Let Them Eat Chow

[Wilhelm Bosche]

"The death of a god, wizards and clerics, a world in conflict, these are the things I came to Althanas to see," Wil said with satisfaction after listening to Elenore's somber recitation of recent events.

The man had arrived in Uiria the day before and arranged to meet with Elenore as a diplomatic envoy from Eudaemonia to one of its "wayward colonies." The initial discussions were terse and extremely cautious until the psion realized that the young man was a rebel himself, and not the vanguard of another Coronian Invasion. Eventually, the two sat down in the living room, before a fireplace burning with the last of winter's lumber. Wil stared in awe at the portrait of the late Arius and Linnea Mephisto over the mantle, before turning to notice Elenore scowling at him.

"It must be very exciting to you as a tourist, but this world is not your playground. It's that kind of thinking that has caused much suffering wrought by Eudaemonian hands," Elenore chastised him.

"I don't mean to dilute the seriousness of things, but the peaceful world that Arius envisioned for you is waiting for you in Architelos right now if you would like to live in it. It is a drab city full of drab people leading drab lives of hundreds of years. How does that sound?" Wilhelm challenged her.

"At least my mother would still be alive," Elenore said wistfully, speaking firmly to a set of values utterly different from Wilhelm's. "What do you want from Uiria, Bosche?" She spoke his surname with the contempt his ancestor had earned for it.

"Access. I want to read your records, hear your stories, learn what my people have done in this world. I want to be a part of our culture here," he explained. "I'm an exile no different than your father, but I seek a different sort of respite."

"Citizenship, then?" Elenore responded. "It is a rather rigorous process."

Wilhelm glanced across the room at her with a wry smile. "I am a Eudaemonian of the old stock: Progress always," he recited.

Elenore simply rolled her eyes and stood at the sound of the teakettle's whistle from the kitchen. She walked away without a word, leaving the man to his posturing. He was easily several decades her elder, if what he said about Eudaemonian life spans was true, but she could not help but find him a petulant child, no better than her brother. Having another of his sort around the city would be more dangerous than almost anything else. Reaching into the cabinet she retrieved an old crystal flask and poured a bit of rum into her tea before turning to the other room with the two cups.

"Very well. I have no doubt of your intellectual qualifications, but we are a very selective group of people. Unlike our kin in Beta Space, we cannot breed perfection in children, but we can choose meritorious adults. If you want to join us, you can show that you are capable of bearing the burden of your ancestry," Elenore preached, pleased to have constructed a win-win proposition for herself. "I have recently completed negotiations with a representative of the League of Salvic States, you are familiar with them?"

"League? Salvar is a monarchy, or it was last Architelos heard of it," Wil responded, intrigued to update his understanding.

"Things have changed. Civil war rages between the aristocracy and the clergy. Neither are particularly noble, but as a Eudaemonian you must understand that we find it easiest to deal with greedy noblemen than irrational zealots. As such, I have agreed to assist them with supplies and a few technological devices from our stores. Nothing that will imbalance the region's power structure, ultimately, but hopefully enough to tip the scales in their favor."

"Isn't that just the kind of arrogance that you seem so distrustful of?" Wil pointed out.

"Uiria has every right to influence world events with a light touch just like everyone else," Elenore scowled. "Unlike my brother, I am unwilling to replace that with an iron fist. Understood?"

"Whatever distinctions keep your ideology running," Wil smirked. "Where do I come in?"

"Nowhere if you don't change your attitude," Elenore took a gulp of her spiked tea and attempted to calm herself a bit. "There is a freighter stocked with other goods bound for the League leaving port in a few hours. I'll arrange your transport there, you arrange that our assistance arrives safely. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Wil nodded without further snark. He followed Elenore's directions to the basement where he loaded several crates into his storage buffer. They were all labeled with nondescript sounding stamps: foodstuffs, raw materials, medical supplies. While he knew that even these could be quite devious if they were Eudaemonian in make, the final crate gave him the most pause. It read 'Uirian Goods'. He stored it away all the same.

"Is there some transport I should be boarding?" he asked.

"Something like that," she smirked and waved her hand. Her psionic energies punted him through the fabric of space as effortlessly as one might flick away an insect, and with much greater accuracy.

When the world around him stopped spinning, he found himself at the docks of a bustling port. Which one, he couldn't be sure, but there was a small vessel to his right, styled the Red Wake. He hefted his storage buffer and glanced through the crowd for a gangplank.

[Laureolus]

One member of the crowd Wilhelm was currently peering though couldn’t help but stick out like a bloody thumb with a spotlight on it. Looking fresh from a battlefield with arrows still stuck in the battered tower shield strapped to her back, a pile of rings falling from her chain mail as she haggled with a local merchant, and green blood still soaked into the undershirt of her amour Laureola almost looked ready to kill someone. Of course, this didn’t include the eagle, an irritating bundle of soft dawn light which only gave highlight to alien nature of Laureola’ current…. attire.

“Look. Just sell me the cloth now, forget the purple dye, forget the sewing supplies. I just want bundle of cloth.” Laureola’s frustration while easily seen from the angry gleam and flushed face did not bleed through to her voice.

