Carpe diem, baby.

Out of Character:

Closed to Nicolette.

It was a bitterly cold Salvarian winter’s day, but Shinsou wasn’t at all fazed by it. In fact, he seemed to rather enjoy it. The chill of the snowflakes brushing his cheeks and the beauty of the deep blue sea basked in the whites of winter was something he appreciated in that moment, an image he would gladly hold on to after the struggle of the last few months. Why? Because Osiris reasoned he would like to leave Salvar on a high note. He had spent the last year embroiled in a personal, poisonous vendetta against a slaver ring. He had met and freed the slave girl Amari. He had trained with the spirit in his sword, Shira, and tapped into new powers, albeit magic he was still in the process of mastering. He had reunited with the faun Philomel, his friend, rather unexpectedly. He had met his father, Telos Soltair, who had warned him about the Council of Five.

Life here wasn’t boring.

It had been an experience for the young Telgradian, but Shinsou was ready to go home, back to Corone.

Back to his house, back to the Brotherhood, back to training with Philomel and getting lectured by John Cromwell, back to drinking whisky with Storm Veritas in some dingy back-alley bar and back to waiting for the rest of the Council of Five to try and kill him.

Back to normality, really.

Normality? He wondered what that even was for him anymore as he paced the snowy path towards the port and then through a handful of dock workers to the end of pier number four. The memories that lingered in the depths of his mind of his crusade against the slavers and his rescue of Amari obscured the concept. Compared to the life he’d been living here, the people he had saved and the achievements he had accomplished, his life back on Corone didn’t matter anymore. There was little that would allow him to be with the people he loved. Only the Brotherhood could. That’s why the Brotherhood mattered and it was the only reason he wanted to leave Salvar in the first place.

“What will you do when you get back to Corone?” Philomel Van der Aart asked the slim man ahead of her, keeping her eyes on the icy water below her feet. She was sitting on the edge of a pier where a large ship was moored, her furry legs swaying below her. The faun had insisted on seeing him to the boat, something Osiris was grateful for. Veridian, her spirit-fox companion, sat in her lap staring endlessly out to see. The vessel bobbing next to them had seen better days, and judging by the state of the wood and the wear on the moorings, it had seen its share of action during its service, but it was solid and enough for Shinsou to get to Scara Brae on.

“I don’t know. I’ll probably train with Cromwell for a bit until you get back. Maybe then we can have a proper drink.” Shinsou replied, pausing for a couple of seconds to look towards the faun. Her expression warmed him and Osiris knew that he would miss her until she got back to the island. Though he couldn’t say it to her face, he could say it now to himself without a shadow of a doubt in his mind. He adored the faun and Shinsou hated to be away from her.

“A proper drink? Will the Brotherhood be paying?” she inquired again, this time turning and smiling over her shoulder. It was a look only Philomel could perfect, a glance that made her grey eyes sparkle gently and a smile that lit up her face. Shinsou repositioned his swords around his waist and smiled heartily at her question.

“What’s the point in being the co-leader of an organisation like that if you can’t flaunt some of the treasury once in a while? Besides, I’m not letting Storm drink, gamble or fuck the rest of our money out of the door on his own.”

Philomel managed a giggle at his rather partisan humour.

“Good. So you’re paying. That’s all I needed!”

The Faun concluded with a grin, turning her head back to the freezing water below and stroking Veridian’s head tenderly.

“Last call to Scara Brae! All passengers make your way to the loading ramp!”

The cold fingers of the bitter winds swept themselves through the faun’s tumbling hair, but it wasn’t that which caused her to wince. That call meant Shinsou would disappear again for weeks. Philomel pouted in an almost childish way as Shinsou grabbed his luggage from the wooden planked floor and slung it over his shoulder. Chuckling to himself, the Telgradian shook his head.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be back in Corone before you know it. First round is on the Brotherhood when you get home.” Shinsou added before he stepped towards the ledge and joined a line of people queuing to be added to the manifest. “Also, take care of Amari, ok?” he continued in a much more serious tone. She lifted her head upwards and looked at his face as the Telgradian ascended the ramp and disappeared onto the great deck of the good ship Khaia.

I’ll be thinking of you both.

Morning descended on Caershire as lightly as a butterfly. It came without fanfare, slipping silently over the ragged mountains that towered above. There was a delicate grace to the dawn, as it settled over the cold, picturesque province. And gods, was it beautiful. Like the colors of a Monarch’s fragile wings, vibrant oranges streaked across the cloudless sky. In a word, the scene was perfect.

