The Truth Enslaved (closed to Letho)

[Skie and Avery]

The growing static charge heralded dark clouds on the horizon. As wisps turned to great grey swirls, clouds that promised rain metastasizing into the shadows of destruction, tension grew on the ship. Skie stood on the deck of the Ammaty D'aphyon and stared out over the plains, towards the coming storm. It was her first time on an airship, though she was finding it wasn't much different than a boat on the sea. The exception, she thought, as her eyes scanned downward over patches of farmland pieced together like the squares of a quilt, was that if this ship were to fall she wouldn't be able to swim to safety. The bottom of a bay looked more inviting than fields of wheat and barley stitched together by thin dirt roads and spindled tributaries cutting through the hills.

A gust of wind buffetted the side of the airship and it dipped as it was prone to do. When the swordswoman's hand moved to the rail to steady herself, there was a snap in the air and the sensation that her fingertips had been slapped. It wasn't the first time she'd been shocked by the static on the ship, but it was stronger now. It was time to go in, even if the wind hadn't picked up to whip her hair around her face. She couldn't stand here clearing strands of it from her eyes forever.

The hold itself was comfortable, if sparse. Furniture was bolted to the floor, and the lack of any decor made the dark wooden walls feel like they were closing in. Still, it was warm, free from the chill outside even if the air was just as thin. Skie found herself taking a moment to catch her breath as she sat down on a bench beside one of the crewman. He gripped a mug of something that smelled of apples and spice in one hand and a small book in the other. Skie mustered a smile when he glanced at her, but let it falter when his gaze swept back to the pages. He was dense for an Alerian elf, muscled and broad-shouldered. Somehow it made it feel strange when she scanned the pages in front of him to find that he was reading some Raiaeran tome. It was a familiar story, a legends of two elven lovers and a cautionary tale warning against following curious paths. Somehow, he seemed the type to be more patriotic than that.

"Sorry to interrupt your time," she apologized. "I was just wondering if you knew when we were stopping?"

She waited in silence as the seconds stretched.

"Got it," she muttered standing up again, sliding away along the bench as she turned to look for someone else to ask. "Enjoy the story. Esweld dies, by the way." She would be lying if she didn't admit the petty reveal didn't feel good. Before she stepped away from the table, the crewman cleared his throat.

"I know, but then they bring her back. I've read it before." He scoffed for a moment, before turning a page and shrugging, "and if you needed to piss, you should have done it before we left. Lucky for you we're picking up more supplies and workers in the next town. Shouldn't be long."

Outside the airship, the distant rumble of thunder stalked the ship as patient and steady as any snake in the brush.

[Letho]

Sitting cross-legged at the roadside with his back against the trunk of a half-dead elm, Letho Ravenheart looked more like a wandering mathematician than a hunter. The unfurled map that covered his lap fluttered lazily in the wind as his eyes followed the floating ship that milled across the dun sky. After a couple of seconds of calm observation, he picked up the pencil from behind his ear, set it against the ruler and extended the line that marked the course of the airship. Using a pair of compasses next, he took the measure of the distance covered and checked it against the ruler, then proceeded to scribble down the value on the Berevar part of the map, which was mostly empty.

Twenty-two knots, and against the wind, he thought once the calculations were done. It was more than he had expected. Looking upon the flying ship from below gave him an impression that it was going at an incredibly slow pace, especially since Letho had no problems keeping up with its advance through the countryside on horseback. But when he took into consideration the mass of the ship, the cargo it could deliver and the terrain it could cover, it was quite an impressive feat. And it was one of the smaller ones. From what information Letho had been able to gather during this excursion into Alerar – and there was precious little of concrete data to go by, what with Alerar officials’ tendency to keep the specifications closely guarded – their Aviation had significantly larger airships at their disposal and they allegedly achieved even greater speeds. But during his month in the realm of dark elves, Letho was yet to run across one of these juggernauts.

Perhaps they are all in Raiaera, beating the stuffing out of their pointy-eared cousins. The very thought of that cowardly belligerence was enough to make the hunter want to cave in some dark-skinned faces. Though Letho had no great love for the highfalutin Raiaerans – they generally palavered too much and acted too little in his book – he could sympathize with their current plight. After barely surviving the Xem’Zund ordeal and his armies of walking corpses, now they had the greed of Alerar to deal with. There was probably more to that, of course – neighboring nations always held some grudges against each other – but Letho didn’t care overmuch about the pretexts used for the attack. It was a dishonorable tactic that he could never condone. That was why he didn’t feet particularly bad for spying on their Aviation and plotting to steal one of their airships.

But that was thinking too far ahead, like mulling on the step hundred-and-four while being on step number nine. Right now all he was doing was observation and data collection.

Satisfied with the measurements, Letho stuffed his instruments back into a leather satchel and rolled up the map. As he got back to his feet with an audible pop in both knees, the steed tied to one of the living branches of the tree greeted him with a snort and a head shake, obviously eager to get going again. With a pack of wing drake hides tied on his rump, a string of claws and fangs hanging from the pommel of the saddle and an assortment of weapons strapped to his flanks, the horse looked every bit like a mount of a hunter.

