Round 1: Team A

[Max Dirks]

Round 1 will begin at 3 PM EST on Thursday, February 2, 2017.


You stumble upon the refugee camp either to assist the Rangers or by other circumstances. The cat like race of people you encounter do not speak any known language. Three combat ships are bearing down on the camp. Their origins and purpose, like those of the refugees, is unknown. An ideal thread will address the communication issue with the cat people, the purpose of the combat ships, decipher the symbol and will identify the origins of both parties. Please note the term refugees was coined by Ceidon to describe an unknown group of crash victims. It is entirely up to you whether they are actually refugees.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Prologue

Shinsou Vaan Osiris, dressed in wool and oilskin thermals, looked out over the glimmering Salvic sea as a dirty harbour tug pushed the bow of the Golden Phoenix around to the south, facing down the channel. The dock that had held the Alerarian built steam ship for two interminable months was now just a water filled wooden box, one of the many specifically built for harbouring larger vessels from the harsh northern elements. On the edge, a collection of sailors and dockyard workers looked on without a wave or a cheer.

That was hardly a surprise. The Golden Phoenix was the flagship in a small fleet of Alerarian ships belonging to the feared Black Fist pirates, a group who had caused Shinsou’s Brotherhood a great deal of inconvenience over the last few months. From the plundering of Brotherhood supply lines to the sinking of merchant ships, the pirates had hurt the Castigars economically and their Executor had finally exhausted his patience with the bandit’s operations. Recruiting a small party of his own, Osiris had infiltrated the ranks of the Fist and had spent months in the company of their leader, Galshin, to earn his trust. That in turn had earned him a vice-command on the Phoenix, the Fist’s prize possession, and a spot for his crew in the ship. For now, Galshin himself was in charge.

Not for long... The Telgradian thought to himself smugly.

“Engines ahead slow, Shinsou.” Galshin ordered. The man was the size of a bear and about as hairy, and his hulking form dwarfed the wiry Telgradian at his side. Osiris nodded, affirming the order to his own man who scurried below deck. The tug slid out of the way and the Black Fist’s leader glanced aft to see the water stirring from the force of the twin bronze propellers. The tug had done a simple job but had done it well. The Golden Phoenix was set for Alerar.

“So, my lord, again we go to sea to serve the brethren!” Shinsou, referring to the colloquial term for the Black Fist’s members, poked his head out of the iron chassis of the bridge, watching as the bow of the ship smashed through a thin layer of Salvic ice as men scurried around him. The tiny control station was already crowded enough with Galshin, Shinsou and the lookout, but seamen flocked there intermittently, attending to their leader like royalty. In their minds, everything he did was to serve the Fist and his was a name that had mystical connotations to any lower ranking man of the brethren. He was their substitute for a godhead.

“Indeed.” Galshin replied with more cheer than he felt. “Two weeks at sea. It is good to leave the dock. The brethren belong at sea, not tied alongside, overrun with workmen with dirty boots and a bored crew. Also, we will finally be warm.”

“You find this cold?” Shinsou asked incredulously, forgetting momentarily his own resistance to the freezing temperatures.

For the hundredth time, Galshin told himself that Shinsou was the perfect officer. His voice was always too loud, his humour too affected. He never allowed a person to forget what he was. The Telgradian was an easy man to fear.

“On a day like this, Galshin,” Shinsou continued, “flowers bloom and the rum tastes especially fine. To be at sea on a day like this is a gift.”

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Despite her huge bulk, the Golden Phoenix’s crew accommodations would have shamed a Lornian gaoler.

The staff consisted of fifteen officers, housed in fairly decent cabins aft, and seventy enlisted men who were stuffed into whatever corners and racks they could find space in throughout the ship. Indeed, the boat’s size was deceptive. The interior of her double layered hull was crammed with Alerarian steam-engine technology; pipework, bolts, valves, compressors and configuration levers. There were no weapons mounted on the vessel to speak of, but various small arms were stocked in portside cabins that were re-purposed as armouries. The men themselves served as a primary method of assault.

Shinsou strode purposefully down the grimy length of the ship, just behind Galshin. The short journey to the control room involved swerving overhanging pipes, sidestepping scurrying pedestrians and dodging boiling clouds of steam. Everything stank of grease and iron. As they went, Galshin slapped an anvil sized hand on the shoulder of a passing officer, stopping the young man in his tracks.

“Tell navigation to plot a course for the Alerarian southern coast and to weigh anchor there.”

Galshin watched his crewmen as they jumped to their orders without question. Any order he gave could make experienced men shudder, and half of his crew were fresh from jails around Althanas, looking for a new opportunity to further their careers. There were sudden pops as the hull creaked under the strain of the thick ice the Phoenix had to navigate to get out of Salvic waters, something that took some getting used to. Unseen by the giant commander, some of the younger men sat rigidly upright in their seats down the oily hallway. As Galshin and the Telgradian entered the room, the crew snapped to.

One man, a certain Cain Jodin, wore the uniform of an officer. He stood at the helm as one of Galshin’s watch. He gave Shinsou a knowing look, one that wasn’t returned deliberately by the Telgradian.

Not yet. Only on the signal.

One of the few female crew to work for Galshin, a shiphand called Razel, stayed bolt upright in the shadows of the small room. Her aquamarine eyes briefly met Shinsou’s, but experience granted her the subtlety to let their exchange go unnoticed.

Good. All in position.

“Well done, Jodin. You have the helm. Slow to a third speed, and have eyes out on deck. We don’t want to get into any imperial entanglements on the way.” Galshin’s voice boomed out over the control room. Cain saluted, turning to his post, whilst Galshin turned to leave, motioning for Shinsou to follow him.

So it began.

The pair went to the Phoenix’ wardroom. The brutish Galshin held the door open for his vice commander, then closed and locked it behind himself. The Golden Phoenix’s wardroom was a spacious affair for an Alerarian ironclad, located immediately forward of the galley, aft of the officer accommodations. Its walls were soundproofed, and the door had a lock because her designers had known that not everything the officers had to say was for the ears of enlisted men. It was large enough for all of the officers to eat as a group – though at least three of them would always be on duty. The safe containing Galshin’s orders, in case of his death, was here and not in the captain’s own cabin where a man might use his solitude to try opening it by himself. It was hardly necessary to open it, as both men knew the orders already, but Galshin was obsessive compulsive about keeping order; unusual for a man in such a profession as this.

Shinsou poured tea whilst Galshin took his seat, lighting up a choice cigar from his overstocked collection.

“So, what do you suppose our Castigar friends will have in store for us today?” Shinsou asked theatrically.

“Gold, of course.” Galshin smiled.

“Indeed.” Shinsou broke the wax seal on the envelope containing Galshin’s written directive. “So we are to proceed to the Alerarian coastline where we will intercept a bullion shipment on the merchant vessel Domine. The interception area is confined to forty square kilometers.”

Galshin frowned. “Do I see disappointment?”

“Shinsou shook his head, wringing his fingers through his hands. “No, not really. This will be an interesting diversion until the main shipments hit the coast.”

Bastard, Shinsou said to himself, You knew beforehand exactly what our shipping schedule was. How were you doing it? Well, no matter.

It was time.

Galshin stubbed the cigar butt out, blowing away the bluish plumes of smoke, before standing. “So, again I am permitted to watch the master tactician at work befuddling a novice organisation’s supply lines.” He turned towards the door. “I think-“

Shinsou kicked Galshin’s feet out from under him just as he was stepping away from the table. The giant fell backwards while Osiris sprang to his feet and grasped the pirate leader’s bear like head in his strong hands. The Telgradian drove his neck downward to the sharp, metal edge corner of the wardroom table, striking the point. In the same instant Shinsou pushed down on the man’s chest. An unnecessary gesture – with the sickening crackle of bones Galshin’s tree trunk like neck broke, his spine severed at the level of the second cervical vertebra; a perfect hangman’s fracture.

Galshin had no time to react. The nerves to his body below the neck were instantly cut off from the organs and muscles they controlled. He tried to shout, to say something, but the mouth flapped open and shut without a sound except for the exhalation of his last lungful of air. He tried to gulp air down like a landed fish, but this didn’t work. Then his eyes went up to Shinsou, wide in shock – there was no pain, and no emotion but surprise.

Shinsou laid him gently on the tile deck. He saw the face flash with recognition, then darken.

No more than you deserve, either. Time to get the signal out.

With a firm pull on an alarm’s bell’s cord, the Telgradian unleashed hell. The young seamen who had passed themselves off as simple career criminals, and had masterfully evaded Galshin’s extreme vetting, leapt into action under Jodin and Razel’s command, finally showing their Brotherhood colours and overpowering their Black Fist counterparts in the control room within seconds of the order. As furniture and weapons flew chaotically about the enclosed space, bones were broken and blood was drawn. Soon enough, the Brotherhood’s hired hands had full control of the ship, their Fist captives secured safely in the Phoenix’s brig.

Moments later, Shinsou carried himself through the narrow passageway into the room to find a relatively unscathed Cain Jodin and Razel stood amongst their peers, successful in their planned mutiny. Wiping the dust from the conn chair, Shinsou nodded to his men and leaned forward.

“Galshin is dead and his cohorts are secured in the ship’s brig, for now, so we’re taking the Phoenix to Etheria. This is a momentous day for the Brotherhood. When we get home, those of you who served all these months amongst their ranks will be duly rewarded for your efforts; the efforts that keep our supply lines safe and our people alive. Well done. One less bunch of bastards on the high seas is a good day’s work. Jodin?”