The scene in the north tower was quite different. The room, with its modest decor, was typically cozy, and inviting. Overstuff furniture in deep crimson shades arced in a half-circle around stone fireplace. A painting of a hunt, with high-stepping bay horses and barking dogs, hung over the hearth. Bookcases with an assortment of books and trinkets lined all walls but one; the remainder was consumed by a wide window. It was there, bathed in the gentle light of the morning, that Josephine Langdon stood. Though she stared out over the sprawling lands, frozen in what seemed like endless winter, her eyes were clouded with concern. Her mind was far away. There was no warmth, grace, or perfection here - merely a stifling anxiety.

“Jo.” The voice was as gentle as a mother’s murmur, and came from the doorway. Josephine turned to find her husband, his expression largely unreadable. But if the woman had learned anything of her best friend, it was that his large hazel eyes hid nothing, and revealed everything. This morning, she found within them a gentle sympathy, and understanding. The Boyar of Caershire, and the strongest man she had ever met, experienced the same worry that plagued her. Somehow, that knowledge alone helped to calm her.

The hard lines that traced her entire being softened, and while she did not smile, she no longer frowned either. “Teddy.” It was the breathless whisper of a woman teetering on the edge of tears.

Theodore was across the room and to his wife’s side in mere seconds. He pulled her closer, and instinctively, she turned into him. “She is going to be fine,” the man mumbled into Josephine’s copper curls. There was an easy confidence in his words, but they both knew he was working to convince himself, as well as his companion. “She is not going far,” he continued, “and she will be escorted all the way. You know that Xander will not let anything happen to her.”

At this, Josephine pulled back slightly to gaze up at her husband, the first ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “That boy loves Letty more than anyone.”

Theodore feigned offense. “Even more than I do, Jo?”

Now the smile was undeniable, blossoming across his bride’s entire face in a way that never failed to catch Theodore’s breath. “Even more than you,” Josephine answered slyly, “though it is a tight race, I should think.”

“I would settle for a close second.” The man gave her a tight squeeze, before releasing, and taking a few backwards steps. “She will be in the courtyard in a moment. Let us wish her well.”

The pair found their young charge standing beside a small, black carriage. A driver, bundled so tightly he scarcely resembled a human, was perched atop the bench. A team of chestnut mares pawed at the icy earth, puffs of warm breath hovering around their flared, paper-thin nostrils. Out of habit, Theodore gave the nearest a pat on her neck as he moved by.

Josephine hurried to the young woman, her skirts billowing about her ankles as she drifted across the snow. She had nearly smothered Nicolette in a tight hug before she commanded, “you be careful, do you understand?”

“Is that an order, my lady?” Nicolette was nearly humming with goodnatured humor when Josephine held her at arm’s length. As Nicolette was not the true daughter of the Langdons’, the title was still appropriate. However, she used it as a term of endearment, rather than a formality. At nine years of age, and after the sudden death of her parents, the girl had been brought into the care of the noble family. Alexander Morgan, the Boyer’s right-hand-man, had become her true guardian. Yet as the Langdons could have no children of their own, their role in her life had been just as significant. In one evening, little Letty had moved from having no parents to having three.

Josephine beamed at the blonde child. “Always, my dear.” She planted a small kiss in the middle of Nicolette’s forehead, then moved aside so her husband could have his turn.

“Where is Alexander?” Theodore inquired, glancing around for his master advisor. “Did he come down with you?”

Nicolette shook her head. “No, he had a prior engagement. We said our goodbyes yesterday evening.”

“Well then, allow me to say mine.” The dark-haired man followed his wife’s lead, sweeping Nicolette into a hug, and nestling a kiss atop her head. When he spoke again, he addressed the other man. The twenty year-old had stood silently, his eyes averted politely from the family’s exchange. He wore light travel armor, and a sword, its hilt well-worn, clung to his hip. He was a knight of the royal army, and Nicolette’s best friend from childhood. “Look after this little one,” Boyer Langdon said. “She is precious to me.”

“As she is to me, sir.” Xander’s ears warmed a bit with embarrassment, as the words had fled his lips without thought, and perhaps crossed a line. But if Theodore was upset in the least, he gave no indication. Instead, he clapped the soldier on the arm, gave a final nod to Nicolette, and led his wife back to the warmth of the castle.

“They worry too much,” Letty commented, only loud enough for Xander, as he helped her into the carriage.

Often, when one ventured south of Caershire’s capital city, they found the climate much more favorable. The Langdon’s castle was built in the northern portion of the province, experiencing cold temperatures nearly year-round. This, however, was not the case when Xander again opened the carriage door; the port in which the travelers found themselves was nearly as cold, if not more-so, due to its place on the water.