While clear, melodious, and perfect in tone for someone on stage it was not the voice of the woman standing in front of said merchant. That’s why, if one had sharp enough ears, one could note that the tiny immaculately crafted silver owl, wings and feathers fluttering as Laureola shock about, around her neck was speaking.

“I’m giving you five aurei for this bundle of cloth, “ Laureola's leaning into his personal space now stated as she forced the gold into the poor merchant’s hand. “ Be happy you can get away with charging that here.”

Before he could try and respond she stomped away from the stall, practically shoving her way through the crowd and nearly knocking over several onlookers Wilhelm included.


-20gp, add a run of decent cloth for three full tunics

[Wilhelm Bosche]

As Wilhelm made his way toward the gangplank, he was suddenly tosselled as the crowd shifted to accommodate the swift motions of a strange looking woman. He had seen a great variety of creatures, clothing, and customs since he had set foot in Althanas, but something about this one stood out. It wasn't her red hair, that was common enough. It wasn't even her battle-worn attire and strange manners. It was something about the oddly sing-song voice she spoke in. It seemed terribly out of place.

His mind churned through the databases he had read. What was it? It was almost as if she was using a translating device, like the ones Arius and his troops had used before they bothered to learn Tradespeak. If that was it, it certainly wasn't a technological device. The woman looked even more backward than most of the world in that respect.

"Aurei"

Gold? Latin for gold coin? Wilhelm glanced toward the boat to make sure it was not departing and then pushed his way back through the crowd to indulge his curiosity. It was an extraordinarily long shot, but how many such opportunities would he get?

"Ave femina!" he shouted. "Quo vadis?" Hey woman, where are you going? Not the most elegant turn of phrase, but the best he could muster from his memory of the language in the few seconds before she vanished into the crowd.

[Laureolus]

There were few things that could make Laureola want to turn around and head back towards the ten or twenty people she had just brutally shoved aside. The murderous stares and dark mumblings from those still picking themselves of the ground was enough chastising to cool off her own dark mood.

Someone else who knew Latin was one of those few things.

“Vos teneo romani? Qua es vos ex?” You know latin? Where are you from? Laureola eagerly barraged Wilhelm with questions, the first hint of hope softening her hard set face. She continued on in Latin, never noticing that her voice was the one used. “How did you get here? Can you get bac-“

She stopped mid question, again chastised when she realized she hadn’t even introduced herself.

“Sorry for the trouble,” she inclined her head in compunction and gave a quick look behind her. The glares made her quickly turn around and continue.. “I haven’t even introduced myself! Decima Julia Laureola, Trib… former Tribunus Laticlavius of the 29th Legion.”

Not one to focus on the currently unfixable she asked, “What brings you to… wherever this is?”

[Wilhelm Bosche]

Wil furrowed his brow. As the woman spoke in surprisingly articulate Latin, he tried to piece together how exactly this could be. She certainly wasn't Eudaemonian, nor was she from any culture they had encountered. Everything she said suggested that she was a genuine Roman, but how could that be possible? The best minds of Architelos had abandoned time travel eons ago as essentially impossible and disastrous even if it could be done.

More importantly, she was a female legionnaire, a sheer impossibility in any historical version of Rome. No, this was something much more interesting, something that warranted careful investigation. Unfortunately, his thoughts were just then interrupted by the distinct chime of nautical bells. The Red Wake was setting sail.

“My name is Wilhelm Heironymous Bosche,” he said, giving his tripartite name in accordance with his understanding of Roman custom. Still, he knew that his German-derived appellation would sound terribly barbaric to a Latinate ear. “I'd be happy to discuss where we are now and where we each came from, but that bell is coming from my ship. If you're as lost as I suspect you are, coming aboard is just as good as any other course, so what do you say?”

He didn't really think he needed an assistant on his dull delivery mission, but he could certainly use company. Eudaemonians had no sailors as such, but if real ones lived up to their literary reputation, he would be in for a very painful voyage if he didn't bring along a source of conversation. The bell rang out again and he knew he had no time to wait for a response. He simply nodded, grabbed his designated cargo and made his way up the gangplank.

At the top he was met by a stout man, weathered a bit by the sea, but otherwise hardy. He wore no fancy insignia or other markers of rank, but this fellow was unmistakably the captain. The air of poise and confidence about him was more telling than anything, even the occasional orders he shouted as the Eudaemonian embarked. Wil imagined that this man was in fact younger than him, in absolute terms, but that he was still likely to call him 'boy' or some such. If only his hair were a darker color so the few grey streaks could give some record of his age.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Bosche,” the man said with a surprisingly elegant tone. “Lady Mephisto sends word for your arrival. Anyone working in service of the League is welcome in my ship. George Weiss,” he extended a callused hand.

Wilhelm shook it and smiled at the man's magnanimous spirit and humility. Perhaps the voyage would not be so bad. The question remained, how had he already heard from Elenore? Nevermind that, he decided.

[Laureolus]

Laureola visibility blanched as Wilhelm gave her his name and offer to come with him. With a name more distinctly German then Roman, Greek or Carthaginian he wasn’t a citizen unless he was a former legionnaire. Given the lack of Roman provinces in the area that was unlikely. At least he knew of Rome, the first person today that had such knowledge.