Shinsou called to the experienced seaman, who came forward at once.

“You have the conn, Razel to support. Wake me up when we get to Etheria. You both did well today; you’ve earned your pay.”

[jdd2035]

For the last several weeks Cain had posed as a master’s mate and was eventually hired on the steamship the Golden Phoenix. Not too long ago, during the Corone Civil war, Cain was a smuggler and his ship the Peregrine was a hired Man O’ War for the Republic. The Peregrine and her crew had a distinguished career, taking many prizes and smuggling both supplies and troops to eventually help win the war in the republic’s favor. After the Civil war, Cain stayed on to hunt pirates and Imperial remnants that may have fled the nation. His actions during and after the Civil war had made himself a known quantity in the less savory parts of the seas.

Because he was known, Cain did what he could to remain as inconspicuous as he could. To that end he forewent his sea coat and tricorn. Rather, he dressed in a drab brown sweater and denim jerkin, topped off with a knit cap. This was what he wore during the entire extended cutting out expedition. He spent time watching the goings on and wondered how this gaggle of black guardy inept sailors had kept from sinking their ship or being hanged from the yardarm. They had numbers, but very little in the way of practice for the great guns and little, if anything, in the way of seamanship. The crew was lucky to not have to steer, reef or haul in such a ship as this.

That was his final thought before Osiris signaled the mutiny.

Cain had done his part with a main gosh and his fist. But now that the black guards were below deck and clapped in irons, Cain could become himself once again. When next Cain was seen he was now more like the Captain everyone knew he was. He had donned his clean sail cloth shirt with brass buttons, tarpaulin trousers with hessian boots, his number one sea coat and a well used tricorn hat to round out his proper dress. To top things off he put on his twin cap lock pistols and a cavalry saber.

As he stepped out the boatswain piped the hands to the quarterdeck and Cain gave a brief speech about what was to come. “Until this ship reaches her destination she is considered by law to be a prize. That means that this crew will be considered a prize crew so long as she flies under the colors of the Private Man O War Peregrine’s colors. To that end we will conduct ourselves in such a manner as befitting her.”

At this point those in the know began to smile. They knew that the Peregrine’s crew, while worked incredibly hard, was also rewarded and treated well with more than their fare share of grog, small beer, large beer, wine and food.

“First this ship will be made presentable. Open all shutters, grates and ports and get a party to begin holystoning the deck. All decks will be cleaned of trash and refuse and all bright works will be polished to a high shine. Finally unless you are an engineer stay out of the engine room. Leave that to those that know steamworks. You are dismissed.”

With that the crew dispersed and the ship finally began to get into a familiar rhythm. Cain closed his eyes and gripped the helm, feeling the vibrations of the water feeding through the rudder to the wheel. Beyond the chug of the engine and the hissing of the steam pistons, he heard the wheezing of the pumps spraying water onto the decks. At the same time he heard the sawing noise of the holystones turning fresh sea water into a milky opaque mix of sand, sawdust and caulk between the deck boards with the sound of a watch bell ringing every half hour. The boatswain could be heard piping his whistle, giving orders and startling idlers with the bitter end of a rope when they were caught. Cain smelt the salt spray of the sea, with the crisp bite of the cold on his cheeks beyond the smell of burning coal.

In spite of it all he felt as if he was a member of the old guard of sailors and seamen; his garb looked out of style compared to those that were more used to a steam ship and he wondered at it.

Presently two kegs of freshly made grog and a mix of lime juice, rum and water were stationed at the forecastle with each seaman taking their turn at the spigot before returning to their duties. Cain filled his mug and stepped over to the starboard rail. He began a rhythmic pacing from the farthest eye bolt on the quarter deck to where the main chains would have been on a traditional ship, twenty five paces each direction, before taking a swig with each turn. He consulted the log, charts and sextant to determine the position of the ship. From time to time he would order an adjustment to the course but without sails to reef, tacks to change or lines to haul Cain felt some what redundant and so he continued his rhythmic pacing.

An hour out of Etheria, Cain had a pot of coffee brewed and brought a mug to Osiris’ cabin. In an attempted soft voice, he spoke through the door. “Mr. Osiris, we are about an hour from Port Etheria.” With that, Cain placed the mug on the nearby stand and stepped back out to the deck.

[Razel]

Like the falling of an executioner’s axe, it was all over in that single moment. Razel, once excited with anticipation and itching to spring into action, was now disappointed and miffed at the resolution of their greatly prepared uprising. It wasn't that it hadn't gone as planned, but that it had worked even smoother and faster than she had imagined and the expected thrill and enjoyment was over before it began.

Razel often suffered with an overactive imagination and life wasn't always as thrilling and stimulating as her mind predicted. She had desired so much more out of life than what had been given to her and after this little boat adventure was over she would have to search for something else of interest. Living the life of a mercenary and thief was often an intriguing story in itself, but finding a place in this world for someone of her ilk was not easy; not if she wanted to have the friends and associates she desired.

“You both did well today; you’ve earned your pay.” Shinsou had spoken with such an authoritarian manner. Granted, he was now the captain and ran his Brotherhood confidently, but Razel couldn't shake the feeling that he looked down on them like dogs.

Now waiting alongside Shinsou in his quarters, Razel chewed lightly on her tree gum. The small sweet fruit was a tough chew, but its flavour lasted for hours provided one did not pierce it. She huffed lightly and rolled her eyes, twirling the twig-like fruit over her tongue as she moved it from one cheek to the other. The thought of the many now-mundane tasks ruined the idea of running a pirated ship. She was already surprised that the crew listened to her.

I hope something more entertaining is going to happen... This whole job could be the most boring one yet.

She reached back and began to re-plait her ponytail, still trying to keep her beautiful rusty red hair neat and tidy - she certainly didn't appreciate it flying into her face during a tense moment. She glanced at Jodin through the door's porthole. The sailor was a little rough around the edges, but he was alright in her books. Although, currently he seemed more of a follower than anything else. Either that or Shinsou was truly awe-inspiring to gain such loyalty from him.

Despite being a loner and conducting herself more cautiously, Razel had been paid to protect and support Shinsou, and she was loyal to her word. What no one else knew was that she was also there to perform any specialist tasks he requested. Not that he had asked anything of great significance just yet. As far as she was concerned, as soon as the job was complete, or if the money went dry, she was out of here.

She leaned against the doorway, watching the steaming cup as Jodin delivered it to his master. Is that scar of yours due to following someone's orders? Or was that a fate of your own choice? A small and almost timid voice called out regarding Shinsou's brew, and then Jodin left.

Razel had no intention of getting it and hoped he didn't suggest it either. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Where's my brew? You suck up, bitch. It probably seemed odd to have her in his room, but she'd kill if someone suggested anything of it. Well, she'd hit them at least - hard. This was business, even if an attractive male and woman such as herself were left alone, it was only the thoughts of the others that crossed her mind.

Not for the first time, the boat shuddered like a jerking tree branch slapping back into position. Being no expert didn't matter in this instance; there was definitely something unusual going on with the ship itself. An amateur could tell that they had a problem, so why she had seen no acknowledgment to it frustrated her. She would advise him herself just to be sure.

"Shinsou," she called out to get his attention. "Has no one reported an engine problem yet? Because honestly, I've no intention of being stranded at sea on a broken vessel."

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou took his time to consider his response to the mercenary he had hired a week ago as she stood in close proximity to him. Her comments about the engine problems weren’t exactly tantamount to questioning his fitness to command, but Razel obviously thought him naive. It was a symptom of most mercenaries; more interested in doing the job and earning the money than paying attention and learning about their employer. It hadn’t occurred to her that the Telgradian knew full well something was up, and, perhaps, that his trust in his men to resolve any technical issue meant he had no reason to yet become panicked.

Nevertheless, as he stood, Osiris chose his words carefully.

“Don’t worry. The reason no-one has reported a problem is because my engineers probably believe they can resolve the issue and think there is nothing yet worth reporting,” Shinsou wiped a hand through his chestnut hair as a shrieking noise squealed through the narrow pipework of the ship’s interior, “therefore, I shall leave them to do their duty. Trust and loyalty are a two way street. Without trust we cannot have synergy. Without synergy, we become individuals capable of much less than we’re worth.”

Razel seemed mildly disinterested by his opinion; not in a particularly rude way, but in a manner which confirmed that which Shinsou already knew. Her mind was already a few days ahead; to payday, or to a time when she would have something other than sitting around the ship to do. He couldn’t really blame her, though. This was her living and she had earned it.

As Osiris paced towards his cabin door, deciding to change subject, he motioned for the woman to follow him.

“I would be grateful if you could assist Jodin in overseeing the bridge. I’ll be along presently.”

Down in the depths of the engine room, a semi-formal inspection was taking place. As a timer dinged, chief engineer Malachi lifted out from a pipe one of the dozens of propulsion rods that helped to push steam into the engine of the ship, shaking it and setting it into a water filled basin. It had been over three months since a vessel he had served on had suffered from a malfunction, and he had been so bored as of late that the stubby man had prayed for a challenge to keep his mind sharp and his wits about him.

Today, of all days, his wish had been granted.

“Not this one…” He muttered, turning the rod in his fingers to check for warping or anything else that could have been affecting the ship’s drive functions. Men raced around him, pulling levers, venting steam and tightening bolts whilst all the while Malachi ambled from pipe to pipe in slow motion. An inspection of each of the remaining rods followed until he reached the last one.

