High Seas

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira stood at the front of the ship, her eyes gazing out into what seemed to be a never-ending ocean of colours reflecting the setting sun. A ball of orange blazed in the sky in it’s last cry before night took over and the seas reflected it in a broken mass of orange gazing back as if talking to an imperfect brother. Soon that sun would be gone and the ocean would reflect the moon and the thousands of stars that shone with it, returning their light in their own broken way, an imperfect yet beautiful reflection that one could look at forever.

A gentle breeze was flowing over the sea, it filled the mast and carried the ship forward, it also blew her short, purple hair around her in a hurried mess, whipping it over her eyes. Her tanned Fallien clothing plastered against her back and legs and her two Irenian crystals gently rubbing against each other. She didn’t mind, it felt good and the smell of the salty water was different and nice. If only she could just stand here and enjoy this like any normal person would, but unfortunately she was here for a reason, she was here to do her job, something she almost wished she didn’t have to.

Little did she know she wasn’t going to get any kind of choice in this one.

”Ira?”

“Hmmm…?”

“It’s me, Gereint.”

The black haze that had been surrounding her and blocking out the great dream she’d been having was pushed aside and Ira found herself sitting in Gereint’s tent, back in Fallien. The fire, like always, burned between them even in this place, even in her mind.

“Gereint? But aren’t I…?”

“Yes, yes, you’re asleep.”

“And I was having a great dream!”

Ira folded her arms over her chest and looked away from the withered old shaman, pretending to be angry with him.

“Hahaha! You can’t fool me with that one, you’ve been doing that to me since you were little, Ira and it’s not going to work.”

She rolled her eyes and looked back at him, “I was having a great dream though, want to hear all the juicy details?”

He cleared his throat, “I’ll pass.”

“Fine, so what is it you want, I know you don’t make a habit of reaching for people often unless you need something.”

“Right to the point, huh? You’re right though, I’ve felt some disruptions in the planes around the ocean no less.”

“The ocean?”

Now this was getting interesting.

“Yes, it must be a ghost ship, or something like that. I’m pretty sure it’s close to where you are right now so I thought I’d communicate with you instead of any of the others in Althanas.”

“A ghost ship? That means I’ll have to find someone to take me out to sea and that also means that others could get involved and be dragged into Purgatory with me.”

She’d never had to fight with others in Purgatory unless they were Calerian’s and she didn’t like the idea of having to baby sit a bunch of stupid ‘warriors’ because they couldn’t fight the dead. She needed to be able to do her job, not protect others.

“Yes, yes, I know this, Ira, but you don’t exactly have much choice.”

The blind Shaman smiled at her across the flames, which cast shadows in odd places over his face. It made him look even more mystical then he already was.

“Alright, if I have to, Old Man. And don’t give me any of that crap about not being that old; I don’t want to hear it. Just leave already so I can get some more sleep.”

Gereint and her had both laughed at that before he wished her luck and told her to reach for him once the mission was complete so he was sure that she was safe.

And now here she was, aboard a ship the name of which she didn’t even remember. Hell, she hadn’t cared, she’d just walked along the port listening in to the conversations the sailors were having with one another until she’d heard the crew of this ship talking about a ghost ship that had been appearing lately in the ocean and apparently they were heading right into the territory it seemed to dwell in. She’d quickly found out that it was a passenger ship and that it was heading for Raiaera, not that she’d really cared where it was going; it was the journey that mattered to her.

So, she’d talked to the Captain, who was a nice burly man that had let her on without her paying anything, of course she had to cook for the crew and do some cleaning around the ship but she didn’t mind. It seemed she had a way with smoothing things over with Captains; this was the second one that was letting her aboard his vessel without her paying a thing. Of course, her cooking was really good and she was a really hard worker. Who could refuse free help when all they had to do was get her from point A to point B, they didn’t need to know about any of the stuff most likely to happen in the middle.

Right now, with dinner having already been served, the Captain didn’t have anything for her to do, so she’d come up on deck to look out over the ocean and enjoy some time to herself before things got out of hand and before she had to return to Purgatory and whatever awaited her there. She had a bad feeling about this and she looked down at the silver necklace holding her two Irenian crystals, one was pure blue, the one she wasn’t bonded with and the other had a small red dot forming in the centre of it, letting her know how corrupted she was.