No, the real problem was that he was getting on galley. That wasn’t sitting on land. As in floating. On water, not mud. Inside a real sea, not a flooded coliseum.

She tried to end that saddening line of thought and caught up to Wilhelm as someone greeted him. Laureola couldn’t tell who he was, still distracted by the thought having to sail on the open sea. “The sea? On a galley? Are you sure there isn’t a land route we can use? There has to be a road leading wherever we’re going right? This place has roads I take it? Nothing worse than having to take a mud track somewhere, except for sailing there.” She continued on in Latin, her face blanching even further as she wobbled her way up gangplank.

"What could you be doing that needs a galley?"

[Wilhelm Bosche]

"I regret to inform you that we are probably on an island," he said, genuinely unsure of their location, but aware that Uiria and nearby Corone were both insular. "Unfortunately, you'll find one of the primary ways in which this land differs from the one you're accustomed to is that it does not consist of a ring of land around a central sea," he commented to her, recalling the Roman distaste for sea travel. "In fact, even the world you came from has much more water in it than your people thought, you just never reached much of it."

Wilhelm looked to the Captain for approval and received a nod before entering the ship's hold and setting down his briefcase. He took a seat on a crate of vaguely marked 'goods' and folded his hands in front of him.

"The last time you remember, what year was it, relative to the founding of the city of Rome?" he asked, figuring that asking for that year relative to the birth of a trivial desert prophet who might not even exist yet in her time would likely be a waste. "For reference, the last year I remember in Terram orbis is about three thousand years after the founding of the city."

Wil imagined he would speak to a great number of off-worlders about Earth history when he left his home and entered Althanas, but he never imagined he would be speaking to someone from his own world, especially from such a remote time period. It was a fascinating opportunity. In the back of the mind he wondered, however, whether she was really from the Rome he remembered. The best explanation that he could conjure thus far was some kind of related-reality idea which would explain both the time differential between her arrival and his as well as how she could have experienced similar events to the ones he had read in histories, while still exhibiting other characteristics that were not. . .

His thoughts went on like that, almost every minute of every day. Being Wilhelm would be a tiresome chore for anyone but him. The only things that would briefly pause the ramble of his internal monologue were new questions to ponder, which would heap themselves upon the old, filling his mind with piles of queries, stretching back for years, most unresolved. Oh, and sudden jolts, like the one he experienced as the ship cast off its mooring lines and sloshed off into the sea, northward toward the coasts of Salvar.

[Laureolus]

“It’s just; we had the Carthaginians handle this sort of… travel.” From how she spat out “travel” one would have thought that it was going to kill her. Again.

Laureola had the courtesy to nod as the passed by the man at the head of the gangplank, even as she was about to start questioning the usefulness of his services again. When Wilhelm remarked on the difference between Althanas and Earth ending her complaints and focused her attention on his questions as she followed him into the hold.

With no direct view with of the venomous body of water they were on, Laureola could put it out of her mind and start answering questions. Thinking about home and how she had left it wasn’t the thing to improve her mood however.

“It’s 1526 AUC, thirteen years since the start of the steppe migrations, and forty-sixth year of service of Emperor Gaius. ” she paused, not waiting to think of the next part. “It was year after the start of my fifth campaign; we were in the steppe to the northeast of Dacia fighting against the centaurs and Scythian hordes. Things weren’t going too well.”

Putting down the bundle of cloth she was still holding, she looked at her hands. They were dirt caked and traveling up her the blood stained undershirt gave little better image. Even the soft light eagle on her shoulder, which would be a prize to most people, did little to soften the image.

“This guy,” Laureola shrugged her left shoulder, causing the eagle to flutter its wings in protest “would be the standard of my legion. I'd... I'd have I kinda died back there.” Her shoulders slumped and head fell back at the admission, forcing the eagle flap over to create for a less troublesome perch.

[Wilhelm Bosche]

What the woman had said posed more questions than it answered, but it did confirm Wil's suspicion. Whatever Rome she was from, it absolutely was not the one that existed in Alpha space. The years and names didn't add up at all, to say nothing of 'centaurs.' It's entirely possible that it was just some slang term and not actually a man-horse, but given the circumstances, Wil was prepared to let that pass.

"This is all extremely fascinating. I'm a scholar by trade, particularly interested in the sorts of experiences you would have great insight into. Still, I feel I owe you an explanation that no one else is going to give you. You're not on Earth, or even the same," he pondered a good ancient analogue to the word, but then just went with his first instinct, "dimension. I could go into more detail than you care for, but my people have discovered that there are infinite worlds, existing side by side, with different events, people, and even speeds of time."

He wondered if there were even something comparable to being told this in his own experience. He grew up knowing and believing in the vast multiverse and worlds that had magic, deities, and all manner of strange things. It was a sad reflection that there were few things that could blow his mind. Then again, he supposed, most people probably think that until whatever they had never thought of comes along.

"The place you're in now is called Althanas. If your world had deities and centaurs, then perhaps you're not all that out of your element. It's a magical land. The world I'm from, an Earth, but a different Earth from yours, doesn't have gods. People used to believe in them, but they aren't real," he said definitively. He wondered if that might sound offensive, but it was difficult to be polite when explaining some things.