“Son of a bitch!” Malachi breathed as he struggled to wrangle the final rod from its iron sheath. Though only two centimeters across, the rods were Alerarian made with varying alloys and each had differing stress thresholds. This one, probably the most important component in the drive-shaft, was made from a bronze-nickel alloy and had crumpled all the way to its base. It was so bent that Malachi couldn’t even remove it from the casing.

The engineer went back to his office, calling for one of his watch.

“Please call Shinsou here immediately. We have a problem.”

Shinsou Vaan Osiris took his time. He knew what the message implied and, as the Telgradian slid down a greasy metal ladder towards the engine room, was already racing through possible contingency plans in his head. Opening the door and crossing the threshold, his world suddenly became a hysteria of machinery and people.

The engine room was quite large. It had to be to accommodate the massive, barrel shaped iron engine and drive machinery that formed the heart of the ship. Despite currently being inactive, all of the metal railings and pipework were still warm to the touch. Men and women were in every corner of the room, each surrounded by their fellow engineers as pipes were cut and systems were checked and double checked. Of all of the compartments on the Golden Phoenix, this was actually the cleanest; the deck and bulkheads were spotless, white-painted iron. The reason was that the smallest crack in any pipe had to be instantly visible.

“Start over,” Shinsou ordered, “from the beginning.”

Malachi, now sweating from the warm air that gathered in the compartment, nodded.

“The majority of the Phoenix’s pipework runs away from the bulkhead. However, I believe there is one pipe that lines the tip of the ship. This line is used to expel pressure out into the open via vents located on either side of the hull.” He pointed his hands in opposite directions to flag the positions. “It would seem we hit a particularly thick layer of ice on the way out that has buckled the iron hull in such a place as to seal the vents. With nowhere else to go, the pressure has built up and travelled towards the drive shaft.”

Walking over to the affected pipe, the chief engineer commented sourly as Shinsou’s eyes followed his gesture to the buckled rod. “Now, these propulsion rods are all built independently of each other. Each has a specific role, and are therefore made from different alloys as each is configured to handle a different level of pressure. It would seem that the blowback from the vents has destroyed this one, but not the others.”

“What’s the prognosis?” Osiris asked grimly.

Malachi frowned. “Bronze-nickel alloy of this density is going to be very difficult to replace. We would need at least three qualified engineers to make the repairs as well as a rod configured for that section of the engine. Currently, we only have two engineers capable of the task and none of the materials. Etheria is our best bet of being able to acquire something suitable and even then, we’d still need a third pair of experienced hands. We can run a third speed until then, but it will be pushing our limits to go any faster. ”

Shinsou sat down in a nearby chair at once, stretching his legs to work out the knots while he thought upon their dilemma. The officers in the Brotherhood had told him how lucky he was to have an engineer like Malachi aboard. He was the best in their fleet; a man to be listened to.

“Make it so,” Osiris said, “get us to Etheria as soon as possible. We’ll address each problem as we go. Our first priority will be finding another engineer. They aren't exactly ten a gold piece.”

[jdd2035]

On deck, Cain was looking out over the bow. The ship had her engines slowed down, and then stopped for some time because of something going wrong with the mechanical monstrosity the engineers called an engine. His dear ship, and most other ships that were not from Alerar, had at least one mast and a yard, if for no other reason than the philosophy “better safe than sorry”. But this was an Alerarian steamship, which eschewed such frivolous things as a mast on a steam ship.

What a fascinating modern world in which we live in, Cain thought sarcastically. While the engineers were fixing the engine, he had an idea, but it would take some doing.

Looking up at the Phoenix’s boatswain and carpenter, Cain stated, “we’ll need to rig a bowsprit. I believe that this ship's former owners had stored enough spars and sail cloth from prizes they’d taken. We can sway it up and rig ourselves a kind of sprit sail. It should give us a little better in the way of steerage. We’ll stay it by the hawse pipes and railing.” The crew snapped into movement, dropping into the hold. Minutes later, a thirty foot long piece of oak was being shipped out; the bow being held into place by an intricate cat's cradle of ropes and halyards.

As the bowsprit was being swayed into place, the rhythmic hammering of carpenters forming cross trees and a top to brace a yard and sail came from the deck.

Eventually, the yard was swayed up and fastened to the makeshift bowsprit, and a sail was slung under and bent. While the engineers babied the engine, coaxing her to start pushing the metal behemoth of a boat forwards, the spritsail began pulling for all its worth. This was not the stakatto tug that Cain was used to, but more of a creaking groaning pull that reminded him of an old and tired body getting out of bed after a long day and night before.

Nevertheless, the ship was under way again under the lapping sound of the sea, and the whistle of the wind passing through the makeshift rigging. Eventually, the placidity of the ship running via wind power was broken by the sound of the engine coming back online. It coughed and belched smoke, but eventually, the low rumble of the pistons pumping in time was there once again. With the spritsail and engine both doing their part, the Phoenix was doing a little better than one third her top speed. Cain returned to his pacing on the deck, but at least now he had more of a purpose than just an advisor.

[Rayleigh]

It was a melody that Anch-Toch had always been fond of. The creak and subsequent groan of wood beneath his feet as the ship crested each wave. The powerful flap of canvas sails as they caught and held the cool wind that rolled from the sea. The laughter and good-natured shouts of his crew. Had the mood been right, the latter might have rivaled the others for his attention. But no, the mood was not right. There was no laughter, there were no shouts. All that Anch-Toch found when he watched his companions were hard, dark eyes, and lips drawn into thin, tight lines. Despite their seemingly hard exteriors, their skin colors revealed their emotions, as was the curse of the Numantian race. The bipedal, reptilian creatures were stained light reds, faded oranges, and a dusty, sickly black. Frustration, Anch-Toch recognized. Fear. Despair. There would be no sea shanties that morning. As if Mother Nature herself shared the sentiment, a low roll of thunder murmured from the swirling clouds overhead.

The tribe leader turned his elongated face to the sky, relishing the feel of the rumble in his chest. There was another force in him, one that rivaled the power of the winter storm. It called for revenge against those who had wronged him, and wronged his people. It was a gnawing hunger, a flame that would not be extinguished by the whipping wind, or the frigid water that peppered his catamaran. It was fueled by confusion, panic, and despair, the same emotions that his crew wore like masks. But revenge was at the heart of it. That, and an anger unlike anything he had ever experienced in his lifetime.

At his feet rest a small, ornately carved wooden chest. It was empty, save for a swatch of fine velvet, and an indentation left by his most prized possession. His second most prized possession, a Coronian war ship, loomed up behind him. It was small, as war ships go, though it still dwarfed the fleet of catamarans that escorted it. Built masterfully of sturdy materials, and toting an impressive collection of cannons, the ship was undoubtedly intimidating. Many believed it would withstand anything, though it had never seen true combat. A purchase acquired by his ancestors, the Ethalion had existed only to provide the necessary defenses to his people. How could they have known, Anch-Toch mused humorlessly, that it would become their only hope of survival?



From the distant pier, it was impossible to sense the negative emotions. In fact, the scene appeared quite tranquil. At least, Rayleigh Aston thought so, as she watched the thin slips of billowing sails drift lazily on the horizon. Against the dull, gray canvas of the stormy sky, the wisps of white looked a bit like birds.

She hoped that the boats would draw nearer, so that she might study them. Though Ray disliked riding the waves herself, it was merely due to the violent seasickness that always accompanied seafaring adventures; the boats themselves fascinated her. This particular situation was no exception. The larger of the vessels was typical of a Coronian port, but there was something unusual about the smaller crafts, and she was eager to learn more. Her eyes, a vibrant green, squinted against the gloom that hung heavy around her -

“Rayleigh?”

- and then widened with startled surprise. “Gods,” she wheezed, a palm pressing to her galloping heart. She rounded on the pudgy man, scowling as she added, “warn me next time.”

“I did,” he answered, frowning back at her. “I said your name. Was that not sufficient? Would you rather I say something else? Or stand back further when I speak? Or whisper, so not to scare you?”

The hand that had lay on her chest now waved to cut the man off. “Forget it,” Rayleigh told him. Then, more curious, “what did you need anyway?”

“Vance sent me. Apparently there is some commotion outside of the city, and there is technology involved. His friend, a Ranger, told him so.”

This piqued Rayleigh’s interest. Without waiting for an invitation, she jogged back toward her friend’s mechanic shop; she was staying with him for a week, so they could collaborate on a project. The stranger, who she finally recognized as Vance’s neighbor, scampered after her. “What kind of technology?” she called over her shoulder. “And why not take care of it himself?” Vance was just as much the mechanic as she was.

Her companion shook his head, huffing as she increased her pace. She moved quickly for a woman with such short legs. “I don’t know, to both questions. He asked for you. Maybe he does not know what to do with this particular problem?”

By then, there was no trace of the scowl that had previously taken up residence. A broad smile split her freckled face. Her eyes danced with it, and it bubbled beneath each word as she announced, “I accept his challenge!”

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou awoke in the dark. The curtains were drawn on the cabin’s two small portholes. He shook his head a few times to clear it and began to assess what was going on around him. The Golden Phoenix was moving on the high seas towards Corone, but not as quickly as before owing to their technical difficulties.

The Telgradian got up to look out of a porthole and saw the red glow of sunrise aft under scudding clouds. Checking the position of the sun and doing some clumsy mental arithmetic, Shinsou concluded it was about six in the evening, Coronian time. That translated to about six hours of sleep. He felt pretty good, considering. A minor headache from some brandy - so much for the theory that the good stuff doesn’t give you a hangover – and his muscles were stiff. Shinsou did a few stretches to work out the knots.