And Letho himself only further added to the picture. Now that he was no longer fiddling with measuring instruments, his overgrown beard and the ruffled graying hair only completed the picture of someone who killed monsters for a living. Which was technically what he actually did do for a living these days, but his military upbringing never really made him look like he was a road-weary hunter, and that was something that could bring attention to him when he really wanted none brought. And so he had let both his hair and his beard to go unruly, even if the latter occasionally itched despite him keeping it relatively clean. He had even spent three days hunting the pair of wing drakes and tanning their hides, just to make the reason for his visit seem more genuine. It was probably unnecessary for the most part – most people here scarcely spared him a second glance and his Coronian fame didn’t seem to stretch this far overseas – but probably was not good enough when one was out in a foreign land, looking to steal from the local government.

Securing the map and the instrument satchel in one of the saddle bags, Letho mounted up and clucked the horse back into the road. Though he had spent some ten minutes on his calculations, the airship above didn’t seem significantly more distant, and once the mounted hunter made his way around the hillock that the road detoured around, he could see why. There was a town farther up the road, Tarvenn if Letho remembered the name from the map correctly, a relatively small dot on the map that seemed to translate to a sizeable collection of houses stretched around the narrow river that made its way from the nearby hills. Letho didn’t know and didn’t particularly care if the aviators were making a planned visit here or were they seeking refuge from the storm that seemed to be ready to roll down those mountain slopes any moment now. Either way it would allow him for a closer look.

Spurring his horse into a vigorous canter, Letho Ravenheart rode towards the town, hoping to reach it before the storm.

[Skie and Avery]

The wind was howling just outside of the cabins. The trees had started to sway and shudder in the gale, surrendering their leaves in swaths. The wet leaves had been trampled in by the group they'd picked up in town a few hours after they'd landed and put out the word that there was room for work. The storm ushered along the process with an urgency that Skie hadn't seen when she'd boarded the ship.

Now she stared from a back wall to the crowd as they were asked for credentials and given offers for work. The men and women looked mostly like the rest of the crew - dark Alerian elves. Dwarves, humans, and a single draconian too far from home had already left after been given excuses about lack of experience or the wrong kind of work history.

Oh Alerar, Skie found herself musing, boasting their progressive culture while being so firmly rooted in their past.

She met eyes with the last remaining human, and watched as he was nearly skipped over completely. The elves were known for being both tactless and delicate in their ways, a strange dichotomy that she'd grown used to. Maybe she felt restless because of the storm or maybe she was still more Coronian than not, but Skie found herself moving forward and jutting her jaw at Letho.

"Him?" she asked.

The foreman - a particularly beefy specimen of his race - glanced warily at the ranger.

"I think we have enough hands right now," he said cautiously. Under his breath, he muttered, "rivvin mora natha khruste i'dol..."

"Xun'us?" Skie asked, amused. The foreman stuttered, raking a hand through his short black hair and cast his dark eyes downward.

"Sorry it's just..."

"Come on," she said, "he looks steady on his feet and the weather is bad out there. Besides, I can't be the only drathir-jindurn elg'caress around here."

"Fine," he said, turning to Letho. "50 gold for the trip, if you've got the back for it. Slack off and it's less."

When the foreman moved on, obviously more annoyed than he was before, Skie took a moment to gloat. It was the first time she'd felt really listened to so far on the trip, though she knew that it was less about who she was and more about who she knew that gave her influence around here. She smiled at the hunter, holding out her hand.

"It's nice to not be the only human around," she said, only lying a little bit. "Sariya Surulinath," she introduced herself, using the alias she'd been using in Alerar. Sariya was a human nurse, and absolutely not the half demon daughter of a Raiaeran hero. Sariya was safe, though safe was relative as the tempest outside raged hard enough to rock the ship.

The door opened as the last of the undesirables moved to leave and sailors prepared to move on in their journey. A wet gust came barrelling in the open door, bringing more debris and a scream of wind and thunder that seemed almost otherworldly.

Outside, between the flashes of lightning and their immediate crashes of thunder, some of the Drow on the deck were pointing at a black shadow darting across the dark sky. Their curses and prayers were lost to the storm, but their panic was nearly palpable.

When the next streak of lightning lit up the sky, it looked as if a black snake was twisting through the clouds, long coils moving and only a hint of huge wings carrying them along.

Translation:
You know how humans are...

Do I?

moon-faced bitch

[Letho]

“Tarkus Willbough,” Letho accepted the handshake and was surprised to find it as firm and resolute on her end as it was on his. The black-haired woman that facilitated his acceptance to the crew looked about half the hunter’s age and lacked the leathery sunburnt haggardness of a seasoned sailor. In fact, if not for the sword at her side and the ill-fitting tunic she wore, at first glance Saryia would look more like those pretty young things that hung at the elbows of high society gents of Radasanth. Letho couldn’t imagine what circumstances made someone like that join a group of privateers flying around Alerar. Yet there had to be considerable grit to her. It was hard enough for a woman to join such a predominantly male profession, and it had to be harder still to join one in a country as foreign and as hostile as Alerar.