"In any event, my people call this world Gamma Space. They had a fetish for all things Greek, just as your people did at one point in their history, at least the history I know. And right now we're sailing on the sea toward a place called Salvar. It's very cold, mountainous, like Helvetia. There's a war going on right now between the ruling aristocracy and a group of cultists. We're bringing supplies to the nobles. I hope that squares with your political beliefs," Wil added. "Because there's really no backing out now."

[Laureolus]

As Wilhelm explained his thoughts and understandings of the universe, a few of the things he said did click into place. For one, this was not Rome. She’d never heard of Althanas, what little she had seen in port didn’t match anything culturally. Not one public monument, no temples with painted marble busts, and not a single bath anywhere in the port. Rome stretched from Hispania to the outer steppes and from Britannia to the Southern Sahara Desert and every port of note would have had a bath. She clearly wasn’t in her… dimension as he put it.

“Do you know what I did today?” Laureola asked, rolling her head and drumming her fingers on her thighs. “For the first time in three years the sun beat me up. When I walked out the room I found myself in I didn’t find the compiled reports of almost one hundred scouting parties waiting for me. I didn’t spend the next two hour revising logistical trains, troop deployments, and filing general orders for the day. I wasted entire day doing nothing but ending up trapped on this forsaken death trap.”

“If you know this much about workings of… whatever this place is, I’ll finish your mercenary work and then we can figure out how I came to be here. “ She state with some regained confidence while heading toward the hold door, her eagle following. “I hold little concern for internal politics of a nation I don’t even know the name of an hour ago. As I see it civil war builds character," She joked trying to lighten the mood. “Whichever side you’re going to help at the moment has my aid.”

She opened the hold door and the eagle flew out into the pleasant sea breeze and startling a few of the crew members hadn’t seen it come on board. Her reaction to the view was slightly different.

“How… how long are we traveling on this galley?” She asked, as pale as she had been on the gangplank.

[Wilhelm Bosche]

“Well, there's a significant possibility that you'll be wasting another day. I'm not actually sure how far we have to go, but I'll look into that,” Wilhelm answered honestly. The door to the deck was already open, so he went out and looked around.

He hadn't noticed when he came aboard, but now that the sea was all around them, sloshing with its salty whitecaps, the boat seemed much smaller. The horizon bucked up and down in the distance and Wilhelm suddenly clutched the railing.

“First time at sea, eh?” Captain Weiss asked. “Better get used to it. Got another day or so before the pirates are likely to show, if they do at all. Tried to rig up the Red Wake to be a tempting bit 'o bait, but you never know how craven these men might be.”

“Yes, indeed,” Wilhelm said, more nauseated than any dimensional jaunt had ever made him. Beneath the sickness he was somewhat surprised at the revelation that they weren't a simple delivery. Between half-expecting the trick from Elenore and trying to keep anything other than words from coming out of his mouth, he held in his distaste with the change of plans.

“Go on back into the cabin. We've a store of grog that'll settle your stomach a bit,” Weiss said, patting Wil on the arm. “If we run into 'em, you'll know it. Otherwise, just rest up and be ready.”

Wil simply nodded and staggered his way back to the hold. He rummaged a bit through the boxes and pulled out a corked green glass bottle. He opened it and sniffed it, taking a swig before he even tried to report the news. The diluted liquor hit his stomach surprisingly well, and he felt well enough to speak a bit.

“The Captain informs me that we're on a bit more interesting mission than I thought. Evidently it involves pirates, so. . . I guess even Caesar had to start somewhere.”

[Laureolus]

Though she’d loath to admit it to anyone, if Laureola didn’t have to the see the unending sea tuanting her with the lack of land, the boat’s steady rocking was rather relaxing. Resting against the wall of the hold, she had just closed her eyes when Wilhelm returned and starting searching for the grog.

“Caesar started with Gaul, merrily told the Germans to shove it, and then landed on Britannia just to say he did it. If we only had Caesar’s start, “she commented. “He never caught the pirate’s that held him for ransom though. We can consider it a favor it him.”

Laureola peeked with one eye to see what Wilhelm was rummaging about for and saw him take a swig from the green bottle. “Ha. I’m glad I’m not the only person that’d rather be taking a cart to our destination. “

With smirk plastered on her face, she continued. “We’ve heard little about me, I’m rather stuck here. What are you doing here, a scholar delivering supplies and now enforcing law on the seas? The last philosopher I knew could hardly be bothered to leave his libraries or seat in the forum even if I’d stabbed him once already. He wouldn't have let me get away with the ‘civil war builds character’ either,” she laughed.

[Wilhelm Bosche]

It was an interesting question, and one for which the answer could pass quite a bit of time. He pondered where even to begin, but figured the best was still an analogy to what he knew of Rome, though if what the woman said was true, her understanding was somewhat different from his own.

“Well, in the history of my own world, Rome fell. It become decadent and complacent, and the noble citizen legions were replaced by paid mercenaries. The Empire declined from noble men like Caesar Augustus to a series of ineffectual and increasingly insane despots. Gone were the days of noble farmers like Cinncinnatus who cared more for civic virtue than personal power. The fall left a terrible rift in history. Knowledge, technology, and government all were set back centuries and it took the world a long time to recover,” he paused a moment realizing that he had not yet even begun to discuss his own people.

