Private Tales After the storm

[Lachlan Irwin]

Now Lachlan was grinning widely.

"Dawn. Dawn's Revenge does certainly have a ring to it!" He answered, following his friend to look down at the Arnim.

"She's going to curse my grave. Yours too. Sent her a letter before we headed off on this mission." His Nana would not be impressed, but soon will start to miss her grandson. At least he was making a name for himself other than charming every tourist that came to Vel Odren like his father.

"Oi! That sword by your feet! Place it with the decoy body that will be me. Should sell the story a bit better." He called out to one of the men down below. To Ivan, he showed his friend the twin sword he had picked back up after coming back on board after his dip in the water. "Irwin crest." A lighthouse above the cliff, etched into the pommel. "Fuck, Ivan. This may just kill her..." Worry tugged at his brows, furrowing them. She was the only family he truly cared about. None of the girls that clung to him at the Academy were worth any thought when it came to wondering how his grandmother would take the news of his supposed death.

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "Now, that's a name." - He muttered, as much to himself, as to the initiate next to him. Secretly though, he counted his blessings for nanna Irwin's name being something that actually inspired respect, because he reckoned he wouldn't have had the heart to turn down Lachlan's name choice otherwise... and by Kress, sailing on something named the Henriette's Revenge sounded about as silly as it could get.

- "I think you overestimate how much she loves you." - He grinned. The feeling of having someone that actually cared for him waiting back home for his return was rather alien to him. He had seen it in others yes, those comrades back at the Academy that feared how the family and friends they'd left behind, would fare with them gone, but such sentimentality was - in all fairness - rather lost on him. - "In any case, you'll go back to her." - He clasped Lachie's shoulder. - "Though I guess how mad she'll be at you will depend on the manner of your return." -

Before them, the thugs had followed Lachlan's bidding and had, in the meantime, set the Arnim ablaze. Already the first columns of smoke could be seen rising from the lower decks.

- "Anyways," - He said, turning to the prow. - "then is then, and now is now; so let's enjoy the moment shall we?" - Another grin.

- "Pick a course Master Irwin, let's set sail." - ​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan stayed a moment to watch the smaller vessel take flame, watching his chance at taking it all back turn black in the smoke filling the minimizing dot upon the horizon. "Right, when I return." Now he shifted, facing Ivan as he leaned against the craftsmanship taken into the railing. "I suppose I can tell the Academy and all concerned 'Oopsies!' and call it a day." He rolled his shoulders, picking up the dry clothing he had found.

He crossed the distance to the captain's quarters, "I don't know, Skender... I barely remember where the fuck we are, but after I wash off the sea water and put on these pitiful clothes, then you and I can plot a course and determine our first destination."

The water was nothing like Vel Odren. There was less salt, less murkiness but he supposed the storm had not helped the currents. A lot of debris, dust, and earth would have found itself in the sea.

Eventide rolled by once Lachlan made an unappearance, looking scraggly in the larger clothing, but it seemed to work in his favour. His hair, pale and clean, fell into his face more than he'd like it to. Map in hand and a lantern in the other, he spilled it open and whistled to get Ivan's attention.

"Did you work out where we are?"

 

[Ivan Skender]

It had taken Ivan a surprisingly little amount of time after Lachlan had left to figure out where they were. Beyond his natural sense of direction, he also had Admiral Verceg - and his lessons during the trip to Malakath - to thank, as it'd taught him those few factors he had been missing on the high seas, that he'd relied upon while on dry land.

In any case, while Irwin had been busying himself with... whatever it was he had been doing, Ivan had immediately - and predictably - started getting absolutely hammered with the rest of the crew. Though the pirates hadn't had much gold on them, they sure had stocked up on rum.

As Lachlan returned onto deck, he'd find Ivan lazing about, sprawled over the flight of stairs that led up the stern castle, and drinking heartily with their new crew. He raised a brow as he heard Lachlan whistle from across the deck, reluctantly walking over to where his friend was. He poured over the map, pointing then to an unwashed piece of paper, representing the sea just to the south of the Cortosi Coast.

- "Here." - He said, then adding with a shrug: - "If we just sail west, southwest, or south we'll land somewhere." - Truth be told, he didn't have much of a clue about what there would be in those places, but that was a problem for later.​

​

For now, the rum flowed and the sun was setting, a perfect time to drink and celebrate the capture of their new ship. - "Tomorrow we can figure out to which island we sail first, but for now let's have some drinks, shall we?" - He offered Lachlan a half-full cup. - "Get to know the crew." - He clasped the other initiate's shoulder, leaning his head slightly. - "You better, actually, your life may depend on it at some point." -

He then changed his mind, retracted the cup, and handed Lachie a full bottle of rum.​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

"My life may depend on it?" It brought a smile on Lachlan's face. The notion of befriending someone put him at unease. Girls had no problem flocking to him, giving him company to the point he knew that any girl worth pursuing was not the girl for him. He had once tried to decipher if Orchid tried to befriend him once, but the lad had been asking advice to befriend someone else.

It was fortunate for him that Ivan was charismatic enough to rope Lachlan in as if they were old friends, instead of newly acquainted strangers. The time spent traveling to the port had established their friendship, but the time at sea cemented just how trusting they were of each other. Equals, a world to convince that one day, each of them will be known for their greatness.

"Well, I would hate to leave you alone in this world." He grinned, accepting the bottle of rum and taking a hearty swig. Lachie made a face, when wine and whatever cheap ale he was able to get his hands on had been the only taste of alcohol he had experienced. His Nana chastised him back home, pushing Lachlan to not end up down the road his father took. She had always said she wanted to pass the family business down to someone worthy, not a waste of resource and unconditional love.

