AC 2021 Round One: Team Two

[Emi]

Turning to Emi, the dark elf moved a bit further away from Elite, trying and failing to hide his nervousness. “Same questions, Miss. Name, boat name-”

“Emi Seafarer,” she answered promptly. “This is Wavedancer. I’m not sure how long we’ll be here, two weeks is probably enough time. At least, I hope it is. Three passengers, though I don’t know if they’re returning to Corone with me. Haven’t really planned that far ahead, yet. I’m just transporting them here. Maybe I’ll go check out this Demon Gate thing I keep hearing about. That sounds like it’d be quite the sight to see.”

The dark elf’s pen scratched quickly across the parchment on his clipboard as Emi rattled off the information. She was eager to get her affairs in order. She wasn’t really sure what help she could be on this mission, but if she was going to be a citizen of this new-to-her part of the world, then she would do what she could to keep it together.

“I see,” he muttered to himself as he finished. “Thank you, as I said a moment ago, you can pay your fees at the ticket office at the end of this boardwalk. Good day.”

Emi watched bemusedly as the dark elf went on about his business. She’d somewhat forgotten Elite’s height, but quickly readjusted. Most harbormaster’s staff were a tad self important. She always liked seeing such a person second-guessing themself.

She turned and realized that the group had moved a little and hurried to catch up. Aside from her passengers, another man stood with them. Uh oh, I think that might be the man we passed a few days ago. That’s certainly the same yacht.

“Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I’d like to get some proper food and drink. Let’s go find a tavern. We can talk there about what we’re going to do next.”

Cazri glanced over the young woman with one eyebrow arched. The way this girl used “we” suggested she intended to join them. That had not been a part of the plan, but it could be workable.

“Yes,” Cazri agreed, “Let us depart.”

Cazri led the way to a tavern a few blocks away from the water’s edge. The typical seamen’s dive bars were no place to have the kind of discussion the group needed to have. Once inside, they took a table in a small section that was partially enclosed to provide a modicum of privacy. Emi looked around approvingly. She could not normally afford the nicer taverns and was used to the unruly boisterousness of dive bars. This place was much quieter, perhaps even respectable.

As her companions discussed how the next several days needed to pan out, Emi just sat back and listened. She didn’t personally have a stake in who actually wound up with the sword, as long as it wouldn’t allow for the destruction of the world. However, based on the conversation between her new companions, it seemed that there was far more at stake than simply stopping a worldwide catastrophe in its tracks. The political aspects that were coming to light astounded her. Back home, if something happened that threatened all the islands, political machinations would be put aside for the good of all. In this part of the world, people vied to be ahead of their fellow man in any way possible. It disgusted her, but she could put that aside if it meant saving the known world.

She also understood how little help she might actually be. Afterall, she’d never fought with more than her fists. Even then, it had only been against other sailors, usually ones who thought that being drunk was an excuse to be handsy with whichever woman happened to be nearby. As far as weaponry went, all she had was a fishing knife and a harpoon. This would be a new challenge. She hoped she was ready to face it.

[Elite Optic]

Elite had always struggled to make connections with humanity, being what he was made it difficult to make conversation with nearly anyone. Here he was now, a giant skeleton wandering with a group of near-mercenaries, eyes did not wander to them, only him. He was a great distraction and a feared one at that. While this part of the docklands was not that busy, anyone they passed gave a wide berth to him. For the chatter and discussion that went on at his feet no one actually turned to ask him anything of his part in this. Elite couldn’t help but notice the odd cough that still escaped from Sorian, he masked the fact it was quite bad, and continued his conversations.

It was easy to forget that Elite had become comfortable within the island or Corone, while always a little distant, the locals at least recognised that he existed and was’t directly terrorizing them. The glares and shocked expressions were back to normal here. As usual he would ignore them. This group was going to be like any other group, they at most accepted his presence, and that would have to be enough. One without connections at least had nothing to lose.

As the group entered the bar they once again didn’t care to ask how he would cope in a place with such a low ceiling. Elite paused for a moment as they wandered in then ducked under the dull but large sign “The Lost Sailor's Widow”. He would let them pick their place for a private chat, the bar wasn’t that busy but no alcove or seating in this place was designed for his shape or size.

While Sorian got involved Elite did his usual and sat separately at the bar. He would sit here, be offered a drink by the confused barman and remain staring out a window. At least he could be patient until they finished, patience was something he had learned and now had in abundance.

—------------------

“Don’t mind me.” Cazri stood up from the table.