“In any event, my people were a lot like our Rome in its last days. They're complacent, decadent. They've never done a day's work in their lives. Our army was reduced to a group of immature children playing at being soldiers. We increasingly lived by siphoning resources from the far reaches of the world. Eudaemonia, my home, was a fat leech. It wasn't always so,” he pulled the longsword from his hip and held the blade skyward, or rather, ceilingward in the still rocking ship's hold.

“There was a time when we had great men who could stand proudly alongside the likes of Scipio Africanus and Gnaeus Pompey Magnus. One was named Arius Otani Mephisto, who fought a great war for our people and then left to a small scholarly town to retire. Another is an ancestor of mine with whom I share a name, Nijin Bosche Otani,” Wil was nearly side tracked into explaining the difference in naming convention between modern names and Latin praenomen-nomen-cognomen structure, but he steadied himself and continued. “He lead an invasion against one of the lands of Althanas, called Corone, but he was brought down by civil strife. His legacy remains a dubious one, but at least he had the boldness and courage to strike out one last time for empire.”

Wilhelm failed to mention that Arius was in fact part of the civil strife that brought down Nijin. As much as he disliked what his people had become, he still held some pride for their history and would not air out dirty laundry to a stranger who would not know any better.

“In any event, for all those reasons, I left. My people have a means of travel, for which there is no analogy in your time, except perhaps the power of the gods. It is a mighty machine that can move things almost instantly from one place to another, from one reality to another. The lazy, weak government used it for nothing but the slow accumulation of resources. So I took this sword,” he spun it about in his hand, knowing that he had drawn it for a reason. “And I made my way to it, and I made it take me here. Althanas is the grave site of my empire, but I refuse to die with it. I want to learn what makes this land vital, exciting, and full of strife. Mankind is at its best when it struggles, even against itself.”

[Laureolus]

Wilhelm knew how to start his account on a compelling point. While her Rome had yet to fall into complacency reform could only do so much to prop up a cracked column. Those last reforms, the bloody disbanding of the purely provincially loyal legions and the semi-return of the yearly allotment of consular armies, had only put the lion back in the cage before it swallowed its master. They did little to stop the consolation of power into fewer hands with less accountability.

Laureola stood and watched him slowly arc his blade as he spoke, light playing over its unblemished surface like the face of a jewel. She pulled out her short blade and repeated his motions. Despite the care given to her blade over the years the light refused to play the same way. Notches were cut into curved leaf edge, ruining the reflective flat of the blade like it had done to bone and shield of her foes. Its pitted surface refused to let go of the light it seized like she had refused to let go of victory in battle. Two swords with two contrasting sets of experiences.

“You left a world without scarcity, a world without an external foe, a world where men had usurped the power of gods?” She paused before continuing, trying to contain her laughter. “You abandoned Elysium because there was no strife? No struggle? Where Romulus and Remus shared the same city? You came for a fallen empire?”

Unable to hold it in, a peal of laughter burst from her breast. She clutched Wilhelm’s shoulder With her free hand to keep from falling. Taking a breath, she tried to continue.

"During the reforms by Marcus Aurelius, Rome held and fought off the barbarian legions that threatened to consume it. After that the Greeks named a Tenth Muse, a Muse of War. Her name was Fortuna Populi Romani*, and they named every roman citizen her disciple.” Wiping away tears of laughter she looked Wilhelm in the eye. “Even lost in this strange land I’m glad to see another roman in spirit, even one shortsighted as you. I fear that there’ll be more than enough strife to sink your teeth into in any world that isn’t your own.”

*Fortune of the Roman people

[Wilhelm Bosche]

“I'm sure plenty of strife awaits us in the waters off Salvar," he couldn't restrain a grin at the idea.

"I realize how crazy it must sound,” Wilhelm said. In fact, he hadn't really understood the full extent of his madness until he saw her reaction. Almost every creature that ever lived did everything for a chance at paradise, subscribed to backward moral teachings, killed, suffered, starved, just for the barest chance of immortal pleasure. It was that fact that made Wilhelm strange to them, but it was also that fact which explained him. Humans are built to strive and with nothing to strive for, heaven quickly becomes limbo, and ultimately hell. “But I thought if anyone a Roman might understand, and I'm glad you do, at least somewhat.”

He took another gulp of the grog, no longer to settle his stomach. It was still merely afternoon and the ship would be sailing for a long time before it came into the pirates' reach. He knew that if his faculties were fully within his control he would likely stay up the whole night pestering this woman, or pondering the import of his answers alone in the darkness. That simply wouldn't do when cutlasses were drawn and battle was joined.

“I'm going to drink a bit more of this and see if I can't get some rest. You may wish to do the same, but I don't know if you've adjusted to the day-night cycle here yet. I think it's pretty close to Earth's though I haven't measured it exactly. My own people run on twenty-six hour days, and so I'm constantly,” he thought to say 'jet lagged' even though that was an anachronism even in his own language. There were no time zones or airplanes in Architelos, but the phrase still stuck, especially as leisure time lead to increasingly strange sleep schedules. “Well, I'm always out of sorts a bit. I want to be rested when the battle comes, if it comes.”