Lachlan wandered to the others, the crew gathered and sharing stories. He was quiet upon his approach, happy to listen to them talk, but their interests soon turned to the boys. Initiates, of Vel Anir no less, would have had an interesting life learning to become weapons for the Republic to deploy. They questioned him, before one of them piped up louder than the rest.

"You ever watched someone die from that whip of yours, boy?"

To even consider whether or not he would answer that question needed a long drink of the rum in his hands. The bottle sloshed as Lachlan dropped it to his knee, head hanging slightly as he wracked his brains. It was there, at the edges of his mind, pushed aside after a younger Lachlan realised how awful it was to witness it.

How was answering this going to make them all friends?

"Yes..." Lachlan's grip over the neck of the bottle of rum tightened, exhilaterated and fearful that he had admitted it. "I was eight. My cousin used to drag me along to see the rich folk come to Vel Odren on the boats, try and swindle some money. Hat tricks, card tricks... hell, we even learned how to touch fire without getting burned. One lord was entertained and tickled by our performance, inviting us to do exactly that at one of his poker nights."

Lachlan didn't want to say it, didn't want to remember it, but for his cousin's sake, he had to keep his story alive somehow.

"One of the guests was drunk. Way too fucking drunk, and it affected his game. He was losing, bad, and a good few hours into the night had the idea that each time he lost, he would take turns striking me. My cousin... he was older than me, able to fight back if he wanted to. Stood in my place, insisted on it. So the man ruined each round for himself, laughed about it, boasted how he was going to hurt my cousin." Fuck.This was definitely not a way to make friends with the men that fought alongside them against the pirates.

Lachlan shuffled in his seat atop a barrel, lifting his hazel eyes to look at each of the faces looking to him. Some looked as if they knew what would happen, where this story was headed. As if it were common where they had hailed from, but none had told him to shut up. Lachie took in a shaky breath, not needing to turn and see where Skender stood as he could feel those icy eyes on him.

"He was beaten to bad, I began to try and interfere. The lord told his butler to lock me in a room, and for hours, I listened to my cousin scream and cry. When dawn came, it was fucking silent in that house. I... don't remember going home, but I remember I got home without my cousin. They sent his body by noon, and my Nana told me to come with her. The man was to leave Vel Odren so soon, probably to get away from scandal. But Nana found him, brought the fucker down in an alleyway with the help of some of the men that work for her. She took my hands, put them on either side of the man's face and told me to get angry. It was easy to be blind, to get so upset I... yeah, that awakened my magic." And Lachlan left it at that.

"Dawn's Revenge." The crew member murmured after a moment. His boot stomped on the deck, a tribute to Lachie's Nana.

 

[Ivan Skender]

Though he might not have expected it, Lachlan would be able to observe as the entire crew mimicked his gesture, their boots all hitting the deck in unison, the clamouring of hard leather on wood enough to thunder well past the Dawn's Revenge.

As those last echoes died down, complete and utter silence followed; sepulchral, and deafening at the same time.

- "And how did you feel afterwards?" - The blonde broke the silence. Should Lachlan stare back at Ivan though, he'd find the friendly, sly demeanour gone, fully erased from his face. In its place was... well, it would not be clear to anyone what that expression was. It was impenetrable, mysterious, inscrutable.

There was no comradery on Ivan's features, but neither was there hostility, or disdain.​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan sat up straighter when he saw the impassive expression his friend wore, but the question had been asked, and the others had ceased their tribute in stomping boots to listen keenly for the Stinger's answer.

"I was eight. I felt higher than the gods." And his grandmother, her crew, made him believe it. He felt like an Odren secret, being hidden away when the Dreadlords came to test him for magic. Money also had a hand in keeping him away from them, and his family had such quiet wealth. The whole crew did.

Would these men and Ivan think of him differently if they came to learn his name would be on the small but bustling casino when his grandmother passed?

"I was... fifteen when an Archon was holidaying and saw me using magic. My grandmother said it was up to me, now that I was old enough to make decisions. I chose the Academy." Because he wanted a taste of life that took him away from the sea, the island... "I felt like god again making that decision."

 

[Ivan Skender]

Spoiler: Trigger Warning

This posts contains distressing situations some readers might find disturbing. If you're easily impressed, please do not read further.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was one of sly understanding.

- "So you want power," - He said, taking his cup to his lips. - "and the freedom to use it." - As far as he was concerned, Ivan saw the two as complementary, rather than separate desires. What was power, after all, if one did not have the freedom to use it? He had always heard others call the arbitrary abuse of might as "tyranny", though, alas, he had never been able to bring himself to see why. Maybe it was due to his situation - having been raised as an initiate, a living weapon of power and destruction, and yet with his puissance always at the whims of others - that rendered having the freedom over how he used his power nothing more than a distant fantasy, but having a say over how to use his might, to have his fate truly in his own hands, now that was something he felt as an overwhelmingly intoxicating prospect.

He could've shared these musings - inebriated as he was by this point - however it would seem as though the crew had other plans.

- "What about you, Skender?" - He heard a voice ring out somewhere, its tone halfway between playful challenge and genuine curiosity. - "What's your sad story? Who was your first?" -

He snorted.

- "My sad story?" - He repeated, as though he was thoughtfully pondering the question. - "My sad story is the same as every other one at the Academy." - He snorted again, and shook his head.