Barely anything, but it had been like this last time…and last time releasing that one Fallen had completely consumed and corrupted her to the likes of which Gereint had never witnessed and she never wanted to experience again. But she might if she wasn’t careful and it might be this time.

[Eldritch]

( Any speach in { } is in a differant language. If you think that maybe your character can understand that language, PM me and I can discuss it with you.)


”Kadaverakus, if you can hear me, you know what I goal is here today. My ancestors must be awoken so that they may tell me who I am. This blood of mine confuses me, and I cannot fathom its power. Why I awoke in that tomb, and why only my most basic memories linger are questions I must have answered! I remember you, and I remember the knowledge my ancestors have of my fate, so I say again, if you hear me, do not get in my way!”

Warran lowered his hands, which were raised to the heavens in his herald to the Lord of Nightmares. With a habitual flourish, he drew the blade resting quietly in his hilt and grasped it in both hands. With a quick spin, he rotated his grip so the tip was readied above the soft dirt before him. Breathing deeply, both of his arms raised up in a ritual his subconscious knew and his memory only guessed at. A swift and powerful thrust sent the blade deep into the ground, the black skull of its guard sunk halfway in. That is good enough, but next time, I need to get it deeper. I might miss next time, and I will not have time to afford wasted spells. Warran slowly stepped backwards, and gradually reached both hands out, as if resting them on some unseen table. His eyes closed of their own will and words began to slip from his tongue. Unknown and strange syllables; commanding, reaching, burrowing into the soil, echoing through the trees and stilling sound.

“Kal Vas Xen Ylem, An Zu, An Corp, An Tym, Uus Mani!”

Forming the image in his mind and willing it into creation, the spell began. A low wind started, swirling around the dark figure, making wild his cloak and hair. Dark energies began to flow from his hands, caught by the wind and unseen yet as Warran’s eyes remained closed. Swirling, diving, leaping, and dancing around him, the dark particles gradually gained an order, a sense of purpose. The still-echoing words bound to each tiny orb of power, programming its commands and giving life and will to its new existence. The swarm as a whole leaped into the air, forming into an enormous sphere almost as large as Ürei.

“Come to me, Precursor, show thyself. Raise into my vision now and tell me what I seek!”

War watched as the orb exploded downwards, lashes of black energy diving into the ground as if it was nonexistent. Earth is no barrier against the forces of Elden Faith. Shortly after disappearing beneath the decayed soil, a low moaning echoed out, speaking a single word in octaves that burned the Hierophant’s ears. Gasping, yet daring not release his concentration on the task at hand, relief greeted him as the moan subsided and the energy began to rise from the grave. Accompanying them were the form of what appeared to be a great muscle-bound demon. Solid bone wings, sculpted as if to impress angels, spread as the spirit was freed from its tomb. Though ethereal, a dark aura of black energy coated the entire form, making what once was incorporeal into a solid. It stretches its arms and fingers, having not done so for centuries. Its age awed Warran, however he let no sign of it show. His countenance was clean.

{”You called, Son of Unforgivable Faith? What is your question, what do you seek?”}

Ürei let his hands drop, glancing for a moment at the blade in the ground. If the spirit were to rip that from the ground, it would be free and alive once more, a construct of Elden Faith magic. Its measure of ability would be unmatched in a weak world like Althanas. No clue could be given as to this touchy matter, and he proceeded to end the interaction as smoothly as possible. Speaking up, in the tongue native to its nature, he greeted the Precursor as a friend first, then began the conclusion of this meeting.