He finished the bottle with a gulp and pulled out two more from the crate, offering one to his companion. He would finish both if necessary. Alcohol induced sleep was fairly common for a man with such a worrisome and overactive mind. Architelos had plenty of spirits and little consequences for over consumption, so his tolerance was fairly high, especially in his youth. After he had hatched his plan to leave, he spent meany sleepless nights and his stream of wine and liquor stemmed to a trickle. Still, it was a familiar sensation, being rocked to sleep by his own inebriation. The addition of the boat rocking was less satisfying.

[Laureolus]

Sighing at Wilhelm, she picked up the bottle he had just sat down and offered it back to him full as it was a few minutes ago.

“Now you’re going to drink your thoughts away? Ha, you’re not going to find Elysium in your sleep I’m sad to say. Pompey Magnus didn't win his Triumph by drinking his way through the Numidian campaign did he? “Laureola put on a dour face, trying to look as if she were going to continue scolding him. It was too hard to keep up as she laughed and took his offered bottle. “You could’ve done worse in finding a drinking partner though; you’d have run out of drink without me here.”

Before she opened hers she looked at her chain shirt, in terrible shape and covered in the stains of battle, was more importantly still on her back. Being able to take it off tonight would be nice, as sleeping in a soiled suit of rings didn’t exactly sound like an agreeable plan to her. Laureola looked at Wilhelm and sighed again.

“While you try to ‘rest,’ ” the air quotes tangible in her voice, “I need to see about wearing something that isn’t covered in blood. And maybe.... liver?" she questioned as she picked at it. "I can't quite tell what that spot is. At any rate, I’d like to find something that won't scare the pirates away when they come.” She laughed again, heading out to see if she could borrow a spare set of clothing from the captain, or less likely have one made.

[Wilhelm Bosche]

As Wilhelm drifted to sleep, he pondered the day's events, as he always did. The Roman woman's criticism of his solution didn't bother him in the least. He had much bigger worries floating through his mind. How long would he be wrapped up in Salvar before he could return to Uiria? Did he really mean what he said about strife? He wondered if after a few weeks of living a hard life, he might regret his rash decision and spend the rest of his life trying to rebuild a portal to a society that would never accept him. Uiria was a safety net, a halfway point that he could settle for.

Out on the deck, the sun was just beginning to creep beneath the horizon. Weiss was directing his meager crew to bring out lanterns and set them in their places. The captain himself was busying himself with a case that held his navigational instruments. Despite his commanding presence, the old sailor seemed to be having some difficulty with them.

"Confounded things," he muttered, not yet noticing that one of his passengers had come out on deck in search of him. "Where's Artolia when I need her?"

The woman he referred to was a specialist wizard of the sort long used by sophisticated men of the sea. They would forego the standard compliment of fireballs and lightning bolts to learn to conjure favorable winds, navigate by divination, and ward against leaking planks. It had been decided, against Weiss' vote, that placing one on the ship would be too suspicious. No common cargo ship could ever afford one, and one of the principal values of the Ships' Mages aside from their abilities was their tendency to ward off attack.

Weiss turned about, fiddling with an astrolabe and caught eyes with the strange woman he had taken aboard with her stained clothes and palpable dissatisfaction with being at sea. "Ah, excuse me, lass," he said, straightening himself up and tossing the astrolabe aside incautiously. "I hope this is what you've come to ask about, but if it isn't I apologize for insult. You need to get those rags off, especially if you're going to be on deck. A woman on ship will likely frighten suspicious pirates, but a blood-soaked one scares me a bit too. I happen to have a spare gown in the aft cabin, belonged to my navigator. It's a bit showy, but loose-fitting enough that it shouldn't matter what size ye are."

As his words trailed off on unfavorable winds, the sun sank at last beneath the waves. The lanterns twinkled in the twilight, enticing any who could see them to claim the Red Wake as their prize.

[Laureolus]

Going out to ask the captain for a spare set of clothes meant crossing the deck of course. Which still had a commanding view of the open sea, to Laureola’s great pleasure. Maybe not as much of it with the sun almost set, but the ground never turned that violent glistening orange at dusk either. Grunting with displeasure, she slowly crept toward who she assumed was the captain, as he was the only one not scurrying about hanging lamps. The walk to captain seem unbearably slow, her vice grip on every rope and wooden edge along the way making a twenty second walk take several minutes.

Captain Weiss thankfully turned around and put an end to the spectacle going on behind him, to the disappointment of his smug crew who were enjoying the spectacle. He spotted Laureola, casually tossed his instrument aside, and offered her a spare gown if she could make it to the back of the ship alive.Well, he might not have explicitly stated the last bit, but Laureola thought he might as well have. She gave a subdued waved at Weiss, not trusting herself to give thanks without a screech escaping with it, and headed aftward with ropes and railing squeaking in protest. Another reason not to like sailing, they couldn’t call the end of the ship the back, it was the aft.

