The silvery light of the moons shone gently in the skies, but was brightly reflected back in every facet of the waters that were split by the passing of the relatively small, two masted ship. There wasn't much wind, but it was sufficient to give gentle play to the sea, and to fill the sails, pushing the ship westward. The ship's current captain, called the Jackal, who'd had no intention whatsoever of seeing the vast, open waters even once in his long lifetime, gazed over the starboard side at the radiance of a guiding star. While the fact that the Eladrin ship captain did not need sleep had long ceased to irk the mostly-Human crew, only his first mate had truly learned the difference between curious wandering and restless pacing. Spying the starcrossed man from the steering wheel, the first mate set a stop on the wheel to keep the voyage relatively on course, then made his way toward the right side of the ship. It only took him a few moments to ease up behind the taller man.
"Open sea, this," the gruff, bearded man counseled. "Won't see land fer a good bit."
The blond Elf before him didn't jump or flinch, and while the old Human man didn't let a shadow of the sentiment cross his face, he felt amused. His captain's keen ears could catch even the most careful footfalls over the swishing of the water, the whistling of wind, and the groaning of the sloop's wooden bones. In his opinion, the Eladrin didn't sleep because his acute sense of hearing wouldn't allow true slumber, but his offers of cotton or wax balls were always politely refused.
"No, Maison," the captain replied calmly and evenly. "I certainly won't. My spirit has accepted that reality, but unfortunately, I am possessed of a rather stubborn soul."
The old sailor puffed out a few tight chuckles before he responded. "Ya've a pathmate in yer man on't. Wernvuld and I was 'ammer an' tong afore some 'round 'ere even sucked teet. Beastuva thing, 'im dead."
The Jackal turned his face to his first mate with something that looked like a faint concern in his blue-green eyes. "Instruct me, ser; if the most honourable thing to do is to be challenged and put to death, I shall submit."
This time, the Human outright laughed. "It's a full idjit gonna come atcha sword in 'and, havin' seen ya put sent stamps on however many idjits afore 'im," he finally managed when he could catch his breath. "It weren't no tears dropped in pints fer Wernvuld's loss. Yer man was years walkin' aback o' light- makin' 'ostages o' fam'lies, med'cines, 'oly writ, enythin' fer a bit o' coin. I knew it weren't right, but I wasn't for puttin' a halt on't, 'cuz I likes me pockets full as th' next man. Powerful small coin for a soul, innit?"
"There's not so much coin in any land, or to be had by any job, as can buy a soul," the captain corrected, one of his thin blond eyebrows raised in mock suspicion.
"Aye, but the price o' th' seller's nae the fault o'th' buyer," Maison answered in a less jovial tone.
"That's... just as true," the captain conceded. With a soft scoff, he turned away from the first mate and looked across the waters. "I've done my share of soul selling- a few lords have been made temporary guests, and certainly some shipping attempts have been disrupted. I've not particularly made friends of the law-enforcing naval representatives of many coastal countries. I suppose I've merely been setting the price on all our souls as high as I believe I should dare."
The first mate crossed his arms over his wide chest and turned around, so that he could rest his back on the rail. " 'Oldin' a rich man fer ransom's a better business than 'oldin' the poor ones what works fer th' same," he shrugged. "More, it's 'ardly a serf but's glad when the grain got lowered inna their rowboats 'steada burnt, sunk i'th' waters, or spoilt i'th' dock for want o'th' tarriff. Food's fer eatin', not fer one king holdin' away from another, and plenny o' peasant folks had powerful need o' what we done."
"Yet, the law is not of our part," the captain answered. "If a guardship or a freemariner were to board us, we'd every one be killed or jailed as criminals."
"Piss talk, that," the first mate laughed. "Eny tub the likes o' them puts to sea, th' Princess's faster. They ain't friendly, no, but it's just as much 'cause ya does good on the folks what's beneath 'em, as it is 'ow ya does said good. Now, 'cause yer smarter than ever was Wernvuld i' th' writin', figurin' an' 'agglin', just so 'appens that doin' good's also turnin' a bit o' profit."
The captain offered a very gentle, small, and quiet laugh. For a few moments, the two men stood in silence. Just when the Eladrin began stirring himself as though he would move away, the Human man huffed at him.
"Aye now; it's a long while I 'aven't seen Ser DiCiprione make a show of 'imself 'erebouts. Yer man wonders what called 'im, is all."
For a few moments, the ocean eyes of the Eladrin flitted everywhere but toward the Human man's face. But a deep sigh that ended as a weary chuckle finally resettled them.
"I see my cloak of deceit is poorly worn with you who keep such close company with me; I may as well throw it off," the Jackal began. With a sigh, he continued, "I have made... reasonable decisions. The most honourable, yet practical, ones available to me- to us all. In this enterprise, I have earnestly sought the gods for guidance, but... well. The silence that rests where their answers should be is... quite damning."
The first mate nodded slowly, leaning off the rail and turning back around so that he was facing the same way as his captain. " 'Ad ye an appren'ice or a wee one back 'ome?"
"Ah, no," the Eladrin replied wistfully. "I never managed to climb high enough in the ranks to earn knighthood, which would have granted the privilege of an apprentice. As for the child- another old petition unanswered. I can only hope that the righteous woman once given me by her father will now be remembered of the gods, given again to another, and blessed with as many little joys as she desires."
"The gods're each an ocean all their own, vast and wild, and ne'er to be fully learnt. Like as not they ain't never forgot neither 'er nor you," the first mate counseled, drawing closer to the Eladrin as though there were someone awake to overhear their words. "Ya does 'ave quite the admirer in Dredge, but... argh. Pardon yer man pokin' in'at wound."
"I think not poorly of you for it; I'm certain you had no malicious intent in your query." DiCiprione turned his blue green eyes away from the dark horizon and looked fully into his companion's face. "I'm also certain there was to be a hidden wisdom in the answer."
Maison Veltrass thought honestly back to each storm and every cloudy night he'd worked at the wheel. "There was, but yer man'll have to sing outa the psaltry 'e knows." After a few minutes of quiet had passed, he finally said, "In times o' high storm or thick cloud, when it's ne'ery a star to be seen, yer man steers by mem'ry. It's so often yer man's been at the wheel with charts and stars that even when 'e sees nany o' them, they're as good as printed in 'is mind. So, 'e keeps close ta what seems right i' th' mind's eye, 'til proper eyes can see sky ag'in. Now, what with yer leadin' shipwide prayers mornin' an' night, off'rin' milk and rich fixin's enytime yer 'ands gets ahold of 'em... seems ya does that type o' steerin' already, and like as no, a powerful lot o' our mums'd thank ye fer th' service. Th' Bright Lord's never 'eard me voice as much as these days; it weren't yer choice ta take Wernvuld's ship, but ya does good on us. It's not a man o'us quit th' sloop since ya come. Ask yer man, an' that there's word an' deed o'th' gods enough. But keep yer course til ya sees sky yerself, Cap'in. That's all."
The Jackal smiled softly. "Indeed; veritas, Maison. Aye, and veritas. Thank you."
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