Not many knew about that tale. It was not something he discussed; indeed, it was not something he liked talking about. Even in spite of the amoral, cold, emotionless demeanour he carried himself with, that episode of his life was something even Ivan himself preferred to keep buried. Livia Quinnick had caught a glimpse of the story, back in Tel Arran in that dark room in the silk merchant's abode, but not even she knew the full story.

- "I should've been around that same age when it happened." - He pointed with his chin to Lachlan. Eight or nine years old seemed about right, by his reckoning. - "Though it starts a bit earlier than that.” - He leaned his head, seemingly attempting to recall every little detail of that buried tale he was about to spew onto the others. - “I joined the Academy when I was about four years old.” - He said, his gaze fixed in some distant point in the darkness, focusing on nothing in particular. - "I was just an orphan. I didn’t have any family, any protectors, nor any skills, really. I was a sitting duck in the most lethal place in Aniria… But at least I wasn't alone.” - He set down his empty cup, and instead took out a full bottle of rum. He took a hearty gulp, as though the memory had triggered a painful reckoning of some sort within his mind.

- "There was this one kid.” - He started again, his eyes shifting once more to some nondescript spot in the darkness. - "He arrived the same day I did, from some shithole near Arnim. We were the same age, and so we ended up sharing a bunk bed.” - A faint smile flashed through his features, but soon died down. - "We became really good friends, really quickly. We watched each other's backs, against both our classmates and the proctors, we got into all sorts of shit together,” - He shook his head, furrowing his brow slightly at how silly all of it sounded now. - "and we even had the same life goals.” - He threw his head back, now overtly reminiscing at how ludicrous it all sounded to him now. - "To graduate into House Urahil, the house of the knights of means, and to live dashingly and courageously in the service of Vel Anir.” - He made a little flourish with his hand, making the dreams of his younger self sound even more of a sickly mirage.

- "Yeah, we were pretty alike, however we were not the same. He, for one, still had a family, and one night - after we'd gotten beaten up much harder than usual - he tried to leave the Academy and go back to them.” - He steeled his voice, trying to hide from the others just how painful it was for him to talk about it still.

- "Of course he didn't get far, and soon enough he was dragged back, screaming and kicking.” - His gaze shifted, sweeping through the rest of the crew before coming to rest on those opposite him. - "You see, the Academy doesn't deal well with desertions, so the first thing the Proctor in-charge that night did, was to wake up the entire class so that we would witness what happened to a traitor.” - He inhaled deeply.

- "First, he had us beat him up… violently. I refused.” - He tightened his grip on the bottle's neck. The next part was always hard, no matter how long it had been. - "And so this fucking Proctor just hands me a knife and then says that for every step the deserter took away from the grounds, I was to take a cut off his skin… and that if I refused again, then he would be the one to do it instead.” -

He leaned back, tossing his head backwards, as he came to stare blankly at the night sky.

- “And so I did it. It was for compassion, you see. Because if I was the one to carry the punishment out, then I could save my friend from most suffering that fiend of a Proctor would inflict on him. ” -

He snorted again.

- “Turns out I should've stayed still. The Proctor would never have let anything too serious happen to this kid. Initiates tried to run from the Academy all the time. That is no reason, in and of itself, to mangle or murder a promising pupil. But me? I was young and inexperienced. I didn't know what I was doing, and so, in my compassionate drive to save my friend, I ended up cutting too deep, and drawing too much blood.” -

He turned to face the crew yet again.

- "I killed him. I stood there, as those last shreds of life escaped his body, and as that last light dimmed in his eyes. I still remember his expression: pain, fear and betrayal. He didn’t want to die, he had not expected to die that night, and certainly not by my hand.” -

He then took the bottle to his lips, and chugged the entire thing in one go. Though, through his words, it was rather easy to see he was in pain, the suffering did not seem to take hold of his features. His face remained as serene, as impassable as it had been before, even as he drained the very last drop out of the rum bottle.

- "What I did was as good a lesson for the class as the punishment of a deserter would've been. It taught us that compassion is not a virtue, but a flaw; a weakness. Friendship should never stand in the way of you performing your duty for Vel Anir, lest you ended up like Ivan Skender: broken over the corpse of a traitor.” -

He leaned back again, admiring the stars with an empty glimmer in his eyes.

- "That night the Proctor took me out for drinks. My very first time. He told me forgiveness lay at the end of those bottles. I puked my insides out three times before I realised what he meant. That there was no possible forgiveness for what I'd done, there was no escaping the pain. The best you could do was to dull it until you forgot what ailed you so." -

And that was how the Academy broke them. By aiming at their weak spots, and bashing them in until there was nothing left but a broken shell behind.

- "The next week he dragged me to Arnim with the corpse, and made me break the news of my friend’s death to his family in person.” -​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan watched Ivan as he told a story that was familiar but told in other ways on different tongues. The fact some of the girls that graced his bed nonchalantly spoke of their own horrors of the Academy back in it's heydays often left him not in the mood, but they were quick to show him other things they learned.

He did not move from his half perch on the barrel, but lifted the bottle his friend had given him earlier. "To the friends and family we lost on the way." On the way to fulfill the wishes of others. His Nana wanted him to feel power, and so he did. Nana wanted Lachlan to become the threat to stop their opponents from damaging their business, and so he became the threat. Perhaps he could learn to empathise with the Initiates that were at the Academy from the age of children...

"I've never told anyone but you lot about my first kill." It was surprisingly easy to tell, perhaps the idea of revealing to the prisoners that had himself and Ivan cornered hours ago seemed silly enough to tell them of the deaths they had missed by allying with them. Was that how a crew was made? "Even lied to many girls that asked the question." He chuckled dryly, shaking his head before staring out to the horizon and the disappearing sun. That pirate captain would be dead once the last light fell beneath the furthest reaches of the sea.