There was a small bathroom or head, he corrected himself as he remembered Jodin’s lesson in nautical terminology, adjoining the cabin. Shinsou splashed some water on his face and washed his mouth out, not wanting to look in the mirror. He decided he had to. Counterfeit or not, he was the ship’s captain and had to look presentable. It took a minute to get his hair in place and his attire arranged properly.

A tender rapping at the wooden cabin door broke the Telgradian off from his morning routine.

It was Malachi.

“Feeling better, Shinsou?” The short, stocky engineer pointed to a tray of cups. It was only tea, but it was a start.

“Thank you. Those few hours really helped. I guess I’m up in time for the maintenance report then, if my chief engineer is now on brew duty?” Shinsou knew Malachi well enough to know that when the man bore gifts there was often bad news to follow.

“Nothing new to report on the mechanical side, other than thanks to Jodin’s contraption we are slightly ahead of our revised schedule – a couple of hours, perhaps.” Malachi said. “However, there is something I have to show you.”

He got up, took Shinsou’s arm, and guided him port. A couple of turns later, and one outwardly swinging door, and the pair were stood on deck looking out onto the horizon. The engineer did not need to point in the direction of the problem. Or, more accurately, three problems.

Shinsou ran a hand over his face. “How long have those vessels been following us?”

“About two hours now. Even on a third of our power, with the added propulsion from the sails, they’ll catch us in one more.”

“Where are they from? They don’t look like Imperial ships,” Shinsou asked calmly as he pulled a telescopic lens from beneath his coat. His world became a dark circle with a section of sea and ship in the center. “And they don’t look Salvic. Too low key to be Alerarian, too.”

Just what the hell are you?

“Our advisors tell me that their movements look very much like they are in some distress.” Malachi stroked his chin, waiting for the predictable response.

“It could also be a hostile exercise, given we are disabled and vulnerable ourselves,” Shinsou retorted, pushing the telescope into Malachi’s arms. “How are we to tell the difference?”

The Telgradian leaned back against the wall to let that thought hang in the air for a moment. When he went on, he spoke more gently. “It’s a remote possibility, but it would be irresponsible of me to not consider it. So here’s what I want you to do. Give Jodin control of the ship and ask him to coax us a little broadside of those vessels, so that if we have to board them, we’ll be ready. I want Razel to lead a handpicked team of men to starboard and wait. From there,” Shinsou paused for a moment, “we’ll further assess their manoeuvres. Any sign of hostility and we jump aboard to do what we can. Otherwise, if it truly is some sort of emergency, we’ll be ready to meet them. From now on, you are my right hand. Convey this to the crew, and find Razel.”

Malachi, who had found himself suddenly promoted from chief engineer to acting first mate, pondered Shinsou’s remarks. It was, he admitted, crudely shrewd to prepare for all eventualities. It was also very unlike the Telgradian to risk his crew and ship to help out someone else if it meant damaging Brotherhood interests. The same men who would be leading such an eventual rescue mission were the type who could, in the same breath, immediately turn around and order the execution or imprisonment of a hundred people without blinking. A strange collective, made stranger by their swaying morality and blurred lines, but their leaders Shinsou Vaan Osiris and Storm Veritas had too many “sharp edges”. Malachi hoped he would learn to soften them.

Negotiating with ships of unknown origins and intentions was one thing; but doing it under the duress of mechanical problems was another one entirely.

[Razel]

For all the exciting drama that slowly developed around them, the only thing that crossed Razel’s mind was whether or not her cards held a higher value than that of those before her. The shady room, candle lit and veiled lightly in the smoke of gamblers was full of grins, frowns and a multitude of groans and cheers. The game of cards was born of boredom, rather than that of their small victory in taking ship. The mercenaries had more than earned their pay on this journey, and from the moment that they handed the reins over to the mechanics and sailors, their time here had been tainted with a dullness that left little to comfort the short attention span of the average mercenary.

Razel slapped a castle card face up, a novice move by appearance, but Razel had played this game many times before. Razel glanced up knowingly, trying to hide her grin as her lip trembled in resistance - she found it difficult to hide her true motives when she held a greater plan.

“Shit card?” Lian’s brow furrowed as he peered up from his own cards.

“Must be…” Razel replied showing that smug grin she loved to smile.

Her blue irises were eye-catching, like bits of the summer sky brought to earth. She wanted them to focus on her eyes, and to distract them from the game they were supposed to be playing. She could win this easily; she knew that for a fact.

“Call!” Lian called her bluff. She could play her mind games, she could try to distract him, and she could try to lie as much as she wanted - he was no fool.

The deep tension in her breast lessened and the tough nerves that she hid so well began to show. Lian had assumed her bluff, but the double bluff hid within her cards. She smiled knowingly once more as he pushed his gold coin towards the centre pile on the table. The bets could no longer be taken out and a winner would be announced.

Clink!

The mechanism clicked into place as the levered door slid open, letting the cold, salty sea air quickly mix and waft away the burnt scent of the cigars that twitched in many a man’s lips. Razel, a non-smoker herself, would have appreciated the fresh air normally. This time however, the interruption could not have been timed much worse.

A crowd of angry eyes leered at the accused as he entered, and standing a little hesitant in the entrance was Malachi. Recently promoted into an unusual position of First Mate, the Chief Engineer wasn’t used to barking orders at the paid hands before him.

“What the fuck do you want?” Another mercenary moaned from the rear, unaware of the man’s new position.

Razel huffed a long sigh. “Guys... Relax. It’s only Malachi.”

“You’re wanted on deck. Starboard side, we’ve encountered a potential hostile.” Malachi requested, his soft tone enough to catch Razel’s ear without it sounding like a command - he had no desire to start an argument.

Razel looked him up and down, the somewhat dirty dressed engineer wasn’t usually used as a lackey, and he hadn’t really conversed with the group in general; he hadn’t needed to.

“You’ll need to be armed and ready.” He continued, staring directly at Razel. Giving commands wasn’t unusual to him but giving them to this lot was.

Razel stood up, her demeanour somewhat arrogant as she leaned her weight to her right foot and stared skeptically at Malachi. “Fair enough.” Then, she slammed her remaining cards down to full view of Lian and the others. “Read them and weep, guys. Let’s get on with it, Malachi looks serious.”

Waiting for no further questions, he sheepishly backed up out the room and went looking for Jodin. Meanwhile, the group mocked Lian as he dropped his half spent cigar to his gawping loss.

“Shit, woman… King, Queen and Castle...” Lian’s eyes saddened to the pile of gold that was now making its way into Razel’s pouch. “Who the fuck put you in charge of us?” His sarcastic question filled with light-hearted exasperation.

“Good question,” she laughed. “I’m not sure if it’s because I’m smarter than you, or because I’ve got tits. I’ll let you decide.”

“Tits.” The group universally acknowledged as they proceeded to quickly buckle their belts, sheath their swords and load their crossbows. It was time to take things seriously once again.

They were hardly a marching army, but they didn’t need to be. They were strong, talented individuals who were effective in ways an army of organised men could not be. Thieves, murderers, fighters, sneaks and general thugs, this group did as they pleased and got paid for doing it.

Razel shuddered as the brunt of the cold wind blew back her hanging red bangs. She led the group to the right side of the ship and took ahold of the railing to steady herself upon the rolling waves. The deck remained relatively empty, while off the starboard side their opportunity had presented itself.

[jdd2035]

“On deck! Sail! Sail Ho!” cried the lookout stationed near the taffrail of the ship.

Cain strode to the aft of the metal slug and asked the look out, “where away!?”

The lookout turned and from his seat and shouted, “two points starboard abaft of us!”

Cain nodded to himself, borrowed a telescope from one of the midshipmen, and peered through it. He leveled the glass to the horizon, and trained it on the ships in a smooth piot. The larger ship he recognised it as a caravel and she was beautiful. It was a caravell, at least sixty tons, with enormous square sails and a lateen one her foremast. She was ancient, but her decks gleamed white from faithful holystoning. Her hull was beautifully painted, and her cannons were old enough to fire marble shot, something that has not been used for centuries now. The strange thing was that they looked as if they were fired recently.

Blinking, Cain trained his glass farther around the caravel and spotted a number of smaller boats. Most of them were fore and aft rigged outriggers with larger boats being catamarans. The boats were sailed expertly but the crew of the caravel seemed not quite as skilled with the bigger vessel. Nevertheless, the the strange fleet was catching up, only an hour or so behind.. “If they would adjust the trim they would overtake us in forty five minutes,” Cain said to no one in particular. He didn’t know off-hand whether the fleet with strange colors were meaning to attack, or just sailing on the same tack as the Phoenix. To that end, he ordered, “we shall beat to quarters!”

There was a steady urgent drum beat as the hands began moving about the deck. In an organized chaos, and stream of humanity, each hand moved to where they were supposed to be. Not as practiced as the Peregrines were, thought Cain, but he was just an advisor, and not the captain here

“Excuse me!” said a voice behind Cain.

“Yes? How may I help you?” Cain asked with a touch of sharpness to his reply.

The engineer said, “Mr. Osiris would like you to keep our starboard side to the incoming ships.”

There was a definite difference between sea and shore etiquette, thought Cain as he said, “very well.” He then turned toward crew and gave a series of orders to slow down the ship. There was a series of whistles and calls as the sprit sail was rolled up and the ship began to slow down.

