Dreadlords A String to Cut

[Desemir]

Cortos - The Isle of Kelrin

"Don't like these others none, Boss." Vis whispered quietly to his Lieutenant, eyes flickering over towards the group of Initiate's and Dreadlords perched on the other side of the small ship.

His lieutenants words were no surprise to Desemir. Vis had been the first of nine he'd plucked from the bowels of Harrowgate and half a dozen other Prisons. The two of them had worked together for two months building up the 5th, and none of them had ever played well with outsiders in that time. Most of the members of the Blight were weary around any form of authority, much less Dreadlords whom they knew would rather kill them than take them back to prison.

Not that either would happen if they behaved themselves. "Ignore them."

Desemir told the former Blackguard, clapping a hand on his shoulder and gently nudging his attention back towards the table. Upon it lay a map, if one could even call it that. The parchment held a drawing of the fortress they were to take, the Keep of Kelrin it was called. Standing as a bastion on a string of isles just off Cortos' shore, the Keep was guarded by Baron Torrin and his militia.

More Pirate than true noble, Torrin had nevertheless decided over the last few years to throw his lot in with the free-cities. Frequently he sent out ships to harass and plague Anirian Merchant ships. A thorn that had pricked once too many times. Before, the Republic had not wanted to devote the resources to take down the Fortress. It's thick walls, near impenetrable cove, and surprisingly well trained defenders posing an obstacle none had wanted to tackle.

Until Desemir had volunteered.

Though Reluctant, the Guard acknowledged that Kelrin would provide too much of a risk if it were allowed to remain. The Fortress could provide a haven to the navies of the Free-Cities in the coming war, allowing strikes on supply lines and other areas the Republic could simply not afford.

So Desemir had been given leave to attack and take the Keep, though not alone with he and his.

The Guard had insisted on support, and thus the group at the other end of the ship. "Still sure about that gate?"

Vis asked, still staring daggers at their guests.

"I'm sure." The information had come from a source he'd not trust with his dirtiest sock, but the amount of coin they had paid was enough to offer some assurance. If only because the man had already fled the Keep, and spent half his earnings in the gambling dens of Vel Odren.

 

[Risen Soleil Verdane]

Soleil Verdane breathed in the air of the sea with something like a quiet euphoria cascading down her imitation body. It was her air. Her air. And now that she was counted again among the living she could take as much of it as she pleased.

A series of events had led to this moment, but suffice to say that Soleil Verdane, bestowed of a devil's luck, had gotten not one, but two second chances. The first at life, the second at Vel Anir. And of this latter of her two second chances, it well could have been that the Vigilite might have seen fit to simply execute her again after they had tired of asking her questions, or perhaps left her to rot in that prison.

But then had come Desemir.

Now here she was, aboard the ship on approach to the Isle of Kelrin. Normally, she hated ships. Boats. The sea. Oceans. Ponds. Lakes. The rain. Even drinking water—a painful necessity. But this she could endure. Because she had life again. Her death? Not her fault. This time, nothing, and no one, would be able to stop her. She would take everything she ever wanted, from simple air to untold lives, because it pleased her to do so. She could have it all.

Because her? Clever.

Desemir and Vis began to discuss the task at hand, gathered as they were about the table and the map. Soleil turned around (this by her unnatural means of inverting the facing of her body), and came to the table. She smiled broadly at the two of them, then jerked her head in the direction of the support group assigned by the Guard.

"Them? Un~friendly! But useful!"

And by useful, Soleil absolutely meant "fodder".

Desemir

 

[Kian Heller]

Heller inhaled the scent of sea spray. The water had always been a blessing when one had spent two years under the scorching and unforgiving sun of the Empire. He had adapted, lavished in the hospitality they were reluctant to give him as an Anirian, but his talents was what had kept him alive in their lands for so long.

Spy. Traitor. Anirian filth. They knew he could understand Kaliti and insulted him either way.

Being summoned back to Vel Anir had not been an easy feat. First, his father, Commander Heller, had tasked him with visiting the prisons that their minor House controlled, had did the work they required of him, and the moment he was finished he was summoned again.

To return to active service.

His hand rustled his hair, already crisp with sea salt and wind. Unaware of the stares their way, Kian slowly swaggered closer to the others that stood apart from the Dreadlords and Initiates. "I think today we will make some good time in travel, don't you think?"

Desemir Risen Soleil Verdane