Dreadlords Half A World Away

[Lothar]

Asherah Ocean - Near Malakath

"Do you have any threes?" Lothar asked, his voice stifling a yawn.

"NO I DON'T HAVE ANY FUCKING THREES, LOTHAR!" His companion shouted, suddenly standing up and flipping over the board that they had been playing on. Cards scattering everywhere as the other Initiate's rage temporarily took hold of him. "I DON'T HAVE FUCKING SHIT."

The boy shouted, tossing his hand onto the floor, and proceeding to kick at some of the scattered cardboard.

Lothar's mismatched eyes slowly looked up at the other Initiate, his expression entirely deadpan as he looked up at the boy. Bandages now covered both of his arms, the left extending only to the elbow while the right trailed all the way up to his shoulder. When asked about them, he had volunteered nothing, and even after all this time together no one had yet pressed the issue.

Probably because they were too busy losing their minds.

"We've been on this fucking ship for three months! Or one of the other two!" It had been an excessively long journey. First they had taken the Portal Stone to to the Reach, and after a short journey had had disembarked from Alliria with the Anirian Expeditionary force. Their mission? Well, one of simple exploration of course, in the Anirian style.

Three ships, several Hundred Guardsmen, half a dozen Dreadlords, and then there was them...the Initiate's. The ones who had either volunteered to go half way around the world, or the ones the Proctors had disliked enough to send with them. "Yes."

Lothar agreed as he reached down and began to collect the playing cards.

"It's been somewhat trying, Keie." He told the other Initiate. "But we kne-"

Before he could finish his sentence, a loud whistle echoed from above deck. The sound so loud and shrill that it would be heard even on the other two ships flanking theirs. Lothar's head tipped up, and with the enhanced hearing his left eye granted him he heard a shout of 'LAND! WE'VE SPOTTED LAND, CAPTAIN!'. Though he gave no indication that he'd listened to any such thing. "We should check what that is."

Lothar noted, dropping the cards he'd gathered onto the still flipped over the box. Shaking his head at Keie's little outburst before the two of them made their way to the top deck.

Along with everyone else.

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "We're getting close, and yet..." - Captain Verceg poured over a yellowed piece of paper depicting Malakath and a few, smaller surrounding land masses. - "It could be an hour, a day, or even a week still. In Malakath, it's not only dry land that's unpredictable, but the currents as well." -

As the leader of the expedition mused out loud, next to him stood his new protegé. Ivan had found himself in this new, auspicious position as a result of a recent trend within the Anirian armed forces. With the initiates of the Academy no longer allowed to be sworn to the Great Houses post-Revolution, this shift had resulted in some sectors of the armed forces actively trying to swoon and charm those initiates that - while close to graduation - were still on the fence about their future, in an attempt to woo some of the most lethal soldiers the Republic had to offer into their command.

It had been spurred by this movement that Ivan had gotten a letter from Verceg a few weeks before departure, inviting him to take part in the expedition, as an aide to the Captain. In the intervening weeks, ever since leaving Alliria, his days had been interesting, even if at times a bit dull. Verceg had made sure to teach his new ward everything there was to know about life in the navy, and aboard a ship; the basics of sailing, the importance of logistics at sea, as well as the intricacies of naval combat, and ship manoeuvrability while in battle. So far, the seaman had looked as though he'd been rather pleased with his initiate subordinate.

- "In any case it sh--" - A loud cry from above interrupted him. - 'LAND! WE'VE SPOTTED LAND, CAPTAIN!' - A flurry of activity took over the Captain's cabin, where the senior officers of the Armada had been gathered. Within a few moments, the door of the room that led outside flew open and all of them poured onto the main deck. At the same time, many members of the crew also seemed to have had the same idea, certainly anxious for their first glimpse of land, after three dull months at sea.

On his part, Ivan had not had much contact with the rest of the crew. His position as protegé to Verceg - though rather illusory - had come with many benefits, including his own private quarters, right next to those of the Captain. He knew some Guardsmen and initiates - including Lothar, that loser - were present within the three ships that had departed from Alliria, but he had not made much effort to seek them out during the time they'd been at sea.