Someone to his left guffawed, clapping him on the back. "I bet you have many girls crawling into your beds, the both of you! Fuck me, and you're only boys! The fuck they feed you at that Academy?"

Lachlan shrugged, a sly smile curving his mouth. "Bloodlust."

 

[Ivan Skender]

"To the friends and family we lost on the way."​

- "And to the freedom we've picked up instead!" - He echoed, picking up yet another rum-filled bottle, and raising it in a toast. A loud cheer rose from the crew at the words of the two boys.

- "So take a deep breath, men." - He restarted shortly afterwards, his words ringing eloquently, at least for his inebriated mind. - "For tonight, on this deck, we have freedom,  true freedom." - Ivan shook his head, as he glanced at the members of their rag-tag crew. From the way they looked, the blonde reckoned a few of them would have their fair share of interesting stories to tell. - "And so long as we have each other, and this ship, there is nothing anyone can do to us. Not Vel Anir, not the fucking Academy, nor even your Nana! We are free men, for this night, and all the nights to come!" - Another cheer, this one louder than the one before. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the newness of their situation, or the victory they had just scored, but all of them seemed to be in high spirits, and for his part, Ivan knew fully well how camaraderie within a team was fundamental to the success of an enterprise. If they were to thrive in this endeavour, they would need to act as one; they would have to trust each other.

It was then reassuring when he heard Lachlan mention how this had been the first time he'd told someone else about his first kill... though this wholesome feeling of trust soon gave way to sly smugness as the crew suddenly started discussing the initiates'... other achievements. The comment on bloodlust did bring a smirk to his face.

- "Well, that and trauma." - He added, his brow raised over a smug expression. - "Turns out, even brutalised killing machines need a coping mechanism. That tends to make it easier." -

In a rather nonchalant movement, he then lifted his shirt, revealing his incredibly well-toned six-pack for all to see. Even when sitting down, the shape was clear-cut and defined.

- "Of course that these also help." -

Lachlan Irwin ​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan let out a chuckle and shook his head as Ivan lifted his shirt, showing off what years of training at the Academy rewarded him with. Bottle to his lips, he was still smiling as he looked to the rest of the crew, waving off Ivan's chiseled abs. "Fucking wanker." Lachlan didn't have the same physique, but was fit enough.

"I looked like you when I was a boy." One of the older crew mates piped up, standing up so all could see. Lachlan could see it, past the poor health and hygiene was the aged looks of someone that once could have been a good looking guy. "I was in the Guard, and we rotated between barracks. Got me plenty of girls, but after a few years... shit gets old. We are human, we will always want something more. I wanted more money, and got into the black market. Used to have a hand in poaching animals in the Savannah... didn't get caught until recently."

"S'all right Harry. You only got a brother to worry about you... got a wife and daughter at home that want nuffin' to do with me!"

Lachlan looked between the two men, noting the similar clothing they wore, and the large tattoos done in the same style. "You two worked together then? Poachers?"

The one called Harry looked at the young boy and gave a deep sigh, as if there were some regrets there. "Aye. Bad deal gone wrong, and we were caught. We were angry... up until those pirates came looming over us. I thought to myself, 'I don't wanna kill these boys.'" Harry now approached Lachlan, placing a hand at his shoulder. "You got lives still to live, y'know? Still boys..."

The other crew members watched, and even the youngest seemed to be in agreement with Old Harry. "If you ever get stuck in life, and need an answer on what to do... find someone, a nice girl, and settle down. There are plenty of years to fuck around, but when life gets old and your bones are weary, that family will be there for you. Don't listen to Bael over there. His wife will forgive him after a while."

Lachlan looked over to Ivan, as if to say 'this guy is losing his marbles' without moving his lips. "Marry a girl? Tsk, I want to see the world first before I sell my soul to one girl." He laughed, knowing that every girl he had spoken to wanted to stay in Vel Anir and serve. "Ivan is made for the sea. Ever seen a girl want to be on a ship for months on end?"

Some of the crew members laughed, but Old Harry shook his head at Lachlan. "Be it on your own head, boy. One day, you're gonna curse my name for being right."

"And I shall name my child after you, if you are indeed right." He grinned.

 

[Ivan Skender]

His eyebrows rose over a playfully amused expression as he looked at his initiate comrade with a face that said:

"I know, right?"

He shook his head.

- "Yeah, yeah. All of you love-stricken lot only say that because you've never met a Skender." - He took the bottle to his lips, and drained a touch more of the rum within before facing the crew once again, a sly look on his face. - "If you had, trust me, you wouldn't be going around praising the virtues of familial love." -

Indeed, his family's track record was enough to throw into question just about everything old Harry had said. With a history of common fratricide, filicide, patricide and many, many other types of kin slaying, the Skender clan had never quite regarded its own flesh and blood as beyond harm, and indeed, some of the House's greatest leaders had ascended to power, not through common means of dynastic inheritance, but rather by a well-placed knife on the back of a sibling.

Alas, though Ivan knew he had a good point, he would not get the chance to press his argument further as someone else cut him off.

- "The Skender, hey?" - A voice rang out from some obscure corner of the deck. Ivan's gaze darted frantically through the crew members as it sought to locate the origin of the voice until, finally, it landed on the agent of the comment. Seemingly in his mid-thirties, the man had a rather mundane look to him, truth be told. He had scruffy brown hair, a slender build, which verged on scrawny, and a very plain face that one could be forgiven for forgetting a mere few minutes after meeting for the first time. In short, he was the kind of individual that never seemed to draw any attention to himself, no matter how hard he tried.