Sorian tried to hide his frown, he had clearly not been forgiven for forgetting the written request. Cazri had every reason to be annoyed by that, but Sorian didn’t need a written letter to remember the orders he was given. It was strange how all of his deeds, all of his heroics and feats of strength meant nothing to those of the modern day.

You will one day grow old Elf…Then you will know how it feels, and I doubt you’ll handle it as well as I…

Cazri left their little cove of seating and wandered across to the bar to Elite who lounged in what most would consider to be an uncomfortable position. With having such a large skeletal frame it was not easy to get comfortable in such a small place. The old brick walls and thick wooden floors were designed mostly for the more common six foot sized humanoids. She sat on a sturdy framed stool and leaned into the bar, the clink of the damascus forearms evidently placed hard enough to draw a little attention her way.

“We could have sat somewhere else to accommodate you.”

“I’d have sat alone regardless.” Elite stared out of the small window behind the bar, the view of the harbour behind it was enough to see sailors and the like as they passed by.

“Do you always let your little pet do the talking?”

Pet? Elite turned to Cazri properly as she took a light sip of the drink she brought with her.

“I only ask because I thought he was being dropped.” The blunt and almost rude comment was said with no hesitation. “He must hinder you a lot.”

“Indeed. His weaknesses have always outweighed his strengths at this age of his life.”

“He doesn’t divulge his real age, but I’ve read stories of when he was younger. He’s old, Elite. I think he believes that keeps him relevant today, but stories are stories and only now matters.” She took another sip of her drink and cleared her throat. “They won’t accept failure. His failure will be yours, and your reputation tarnished. Looking scary is not enough to please the Syndicate.”

“Failure is never an option.” Elite was surprised by her brash approach and questioning but held his tongue.

“You should replace him. With Storm perhaps? Leoric? This new woman… Emi? I’m informed well enough to know what skills you all have. Even if you do keep yourself a secret. You are watched, and we know Sorian is struggling. Retirement is not a bad thing.”

“Words still travel fast.”

“Faster than ever… I disapprove of his use here, but the Syndicate still values him for some reason so allowed you both to be involved. If he hinders us.” She paused for another sip.

Elite smashed his fist into the bar. Hard enough into the thick wood that it cracked and splintered under the force, and yet he held off from smashing it completely. Her attention was what he wanted and as her tankard rolled over, spilling its contents across the bar, her attention was all his.

“See this old crown of rusty thorns?” Elite referenced the decaying rust of the old metallic crown of brambles that sat upon his skull rack. “It once sat upon a liar's head. I cut it off and placed it here to remind myself of the many lies that humanoids pass as truth. I don’t care what your game is, nor what your personal agenda is.” Elite began to stand up, pushing himself up to the low ceiling but allowing himself to arc over her instead of crouching. “...And I love the tough-girl act, I really do, but if I judge you to be involved in his harm in any way. Then you’ll die by beheading.”

“I’m three hundred years old. I’m not afraid of you skeleton.” Cazri twiddled with her fingers and a light blue glow spiraled between them.

“You should be.” Elite glared down at her as intimidatingly as he could. Any normal being would be terrified but he watched her remain stoic. “Because even if I die a thousand times, I’ll always be back. And when your corpse lays separate to your head, I’ll cut off your fake painted hair and cut out any value from the silver in your eyes and make a puppet for my skull rack.”

“You're making a scene.” Cazri responded, almost ignoring his threat. Only the faint hint of caution escaped her.

“I’m used to making a scene.” Elite sat down but maintained his stare, the burning fire eyes relentless in making their point. “ And you’ve made your point. Leave.”

“And you’ve made yours. I look forward to working with you, Marcus.”

Cazri had spouted his name of old. Marcus Heropic, a name so rarely used since he turned undead that it would be easy to forget. Elite turned away without another word, their private words not as private as she had wanted. Elite surprised himself with how defensive he felt of Sorian, he had become accustomed to his presence and had maybe become friends. The Dark Elf had become bold and arrogant enough to think she could talk down to anyone, but Elite would not be messed with. Playing with the big guns was something he had not done in a long time, and showing weakness was ill-advised. Has his friendship become a weakness?

Elite never really had anything at stake in the past, and even when he started with Sorian he had not really cared for his well being. Things were now different, and as they now sat on the cusp of their adventure many questions were beginning to form on the back of this. It was no simple retrieval of a sword, there were many names, factions and secrets beginning to enter the frame and Elite and Sorian would have to be careful.