As the strange fleet bore up on the Phoenix, Cain took another look at it through his glass and observed their signals movements and calls. A series of pendants (no not pendants, he thought, but streamers) were raised, and the smaller boats shifted position. “Fetch me a fresh log and a pen!” he ordered, never taking his glass off the fleet. Each streamer was of a different color or series of color.

“Your log sir,” said the nearby voice of the ship’s steward, who was touching his knuckle to his brow.

“Thank you,” Cain replied and began scribbling down notes.

~Blue, and red and white striped equaited to wear in succession. ~

Cain once again looked through his scope focusing more on the crew members. They had a mottled grey skin with quills on the back. He focused his attention on what seemed to be the boatswain. The boatswain had begun to striking one of its idling subordinates with the end of the rope. Some things are universal, thought Cain. Then he observed something very strange - both the boatswain and his subordinates skin tone seemed to shift in shade and color. The boatswain’s skin first turned crimson, while the subordinate flashed a bright scarlet, followed by a pale yellow, followed by a faded blue. The subordinate’s shipmates carried on some sort of caper, and had a skin tone of light green.

Thinking back to his younger days in the lower decks, Cain remembered the bitter end of the boatswain's rope. The boatswain had been annoyed that he was idling. Cain was pissed that he was struck by the rope, then feared being smacked again, and finally felt shame for being struck in the first place. Again he scribbled notes. Thanks to the expanse of the ocean, and the rumble of the steam engine, not to mention all the other sounds the steam engine made, he couldn’t hear what was being ordered on the other ships. Not yet, at any rate. He scribbled in the log again.

~Red equates to anger or annoyance.~
~Yellow equates to fear or startlement?~
~Blue equated to shame.~
~Green equated to joviality.~

The fleet bore up closer and closer, and the crew of the Phoenix grew anxious. When the caravel came to within pistol shot, Cain had the opportunity to observe her crew more closely. There was a lot of orange, and yellow skin tones. If they meant to board us or give us a broadside, I suspect there would be more red and maybe some blue, Cain thought, and ordered, “‘vast quarters!”

"Cain called for both the sailmaker, and the ship's carpenter mate. From the former, he asked for streamers that matched those of the strangers. From the latter, wooden planks painted green, blue, yellow, orange, and red. Both men touched their knuckles to their caps, and disappeared below."

Minutes later, both crewmen were back on deck, awaiting new orders. Looking at his opposite member with consideration, Cain decided to try. “Green placard, hoist the red and white streamer!” The boatswain lifted the green placard while the red and white streamer.

The captain of the caravel watched this, his skin tone changing to various shades of orange and green, and his quills shivered curiously. Eventually, the captain of the caravel grunted an order. The ship and the boats wore and formed up in a line, and the captain of the caravel pointed up at his signal line. Cain looked up and saw it had the red and white streamer with a yellow streamer. “Ok, making progress,” Cain said.

Throughout the next hour, Cain and the captain of the caravel experimented with one another, using the streamers and various maneuvers, tacks and sail configurations. Through communications via signals, Cain learned enough that the crew of the fleet were in some sort of trouble. At this juncture, he was not sure what kind of trouble, but it begged to be investigated He gave the order. “Bare up and follow the fleets course.” After some calculations and consultation of the charts to double check, Cain knew he was going home. The fleet was sailing for Corone Cain then ordered a midshipman “Would you pass my compliments to Mr. Osiris and desire him to come up on deck.” The midshipman proceeded down below

[Rayleigh]

Though the walk to the camp lasted nearly an hour, the dusty road saw enough traffic to keep things interesting. The path was filled with passing Rangers, moving in groups of twos and threes. Hushed conversations carried between them, but the sounds fell away as the men approached Rayleigh. She hardly noticed their silence, or the strange glances that they offered, because the path was also filled with her questions.

“What have they said?” the girl asked of her companion.

Darin, another Ranger, and friend of Vance’s, shook his head. “Nothing,” he answered in his deep baritone. Then he frowned. “Well, they’ve said plenty, but not in any language that we recognize.”

She mirrored his frown. Darin had first told Vance, and then told her, that the Rangers were working with a group of strange individuals. His reason for seeking them out was that these strangers needed a mechanic’s aid, but given the language barrier, Ray wondered how he could know that. “How do you know that they need a mechanic then?” she wanted to know.

At this, Darin shook his head. “The refugees don’t need one,” he corrected gently. “I do. The Rangers do.” At her confused expression, he added, “that’s what we are assuming they are right now. Refugees. It also gives us something to call them, considering we’ve never seen anything like them before. They seem to be a new race.”

His long strides carried him over a deep jut in the road; Ray’s short legs pumped twice as fast as she skirted the same hole. “Hmm,” came her thoughtful response. The idea of a new race intrigued her, but no more-so than a new job. As such, she asked, “why do you need a mechanic?”

“They have some strange mechanical contraptions with them.” He shrugged, indicating that was the extent of his knowledge.

But that was enough for Rayleigh. “I know about mechanical contraptions,” she informed him, seeing no need to feign modesty.

When Darin spoke again, his tone, and his expression, were sheepish. “Vance told me about your ability.” Ray’s silence, and scowl, explained that it had not been Vance’s information to share. Yet considering the significance of the matter at hand, Darin continued. “That is why he recommended you help, rather than him.”

The brunette snorted. When she spoke again, her words were dry, and humorless. “At least he recognizes that I’m better fit for this. Not sure where he gets off talking about me though.”

Darin had never understood women, nor claimed to do so. He poured his heart into his work, so much so that he had little left to share with any person, and that suited him fine. But he did recognize the venom in her voice. And when a snake bared its fangs, poking it with a stick was altogether the wrong course of action. Even an idiot knew that much. He let the matter drop. “As I mentioned, no one has been able to communicate with the refugees. That means that there are questions as to who they are, and what they want.”

His relief was nearly palpable as he steered her through the checkpoint, and led her to a waiting table. Other Rangers spared her curious glances, as their comrades had on the journey there. But amid the chaos of the camp, it seemed that there was little time to pay her much more than a passing thought. The same men clutched weapons, hurrying a short distance off, where shouts could be heard.

As Rayleigh’s own curiosity got the best of her, she turned away from Darin, away from her table, and toward the scramble of bodies. “What’s all that?” she asked, squinting. When her gaze finally carved a single, fur-covered being from the crowd, those eyes quickly widened in startled surprise. Her voice, high-pitched and strained, could only be heard by Darin. “Is that a cat?”

“Cat… person.” He struggled for the word, raking a hand through his neatly cut salt-and-pepper hair; the Ranger’s attention was clearly elsewhere. “Those are the refugees. I’m not sure what the commotion is, but I am going to find out.” He paused only long enough to point at the table, and state, “there’s the staff. No one has been successful in determining how it works. I hope you’ll do better.” And he was gone, loping off in the opposite direction.

Surprise lingered a moment longer as Ray observed the scene, but the promise of new and wonderful technology soon drew her back. And Gods, was it extraordinary. The long staff that rest atop the table was ornately carved of a substance she could not identify. Though it nearly resembled stone, she carefully lifted it to find it weighed no more than a few pounds. She guessed that the precious gems that adorned the top of the piece were sapphires, but, like the material that comprised the staff, she could not be certain. “Interesting,” she hummed, pleasure bubbling up inside her as she closed both hands around the staff. A new mystery. She closed her eyes.

There was darkness, as there always was. The palms of her hands grew warm, and as she took a steady breath, she felt the heat move up her arms, pooling in her chest. It took physical form there, appearing to her as strands of shimmering, rust-colored wire. Energy raced up and down those wires, up and down her, in a sensation she figured she would never grow entirely comfortable with. But it had been years since the first time, and she had more control. She knew what to do now. How to keep the hooded figures who lingered on the edge of her vision from breaking her concentration.

She focused on those wires of untapped energy, cracking and simmering just beside her rapidly pounding heart. And she willed herself to draw from the force, pluck at the strands of light and heat. When she did, she was rewarded with a new vision. Though the mechanic still stood at the table, eyes closed, hands firmly clasping the staff, she saw herself in the middle of a war zone. Cat creatures, like the one she had found only a moment before, gripped the staffs to their chests as if their lives depended on it. Considering the reptilian creatures that swarmed them, the girl guessed that to be the case. Bright, brilliant bursts of blue light spilled from the staves, exploding against their enemies chests, forcing them backward. Mortified, Rayleigh watched the cat people as they scrambled for safety, their panic-stricken expressions painfully clear, even despite their unusual feline features.

Overcome with both anger and fear, she felt her connection to the piece fracturing. It was a weapon, and she had sworn that she would do everything in her power to keep her precious technology from such vile deeds. Yet the fear she saw was undeniable, and while she wanted badly to hate the cats for what they had done, Rayleigh found it impossible. It was self defense. They truly were refugees.

Her emerald eyes opened once more, and with a silence that was lost to the roar of the camp, she slowly set the staff back on the table.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou Vaan Osiris had rarely enlisted the help of hired hands for the Brotherhood as freely as he had done on this mission. However, he had found that the return on Cain Jodin’s employment was already surprisingly pleasant. As the midshipman reported the seaman’s polite request for his presence, the Brotherhood leader nodded in the affirmative and grabbed his coat, taking off through a series of passageways on the upper deck that connected his official quarters to the starboard side of the ship.