- "Ah! I knew it!" - The man declared cryptically for the whole crew to hear. - "I knew I had recognized those ice-grey eyes, and that piss-yellow hair from somewhere." -

The rest of the crew seemed to be about as puzzled as the blonde, though the initiate did a far better job at dissimulating it.

- "Just what are you talking about, Admir?" - Old Harry asked, shaking his head at the sudden outburst of the usually quiet member of their little group.

The man named Admir remained silent for a moment, keeping his cryptic façade, and his hazel-brown gaze fixed on the initiate. Ivan, on his side, stared unflinchingly right back at the man in a standoff that lasted until the former criminal finally seemed to remember he was surrounded by people who really were having trouble understanding just what he was going on about.

- "That is him." - He said at last. - "He's all grown up now, but that's him, the kid I told you about that one time." - Admir motioned with his chin from Harry to Ivan, which seemed to awaken in the old poacher a vague memory of what his comrade was talking about. - "Is he now?" - Old Harry asked, before sitting down once more, his tone confusingly between that of a genuine question, and a rhetorical one.

- "Aye, sure of it." - Admir replied, shifting his gaze back to the blonde. - "That's him, the Margrave." - Now that did manage to catch his interest. Ivan shifted in his seat, his expression one of piqued curiosity. Admir, on his side, looked around at the crew, staying silent for a moment more, as he realised he owed the rest of them an explanation as well.

- "I grew up in the shadow of Valdorren." - He said at last. - "The old seat of House Skender." - He then motioned with his chin to Ivan once more. - "His House." -

Admir then walked further into the little circle the crew had coalesced into.

- "I served under his mother, Alisa, until the day she died." - In childbirth, Ivan completed mentally, his birth. He wondered if the man harboured any resentment towards him for that fact, but if he did so, then he hid it extremely well. - "And after that," - The brown-haired convicted continued, this time more for Ivan, than for anyone else. - "I left along with everyone else when they locked the fortress and spirited you off to Vel Anir." - Admir took a deep breath, then turned back to face the crew, as it unfurled all around him.

- "Kress, he was a loud one, he was." - He then boasted flamboyantly, triggering a round of muffled chuckles as the crew seemed to be caught entirely by surprise with his change of tone. - "He whined and wailed non-stop, all the way to Vel Luin." -

Even Ivan drew a smile at that. The ebbing and flowing of Admir's tone, combined with the story, and the mystery, had utterly captivated him... though maybe the rum had had something to do with it also.

- "But after that," - Admir restarted once more, to deliver that final leg of the journey's story. - "I never saw him again. Thought he'd ended up dead in some ditch somewhere." - He walked over to the blonde and clasped his shoulder. - "Glad I was wrong. Good to see you still alive, kid." - ​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan had been curious of the origins of his friend, only knowing enough from what he had gleaned in his short time at the Academy. Some Proctors poked fun at his circumstance, some called him a shit. Initiates had plenty to say about him, often lamenting that Ivan was a well known skirt chaser.

None of that came to his mind when he fought alongside Ivan today.

"Nah, he will never die. No matter how tough it will be, Ivan will always come out on top. In ten years time, I bet we will convene like this once again and hear more of his tales. After all, a legend never dies." Lachlan grinned, holding up his half empty bottle in salute.

"Here's to unlikely friends and even better chances on the seas."

---

Perhaps he should be glad he didn't wake with an unruly hangover, but he could not say he was steady on his feet rolling out from the hammock he had claimed. It perhaps was some of his greatest few hours of sleep before sunlight pored from the cracks and stirred him. "Fuck." He paused, steadied himself, and then continued to go up on deck. The sun bore down on him, and already some of the crew were at work.

"Morning." He called out, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Go rouse the Captain. Let him know we are inbound to port within the hour." Someone, he couldn't see who against the sun, called out.

Right. He nodded, turning for the Captain's Quarters where he swore Skender crawled into the night before. Lachlan banged on the door, "Oi. Skender. Rise and shine, pretty boy."

 

[Ivan Skender]

The captain’s quarters remained partially immersed in penumbral darkness. As Lachlan walked into the room, the first thing he would be able to sense was a faint, sour scent which, while faded almost to imperceptibility, still hung over the room.

Although somewhat difficult to pinpoint its origins by this point, a rather dead-giveaway could be picked-up on at the semi-open window at the very back of the chamber. There, a handful of knocked-over books lay scattered throughout the ledge before it, indicating the spot where someone could have crouched over the open glass to puke one’s innards out into the open Sea.

If such an undignified thing had occurred though, the newly-minted captain of the Dawn’s Revenge bore no sign of it. Sleeping soundly, with an expression nothing short of angelical, the blonde would have made the delights of many-a-maiden back home in his current form… that was, until Lachie interrupted him.

With an annoyed grunt, Ivan merely turned to his side, and prepared to resume his slumber. As he did so however, his features then came to rest under a beam of sunlight that shone through the window. Shuddering, he brought his hand to his face and, with a fair degree of difficulty, rubbed his eyes open.

For a moment he just stared blankly into the void, slowly taking in his surroundings, and, more importantly, trying to remember how in Kress’ name he’d gotten there.

