Private Tales Port and Portents

[Evaine]

Hearing her own voice come from somewhere else other than her own mouth was certainly unsettling, but perhaps not for the reason most would think. In Malakath, there was a creature she had managed to avoid direct contact with but had experienced its presence on numerous occasions. The stark memory of standing atop the walls of the Malakath colony, looking out into the waning hours of the night as it descended upon the wilds beyond.

Somewhere out in the landscape she remembered hearing the wails. The crying. The screams. Sounds that felt like sentient words but formed no recognizable language. Knowing their troops and scouts and members of the colony were safely within the walls and hearing the mimic call in the distance. The mystery of its identity ... be it another race of the horrible continent or some beast that lured in its prey by mimicing its sounds ... made her stomach turn for some reason.

"That is a neat trick," Bartok admitted, looking over at the Dreadlord who had taken on a faraway stare. Her eyes were pointed at the map but it was clear she wasn't seeing the map in front of her.

"I'm sure it can be useful in many ways but I couldn't rightly tell you how from here. That seems the sort of thing that you use in a moment of need or opportunity." Bartok looked back to the Captain and cleared his throat, "Cap?"

Evaine blinked, pushed herself away from the map and rose to her feet, "I've seen enough. We'll revisit the plan closer to arrival. For now, make yourselves useful to LaRue."

"Yes ma'am," Bartok nodded and bent to fold the map back up as their Dreadlord leader stepped away and out of the chamber, making her way back up to the daylight of the deck.

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir would smile at first as his ability seemed to surprise a lot of people present. He was happy enough to seem useful but it wasn't until he looked to Evaine for approval this his smile fell. Unlike the others generally nodding or humming at the uses of his skill she seemed.... troubled. He knew that far-away stare really well. He often got caught up in his own thoughts when something complicated came up and as Bartok addressed her and she seemed to disengage from the conversation Ispir couldn't help but feel responsible.

When she began to step away and the rest of the Anirians began busying themselves he would, instead, scamper after Evaine and only catch up to her once they were on the deck.

"U-Ummm! Hey! Captain?"

If she stopped he would stop in front of her, if she did not then he would stay in her wake.

"I just... wanted to see if you were okay? I'm your partner on this mission after all and you seem.... seemed...."

He shrugged.

"I know that look you made. I'm.... I'm sorry if I was the cause of it."

His voice would grow quieter, more sincere and heartfelt, when he apologized. Far from the boisterous or pouting tone she had heard from him before.​

 

[Evaine]

The bard received a curious look from the Dreadlord as she made her way slowly but steadily across the deck, ensuring her path would not put her in that of others already going about their duties.

"Hm," she responded, seemingly disinterested in such nonsensical things as apologies or empathy, "It's fine."

It wasn't as though she was especially covetous of things. Truth be told, Evaine had very little to call her own, but it felt a bit queer to have something as personal as one's voice taken by another so... casually. Rich, considering the amounts of lives she took on a regular basis with nary a blink.

Not that such a thought process occurred to her.

"It just reminded me of something I encountered in Malakath."

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir would blink, rapidly, surprised at her neutral dismissal of something that had obviously bothered her. She must really like seeming tough to everyone. Though it wouldn't exactly be kind of him to pry or insist on anything he did end up nodding and peering up at her curiously.

"Ooookay. Umm.... I'm not sure where Malakath is but if things there can also copy your voice I can imagine how that was scary."

He even shivered a bit at the thought of his own voice calling to him from beyond the firelight before shaking his head.

"So what are you up to now?"

He asked casually. Still following her. Not so much out of any sort of loyalty but nonetheless with all the loyalty of a well-trained hound.

Evaine​

 

[Evaine]

She made no comment to the beasts, known or not, of Malakath being scary. It hardly mattered now. Evaine was a creature that lived in the moment with her eyes on the future and for her? That future was getting her father out of prison. If that meant dealing with the annoyance of a man-child bard on this mission, so be it.

As for what she was doing...

"Sir," Evaine came to a stop, her stature militant when the Boatswain looked up from a collection of parchment. It was a wiry man of green-tinted skin which made Evaine guess he was likely part orc, though he lacked the tusks.

"Dreadlord Coltair, I presume..." said the man as he looked her over, "welcome aboard. I've been told you are a woman of considerable strength, so I've put you and a few of your men on cargo management. We'll be stopping at several ports to exchange goods along the way."

"Understood, Sir," Evaine nodded.

"Should we run into any pirates, I can expect your assistance in dealing with them?"

"If they endanger my mission you can expect them to be dealt with," the Dreadlord replied on a tone that was flat and devoid of any humor or doubt.

"That is good to hear..." the Boatswain eyed her, "I think. As for you-" his gaze shifted to Ispir Sione, "you'll be oiling the deckrails to start. Rags and vat are in the compartment under the stairs over there."

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir would pout a bit as Evaine seemed to just ignore them. Only to pause and wait out her conversation with the boatswain. It made some sense that they were helping on the ship's journey. Extra bodies meant extra hands and running a ship was hard work. Ispir would purse his lips at the mention of pirates, not wanting to say he wasn't one for combat, but at his assignment he blinked. He almost spoke before considering the kind of people he was around and, simply nodding, would walk over to the stairs in question.

Opening up the compartment he would cough and wave the air a bit at the scent of the oil they used. But, surprisingly, what he hadn't mentioned is that he used a similar, albeit less pungent and powerful, oil in maintaining his instruments. So really this wouldn't AS hard or smelly for his as it could be for a random nobody on the streets. Though it still wasn't exactly glamorous work and BOY did their equipment suck.

Nevertheless Ispir would roll up his sleeves, straighten his posture, and get to work without complaint. Though he did work just a bit slower than he could have, not wanting to be given a TON of extra work for doing too well. But also not be seen as completely useless.​