Two minutes later, on a trip that should have taken 30 seconds, she made into aft cabin. Shutting the door and leaning against it, she let out a muted sigh of relief. Flexing her sore hands she scan with the room, not wanting to linger in someone else’s room longer then she had to be. Spotting what passed for a wardrobe here she started towards it, but Laureola couldn’t help but notice a small grimy mirror next to it. The silver reflection staring back was not someone she had seen starting back at her before. With bloodshot eyes with her matted red hair looking as close to clumps of rust as it ever would she looked more like a crazed Germanic berserker then a legionnaire. Hell, Germanic berserkers didn’t have smudges of bloody mud on their faces… before battle at least. Were it not for battered shield on her back and a few of the rings on her fingers, she’d believe she was one. She turned the mirror over

Turning the mirror over and facing the wardrobe, she opened the rather ornately carved doors to see what she’d be wearing for the night. She greeted the contents of the dour look she had given Wilhelm’s ship before she boarded it earlier. ’Showy’ indeed. Blue as the sky, covered in frills that’d sway about in even a light breeze, and with little clouds and breezes carefully laced into it Laureola didn’t want to know the person that wore it. If the captain didn’t want her to change she’d consider sleeping in bloody wool instead. Shaking her head, she put her shield aside with a soft thump and started pulling the chain mail off. Little tinks erupted around her around, the last of the loose rings come off as she removed the mail. A quick inspection left her grimacing; the front of said mail was mostly useless with several large holes being clearly visible.

Before she could progress any further in changing an alarm was raised outside. She guessed that they’d probably set fire to the ship while fire setting out the lanterns and she was going to drown beside a burning ship. It could have been the pirates, but that would be a streak of luck in what had been a very bad day.

[Wilhelm Bosche]

Wilhelm was still, for lack of a better word, groggy when the same bell that had ushered him into the ship rang out much more fiercely. It sounded an alarm to the sparse crew, a very few men who assembled on deck shortly after the sound. Weiss looked out through a spyglass at what was otherwise a speck on the horizon. Through the crude lens, the image of a battered galleon came to the captain's eye, The Looking Glass. If both ships were in proper fighting shape, the large ship could easily take on the Red Wake. As it was, the enemy sails sagged and much of the wood was rotted or missing. The ship was a shambles, but Weiss' own craft was not much better. A few superficial injuries had been made to the craft before its launch to make it a more savory target, but the genuine weakness was his skeleton crew.

He sent two of them to alert the Red Wake's secret passengers. A man came down into the hold just as Wilhelm was rubbing his eyes and attempting to discern how long he had been out.

"Oi, we've sighted one'a the pirate ships. Cap'n wants you to stay down 'ere until they board, so's not to scare 'em off," he said quickly and then went back topside.

Wil was more than happy to oblige. He sincerely doubted that his presence would frighten anyone, especially in his bedraggled state, but he did his best to ready himself. His sword and buckler lay on a crate beside him. After a stretch and a few moments of deep breathing, he strapped the small shield onto his left wrist and fastened the sword's scabbard to his waist. He pulled the blade out and found it sharp, pristine, and ready for battle, everything that he was not.

[Laureolus]

A few surprises awaited Laureola as she peeked out of the aft cabin. That she wasn’t going to drown beside a burning ship was the pleasant one. The unpleasant one was that if that small group of men was indeed the whole of the crew, by the dim lantern light it couldn’t have been more then twenty men, then fighting off any attack would be challenge. Before she could step out, a crew member broke off and came to her.

“Cap'n says to tell ya that the pirate are gaining on us and could be ‘ere in fifteen minutes.” He paused before the next bit, the nervous tick of his eyes marking him as one of the more superstitious sailors. “Cap'n also says to wait in ‘ere, thinks the bloody lass would scare ‘em off before they got to come aboard.”

Laureola laughed as the crew man gave a nervous glance behind him as he went to get further orders from Captain Weiss. As she turned around to rearm and armor herself, a streak of light glided by her and landed on the desk beside the wardrobe. It seems her eagle companion had had enough of the fresh air.

“Ha, everyone is so nervous about me being onboard they forget to give you a second look.” Shaking her head at the bird, she slid her arms into the mail suit and wriggled her upper body to help pull it down. It wasn’t as easy putting mail on without a helper and it took a solid few minutes of wriggling to finally finish pulling it down, the shadow given off by her companion’s glow making it look like an epic struggle instead of someone putting on a chain suit.

Exhaling in relief, she took a moment to sit down and catch a breath. “Not quite as easy to put that now without someone helping you pull it down, “she continued on with the glowing bird, her left sandal nervously tapping on the wooden floor. “ I could have gotten stuck you’d have just sat there wouldn’t you?”

Seeing that the bird was unlikely to respond she moved over to door, fixing shield to her left arm and sword on her belt, and peeked out again. Captain Weiss seemed to be organizing his men into groups of four, smart considering that they were likely to be outnumbered, and at the same time trying to make it look like they were making some attempt to get away.

[Wilhelm Bosche]

The Looking Glass made its way alongside the smaller Red Wake as Weiss completed his preparations. Both crews were lined up on deck and the pirates outnumbered the captain's men almost three to one. The pirate's ship had a line of cannon jutting out its sub-deck but all the cannoneers had abandoned them, unwilling to damage their prize. The Looking Glass itself was a captured ship and several unwise decisions during its seizure had lead to the sad condition it appeared in then.

"Surrender your vessel or have it taken by force," a tall man at the back of the pirate ranks shouted over the slosh of sea and the whipping of the wind. "You're no match for my crew."