The captain’s quarters was a rather luxurious accommodation, taking into account the Revenge had previously been a pirate ship. A heavy, ebony desk lay on the centre of the quarters, while a matching, grand armchair - undoubtedly carted off of a more reputable vessel - stood behind it, its carved back swinging gently to one side and the other, as it matched the movements of the ship. To another side there was a bookshelf and - if he recalled correctly - behind a small wooden frame lay a private latrine which - again, if he recalled correctly - had come in very handy last night before he had managed to crack open the window.

On the topic of last night though, fragments of memories started to wash over his mind. Suddenly, he remembered - even if only vaguely - how he’d gotten there. At some point during the small hours of the night, after most of the crew had already retired below deck, he recalled having gotten into a small altercation with a few of the remaining crewmen. Words had been thrown around, as had fists, and a… dispute had arisen over who would get the captain post, as well as all its associated perks.

Such a quarrel, he managed to remember, had come to a close when he had walked into the Captain’s quarters and had dared all the remaining men to drag him out of there.

No one had managed to.

So now, it would appear… he was the Captain? He still wasn’t sure about that one.

Ivan stretched lazily.

- “You know,” - He commented grumpily. - “the best part of being away from the Academy is that you can sleep off your hangovers.” -​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan had allowed himself to enter the quarters, catching his friend's words that made a shit eating grin spread on his face. "Sounds like you are well rested then, mate."

From a pitcher, he poured two glasses of rum that seemed to be undisturbed by the events on this very vessel just yesterday. One, he brought to his lips and gave a sniff, his face expressing that it wasn't bad and would do. Taking a sip, he smacked his lips and frowned, pausing to see if his stomach could handle it.

"Luckily for you, the crew didn't seem to sleep all that much and have charted us towards land. They said we were to arrive in port soon, Captain." And he grinned again, crossing the room to kneel beside his friend, still in bed, and swirl the rum in the glass before his face. "So are you getting up and going out there with me to pretend we know how to run this shit? Better we go show our faces before Old Harry comes to drag us by the ears and spouts some other nonsense about growing old."

But Lachlan's smile didn't reach his eyes.

He had lied to them all last night. Had been lying to quite the many people that... didn't seem to care if he had chosen to speak the truth. But the truth was he had a girl. Back home in Vel Odren, and the first mistake he regretted was to forget her and give in to the darkness of the Academy.

Old Harry's words had haunted him all night. Kept him up that his eyes looked tired and weary.

"By the way, you smell like shit. You should wash up."

 

[Ivan Skender]

- “That’s not wh–” - He didn't get the chance to finish. Right in front of his face, Lachlan swivelled a glass of rum, the scent of which was nearly enough to send him scurrying back to the window to puke his insides out… again.

Instead though, through sheer power of will, he managed to hold his breath. In fact, he even snatched the glass from his friend’s hand and then proceeded to drain it of its contents.

He set it aside as he finished, the look on his face as he did so halfway between a grimace and a smug smile.

- “Right.” - He said, taking a good look at himself. He got up from the bed, and walked over to the opposite end of the captain’s quarters. There, a trio of arched, low doors lined themselves up on an otherwise plain dark-wood wall. Behind the leftmost one, Ivan already knew, was the latrine. Now, if he had to guess…

He opened the middle door, and... there it was.

No bigger than a closet, the small room was covered by thin slabs of stone, while a chain-handle dangled to the side. Up top, a small, grided, metal drain opened up to a false-top above the room.

He recalled something similar in Verceg’s quarters, back when he had joined the Anirian expedition to Malakath. It was a built-in shower for the Captain. The metal drain opened up to a small water deposit, which was released by the chain. It had enough water for a small number of quick showers and was - truth be told - a rather luxurious indulgence in the high seas. Whoever that previous Captain had been, he sure had known how to treat himself.

In any case, it would serve him well now.

Ivan jumped into the shower, and after a few, short moments after coming out of it, he was fully ready to go outside.

He had taken some of the clothes belonging to the quarters’ previous occupant; a simple cotton shirt, some trousers, and a padded leather vest. They were a tad too loose for him, but suited nonetheless, and the laxness of the outfit even gave him a more piratical look.

- “Right. Shall we?” - He held the door for Lachlan and then stepped out.

Once outside, he was utterly, and completely awestruck. The object of his surprise was not the ship itself, nor the bright sun, or the sea beyond the bannisters. No, instead it was the men themselves, working - somehow - harmoniously, in disciplined fashion as though they were a professional crew aboard an Anirian navy vessel. As he passed them, somewhat astonished, he would never have been able to tell that these were the same men which, the day before, had been naught but a loose collection of thieves and petty criminals.

He saw Admir diligently steering the helm, glancing cautiously at the sails as he sought to correct the heading as they went. He spied Hess hoisting, handling, and tying loose ropes with a black eye and a cracked nose, the latter two of which - he suddenly recalled - were a souvenir from the struggle for the Captain’s quarters last night. Finally, he came upon old Harry directing a few of the men to and fro the lower deck.

- “Who the fuck told you how to sail a ship like this?” - He asked, his voice striking a balance between admiration, and incredulous surprise. The old poacher, not having seen him walk up, turned to face him and, as he realised who had made the question, just offered the blonde a puzzled look.

- “Why, you did.” - He replied. - “The two of you. Yesterday night.” - Harry pointed with his chin to Lachlan. - “He told us about the winds and the currents, while you told us all about the proper ordering of a ship.” - Harry then flashed a grin at the two of them. - “I just put them together, and had the men carry out your orders.” -

“Huh.” - Ivan thought. Now, of that, he had absolutely no memory of. He looked back at Harry, as the old man went back to his affairs directing the sailors. - “Looks like we have ourselves our quartermaster.” - He then furtively glanced at Lachie.

