Volthawk]

While Ophelia steals the show with her performance, Nazir acts with relative subtlety, moving towards the ship and signalling for his men to help him on board as he tries to put the pain, renewed by his role in Ophelia's acrobatics, out of his mind.

Once aboard, he reassumes command over his men, ordering them to stay out of sight as much as possible and prepare to return fire if things kicked off. It wasn't that he thought Ophelia would fail, exactly, more that he'd lived through enough to prepare for the worst in situations like this and to not put much faith in people trying to bring peace. Some had tried that in Thorns, and many of them were the first to die.

[fibericon]

When Ophelia appears, the troops seem ready to attack, but they hesitate. That proves to be enough. Her speech moves even the most hardened combatants to tears. Some of the crew had been with Citrine Mind Sage their entire professional lives - and Violet Forest's troops could claim the same. But now their commanding officers had been slain in a fight they'd picked. Because they picked the biggest guy in the room one time too many. And for what? An old wives' tale?

The dragon bloods had always been prepared to die in battle, but had their children been prepared to lose a father? A mother? The battle scarred men and women present had sworn to live and die under Violet Forest's command, but they had never expected to outlive her.

What a terrible day for rain.

[Volthawk]

As the soldiers hesitate and stand down, Nazir rises from his cover and just looks for a few moments, somewhat in disbelief as he comes to the realisation that it actually worked. She'd done it. He turns from the other ship, heading below decks and giving his men a final order.

"Stand down. It's done, the battle's over. Return to what you were doing. Ophelia, I trust you can handle things with the other ship, now they're listening to you?"

Once he's below decks, Nazir busies himself with his next task - finding Bilebeard's child. He was not looking forward to the conversation that was coming. He'd done it before - this was nowhere near the first time time someone had died fighting by his side - but children being involved just made the whole thing harder.

[fibericon]

Below the deck, Nazir has little trouble finding the child. None of the crew had been hiding out there, after all. In a dark corner, he finds a small child in a fetal position, pointing a wooden sword up toward him. She stares wide-eyed at the solar, failing to present as a threat.

"Where's my dad?"

[Elfbird]

After Nazir's troops stand down and Citrine Mind Sage's ship shows no signs of hostility nor departure, Ophelia returns her attention to them. Removing her helmet, to let her golden hair and natural voice voth flow freely, she walks to the Cursed Wind's rail to speak with the other sailors and soldiers further.

"How glad art I that mine feelings reached thee true. If thou hast aught to hasten t'waed, wouldst thou fain speak together of thy futures...?"

[Volthawk]

Seeing the child in front of him, Nazir feels...worried about their reaction. It wasn't something he was that used to, but the situation here was different to when he usually had to talk to people about one of his men dying - perhaps it was because Bilebeard hadn't signed up to be under his command, perhaps it was the way that Exaltation changed everything, or maybe it was just the fact that he would likely be around the child for a while longer. He wasn't sure why this felt different, and it was the first time since the tavern that he'd felt unsure of himself. Strange. Nonetheless, he took a moment to think before making his attempt, trying to appear sympathetic and non-threatening.

"While we were in the field, we were attacked by the Wyld Hunt - a group of Dragon-Blooded. We fought back and defeated them, but not before your father fell in the battle. I'm sorry. The fighting is over, and he's being brought back to the ship now."