Given the monumental task ahead of them, the Telgradian was further surprised by how far the experienced sailor had got in managing their crisis. With systems still only running at just above a third of available power, Jodin had managed to not only steady the ship but had also set about attempting to establish a common system of communication with the odd creatures. As Shinsou stood on the deck, soaking up the morning sun and swaying in the sea breeze, he observed curiously as Jodin demonstrated his colourful array of flag signals.

“Jodin believes we have made contact,” Malachi’s voice appeared from behind Shinsou; his first mate seemingly materialising from nowhere to be at the Telgradian’s side. Shinsou’s eyebrows rose.

“What do we know?”

“All early signs indicate some sort of distress, as we thought. Not only that,” The short, stubby man handed over a copy of Cain’s log, “These things aren’t from any race or culture we recognise. They are responding to our signals but not in any standard way recognised by any of Althanas’s seafarers. Oh, it also seems that their skin changes colour with their mood or their emotions. We’re trying to fathom each one out now.”

Shinsou’s eyes followed the spider like scrawls across the page.

~Red equates to anger or annoyance.~
~Yellow equates to fear or startlement?~
~Blue equated to shame.~
~Green equated to joviality.~

He flicked the page thoughtfully.

“Mr Jodin,” The Telgradian called, folding the pages of the log between his fingers. “Make it as clear as you can, by whatever means, that we are able to help them. Get close enough to establish a moor, and prepare a boarding party.”

From the corner of his eye, the Telgradian noticed a small but well-armed and equally well organised group of mercenaries, headed by the stone-faced Razel. They waited patiently, watching with weathered expressions and experienced eyes as the caravel drew closer on the breeze. They seemed to dislike Jodin’s crew. Most of them ensured that there was some sort of segregation at all times between their own and the sailors who attended to Jodin, and unlike the seaman they seemed to be wary of the creatures aboard. Razel, especially, seemed on edge with the Telgradian’s orders, stiffening up and glaring at him.

“Razel, please escort Mr Jodin safely aboard their ship when it moors. I am counting on you.”

Shinsou saw her as sleek and dangerous; a cold woman who would do anything for a quick buck. She wasn’t much different to any other mercenary types he had encountered in his time. Seeds of doubt as to her absolute loyalty to the mission were starting to be sown, even with her earlier exemplary performance taken into account. After all, she was not of the Brotherhood. The bigger picture would be lost on her the moment the pay hit her purse.

Perhaps Razel was concerned that the action and the money would dry up faster than anticipated.

Or, perhaps, she is worried that we’re about to be ambushed…

[Razel]

The fact that Shinsou and Jodin believed in what they were doing, both amused and irritated Razel. It seemed foolish to be assuming anything about these creatures. Here they were all stood on deck for the eyes of the strange race to witness. Were they giving away too much too soon? She believed so, and this act of communication seemed foolhardy and even over-ambitious. The mass of ships all floated towards Corone, seemingly sailing to the same destination like a race to the finish line, although in this situation it was potentially all vs one.

The first thought that crossed her mind was that of fear. Fearing the unknown was not a stupid thing, it had kept animals alive for thousands of years while curiosity had proved to be the end of many others. Still, in the open water and outnumbered by a fleet of ships there was little they could do to fight back. Coming aboard though, that was something they could defend, face to face, weapon to weapon, life to life.

Shinsou had continued that same suspicious look in her direction, both pretentious and presumptuous with his thoughts and actions. Her attitude filled stance didn’t help, leaning on one leg, hand on her hip, and followed with a sceptical glance that peered up through her hanging strands of red hair that hid her face.

Razel though, had been stubborn her entire life, it had kept her alive this long, so it can’t have been a bad thing. One would think she was paid to agree with him, but that was a lie, she was there to be watchful even when he wasn’t.

Lian, standing firm in the cold salty sea wind, placed a firm hand on her shoulder and squeezed, their fun and games had been left at the card table, and the group openly feared the worse. “We’re sitting ducks. Regardless of where we stand, we need to stand together if things go south.”

“I know.” Razel bit her lip to hold her tongue, then turned away from view of Shinsou. “I don’t get why a fleet of unknown ships is cause not to worry… But what do I know? I suppose I’m just a Merc.”

“We… What do we know…” Lian corrected her in a supportive manner. His rough voice low and almost a whisper under the sound of the loud swaying waves against the ship.

It was a little strange to have such strong support from the other Mercenaries. Razel hadn’t known any of them before this venture, and while in their spare time she had proved easy to connect with, they had bonded quicker than even she expected. Lian never seemed to stray too far from her, he was a bold and even fearless man, although, while he hadn’t approached her directly, he displayed a nature of fondness towards her. He was often tormenting her in a teasing act, and being that bit touchy feely, such as his shoulder squeeze moments ago. An associate needn’t give that, but Lian had done it on more than one occasion. She was sure he’d take a bit more if she let him. Though she hadn’t the time or moment to consider such a thing.

Lian then continued as they huddled in a group. “I am concerned he trusts us very little.”

“Trust… “ Razel repeated back. “He trusts us enough to give orders and leave us to it. He’s not exactly asking me to suck him off… Might bite his dick off.” A few smirks and chuckles echoed over the group as Razel’s crude humour continued to amuse. The men loved it, she was easy on the eye but was no polite lady, something that caught the men’s imagination. “Let’s ease off this conversation… We’re gonna keep the trust we’ve earned. Those fucking, colour changing lizards have nothing… I’m keeping my eyes and ears open until we know what’s really going on here!”

[jdd2035]

Cain touched his knuckle to his tricorn and said, “aye, Sir.” There was already an idea running through his mind. As soon as Osiris had let Cain have command of the Phoenix, he set the crew to work.Turning to the signal midshipman, he ordered, “signal the strange ship. We desire to board and parley.” He then turned to the master's mate and ordered, “close to the strange ship and set an accommodation ladder between our ships.”

It didn’t take long, because as the Phoenix closed towards the strange ship it did the same. The accommodation ladder was laid between the two ships, and Cain, with a midshipmen, touched their knuckles to their brow toward who they assumed to be the captain. The “captain” thumped his right hand against its left shoulder, and said, “Anch-Toch.” Cain assumed that to be an introduction. Likewise Cain pointed at himself and said his name.

Both captains had observed one another's ships enough to recognise salutes, names and titles. Though Cain would never know it, Anch-Toch had even boarded the larger ship from his smaller catamaran, with the intention to get a better vantage point. Now it was time for the hard work. Reaching into his breast pocket, Cain produced a small metal tool which was used to work knots and rigging in a sailing vessel. He showed it to Anch-Toch, said “Marlinspike,” then demonstrated its purpose. Anch-Toch then pointed at the same tool and said “Kat`es`ska.” The next hour both captains pointed at various pieces of equipment and named names, with Cain’s midshipman keeping copious notes, and one of the lizard folk doing the same.

Progress was made, Cain had learned the terms for most of the sails, rigging, tools, and rates of the crew, as did Anch-Toch. There was an awful amount of information lost between the pair of captains, but progress was progress. Eventually, Anch-Toch showed a set of charts, and began to tell a story in gestures, images drawn, and words Cain had learned. Another hour went by, and eventually Cain was back on the deck of the Phoenix explaining the situation to Osiris. First off, he explained who they were, and where the fleet had came from. Then he added, “the ship’s name is the Ke`lay eswa, and her Captain is Anch-Toch. The Ke’lay eswa fleet is tracking down a ‘fleet of cat men’ that took an important tool from them.” It was the best translation he could come up with, but he thought it served its purpose.

[Rayleigh]

"Rayleigh." Darin was there behind her, the tension that drew thin lines across his brow also heavy in his voice. "I am sorry, but you have to go back into town."

She either chose to ignore his words, or merely did not hear them, too consumed by the fresh vision that remained imprinted on her memory. "Do you want to know what I saw?" Without giving him time to respond, she spoke again. "The staffs are weapons." The word was sour, and her her lips pursed with it; there was no doubt as to her disapproval.

But Darin's did not have the time to investigate her dislike further. He shifted from one foot to the other, throwing a hurried glance over his shoulder, before assuring her, "we know."

Oblivious to his impatience, she continued. "The blue stones provide some sort of energy, which can be shot like some sort of laser." Her finger tips hovered above the staff before her, but only to indicate the stones she referenced. She would not touch the thing again, for fear or reliving her vision.

"We know," he said again.

This was enough to get her attention. "You do?" she asked him. "How?"

Darin prided himself on his mild manner, and nearly unflappable temper. And he really did like the doe-eyed mechanic. But given the circumstances, his thin thread of patience was drawn taut, and at the risk of snapping. "Because they have begun shooting them."

Horror darkened her expression, her eyes widening, her mouth falling open wordlessly. Only after a handful of seconds, which felt like hours to Darin, did she speak. "At the Rangers?"

He shook his head impatiently. "No, up into the air. A warning, probably. So we are evacuating all non-essential personnel until we figure things out. That means you. I apologize for bringing you out here just to end you back, but we have no choice. You can leave through that gate-"

"They are afraid," she interrupted. Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming need to share all she knew. "I saw them being attacked by lizard people. In my vision, I mean."

Darin nodded, apparently unsurprised, even by the mention of lizards. It seemed the situation was already so unusual that nothing could make it more so. "I figured something had them running scared." A thought occurred to him, and he fished a small, rumpled piece of paper from his pocket. After a hurried attempt to smooth it out, he offered it to the woman. "Did you see this symbol in your vision?"

Ray accepted the paper, studied it, and frowned. "No."