“And our first mate.”​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan gave Old Harry an odd look, as if such a good idea could have never come from the likes of him, even when intoxicated. But before he could remark on the entire crew's drunken state all evening, he caught the stare from his friend.

"What? I got something on my face?" Like a fool, Lachie rubbed at his jaw, his mouth, and his chin. He frowned, not feeling anything off about his sun tanned complexion. "Right, stop looking at me like that, there should actually be some girls at the island we are coming into port, Skender."

He pulled on a smile, clapping his friend on the shoulder and gestured with his head for them both to walk. Together, they would make it to the starboard, and once they made it to the railings, Lachie would peer over the side. "Gentle waves today. Alright on the wind too... fuck, they're smart men to figure out an hour until we dock." Had himself and Ivan become Proctors last night telling the men the way of the ship? Lachlan knew how to work smaller vessels and not for such distances like this, but the water always remained the same for him to observe and figure out. "All I remember is we all decided you would be Captain. Captain Skender sounds better than Captain Irwin, let me tell you that!"

 

[Ivan Skender]

He rolled his eyes bemusedly, as Lachlan searched his features for any signs of imperfection.

- “Settle down now, pretty boy.” - He said mockingly, as he took an inventory log from old Harry. He leafed through it as they walked, and continued on afterwards, as Lachie was commenting on the waves.

- “Well, they might, but we still have something to do.” - He peered through the pages of the log slowly. That… was not very much at all, was it? The pirates - if he had to guess - had been on a short hunt for a prize, before going back ashore for resupplying. Alas for the corsairs, the prize they had been intended to seize had been them.

- “Oy Harry!” - He called out to the old poacher in the distance. - “Is this all?” -

He saw the newly-minted quartermaster nod. It was as he feared; the moment he had been fearing. They needed something more substantial to trade for supplies, otherwise they would starve, or thirst, to death in the high sea.

He knew what needed to be done, and yet, he knew how it would cost. Both him and the men.

But it needed doing nonetheless:

- “Then prepare the rum for unloading too.” -

As expected, heads snapped to face him, an uncomfortable silence falling upon the deck of the Revenge. - “Do as I say.” - He commanded imperiously, in that same tone - in fact - the detested Proctors of the Academy had once used on him.

- “It’s no good drinking on an empty stomach.” - He justified, his gaze unrelentingly sweeping those assembled. - “So get to it! Before we make port.” - He roared.

Begrudgingly, the men set about their new orders.

His attention then turned to Lachlan. He flashed a grin to his friend.

- “Honestly. Many decent folk would grimace and sob at the idea of a Captain Skender sailing the seas again.” - He shook his head. It had been some long decades since one had, but back in the day, the very name would have been enough to strike fear into the hearts of those that dwelled within eyesight of the ocean. He clasped Lachlan’s shoulder, and offered him a smirk. - “Don’t worry about how it sounds. In due time, we’ll make all of our names sound magnificent.” -​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan grimaced as Ivan offered up the rum for trading, sad to see the only source of entertainment on the seas would be taken away from them all. "I hate that you are right but how else am I going to get through the night having to hear this lot snoring all night?"

But he sighed and nodded, clapping a hand on his friend's back to show support. "Captain Skender sounds better than Captain Irwin, that's for sure. Has notes of intimidation and promise to fuck shit up if anyone crosses us." He grinned.

Lachie looked around them, making sure no one was near enough as he would step closer to his friend and lower his voice. "If things don't look pretty for us, I know some tricks to winning bets and cards... all that pomp. I may get called a rat and be chased after if they catch on, but I have picked up a few ways if we ever need to resort to it." Lachie left it up to his friend as he was Captain, calling the shots of how this crew would be run.

 

[Ivan Skender]

His brow rose at his friend’s offering, his expression taking on an undertone of curious amusement.

- “I’m always a fan of personal initiative.” - He said, with a shrug. - “If you can gather some cash by playing on card tricks then, by all means, go ahead. We’ll get you out of any trouble you get into.” - His gaze shifted then, from Lachlan towards the distant horizon, over which the first outcroppings of green land had already started appearing. - “But I’m afraid we’ll need something a bit more profitable to support an entire crew.” -

He turned to face Lachie again, this time with a smile on his face.

- “Plus, if this is going to work, your skills with cards are not the ones I need.” -

---

​

The Atoll of Coserre​

The ship had drifted smoothly towards the port, the currents carrying them around the island all the way to the port on the Southwestern extreme of the small landmass.

An oddly-shaped atoll now stood in front of them, leading them forth to a small village of wooden huts, built on stakes. A watch tower stood guard over it, while a number of smaller vessels - galleys - stood at anchor on its make-shift piers. It was small in size, and spartan in decoration. So much so, in fact, that were it not for the picturesque greenery beyond it, the crystalline, turquoise waters in front, or the immaculate white beaches that flanked it; in other words - if one considered naught but the village itself - the atoll looked about as unremarkable as it could.

- “We fought that pirate crew less than a day’s sail away.” - He told Lachie, as they closed those final reaches that still stood between them and the port. - “Which means that the pirates probably passed by here on their way to chase their prize.” - Villages like these existed all throughout Arethil - Pirate coves. Verceg had taught him all about them during his journey to Malakath. They were difficult to locate, and harder still to root-out, owing to the intense loyalty that the pirates crews that frequented them had towards their havens. - “It’s even possible that they were frequent visitors here, which would mean…” -

He squinted at the village in the distance.