As soon as Verceg verified that the watchman's claim of land had been truthful, he started barking orders to everyone on board. - "To your stations, men!" - He commanded, his tone loud enough to be audible in the other two ships as well. - "Make ready for landfall!" -

As the men went about their new assignments, Verceg turned to Ivan. - "Get your armour and weapons ready, Skender. You'll be in the first wave to go ashore." -

- "Yes, sir!" - Ivan turned on his heels, heading to the lower decks where his Dreadlord-fashioned black armour, as well as the double-headed axe he'd brought as a weapon for this journey, were stored. That though, was when he came face-to-face with Lothar, accompanied by someone Ivan didn't know.

Well, that was fortuitous.

- "You heard him Lothar." - He said dismissively to the other initiate. - "Go get my armour." - He commanded firmly. If Lothar made himself useful, at least he would have the time to check-up on his weapon, and make sure that the time they'd spent at sea had not damaged it too much.

- "Now." - ​

 

[Henk]

"That's not a very nice way to talk to your classmate, Initiate Skender."

Henk had contented himself to sit against the wall of the hold, listening quietly to the conversations around him. He too had been frustrated, restless, and especially sick of travelling. You would have to have a superhuman resolve not to be affected in some way by the arduous journey they'd faced thus far.

But letting those emotions rule them would only make this process take that much longer. He'd resorted to meditation to keep himself in check, and the first thing his ears were treated to after finally hearing the call to prepare for land was Skender being Skender.

A pity; the boy had such raw talent. Henk couldn't understand why he insisted on being so difficult. Towards Lothar in particular, he'd noted.

"You may be working under the Captain..." The scar-faced Dreadlord rose from his spot on the wooden floor of the lower deck, collecting his folded green cloak from where he'd placed it beside him and spreading it out to toss it over his shoulders. "...But I seem to recall Initiate Lothar is not enlisted in the Navy. Refrain from such behavior once we've disembarked please."

The man's eyes did not even meet those of Ivan as he passed him to ascend to the deck, and he'd spoken as though he'd asked Skender for a simple favor.

Henk wasn't about to press the issue. Ivan was frustrated, Lothar was frustrated, Keie was frustrated, and he was no different.

It was not the long travel that irked him so much as it was that this was not where he wished to be.

Since his return from exile, and at last earning his title of Dreadlord, The Republic had been quite adverse to actually sending him to fight against their biggest threat. In their mind, he could not be fully trusted to combat the rebellious Archons and their absconded recruits. First, he'd been sent to the swamps of the Bayou, and now to other side of the known world.

Malakath.

His eye rested upon it now, as he stood looking out over the side of the Navy ship. The enormity of their trip only now began to sink in, the creases on his face deepening as he furrowed in thought. Malakath indeed, a place he'd never thought to be. Despite his misgivings about being here, he knew that if he'd been sent, there must be some reason for it. To dedicate three ships to an expedition like this one... it wasn't something Anir would have done lightly.

"Captian Verceg." Henk heard the heavy footfalls of the ship's first-in-command passing by behind him, and he turned his head around to catch him. "What's our course of action once we're ashore? Three ships seems a bit overkill for mere reconnaissance... Are you certain that's all this is?"

 

[Lumen]

Lumen focused on the crew during the journey, naturally falling into the role as close to a caretaker and big sister as she had with her class at the Academy. It was the last thing that kept her from going bonkers on a floating object a size less than the training fields at the Academy. Her natural way with people made most of them quickly warm and open up to the blonde initiate. A wave, smile, or nod of a head her way whenever she was on deck, passing by in the rigging, or traversing the underbelly of the ship.

She perched on the deck now, preferring the fresh air to the hold any day, a series of letters she’d been working on sprawled in her lap. Which she quickly gathered to put away as the call for land was shouted and carried to those below.

Completely unaware of the exchange between Henk, Lothar, and Ivan. Standing, she stared at the growing land mass and turned to one of the guardsmen. He was older with a salt and pepper beard. A nasty scar that cut one of his dark eyebrows in two. She’d grown close to him over the mission. Not in a gross too-old guy into a teenager way.

But like he could’ve been the father or older brother she’d never had. And after swapping some mission stories, a mutual respect had grown. Followed quickly by friendship.

“You think the legends are true? A kingdom of dragons?”