"Well, hold onto it, and see if something comes to you." There was little hope in his deep-set blue eyes, but he figured that it was worth a shot. "One of the refugees drew it in the dirt. If you recognize it, send a note in with another Ranger." Now he was all but pushing her back toward the checkpoint, as the shouting from the mob grew louder. "Back the way you came," he told her. "Go quickly."

"Be safe," Ray commanded, clutching the worn paper tighter. Darin merely offered her a small, tired smile that fell far short of reassuring.



Nothing had come to her, though she had stared at the paper for the entire walk back. Though she had avoided returning to the shop, altogether too anxious to focus on work. Though she had desperately willed herself to remember. The emotions that coursed through her ranged from pity for the cats to frustration at her own incompetence. Her vision had not given the Rangers anything that they did not already know, and when they had asked one simple thing of her, she could not deliver. "What are you?" she snarled at the paper, but she was answered with only the lapping of water, and the typical sounds of a bustling port at midday.

Her restless wanderings had brought her back to the dock, where some part of her had hoped to find inspiration. Another part of her had hoped to spot the unusual boats again. As she passed a stack of crates, and had her first unobstructed view of the sea, she was not disappointed. The ships were there, nearer know than they had been before. Only this time, they were escorted by a much larger ship.

Despite the negative emotions that still swarmed beneath the surface, unbridled joy lit her face like sunshine. She recognize the mechanical monster as an Alerarian steamship. Not only had Rayleigh worked on dozens of ships just like it in her short twenty two years, she spent the first twenty of them in Alerar. Pure, simple nostalgia warmed her.

Unfortunately, the sensation was short lived. As the mechanic focused on the ship, she was able to distinguish its sound from the ambient noise of the port. It was sick, she realized with panic. Where she should have heard the powerful, measured sound of steam and turbines, she heard only sharp clanks, clumsy thuds, and the ship's shuddering gasps for breath. Her response was the same as if she had been observing the suffering of a dying animal.

Thoughts of the cat people, the unusual symbol, and even the mysterious catamarans were shelved as concern for the ship pushed to the forefront. The small woman paced the length of the dock as she watched the great ship limp closer. And when it finally slowed to a halt beside her, and the crew went about the extensive mooring process, she all but assaulted the nearest mate.

“Your ship is sick,” she informed him hurriedly. Then, realizing what she had just said, she corrected, “broken. I can hear it.”

He regarded her warily, then deeming her harmless, nodded. “Aye.”

“Do you need me to take a look?”

The man lifted an eyebrow. He had figured that anyone could recognize the sounds of a ship in distress, but he had not pegged her as someone with the know-how to fix it. He gave a shrug, and pointed toward a second sailor. “That, over there, is Malachi. He is the chief engineer. You might talk to him if you-”

But she was already striding away, expression set in hard determination. She had heard everything that she needed to hear - if there was anyone who would understand her, it was this man.

“Busted ship?” she mused aloud.

Without glancing up from the part he turned over in his hands, Malachi grunted. “Goddamned propulsion rods.” It was only then that he recognized the voice as female, and when he finally rounded on her, it was with an apology. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

She merely gave a careless wave of her hand. “I suspected as much. Sounds a bit like you have some steam build up too.” Glancing at the piece he held, she added, “bronze-nickel alloy?”

Appreciation lit the man’s eyes. “You’re a mechanic.” It was not a question.

“Alerar’s best,” she assured him, wasting no time on modesty. “Need help?”

Malachi hummed his approval. If anyone knew her way around a ship, it was a mechanic from Alerar. “I'll take you up on that. With everything else that has happened today, it will be nice to have another dependable hand.”

“Wild day?” Rayleigh asked, reflecting on her own run-in with the cat people.

The chief engineer thought of the giant lizards and frowned. “You have no idea.”

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

They had finally reached their destination.

The number ten dock was a new dry dock built to service the imperial navy’s largest caravels; a huge wooden box over eight hundred feet long, larger than it had to be. The Golden Phoenix had been slowing for several minutes, and it was another two hundred yards before she came to a complete halt. A small fleet of Coronian service ships had pushed her bow round.

Shinsou would have preferred to power his own way in but the damaged drive-shaft made manoeuvring tricky.

As the steam-ship settled on the black water of Etheria port, the Telgradian ordered his men topside to handle the lines tossed to them by a handful of sailors on the rim of the dock. A canvas cover the size of a clipper’s mainsail was drawing over the bow of the ship so that repairs could be made in earnest, and as the final drawstrings pulled shut, a group of thirty or so relieved men began cheering like fans at a game of hock-ball. The only thing that was missing was the band.

“Shut down everything. I want all the engines off until we can find someone to make everything work again.” Shinsou said with authority in his tone. As he stood on deck to oversee preparations for maintenance, he wondered what to do about his reptilian guests, the Numantians. It had taken an age for Jodin to semi-accurately translate the name for the collective of chameleonic lizards, and even then the Telgradian wasn’t sure it was correct, but they at least now had something to go on.

But what to do with them? They had been riled by the theft of this tool or item, so much so that they had gotten themselves into complications and were even prepared to parley with what they must have considered to be an alien vessel to get help.

Surely someone must know who these people are, and Corone is as good a place as any to start looking for that person.

The canvas over the Phoenix’s nose was hardly in place when a woman, and in front of her a short and stubby man with oil stains almost up to his elbows, walked up the gangway and strode across deck towards Shinsou. He recognised the man in front as Malachi.

“Shinsou,” the pot-bellied man huffed, “I’d like to introduce you to Rayleigh Aston. She’s a mechanic from Alerar; I believe she might be able to help us with fixing the drive-shaft. Do I have permission to take her down to the engine room?”

Shinsou turned and greeted the mechanic with a simple nod, his eyes sizing her up. She stood about five foot three; unassuming and rather plain. To the naked eye, one would have wondered what all the fuss was about. However, the Telgradian knew Malachi and knew full well that not one person from outside their ranks would have been allowed to place a foot on the Phoenix unless his chief-engineer was utterly without doubt as to their value. Without trust we cannot have synergy. Without synergy, we become individuals capable of much less than we’re worth. Shinsou repeated to himself. His earlier caution to Razel held no less worth now than it did then.

“Permission granted. Welcome aboard the Golden Phoenix, Rayleigh. I am Shinsou Vaan Osiris,” The Telgradian dipped at the waist slightly, showing a politeness reserved only for complete strangers “and I am the Executor of the Brotherhood and the captain of this ship. I hope you can help us, because we need all the expertise we can get.”

The trio hurried down the exterior ladder next to Jodin’s makeshift sails. The descent into the heart of the ship wasn’t at all easy as the three battled human traffic and moving cargo throughout the dank corridors of the Alerarian ironclad. Malachi was puffing as they reached a fork in the main corridor, splitting the already overcrowded living quarters from the more technical areas of the boat. Shinsou helped the pair over the bridge coaming before stopping just short of one of the larger rooms.

It was then, as they passed, a pair of crimson eyes stared out into the cold metal intestines of the ship. The Telgradian stopped and looked in to meet them.

Anch-Toch, the leader of the Numantians, sat on the cold floor despite the adequate seating around him. His companions were dotted about the room in similar fashion, curiously all refusing to sit on the metal chairs provided and huddled in small groups of two or three. Little had changed to improve their moods; ever since they had come on board the same array of pigments showed in each of them. Nothing but scarlet reds, dark oranges and jet blacks adorned their leathery skins.

Fear, resentment and anger. Shinsou observed, recalling Jodin’s earlier notes. Whatever those cats stole, it must have been important.

The tribe leader turned his elongated face to Shinsou. Anch-Toch looked worried and even a little sad. His skin shone a golden yellow; the colour of fear. But the question rang again and again in Shinsou’s mind; a fear of what? Of this ‘tool’ being used against them? Of vulnerability without it? What?

The explanation would have to wait, at least until Jodin was available to translate again. A meeting of eyes revealed nothing further except the slightest exchange of amicable feelings rising above the cloud of uncertainty, marked by a slight adjustment in both Anch-Toch’s body language and pigmentation. This wasn’t Shinsou’s fraternity, but he understood the universal language of facial expressions.

“These are, I believe, called the Numantians.” Shinsou began, introducing the small group of bipedal reptilians to their newest mechanic. “We picked them up about five miles outside of Etheria.”

“Actually, they caught us up,” Malachi interjected, “on account of our engine failing.”

“Right,” Shinsou acknowledged, “and unfortunately, bar a sterling effort from our right hand on deck to translate their language as best as we could, we are struggling to understand fully what has happened to them. All we know is their ship, the Ke`lay Eswa, was in some sort of distress. They were giving chase to what has been described as ‘a fleet of cat-people’. They seem to have stolen something important from them. I’m not quite sure if that translated correctly, though.”

For a moment all was quiet, as if there was a fear that speaking about this in front of them would further sour the already grim atmosphere. The Telgradian turned to face Rayleigh and gestured to Anch-Toch.

“This one, whose name is Anch-Toch, is their leader.”

By now, Shinsou was clutching at straws in his quest to find someone who knew who the fuck these people were and where they had come from. If Rayleigh was none the wiser, and he had no reason to believe she would be, perhaps the Brotherhood's vast archives at Whitevale could point him in the right direction.

[Rayleigh]

"That's wrong."