{“I am Ürei, Eldritch Hierophant of the Elden Faith. I called to you to seek one answer, a question of location. Tell me now, as I know your knowledge permits, where my Ancestor’s tombs lie. Why I seek them is none of your concern.”}

{“Hahaha, your mentor has taught you poorly, boy. Or is your memory that defies your now? When you summon forth one of the Ancient Denizens, you cannot simply make a demand and be done with it! We give the summoner a gift of an answer, and the summoner gives us a gift of whatever we please. Material things mean nothing to us, so dare not try some ritual sacrifice on my deathbed. I will tell you your answer, and impart on your shoulders my burden. If you do not relieve the burden before exacting the results of your answer, then vain shall be the result! Are you ready, Son of Unforgivable Faith?”}

Warran hadn’t expected this, and now that it was placed his mind latched onto it as something it recognizes. The Precursor was not tricking him, it was true that the pact entailed a symbiotic relationship. It would be with him, if only in spirit, until its demand was in turn met. And met before Warran carried out the results of his own demand. It figured that such an obstacle would lie in his way. Finally, deciding it worth the risk, he nodded to the beast.

{“As you wish. Your Ancestral Grave lies deep in the Red Forest, on the continent of Raiaera, as they call it in this era. Be careful, undead will block your path on all fronts. Now, for my demand. I wish to be returned to Purgatory, where I should rightfully reside. No longer can I stand being trapped in this sealed spiritual container you mortals call a tomb! Take me to Purgatory and your debt shall be released. Who knows, when we arrive, I may even impart a little extra gift, for you will have freed me of future encounters such as this. No more answers shall be spoken from my lips!”}

Laughing, the demon reached forward with enormous black particle-coated hand. With his palm up and open, Warran’s memory recalled this solute as was formal when greeting a Precursor. Placing his hand in the palm of the giant, his own palm facing to the sky, the dark creature spoke words of a language more ancient that that of the Elden Faith. A blood red rune formed on his glove, shining through his skin for a moment before fading, appearing to seep in as blood would. Glancing up from the mark, he saw that the Precursor’s ethereality had returned in some amount. The binding took a large chunk of its slowly dying reservoirs. The ancient demon nodded to the Hierophant, and he concluded the ritual.

“I release thee.”

The dark energies binding the soul to corporeality exploded, vanishing into the nether once more. Its weak spirit no longer lingered under the darkness, either, it resided beyond sight within the vicinity of Warran. It would remain there, a prickling presence, until the deed was done. How am I going to reach purgatory? I cannot fathom a way for my spells to gain me passage, for it is a hard task to enter that place. I must proceed to Raiaera, maybe the people there can find an entrance for me. Drawing the Seighardt from its earthen sheath and returning it to the leather equivalent, he turned and strode off.


Four hours had passed since then, and now he was standing at the aft railing of a large transport ship, waiting for it to embark. Ürei’s mind still lingered on the question of entrance to the spiritual realm of Purgatory, and even deeper on the answers he would receive at his Ancestor’s catacombs.

“Are you listening, Kadaverakus? Maybe you know the answers that I don’t, but I still swear to my life; if you bar my path I will destroy you. This time, I will not fail.”

He was greeted by only silence…

[A Really Bad Egg]

Oh, of course the captain had known a pirate when he'd seen him. No seaman could mistake it. Mariner's came in three kinds - merchant workers, naval men and brigands... and Kamalakar absolutely reaked of brigand. But another hand onboard the vessel was always welcome, and Kamalakar was willing to work cheap. After all, he hadn't exactly been able to bring his hoarde with him when his ship was sunk and he'd been set adrift now had he? So it came to be that at around noon on the coast of Corone, Red Kam Ra'ao was hoisting luggage for the passengers that would be riding along on this little voyage. Grunt work, yes... but it meant food in his belly and that was a growing concern at this point.

Now of the other two kinds of mariners, it was definitely merchant men that Kam preferred. Noble enough to be admired, but not so much so to be intolerable, they were often a friendly sort and were rather accepting of their more rougish brethren - so long as they weren't being boarded by them. So it wasn't hard to make friends with the chaps. Naturally he'd heard from them the stories of the ghost ship that had been seen in the waters nearby, right along the path of their journey. But he was not worried by them in the least. Ghosts didn't scare him. After all, worst case scenario he gets to tell people of the ghost ship he saw. And where could the harm in that be?

In fact, it was the passengers on the ship that unnerved him far more. For there were too many females for his liking - always bad luck to be bringing women on board, even if the one with the purple hair was particularly.... interesting. And the strange chap talking to himself at the aft. Never good for a man to be conversing with the voices in his head. Men like that end up in the sanitarium if they dont do something that lands them in prison first.