The knight retrieved both his bag and his companion’s, slinging them easily over his shoulder. As they picked their way toward the ship, their path perilous due to frozen patches of splashed seawater, Nicolette could hardly contain her excitement.

“The Khaia,” she read aloud. “You know, I have never been on a trip outside of Salvar.”

“Nor have I,” Xander informed her. “Here’s to the first of many.”

Nicolette grinned. “The first of many.”

“Osiris? Shinsou Vaan Osiris?”

A short, scrawny man had been reading from an unfurled list of names for half an hour now. It had taken so long because the manifest had been rushed, the ink scrawled in sloping script that had been so illegible that it had taken three minutes to figure out the first one. As Shinsou responded to the call, pushing through a crowd of bodies, his eyes met the stereotype of a weathered sailor; a fellow with a tussled mop of greying hair and weathered, squinting features. His clothes were ragged, presumably from years of exposure to the harsh maritime conditions and even the brass pocket watch dangling from his side looked ancient.

It was also probably the most advanced item on the ship.

“Yeah?” Asked the Telgradian nonchalantly.

“Cabin four.“ His voice was rough and raspy. Shinsou could picture it being a symptom of years of the man drowning himself in drink and cigars. “Starboard side aft.”

“What?” Shinsou simply replied, his arms crossed across his chest as he looked down at the ship’s mate with an annoyed expression. He didn’t understand nautical terms, in fact, he hated them, but then again he wasn’t a sailor. “Can I get that again, please, but in tradespeak?”

“Down the deck and right,” The mate said with a touch of bitterness in his voice. His eyes glared relentlessly as Shinsou turned and wobbled slightly. “And mind yer’ drinkin. Don’t want you goin’ overboard.’”

“I’m not drunk, not even close.”

It was a short, uninterested reply that suggested the Telgradian hadn’t intended to provide further explanation, but the sailor was unmoved, his eyes insisting on elaboration.

“You look it, and I’ve seen plenty a man drunk.”

Shinsou sighed deeply, shifting a little bit. He had felt fatigue creeping up on him for a couple of days now, the result of overindulging in training with Shira. Every time he paced forward his body felt heavier and heavier. The Telgradian wasn’t drunk; he was just in need of a good rest and he knew it. The transit time was two days between Salvar and Scara Brae, plenty of time for Osiris to refresh before the journey home. Times weren’t as they used to be. You used to be able to throw gold in front of anyone and expect an interrogation-free trip across the waters. Now, the ports were filled with the outright paranoid types that constantly wanted satisfaction their customers weren’t dealing drugs, selling arms or getting pissed before a voyage. In the long run, it would be less trouble for them. But the Khaia was the first ship back and the best Osiris managed to find at short notice.

“I’m just tired, so don’t worry; I won’t be screwing up your health and safety record today.”

The righteous, uncaring tone stung the ship’s mate slightly. The man launched a sharp eye towards the Telgradian, but Shinsou seemed unfazed by this; his stern face not displaying that he had noticed the aggravated look on the face of the sailor.

“Well, make sure you don’t wander too close to the sides. I won’t endanger my boat and my crew pulling you out of the water.”

“You just concentrate on doing your job, and I’ll worry about me, ok?” Shinsou’s tone was definite, making it known that they were at the end of the conversation. The sailor took this with a grim frown before reverting back to his manifest and moving to the next name.

“Nosy bastard,” Shinsou commented silently, his eyes falling on the dawn sky in the east that slowly overtook the Salvarian landscape. He couldn’t hold on to his strict visage at the view, with the sun’s crest just high enough over the horizon that the light it poured over the icy continent made the ice shimmer like a million diamonds. It was a beautiful country, really, and he had learned a lot there, but the Brotherhood needed him back in Whitevale. Now was the time for some rest.

The Telgradian went to his quarters just as the sun painted the ice bloody red and covered the sea surface with shimmering gold.

"You're shaking."

The palpable concern in Xander's voice brought a smile to Nicolette's chapped lips. "I am just excited," she assured him, moving to rest a gloved hand on his arm reassuringly. The other remained buried deep in the fur-lined pocket of her heavy coat, where it might escape the chill. Though it was warmer where the pair stood now, nestled among a crowd of waiting passengers, the small woman still shivered against the cold. But to tell her friend that seemed like a waste of a perfectly good mood; a complaint might somehow tarnish the adventure before it had even begun. So she gave his arm one more pat, and broadened her smile against his skepticism. Then, as her expression grew sly, she added, "you sound so much like my family sometimes."