The words escaped her without warning, and without consideration. Turning the corner to find the lizard people had caught her breath, and sent her mind racing. They looked just as they had in her vision, though the shade of their skin was slightly different. She had pictured solid colors, and the group that huddled before her sported a variety of hues. Still, it was surreal to see them there, after the mysterious figures had haunted her vision. Then, she had been so sure that the lizards had brutally attacked the cat people. Those emotions still lingered, though they had been pushed to the back of her consciousness. As she watched the strangers, the anger breached the surface once more.

First, she had forgotten herself, and spoke without thought. But as her outburst had attracted all eyes to her, she rode the raw emotion, and continued to speak. "I'm sorry, but that isn't true."

Malachi spoke first. "What are you talking about?"

The mechanic's lips pursed as she struggled to come up with an explanation that did not take too much time, nor reveal too much about herself. "I have an ability." Might as well dive in head-first. "I can see a machine's past, just by touching it. I'm not sure why I can do it, and I'm still trying to control it, but-" She waved a hand in the air, indicating she was rambling; it was a terrible nervous habit. "Anyway, I was asked to look at a piece of machinery earlier this afternoon. A group of refugees had come under the protection of the Rangers. They're a really weird race, kind of cat-like. Sort of like what you just described," the last bit was spoken directly to Shinsou.

"And they had these strange weapons," she continued. "When I touched the weapons, I saw the refugees." Her hands extended, palms up, motioning to the collection of individuals before her. "They were being chased by these lizard people." The group that she spoke of merely stared back at her, their eyes unusually large on their reptilian faces. While she had been assured they could not understand her tradespeak, it was clear that they were watching her intently. Did they have any idea what she accused them of?

The other humans who surrounded her watched her as well. The group fell into silence, more than likely working to process the information she had just unloaded on them. As her jade eyes scanned their expressions, Rayleigh noted that a few other individuals had joined their small party. Whether they had simply wandered in, or been intrigued by her presence, she could not say for sure. Malachi left her little time to mull it over.

He coughed once, raked his hand through his hair, and stated, "that is quite a story."

"I know," the mousy woman answered hurriedly. "I know it is, and you hardly know me, so you have no reason to believe me. But I'm just telling you what I saw."

Malachi heaved a sigh, and glanced toward his captain. When Shinsou said nothing, he spoke again. "Is there anything you can show us? From the refugee camp, perhaps?"

Any evidence to prove your outlandish claims. The words hung unspoken in the crowded room, and to Rayleigh, the air suddenly felt altogether too thin. "Uh, yes," she replied, easing the crumpled paper from the thin pocket of her breeches. She offered it to the chief engineer, but her gaze never wavered from Shinsou's golden eyes. "This is just a sketch, but the refugees carved it into the dirt. I have no idea what it means."

[Razel]

Razel observed and followed. Shadowing the other members of the crew as they discussed and fretted. The growing concern to their situation plagued her mind like nothing else mattered, and she was able to see everything without even the slightest part of acknowledgement. Was it that she was unimportant? Or that there was simply too much going on for anyone else to take notice of the lost souls aboard this ship.

The Golden Phoenix was a grand name for a ship that now felt so bland when stood upon its deck. Without a fully working engine it’s woes would ultimately descend deeper into despair. Shinsou ran this ship with half a faithful crew, while the other half remained half paid and half arsed at that. They had been salaried to take control of the ship, not to serve as future believers for Brother of the Castigar’s cause.

The words of her fellow Mercenaries echoed in her conflicted mind. “We could just take whatever money we can find, and get out of here. We’re docked, we aren’t needed anymore. We’ve done our job… F*** hanging round here with a bunch of lizards!”

Razel stood at stern of the deck, the shoreline stretching out into the distance before her, while just behind her, a ship of complicated mechanical problems and confused thugs. She’d be lying if she denied being one of the thugs group, but she had always wanted more than that, to be more than a mercenary who followed orders. She had never been as free as she thought she was, not while she worked for the Brotherhood.

The recognisable footsteps of the heavy booted Lian approached from behind, but he wasn’t alone. Their expressions were clear as the sky above them, they were fed up, bored with waiting and displaying their unpredictable nature of loyalty. The hardened men carried what little things they owned and appeared to be waiting on her, but Razel had wanted to await Shinsou’s further payment - if it ever came.

“Mr. Osiris is too busy to consider that we’ve overstayed on our agreement.” Lian said sternly and with no stutter. He meant every word that was leaving his lips. “We’ve agreed to head inland and find something else. Wanted to give you a chance to join us?”

“You…” She paused, wanting to make a joking comment, only to realise it would fall short to their temperament.

“Jokes over, Raz.” Not even a smirk graced his face. They were here from an earned respect, nothing else. “We won’t ask again.”

This trip with the brotherhood was such a small part of her life, this would all probably be forgotten and resigned into the deepest recesses of her mind. There had to be something more exciting on the horizon for her, be that with Lian and the others, or even if she was to head out of her own.

The only thing that made her hesitate was her word. Did she still owe Shinsou her time? Granted, he was an arrogant man who she had found difficult to deal with, but that didn’t mean she would betray a promise to him. Still, the ship was taken and had reached the docklands safely. A potential storm of war was on the horizon, these reptilian people had come to fight for something, and in truth Razel didn’t know what. Only a fool openly looked for a war, that or their bloodthirsty urges were higher than that of the average sane person. Razel would rather live.

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.” Razel replied as she checked herself. Her few belongings still on her person, she had nothing else keeping her here.

[jdd2035]

Cain had spent the last several hours studying the lizard folk listening, to them talk, and interact with them. He focused especially Captain Anch-Toch. Anch-Toch was a lizard after his own heart, a thorough seagoing creature, who was not a flogging, or in this case, a caning captain. The same could be said for his midshipmen. He was not a black guarding captain either, and he kept his crews well practiced. In spite of the sorrow on the whole, his ship was an efficient one.

When the engineer came aboard, he had been busy training Osiris’ crew how to dip the eye around bollard, and how to properly moore a ship the size of the Phoenix. But presently, he had caught up with the engineer, and Osiris. He listened as Rayleigh explain her side of the story, pursing his lips in concern.

“With your permission” Cain said taking the piece of paper from Malachi he looked it over. The symbol was familiar to him, as he had seen it on the caravell Ke`lay Eswa; it was on the Ke’lay’s colors, it was carved along the railing and painted on the sails, and it was stylized in the captain's quarters. Scratching his chin, Cain stepped over to Captain Anch-Toch and bid him to come with him. “With my compliments,” he said in trade speak and then in Anch-Toch’s language. “Follow me.”

When the pair found a better lit part of the ship, Cain showed the paper to Anch-Toch. Anch-Toch’s eyes widened, his skin changed hues, and he started chattering faster than Cain could keep up. Eventually though, Anch-Toch called one of his own midshipmen near, pointed at his forearms, and pointed at the symbol. The lizard midshipman then raised his arms in a blocking stance, and Anch-Toch hit the arms. Cain understood, or at-least got the idea.

Thanking Captain Anch-Toch, and returning to the group with him in tow, Cain addressed Rayleigh. He took his tricorn off, and spoke in the utmost sincerity. “Ma’am, I am Captain Cain Jodin of the Private Man O’war Peregrine, and I am humbly at your service. I have spent near two thirds of my life on the sea and upon my honor, I can tell you Captain Anch-Toch is not a blackguardly captain.” He offered his communication logue to the mechanic. “They are quite concerned about the loss of this symbol, or whatever this symbol represents. I can not tell you about their home culture, but I can tell you that they feel that they have had an injustice done upon them. After asking him about this symbol, I believe it to be some sort of a defencive object.” Cain’s face showed a sanguine sincerity. He truly wished to know the whole story.

[Max Dirks]

Team A Judgment

Your story was a fresh departure from the combat heavy narratives of the other groups, but unfortunately your lack of a conclusion and failure to decipher the symbol significantly lowered your scores. Razel’s departure was also oddly developed and poorly placed. Setting and pacing were your strongest categories. The sea came alive and JDD’s nautical knowledge was impressive. The conflict was well developed and was building to an exciting non-violent climax, but unfortunately you did not complete it. Your greatest weaknesses were mechanics and technique. There were multiple spelling and usage errors, as well as excessive run-on sentences. While I felt, again, the imagery was excellent, the foreshadowing was convenient. In all, this was a mediocre piece that could have been above average with a conclusion.

Story- 5 (No conclusion and the symbol was not deciphered)
Setting- 6 (The sea came alive and JDD’s nautical knowledge was impressive)
Pacing- 6 (Rayleigh’s opening in Anch Toch’s perspective was confusing and Razel’s departure marred otherwise excellent pacing)
Communication- 5 (Repeating dialogue was unnecessary
Action- 5 (JDD’s idea to break the communication barrier through nautical symbols was easily the most creative way of doing so in round one, but starting with an unapproved steam ship was too convenient of a plot point)
Persona- 5 (You introduced too many NPCs. It was hard to track them, and it seemed you felt it necessary to give them all a backstory. This was a common problem across all threads. The descriptions of Shinsou as a forceful leader did not match the actions he took)
Mechanics- 5 (Multiple spell and usage errors plagued the thread. Run-ons were excessive)
Technique- 5 (Imagery was excellent; foreshadowing was convenient)
Clarity- 6 (Negative affected due to pacing and mechanics issues
Wildcard- 6 (3/4 prompts met w/ timely posting and equal participation)

Total: 54/100

Rayleigh receives 460 EXP and 43 GP
Shinsou Van Osiris receives 864 EXP and 65 GP
Razel receives 317 EXP and 43 GP
JDD receives 504 EXP and 54 GP

[Rayleigh]

Rewards added on 4.0.