Mitchell rubbed at his beard before answering, looking down at Lumen. “I’m more worried about the other legends. The ones of monsters.”

 

[Tuon]

Dzhungli Prizrakov
Common Tongue translation: The Jungle of Ghosts​

Tuon gave another colourful curse as she slapped at her neck. The bug which had dared to bite her came away with her hand slowly, its yellow innards stretching thinner and thinner until they snapped in half leaving half the gruesome scene on her hands and half her neck. She grimaced and wiped her hand on the scales of her breeches then wiped at the rest on her neck with the back of her wrist. The scent of dragon deterred most of the annoying insects of the Dzhungli but not all of them. She had asked Nazharul whether one of the jewels he created could be used to repel the rest but the great worm had merely huffed at her as though such a small feat of magic were beneath him. Golden-scaled lizard, she thought to herself even as her eyes drifted to the skies she could make through the thick canopy of the rainforest. Every now and then flashes of gold caught in the sunlight told her he was just a call away should they discover their foe.

She swung her machete again cutting through the undergrowth of this particularly dense part of the jungle, her eyes searching for signs of the beast they tracked. A Bodark. The villagers who had gathered together their meagre offerings to purchase the skills of the Thunder of Thanasis had not known the creatures real name. Smena litsa, Pokhititel, demon, but as soon as Tuon had seen the scattered remains, the oozing black slime, she had known the creature she sought.

She had been quite tempted to write for aid when she'd realised.

Bodark were some of the darkest monsters to prowl the lands of Malakath. They did not care who they feasted upon as long as they were warm and full of fear. So they liked to toy with their prey, hunt them one by one, so that the others would grow plumper with that fear. Then, when ripe, the shape changers would strike. But the villagers here on the river lands that bordered the Dzhungli Prizrakov did not have any more money for another rider, and Tuon did not think help would arrive in time anyway.

Another slash of her machete and then she paused as the reek of the beasts peeled off skin hit her. There, in a puddle spitting and hissing in the sun, sat the last skin the Bodark had worn amongst a pile of bones.

"Shit," crouching she picked up one of the gleaming white bones and turned it this way and that. Certainly small enough to be the young boy who had gone missing last. She tossed the bone to the side then stared at the oozing putrid flesh.

The Bodark was hunting again and even worse, wore a new skin.

 

[Lothar]

By the time Henk came to 'defend' him, Skender had already received Lothar was sure would be a very perplexing answer to him. A silent glance, followed by a raised middle-finger and absolutely nothing else. The other Initiate moving to the rally point at the front of the ship where some of the Corsair's he'd befriended were gathering.

As he would scolded by the actual Dreadlord, Ivan would probably find it further perplexing to watch Lothar walk up to the group of Guardsmen and see them actually seem to like him.

They greeted him with warm smiles and claps on the back. Jesting about the odd bandages that now hung clung to his arms and asking if he'd already gotten himself hurt before even landing. The jesting did not last long though, and it was not long before strangely, Lothar seemed to be laughing with them.

Did he have friends now?

When did that happen?

Unfortunately, there wasn't any time to think about this information as another whistle was sounded. It echoed far louder than any noise that could have been made by a human, signalling it's calling from a Dreadlord. Lothar's head turned, and so did the corsair's, all of them staring towards the back of the Galleon.

There stood Archon Taniel Remir, his one good eye pressed to a spy glass, cloak billowing in the ocean winds. His voice boomed out, calling to the three ships. "I want all first teams on that beach in an hour."

No question to the command. A simple statement of the fact that would be.

"Get on it." The command given, the flurry on the decks of each ship quickly burst into a more ordered stream of bodies. Lothar threw himself into one of the long-boats on the side of the ship, piling in with some of the Corsairs and what looked to him to be one of the Black Guards. The hulking soldier shifted in his armor, and Lothar found himself wondering how it felt to be in such a shell.

His head shook, but he said nothing as slowly they were lowered into the water.

 

[Ivan Skender]

He blew a strand of blonde hair out of his eye line. Had everyone grown an attitude since Alliria?

Ivan stared blankly at Lothar as the other headed to the corsairs... and laughed with them? Nah, impossible. As far as the blonde was concerned, Lothar had spent the last three months being bullied and brutalized by the brigands, and now was just pretending to laugh with them so as not to get thrown overboard before due time... Yes, that was surely it.