“It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude. I am rather certain I would not be hired had you not intervened,” Letho continued. The truth was that he didn’t care a whole lot about the fifty gold pieces offered to him by the dark elf. He currently had no lack of funds, and even if he had, the pair of wing drake hides he had left at the local stables where he had put up his horse for the next few days would sell for at least five times as much. He had filed onboard with the rest of the hopefuls for the opportunity to get a closer glimpse at the flying ship. And thanks to this out-of-place woman, he would get a chance to do so while actually crewing one.

“No thanks are needed. You seemed most capable of the bunch and they could use a helping hand,” Saryia said, nodding towards the deck just outside the door, where the dark-skinned elves scurried about, mouthing off at each other in their throaty language.

“Just not a white hand if they can help it, huh?” Letho said, offering a smirk. Though his knowledge of Alerar’s language didn’t extend past the rudimentary words and a couple of common curses, it had been very clear that the sergeant that had been in charge of the selection hadn’t been enthralled with the idea of another human onboard.

“They’re a hard bunch, that much is true. But they can grow on you if you give them a chance,” the woman said, her piercing blue eyes casting a thoughtful glance at her elven companions.

“So does a goiter,” Letho responded. It was probably unwise to antagonize Saryia at this point; if she had enough influence to get him onboard with a couple of words, she could probably get him kicked off saying just one. Yet when it came to Alerarians and their attitude towards the foreigners, Letho’s anger always came surging to the surface. Perhaps it had something to do with him being from Corone, which was generally acceptant of just about every race on the face of Althanas. Sure, there were still some that were more equal than others, but no other place seemed as xenophobic as Alerar, not even Fallien with their thousands of rules and restrictions placed on the visitors.

But if his words caused any offence, Saryia’s face didn’t show it. All he got in return was a chuckle escaping past her smiling lips before she added in a hushed tone: “You know, you probably shouldn’t be saying things like that within earshot of one of them. Those pointy ears aren’t just for show.”

Letho allowed himself a brief snicker as well. “You are probably right.”

“Out, you lazy elg’cardhan! We’re casting off!” the muscular sergeant from before leaned in the doorway for a brief moment to shout his command, and was gone before Letho had a chance to respond.

“Oh, I can feel them growing on me already,” he said to the woman instead, the two sharing another smirk. Shouldering off the leather belt that held the large canvas roll strapped across the back, he lowered his inventory to the ground with a heavy thud and leant it against the wall. “Mind if I leave this here? I think the only weapon I will need out there is patience.”

Saryia merely nodded with a grin, not saying anything. For a moment Letho thought there might be something akin to mockery behind that grin, but he didn’t feel like he could afford the time to inquire about it without risking a premature departure or at the very least another earful of the sergeant’s shouts. So instead the hunter turned and exited the cabin.

As it turned out he got an earful anyways. The wind and the shouting struck him almost simultaneously, the invisible slap of the rising gale threatening to shove him back into the cabin the moment he stepped out. “Took you long enough!” the dark elf called out to him from the quarterdeck above. “Starboard side! Reel in those ropes!”

Setting sail in this weather? You are either very brave or very stupid, my friends, Letho thought as he made his way to one of the huge reels near the rightmost bulwark. To him it seemed like a bit of both. On one hand, the crew around him seemed to be comprised of weathered individuals who moved with precise grace and seldom missed a beat in the hectic chaos of ropes and pulleys even as the floor beneath their feet jerked this way and that with every gust of wind. And on top of that, the airship didn’t have sails like an actual ship, which meant it wasn’t threatened by the wind onslaught as much as a sailboat. Yet on the flipside, it was an airship, and running one of those aground usually meant running them into the ground at a very high velocity. Needless to say, it was not something Letho wanted to experience.

The contraption before him looked as if it was meant to be turned by two people in order to pull in the thick rope that held the ship tied to the ground, but Letho had no problems operating it on his own. By the time a pair of dark elves reeled in a single one at the prow of the ship, the hunter had already pulled in two on the side of the ship, his bulky arms turning the handles with power and vigor. By the time he was done, the engines below deck were working at full power, their chowa-chowa-chowa-chowa! barely reaching Letho’s ears over the whistling wind as the ship was propelled skywards. Below, the folks milling through the streets were already nail-sized specks that seemed to move incredibly slow amidst the incredibly small houses. Though not a stranger to seeing the world from above what with having a winged horse of his own, Letho still found the view quite enjoyable, even with the storm looming above and the world below painted in just about every shade of grey.

It was only when he turned away from the panorama that Letho noticed he was the only one looking in the opposite direction. Everyone else had eyes on the dun clouds above, looking at them as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. He understood little of the Alerar babble the crew exchanged, so instead he approached Saryia who had joined them on the deck in the meantime and asked: “So, uhm, what exactly are we doing here? Other than flying into a storm?”

It was probably the first question he should’ve asked once he landed the spot on the crew. Yet he wasn’t terribly concerned. How dangerous could a job be if it only paid fifty gold pieces?