Wil listened from an opened porthole in the lower decks, waiting for a cue to head up. The man, presumably their captain, had surprisingly good diction for a lawless swashbuckler. The Eudaemonian could not catch sight of him from where he was, but his voice called to mind a burly sort of man and for some reason a mustache.

Back on deck, the baseless guess was quite correct as the captain came to the fore of his lines. He had long black hair that curled beneath his shoulders and a well trimmed mustache above a scowling mouth. His right hand held a rapier and his left a dagger. He seemed intent on joining his men in the battle that was to come, a sign of supreme confidence. His crew were already beginning to twirl ropes with grappling hooks, ready to bring the two ships together and begin boarding.

"Well? What is your reply?" the pirate leader glared at Weiss, who had turned his back to the onslaught of invaders.

As he spun around, the answer came from the muzzle of a smoothbore pistol. The pan flashed and the charge thundered and a ball of lead buried itself in the crewman to the pirate captain's right. His aim had been for the captain's own chest, but the effect was the same. The grappling hooks flew and the two ships were brought together with a groan of wood.

Wil heard the shot and felt the vessel shake. He charged his blade with electricity and scrambled upstairs to find the battle already joined. Each crewman of the Red Wake was already surrounded by two pirates, though they fought valiantly. There were still more on the other ship making their way across swinging on ropes or jumping the small gap between the decks.

Will looked at one of the men swinging and arced a bolt from his sword toward him. The discharge snapped in the air and the man feel briefly limp, loosing his grip and faceplanting onto the deck. There he remained, rendered more permanently limp by a severe concussion. Wil smiled briefly before realizing there were already two more swinging across to replace him.

[Laureolus]

Laureola, being back in the aft, didn’t hear the pirate captain’s demands. What she did hear was the crack of Weiss’s pistol, starting at the sound of it. The only comparable sound she knew of was the firing of an onager, but that was barely comparable.

The shouting of men and clashing of weapons, however, was a familiar sound. Peeking out of the cabin she confirmed that Weiss’s small crew was indeed outnumbered, badly at that. A straight out attack probably wouldn’t win this battle; some kind of distraction would be needed to at least let her link up with the rest of the crew. Looking back at her glowing companion, it was time to see how superstitious simple sailors really were.

Outside, painted in flickering shadows by the hanging lanterns, the Red Wake’s crew was indeed in dire straits despite Weiss’s earlier attempts at some organization. The men form The Looking Glass were taking advantage of their numbers to herd Weiss’s men together for the slaughter. That is until an aft cabin burst open with a crash and a soft streak of light flew out with a weak screech. That’s what the men from the Red Wake saw at least.

The pirates weren’t as lucky, to them the crash and screech was enough to make look aft ward. The bolting bundle of noon glare took to the sky and dived at them, causing a decent number of the more easily frightened pirates to cover their eyes against the comparatively bright eagle in the dim night sky.

The eagle proved distraction enough for Weiss’s men to regroup and start to fight back. For Laureola, it was almost enough to sneak out and rejoin Weiss and his men if not for the two pirates on the way. Two of the pirates that were less dazed by the sight above them, and they attacked with the advantage of numbers, pushing Laureola on the defensive and away from the group.

[Wilhelm Bosche]

Apologies for the delay

As steel clashed and the pirates began to hem in Weiss' men, Wilhelm stood back, carefully arcing bolts of energy at stragglers. Most were merely inconvenienced, though one in particularly weighty mail armor felt the discharge sizzle through his chest, lost his footing and fell unto the black sloshing water below. The victory cheered Wilhelm, proud of his growing arcane prowess, but soon it became apparent that his efforts were having little effect on the tide of the battle.

Every group of Red Wake crewman was encircled by at least twice as many pirates, steadily wearing down the resolve and reflexes of the men. The crew was constantly on the defensive, parrying blows without delivering any, tiring as the pirates took turns slashing at them. The jaunty pirate captain had finally joined the naval siege and edged in with two of his men toward Weiss, who had holstered his inaccurate firearm in favor of a pair of short swords. The enemy captain seemed to stand back, rapier ready to strike, as his lackeys forced Weiss to dodge and weave.

Suddenly a streak of light from the far side of the craft seemed to dazzle the attackers. Wil resolved to take advantage of the opening and aid the captain. Weiss evidently had a similar plan to break out on his own as he buried one of his swords up to the hilt in a briefly distracted pirate's chest and readied himself to strike at the other. Wil caught a glint in the pirate leader's eye. He was not phased in the least by the burst of light and he readied to lunge toward Weiss, leaving his other man as a sacrificial lamb to bring out an opening.

Calling upon the energies of his own plane rather than the magical powers of Altahnas, Wil reached out toward the space around the pirate captain. The glint in the man's eye was replaced by a dilated pupil as the world around him seemed to twist and whirl. No sea-legs were sufficient preparation for the nausea-inducing effects of the sensory distortion. The opening he waited for presented itself as Wiess cleaved into the second pirate. The captain was only able to steady himself, and then it was closed again, Weiss focusing solely on him with his two bloody blades.

Wil ran up to join him, realizing that his parlor tricks were not going to turn the tide alone and that the force of steel would have to be brought to bear.