In any case, while Ivan would make sure to snap Lothar's middle finger later as pay for the insubordination, there was another insult he would not let slide.

- "And you'd also do well to recall that your title doesn't mean jack-shit here, turn-coat." - He hissed at Henk. - "So please refrain from telling me what to do, traitor." - He completed, matching Henk's unfazed tone from before. Funnily enough, it would have seemed as though the irony of shaming someone else as a traitor, was completely lost on the initiate.

With that, he went on the opposite way as the Dreadlord, as he descended to go fetch his armour.

Upon reaching the upper deck, Henk would eventually make his way to Captain Verceg. Unfortunately for the recently-minted Dreadlord, it would seem as though the Captain of the fleet shared Ivan's disdain for him. Pure as his intentions may have been, Henk was still mistrusted by a number of high-ranking officers in the armed forces. It would only take a minor interaction for Henk to realise Verceg was one of such number.

- "And are you an expert on the matter now?" - The Captain sneered dryly, before shaking his head. - "If it's overkill or not is not my concern, and whatever course of action your lot take is not up to me to decide anymore. Report to your land commander instead." - Verceg then pointed with his chin to a space above them, from where Archon Remir had just materialised.

It would be only after the Archon had assigned his orders, that Ivan finally made his way to the top deck once more. Fully clad in his black armour, he truly looked the part as one of the Dreadlords of old.

He gazed out to Sea, taking in the coast drawn in the distance, as well as the few skiffs that were already in the water. Even from where he stood, he managed to make out Lothar's silhouette in one of them.

- "Huh, maybe the little rat could learn a lesson, sooner rather than later." -

He waved his hand faintly, in a gesture that would escape the remaining Anirians still on the ship. Then, under Lothar's boat, a black mist started to corrode the hull of the skiff, the magic rotting away the wood. This dark aura would dissipate as it finished decaying the base of the rowboat, but by then it would have been too late. Lothar and his companions would only note that their longboat had started leaking violently, and was now bound to sink shortly.​

 

[Henk]

If the pompous blonde Initiate thought that he could intimidate or demean Henk freely, he was sorely mistaken. The scar-faced Dreadlord's eye followed Skender as he irritably spun himself away, unimpressed by the childish display. Henk's gut continued to tell him there was something considerably wrong with the boy, and the more they interacted, the more he was inclined to agree with that sentiment.

Ivan's barbed and insecure comments rolled off of him. Yes, being called a traitor hurt, but only when it came from somebody who mattered. If he continued to test his patience, Henk had no qualm with bringing the cocky young decay mage down a peg.

That was also why he did little to indicate The Captain's gruffness bothered him either. Henk was growing accustomed to not having the support he once had amongst the Republic. It was expected, and he didn't exactly blame them for it. Still, it did make him wonder how much easier these things would go if they would focus less on being angry at him and more on using him to their advantage.

He merely smiled and shrugged at Verceg's dressing down. "I merely wished to know if they told you why they actually needed your ship. I have my answer now, it seems." Despite their arrogance, both the Captain and Ivan were correct in that it was time to prepare for disembarkment. Henk sought out his only armor, two long sleeve-like armguards that slid up to his shoulder and across his back.

It had been suggested to him several times now that he find more than his cloak and arm guards, but Henk valued the freedom of movement and flexibility of cloth and leather far more than his own safety. With that, and his katars secure and ready, Henk moved to one of the skiffs that had yet to leave the safety of the ship, passing Lumen and stopping momentarily to offer a smile.

"I'm setting out. You're free to join me if you'd like, Lumen."

 

[Lumen]

As they got ready, Lumen offered a wave to Lothar as he got on one of the first ships. Like the others, she was back up on deck with her pack and light set of armor. Probably not a smart idea to wear the heavy stuff as they were going over water. But she did still have her mother's shield strapped to her back. And sword at her side.

She couldn't help the small smile as Henk approached.

She'd been on a few missions with him recently and they'd worked well together. She had to wonder if the proctors had noticed, too, and that's why they kept ending up on some of the same ones. Such a different encounter than at Vel Draza.