Either way, wasn't his choice who came on board. And since the ship wasn't his that suited him just fine. His job now was just to keep his head low, smile, and nod.

Which is just what he did as he and the rest of the crew made preperations to shove off. They launched without incident and then simply settled into their assigned tasks. Which meant that as the sun sank deep into the west, a hard red glow lighting the sea as far as the eye could see, Kam stood in the crow's nest smirking and saying to noone in particular, "Red sky at night.... a sailor's delight.... savvy?"

[Run]

The steam of sizzling onions bit at July Nusquam's reddened eyes, but it hindered him little. With a spin of his fingers and a shot of his eyes, the fires swirled and licked at the cast iron cookware in which many dishes cooked, or inside the shut guts of ovens, caressing the meats and poultries set on it's racks. When the head chef of the S.S. Quicksilver realized the absent minded cabin boy had spent his errand money on candy and juice, instead of cooking supplies and gas for the ovens, he'd nearly fainted from the distress. To serve cold cuts would be unacceptable, but his hopes quickly rose when he had spied a black haired boy with pale eyes out on the deck, flames twisting through the air, putting on a show for any who'd watch for any money they'd give.

The pyromancer was pulled aside, thrown into a white smock and black slacks, and swiftly ushered into the kitchen. He stood there, dazed for a few moments, glancing around as his lighter was pushed into his hand, but his paralysis quickly slackened when a nice little sum of two hundred gold coins was pressed into his other hand.

Sweat had begun to bead on his brow, and for good reason; it was easily upper seventy some degrees in here, the heat oppressive and swelling from the arcs of rich red flames that snaked around the huge kitchen from pot to pan to oven, arms moving quickly to orchestrate his flickering, sparking subjects. His eyes, so pale a blue to be called cyan, like ice to act as a stark contrast to the flares he often let loose, were wide, focused, and peircing, seeing something else. It was a shock to any that observed him to see the black of his pupils return so suddenly as he cocked his head to the left, holding his hands out stiffly before him, waving his fingers as a roast cooked slowly.

"Yes sir, I locked it tight. Not even the best lock pick of the Bandit Brotherhood could get inside that room." The first voice was on the far side of the pitch scale, a little high, probably belonging to a man in his early twenties. From outside, beyond the cracked window, he heard the jangling of keys, then muffled. "Excellent, m'boy. 'S good fer the passeng'rs ta know tha' ther' val'ables er safe." July's unaffected mouth suddenly broke into a slow smile that carried it's way to his eyes. As far as "lock picks", the pyromancer had his own ways that paled anything to come from the nimble fingers of a bandit.

He almost leapt out of the smock when the head chef clapped his hand down on his shoulder, giving him big grin. "We'd have never been able to serve the guests dinner without your aid, July. Your help is greatly appreciated! In fact, you can order anything you want for dinner tonight, on the staff! Any of your guests too! You can go on ahead now and go out to the deck, get some fresh air..." Any other man would have leapt at the end of this shift, but he took his cleaning up, extinguishing the fires. July had lived with the flames for practically all his life, and he loved the heat that came with it. He could stay in this smotheringly hot kitchen all night if he could. Grudgingly, he shuffled out the door.

Out on the deck the cool ocean breeze washed over him and dried the sweat that had slicked his hair. Despite that, he failed to smell terribly; no matter what he did, he managed to keep a mostly nuetral air about him, but with some unnamed scent, like...embers. He stood in the refreshing wind for a few moments, glanced over wither shoulder; and reminded himself exactly why he'd hitched a ride over all this fucking water. July stepped off the side of the walkway and drove his hands into his pockets, stalking quietly down the way. Everyone was shuffling off to dinner, which would give him plenty of time to find the valuables and "pick" the locks.

Because gold glowed with a light that fascinated July more than fire.