"We just worry about you," came his gentle reply.

Nicolette's head tilted, her smile waning as she gazed up at the taller boy. "Do I give you reason to worry?" It was an innocent enough question, but it promised a far deeper, more serious conversation were Xander to answer incorrectly. Letty had always been as well-behaved as possible. Her childhood had lacked the common rebellious streak during her teenage years, as she had been more inclined to experiment with music, art, and science than with her parental boundaries. She had respected authority, and rarely, if ever, upset those she cared about. They had raised her better than that, she had always acknowledged. And, the mere fact that they had been willing to raise her at all called for a debt of gratitude that never left her mind.

So she watched him expectantly, curious as to what excuse he could give for his sometimes overbearing tendencies. But as his expression grew pained, clearly struggling to find words that were both truthful and harmless, the tiny ball of fire in her stomach burned out. "No need to answer that," she told him, "it was a foolish question anyway." Xander seemed to melt there on the dock beside her, relief shining across face like sunshine. And her own smile returned, as it always did at Xander's borderline childish displays of emotion. Whereas Nicolette had learned to mask her moods, the boy had never succeeded in anything of the sort. It was trait that she quite admired in him; everything felt more genuine where Xander was involved.

"Nicolette Morgan?" There was hesitation in the man's tone, as if he was unsure that he was reading the manifest correctly. A handful of conversations stilled, and Nicolette felt new pairs of eyes coming to rest on her. Not everyone recognized her name, as many of the travelers gathered on the port were strangers, but there was a noticeable change in atmosphere. The sea of bodies parted for her as she moved forward, altogether unfazed by the display after years of playing witness to it.

When the ship's mate spotted her, he gave a small nod. "So it is you," he mused aloud, studying her for a moment. "Heard there was some royalty about these parts, but I wasn't sure you would be takin' yer journey on my ship."

"I am, yes," she answered simply. Then, as her excitement continued to climb, she added, "this is my first time, actually."

The scrawny sailor's attention returned to his manifest. "Well now, that's special then. My best piece of advice would be to mind the rails. If you fall overboard, we won't be turnin' 'round to fish you out."

Letty felt Xander tense beside her, and while she wanted to assure the big man that the sailor's comment was made in jest, she was not entirely sure that was actually the case. So she merely forged ahead. "And this is Xander. Where is it we'll be bunking, sir?"

"Cabins five and six," he reported, "starboard side aft. That's-"

"Toward the rear of the ship, on the right side." The man stared at her, startled by her interruption. Slightly sheepish, Letty explained, "I researched common ship terminology before I left."

He blinked, and then gave a small unimpressed "uh huh," before turning to call for the next passenger. Recognizing this as her cue to leave, the blonde lifted her skirts, and picked her way toward a small corridor that led below deck.

"Look at how red the sky is this morning," Xander commented suddenly, just as Letty was beginning to descend the narrow stairs. She turned to share in the view.

"You know, I read something about red skies, and what it means. An old sailor's tale."

Xander adjusted their bags on his shoulder, and asked, "what was it?"

Nicolette frowned. "It seems I don't remember."

A bed came to Shinsou, bringing with it the promise of warmth and rest. But on the Salvic sea, winter's cold hand refused to loosen its grasp and fatigue crept into his soul.

The weeks of training had been almost unbearable. For the six days a week he had holed himself up in that icy, cavernous maw called the White Chasm, the wind had chilled Shinsou to the bone. The snowfall was just thick enough that he would camp for the night and expect to be sealed in the cave by six or seven feet come morning. On worse nights, he wouldn't even dare to stop moving for more than a few seconds for fear of hypothermia.

The Telgradian had learned that in Salvar’s northern wilds, life was hard and unforgiving. Movement outside the cavern was met with hostilities; barbarians that still held a presence over most of the area would see the lone man from a mile away and immediately identify him as a threat. Natural food came in the way of whatever he could kill, and it was likely that the beasts that roamed were twice the size of him and more stubborn. Plants became sparse; far enough out and the forests seemed to be made almost entirely out of glass.

Those were just the living conditions.

Shinsou had come to train with Shira, his sword, and earn the goddess of ice’s trust. The unseen spirit in his blade stood on the precipice of everything. Osiris knew that without complete mastery of both his blade and his magic, all he had worked for up to now would come undone. She had ensured that the usual parlour games Shinsou used to hone his skills stopped and intense, specific drills took their place. The ground Shira had marked was clear, save for patches of thick rock and a few inordinately stubborn weeds. At the center of it all was a perfectly maintained circle of beasts, all of which were created and sustained by her magic. They danced around Shinsou, whispering things in an archaic form of Salvic that few living spoke, and fewer still dared to listen to. It drove him to near madness to kill them all, only to see two manifest again from every one fallen. This, for six hours a day, was enough to tip someone over the edge of sanity. But Shinsou persevered.