"Yeah, looks like Mitchell and I are in your same boat." With the other guardsmen and women, Lumen clambered aboard. Mitchell gave a stiff nod to Henk. As if the older guardsman was still weighing Henk's loyalty but certainly not as hostel as the Captain. Perhaps more so protective of Lumen than anything else.

As their boat hit the water, she leaned closer to Henk.

"Hey, I've been meaning to talk to you," eyes drifted for a moment to the boats ahead of them and the beach quickly approaching. "How close were you to Edric...y'know, growing up?"

 

[Iscandor Karon]

Most days it was a bit dangerous to be on deck, but he found himself there anyway, forming a full body umbrella with the raindrops as he imagined flying along atop shipkillers and tidal waves. Besides that, he couldn’t stand one more game of go fish below deck or he would go full rage mode and attempt to fire a giant icy trident made of rainclouds from the heavens and sink the ship. Even if he wasn’t that close to snapping though, he still preferred above to below, and had even gained some fame among the brigands for sitting aboard a bench during a thunderstorm.

As he was leaning on the mast during the sunny day, watching the others scramble onto the deck to find the land they were all so desperate for (Him included), he’d reminisce about how it had all happened:

When Iscandor had heard there was a mission that had to do with storming an island, he momentarily cringed. The last one they had been on had not gone well. Still, he then shoved the feeling aside at the alluring idea of getting to be on the waves for a good couple of days. Plus, he could learn to get along with some of the other initiates who had joined the mission as well. Flashing back to the present, he’d snap out of it just in time for the Archon ordering them around to announce it was time to set off.

At this current point, Lothar and Henk and Lumen were all somewhat if not nice, then straightforward chaps, so he climbed aboard the skiff Lothar and tens of soldiers were on after learning through gossip Henk planned to invite Lumen once he decided to set off and thanking the other initiate for letting him come along. Ivan, who seemed pretty normal at the dance, was actually a MASSIVE dickhead, and though he never faced his wrath, he saw and felt for others who did. Definitely not someone he wanted to be associated with, given the image of a bully did not exactly associate with helpful squadmates and personnel.

In hindsight, that should have made what happened much less surprising than it initially was. As they were sailing towards the island, he sensed an odd burst of magical energy under the boat and instantly knew what had happened. He knew Ivan had some sort of beef with Lothar, but didn’t they know he was there too? Patching the warped wood by turning the water inside it to ice, he’d at once both keep the boat afloat with his magic and begin to shape a statue right in front of Ivan's face, freezing it in the quite literally iciest "fuck you" ever said, or written, or in this case built. (Yes, it was a hand giving the middle finger.)

"That Ivan guy is a jackass. Noted." He'd say aloud to himself, walking through the crowd to try and find Lothar. Hopefully their collective disdain for the blond haired snob would be something they'd be able to talk about. When he finally set eyes upon the dark haired gentleman, he'd begin to speak. "You're Lothar, right?"

 

[Tuon]

Dzhungli Prizrakov
Common Tongue translation: The Jungle of Ghosts​

The golden dragon snarled as Tuon wafted what remained of the putrid flesh on the end of a stick under the great beasts nose. He recoiled from it, wings flaring and the spikes on his back standing to attention. The bladed tip of his tail lashed so harshly it tore up clumps of the slightly damp earth. Everything said the dragon might bite her head off if she continued with her waving but the young dragon rider held her ground and refused to break her eye contact with her mount.

"Stop being a baby, you great lizard," she muttered to the beast as though its teeth were not the size of her leg. One quick snap and she would be nothing more than an after dinner mint. Yet she took a step forward and lifted her chin. "Your senses are better than mine, tracking it is our only option," of course if tracking it were easy the village dogs might have been able to alert them of the creatures coming. Whatever form it had chosen, it was that scent that would now cloak it. Only the sensitive noses of creatures like dragons would be able to smell that lurked beneath.

The golden dragon gave a snort and fine plumes of smoke wafted over her. Loosely it translated to you fucking sniff it then.

Tuon had always wondered at how Riders and Dragons communicated, had wondered if there was some secret telepathic link that bound them, but after six months with Nazharul she had simply... known.

"The sooner we kill this thing the sooner we can go home, don't you miss your mate?" that brought the dragon up sharply. "I thought so. Get sniffing."