[Eldritch]

Lapsed into deep thoughts, Ürei’s eyes stared into the water that banked hard into the aft hull of the transport ship. Though his body saw water, his mind did not. It delved deep into his mind, struggling with all his will to break the barriers that held back his memories. He knew he had a life, for he felt as if his life was complete, yet at the same time, it was just beginning. The ‘feelings’ and ‘ideas’ that suddenly popped into his head at certain moments were beginning to drive his nerves to the edge of patience. The man could simply not wait to fulfill his duty to the long-forgotten Precursor and wished to reach the site of his ancestral burial ground as soon as possible. After his efforts began to show in his physical body, beads of sweat breaking out of his pores all over, he finally gasped and slumped onto the rail, exhaustion gripping both his mind and body. Trying to fight against one’s own mind was tiresome, more then the Hierophant ever imagined.

A few short breaths regained his composure as he stood straight, not letting these petty sailors see him in weakness. They did not recognize him, unfortunately, and thus were not a source of information. In his current predicament, nothing mattered unless it could further his goals. Impatience won over logic, and the dark figure suddenly strode across the deck, deftly dodging the feverishly moving sailors, and approached the captain of the ship. The man was slaving over a tacked down map and a compass, ordering directions to a man controlling the direction of the vessel. Warran approached the table and waited, then tapped on the table to gain the attention of the captain. The captain, a sore sight in the mind of beauty, took one glance at him and instantly scowled. Grumbling about passengers getting in the way, he waved his hand then saw that the Hierophant didn’t budge. With what was hopefully the last crude remark, he stood straight and eyed him again, still finding distaste lingering on his tongue. Something just wasn’t right about the man. Yet, he spoke up contrary to his strong instinct against it.

“Wha’ da ya want?”

War considered for a moment, staring emotionlessly into the dry eyes of the seafaring old fellow. After a few moments, he spoke up in the Tradespeak that captain had used.

“I want to assist you in your speedy journey. It will benefit both of us to be done with this as soon as we can.”

The captain, at first, didn’t know what benefit he would have from a speedy voyage. Then he looked down and saw the morbidly clad man pointing his finger directly at a blank spot on the map, which they would be crossing eventually on their path to Raiaera. That spot had a few notes written on it, mostly rumors, but both men standing at the map knew what that area was. It was the domain of the Ghost Ship, which had plagued the mind of the sailors and passengers for a long time now. Passing swiftly through that area might guarantee avoidance of the ship. It was a probability, and it lowered their risk. Finally the man growled at the itchy feeling about the dark figure and accepted the help, wondering what he intended to do.

“Give me a moment, and whatever you see, do not interrupt me.”

With that, he ended the conversation, and stepped back a few paced so that he could clearly see the entirety of their sails. With focus no longer on the splashing waves or the low hum of conversation, Ürei delved into his mind. Words spewed forth, a waterfall of vowels and nouns, washing around him in his imagination, ripe for the picking. From them, his thoughts automatically selected what he deemed fit, and began to speak them. Each syllable did as expected, echoing across the vast territory, an impossible feat. Every stern casting of the words of the Elden Faith send shivers down those close enough to see their effects, and a cold air washed over the ship. Natural wind seemed to grow stale, then fall to a still.

“Kal Vas Hur Rel, Uus Ex Por!”

A circle of dark green energy formed at War’s feet, a beginning for the fount of energy that was beginning to rise, summoned from an unknown place. Folding his hands into a gesture similar to prayer, the man closed his eyes and let the energies flow through him. As every hair on his body rose, the captain and his men backed up, forgetting about manning the mechanisms of the ship for a moment to stare at what was unraveling. The black hair of the man began to rise, as if he was floating in water, and soon his robe and cloak swirled with similar lack of gravity. The dark halo of energy burst upwards, tendrils of dark green creating a vortex around the chanting man. A black mist swirled up from within the darkness at his feet, confined by the boundary of green, yet still flowing upwards. Soon it seemed to combine with the energy, becoming an opaque liquid, a darker shade then both had been.

This liquid, the instrument of the spell, then began its workings. Large globules were attracted to different parts of the ship, leaping from the column and attaching to sails, masts, and different parts of the outer hull. Whenever a glob landed, it slowly soaked into whatever material it touched, giving it a haze of dark green for but a moment before natural color returned. The force of will required to complete a spell was shoved in all directions from War, giving fire to the enchantment.