Whispers, echoing dimly in the early night, reached him as the Telgradian stripped to his underwear and wrapped himself in the welcoming blankets. He could feel the boat rocking gently underneath him.

“You’re suffering.” The ethereal voice was Shira’s; an underlying tone of concern running through her words.

"No," said Shinsou. "I just overexerted myself, that’s all. Nothing a night’s rest won’t cure.” He turned, head cocked to one side on the pillow.

Shira sighed, retracting her consciousness back into the sword that lay at Shinsou’s side. The Telgradian’s eyes followed the northernmost corner of the room, watching it sway from side to side, before their lids shut and enveloped his world in peaceful darkness.

Though the occupant of the room across the hall slept soundly, Nicolette struggled to drift off when her day finally drew to a close. Xander had excused himself after a day spent exploring the ship, disappearing into his own cabin, nestled directly next to hers. She had agreed, albeit grudgingly, to get some sleep herself. But after an hour of tossing and turning under the warm blanket, she stood to pace the small cabin. The wood floor rolled beneath her as the ship crested wave after wave, yet that was not what made sleep so elusive. Rather, it was the blooming excitement that coursed through her veins like a poison. Her hands trembled at the mere thought of adventuring outside Salvar, and walking seemed to be the only remedy. The physical activity, however hindered by the walls of her cramped room, aided in working off at least some of her anxious energy. Only after trudging a metaphorical trench in her stateroom did the exhausted girl collapse back into bed, just past midnight.

Despite the late bedtime, she was up to watch the sun rise through her porthole window. The blonde rarely slept past dawn, even before her formal training began, as the colors were too beautiful to miss. That morning, the sky was again a deep crimson, staining the golds and pinks she preferred. Nicolette felt herself scowl, the phrase tugging at a distant memory the same way it had the day before. She dwelled on the meaning as she climbed into her dress for the morning. Long sleeves and thick fabric would make for a warm wear as she and Xander passed the day atop the deck, sightseeing as the Khaia sliced through the frigid water. Even if there was little to actually watch, the sheer thrill of the travel would be enough to quench Nicolette's thirst for the time being.

The knock at the door came promptly after she laced up her ankle-high boots, perfect timing on Xander's part. Her best friend had a way of being there just when she needed him, and if she had not grown so accustomed to it, she might have found it uncanny. She went to call out her greeting, moving to the door to let him in, when three more knocks interrupted her. They came in rapid succession, concluded by Xander's barked order. "Letty," he called through the thick wood, "let me in." His aggressiveness, so unusual in the mild-mannered man, rained hesitation down upon the young woman.

"But-" she began softly, eyes narrowing as the door began to rattle on its hinges. The knight was nearly breaking down the door in his haste to reach her.

This time, his voice was even louder, all pretense of politeness gone. "Now!" he boomed. "Open the door." And she did, in a panicked flurry of movement. The moment the lock was removed, the door slammed wide, and the chestnut-haired figure threw himself toward her. Nicolette's petticoats swirled about her legs, nearly tripping her as she stumbled backward, away from the charging bull of a man. He yanked himself to a stop just before barreling into her, then turned to shut the door, and secure the lock behind him.

Nicolette was not quick to anger, but the shock still crackled in her chest, and burned red on her flushed cheeks. Her small hands clenched to fists at her side. "Explain yourself," she commanded of him. But when he turned, and those blue eyes were as wide and violent as a roaring sea, any further words died on her lips.

He was across the cabin in two great strides, his thick arms around her shoulders only a heartbeat later. "You're alright," he breathed into her hair, holding her for as long as his position allowed. He released her, and when his gaze found hers, her expression was equal parts concern and confusion.

"Of course I am," she countered, head tilting as she studied him. His chest rose and fell beneath his tunic, and a thin line of sweat adorned his brow and upper lip. Had he been running?

As if in answer, shouts seemed to come from all directions. They were carried through her open porthole on the icy breeze, and they leaked through the wooden walls and ceiling, the raised voices of men and women alike. All at once, concern and confusion melded into horror. "Are we sinking?" she breathed, her voice barely audible above the chaos around her.

"No," he answered. Xander looked as if he might touch her again, but after a beat of silence, he turned back to face the door. "We are being boarded by pirates."