- “that the people in this place wouldn’t be expecting us at the helm of this ship.” - And that he didn’t know how they’d react to that fact.
​

 

[Lachlan Irwin]

Lachlan chuckled. "I knew none of this would be easy, but when are we going to have the odds on our side for once?" He remarked, shaking his head before casting his gaze to the approach of land. "All right then. Let's list our advantages."

He turned on the spot and leaned against the railing, tall enough his elbows can reach and prop up against them. Hazel eyes studied their crew, their supplies to trade, and finally to his friend beside him. "We've got vicious men that know how to fight. Lucky, aren't we, to have been given prisoners that are not useless and can fight, hm?"

It was true. Each of the men imprisoned from Vel Anir held more knowledge of combat that extended the mandatory year of service to the Guard.

"The supplies are shit at best, but gives these islanders the impression we are here to partake in trade, not to conquer. Brothels and pubs aside, of course." He grinned, knowing Ivan well enough that both establishments would become his haunts. "And lastly, we are two Dreadlords. Now, of course, smart of us to not reveal that. Given our unique magical abilities, a lad that wields the rot of the world and a dashing, brave young man such as myself, wielding the art of a violent sting. Word could reach back to Vel Anir, and we would be hauled back to the Academy."

This he frowned. Nothing he wanted more than to have an adventure, but to have faked his death? To not see his Nana or Heidi ever again? It left a wound in him, a hole slowly caving in and becoming bigger.

"How soon can we get a drink?" He muttered lowly.

 

[Ivan Skender]

- “Aye, vicious… but very undisciplined in a fight.” - He shrugged. - “So, not that different from the pirates we’re trying to imitate.” - His gaze shifted towards Harry, who was just coming up to the stern castle.

- “We have supplies, but we’ll need some more, if we’re going to spend a lot of time at sea.” - He glanced at Lachlan. - “Which leads me to the first thing we need to do on land.” -

His gaze deviated towards the village in the distance. He searched amongst the thatched roofs, and wooden dwellings, for what he was looking for. A couple of larger structures jumped out to him, though neither as conclusively as to dispel any doubts he might have.

- “Even if we manage to gather some new supplies, we’ll still need to sail out somewhere to get a prize.” - He shifted to face Lachlan. - “It was easy enough for us to find land on a map and sail there, but finding a moving cargo ship? The ocean’s vast, and we have no idea of where the trade routes lie, or if they’re well guarded.” - He walked over to the railing, and leaned on it. - “If we are to be successful at this, we’ll need hints, intel. Where the merchant ships sail, if they’re well guarded, and what cargo they carry.” -

Verceg had explained this to him as part of the anti-piracy operations the Anirian Navy carried out. Sailors talked, and as they did they leaked information that both pirates and the navy were interested in. The former because it gave away who would be sailing, where they would be sailing, and with whom they would be sailing. The latter because it helped them catch-up to the former.

As it was, there were two main places where sailors talked too much for their own sakes - the ones Ivan had been trying to locate among Coserre’s humble abodes. It was fortuitous then that some of the most sensitive information on the seas came out of both brothels and taverns.

His face opened into a sly grin.

- “Getting a drink will be the first thing we do. That and a lay.” - He glanced over the crew. Some of them had gotten some minor loot, scavenging through the pirate crew they had defeated. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough for a few drinks or a fuck in town. His grin turned to a grimace.

With only a few minutes left before they made port, Ivan called out to the men.

- “Gather ‘round now!” - He bellowed. Most of the crew was already up on deck, so it didn’t take long for a small crowd to concentrate before the stern castle. - “When we make port today, me, Harry and Lachlan will be heading ashore to try and exchange some supplies for our next raid. The splitting of whatever profits we get on top will take place at sunset.” - He said, matter-of-factly. - “Until then you are free to roam the town.” -

He swept the crew with his ice-gray gaze.

- “We don’t know, though, how we will be received in there. It’s possible the former crew of this ship was friendly to the villagers, and that we won’t be received well.” - He paused to let the information sink in. - “So, if you decide to go ashore, keep your wits about you, and your weapons at-the-ready.” -

He ran his gaze through the crowd assembled once more.

- “And keep your mouth shut about who you are, and where you came from, until we tell you this place is safe.” - He continued, motioning towards himself, Lachlan, and Harry. - “I don’t care if you talk to a fisherman, or a whore - if I find out someone’s tongue slipped about our situation, then that tongue is getting chopped off, understood?” -

A solemn silence arose, which hinted at an understanding. With that, Ivan waved his hand, dismissing the gathered sailors.

The Revenge would dock a few minutes later. Once the vessel was tied, and properly set, Ivan would walk onto one of the wooden piers of Coserre.

In the distance, he saw some people gawping at them. He felt as though his hunch had been right, and that these people had seen the Revenge before, and that now they would need to figure out how to react to the new crew sailing it.

His hand fell to the hilt of his sword.

From a closer group, a man walked over to them. He carried a stained set of papers with him, which hinted at his position as the harbour master. His step, though, was irregular, his hair dishevelled, his clothes filthy, and simple, while his nose was so red it looked as though someone had applied women’s rouge to it. In short, the fellow looked more like the town drunk, than a public official.

- “Welc’m to C’serre, good sir.” - The official said, his tone wobbling, as he spoke in an accented voice. - “The fee f’r landin’ if y’ will.” -

Ivan rolled his eyes. He’d be damned if he was going to pay taxes in a damned pirate cove.

Instead, he made an audible, guttural sound, and spat to the side, over the side of the pier, and onto the sea. His gaze fixed on that of the harbourmaster.

- “The tavern, little man.” - He said, dismissively. - “Where is it?” -
​