Raising a single hand into the air with a quick thrust, a black jet of particles burst from its tip. As if caught in a wind that could be felt by none else, the particles shot to the back of the vessel and breached the limit of sight, a swarm hovering over the horizon. As the liquid had all absorbed into the material of the ship, the black swarm exploded. A shockwave of wind hit the ship, driving it forward, and continued. At a speed the ship hadn’t reached before with a full crew, the transport vessel continued its voyage.

War, though, dropped to one knee from exhaustion and stared at the captain. The man was speechless, and the Eldritch Hierophant offered no questions to be pondered. After several rasping swallows, Warran managed to stand and stumble back to his resting spot at the aft railing of the ship. The water sped by now, and he knew the captain would eventually find out that whichever way he turned his sails, the wind would back it with full support.

The strength of the spell, however, left him drained. He knew he could not cast again for maybe another day, if not longer. If he did, he risked a brief and possibly painful termination of life, as his soul itself dragged its feet. Eyes closed, he prayed for day dreams as he listened to the buzz of chatter and the currents of the ocean.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira breathed in deeply of the salty air and cleared her mind of thoughts of Fallen, Purgatory, everything and generally anything. She just let her eyes drift out over the darkening sea as the sun’s last rays began to fall to the other side of the world, the other side of Althanas, wherever that may be. She didn’t want anything to spoil this moment where everything felt so peaceful, the gentle creaking of the wooden boards, the wind against her face and body and the stars beginning to shed their light on the world.

However, something did break the moment and it wasn’t the sound of the shuffling feet and hurried calls of the crew, it was something else. At first Ira had thought the oddly echoing words were Fallien, but then she quickly realized they were gibberish to her ears. Turning around, she looked across the deck and found a man standing near the Captain—w ho was backing away from the stranger actually. A swirling energy was beginning to form at his feet; it reminded her of the small dust storms they got in Fallien sometimes.

Ira didn’t really comprehend what was going on, but she knew it was some kind of magic. The swirling energy burst upwards away from the man and something black began to form by his feet and then upwards and combine with the green stuff. After that, they broke away from him and attached themselves to the ship in various areas, one landing right near her and Ira watched wide-eyed as it soaked into the wood of the ship, staining it an odd greenish colour before it faded back into brown.

Tentatively placing her foot on the ‘infected’ area, Ira pressed down not at all surprised there was nothing wrong with it. The only person she’d ever seen perform magic was the shaman of her tribe and though she wasn’t naïve enough to believe no one else could use magic it was still a bit shocking.

“Wow…”

She turned and glanced back to the man who was on one knee in front of the Captain, clearly a little exhausted from whatever energy he’d used on that spell. Reaching out, she poked at his soul a little bit and found that it was definitely different than a normal person’s but in what way she wasn’t sure. Leaving her tribe and journeying out into Althanas was showing Ira that there were a variety of different people with souls much different than she was used to encountering and this man was definitely one of them.

The ship at that point began traveling much faster, it was like a small push forward that rocked the ship gently, even Ira could feel it against her feet. The man, whoever he was, must have cast some kind of spell to speed the ship up.

She watched him stumble over to the rail of the ship not too far from where she was standing and decided to go over and talk with him. She liked meeting new people and this one seemed to be a little more interesting than the others aboard that she knew of anyway.

“That was pretty cool…”

Ira said to him as she slid onto the rail a foot away from him, her back resting against the wood, “I’ve never seen anyone besides the shaman of my tribe do magic, how did you learn that?”

She’d love to learn to do magic even if her job required her to be more nimble with the blade than anything magical. Leaving Fallien she was beginning to have more and more battles outside of Purgatory and skills like that could come in handy, even though she doubted the stranger was just going to hand over the secret to his spell casting.

[A Really Bad Egg]

Crow's nest duty was something Kam had never been really fond of. Despite having the best view on the entire ship, eventually, unless there was something to be seen and announced, it got truly boring. So as usual, he found a way to amuse himself. Just a little game... for every female passenger that happened to walk into his line of sight he tried to guess whether or not they were married without spying for a ring, and then for those who weren't - and a few who were - he formulated a plan of attack. He got most of them right, to such a highly trained eye you could usually tell the difference just by looking at how they walked.

Unfortunately there were not quite enough women on board to keep him entertained for very long, and boredom soon set in again. And with the boredom came the eventual wandering of his eyes towards the purple haired gal again. He'd left her out of his little game - she was a special lass, obviously had something extra up her sleeves. And how could he resist purple hair, that was something he'd never seen before he'd come to this place. But her eyes... her eyes had caught him off guard. One look and he'd been snagged - hook, line and sinker. At the very least a concerted effort had to be made to gain her interest. So a plan of attack for her began to form in his mind.

Naturally, his luck only being good when it was saving his life, something caught his eye enough to distract him. Trying at first to ignore it, he finally looked towards the distraction to see the man who'd been conversing with himself earlier apparently directing a concert. At least that's what he'd think if it weren't for the obviously magical energies swirling about him. Kam drew his thumb down the inside of his left wrist twice - an old superstition he'd picked up from his father. Magic wasn't something Kamalakar understood or trusted, same with those who used it. A good blade in his hand was all he needed, let the mages keep their spells.

And of course it didn't help his trust issues that he was nearly knocked out of the crow's nest with the jolt that rocked the ship. Growling as he steadied himself, he shot a hot glare at the exhausted man. Then he noticed the increased speed with which the ship was moving... and rather grudgingly gave the man a bit of respect - of course internally only.

But that respect died not a minute later as the pretty purple haired one sidled up next to the mental patient and began chatting. Stealing a lady's attentions away from him was bad enough... but through the use of magic?! This one was definitely off the holiday present list.

[Run]

Water.

It was in every direction he looked and he hated it. The water was the thing that extinguished his little dancing loves, gave them no chance to become something more. Water was a murderer, largely in his eyes; sure, he needed it to survive, but a whole hell of a lot of people drowned in it each year. Over the years, he'd developed quite an acute phobia of it. Everytime a light mist splashed up the side of the hull, July visibly winced away from it, throwing his arms out to the side as though to protect himself. The guests stifled laughs at his odd behavior, but shrunk away when he stepped forward, snarling, an oppressive heat growing in the atmosphere. To think, that the destroying flame would fear anything was...ludicrous, ridiculous, but it was true.

The pyromancer slowly strolled past the long line of plain looking doors leading to the passenger's cabins. He doubted there was anything of note to take inside, and if there was, he'd get it later. Some of the previously noted passengers passed him on his incospicious walk, but the details of their faces was losty to him beyond the shine of some diamond necklace or good jewel encrusted cufflinks they wore. They retreated into the distance with no hurry, no word, and as far as July really cared, they weren't there at all.

Slipping around a corner, he found it; another door, just like the others, though a small plaque screwed to it's front called his attention, "Stow". A wide, greedy grin spread across his lips as he stretched out his arms and extended a lone finger in front of his face. An inch atop it, a tiny pinprick of seething orange and red light burst into life, and grew only a few millimeters in diameter before it stopped. A tiny, fluctuating sphere of molten rock hovered dangerously close to his skin, but he loved the thrill of it. The risk. The fire and everything in it was a difficult, and an unruly thing to control, but when used properly...the thought sent cold finger up his spine and he gasped with delight.

The deck jolted out from under him and he cried out as a crest of water came swelling over the side of the hull and he fell. It washed over him and planted him solidly against the wood there, leaving him to slap at the air and struggle fruitlessly until it had lost it's power and sloshed away, towards the back of the ship as the craft swayed in the throes of the ocean. A little spehere of stone clicked against the deck, and the sopping wet pyromancer felt a tremendous rage detonate in his body. "FUCK!" he screamed, scrambling to his feet and whipping his head around, spraying water everywhere. He could feel the retreat of a magic as it sunk itself into the ship, and traced the threads in his mind to find the source.

July stormed out to the front of the ship, arms stiff above his head, one drenched hand holding his old lighter. It's top clicked open and a cloud of flames leapt into life, a wreath of fire whorling around the enraged boy. "What...the.... FUCK!" He shrieked, the fire around him swelling and burning brighter, as though fueled by that anger. "Which one of you assholes yanked the ship forward and got me soaked to the bone?!"