A View of the Sea

Sister Hilan awakens with the strange feeling of motive stillness. As though the world around her shifts continuously, but stationary remains she. Opening her eyes, she remembers why. Lying wrapped in a hammock, she can see the ship shifting about above her. But, as the hammock moves counter the rocking of the vessel, she feels as though she moves not. As she grows more awake, she remembers. Yesternoon, she had boarded the ship which flew the v’Icria flag, alongside her temporary companion and guide. Alessari. Who is a noble of some kind, on the run. And the owner of this vessel, who insisted he was not the owner of this vessel, had wandered off for hours, leaving the pair to settle in. Then, yestereve, they had departed the Cove of Smiles and sailed into the night. At a certain point, the Sea Elf gentleman, Felazo, had informed them that now was the time to sleep, and he himself had left for the cabin. Slowly, now functional, Hilan works her way out from the hammock.

Alessari is no longer in bed she had chosen to sleep in. Perhaps there is more to her hunter story than simply it being a cover, Hilan muses. Heading to her pile of belongings, she begins the process of donning her armor. Over the years, she has gotten quite good at fastening her own armor swiftly. This ship, Felazo referred to it as the Ekzokia, has a great collection of varied works. She had been careful before touching any of them, as there were a few that were magical and Felazo had also warned of curses, but the ones she’d had a chance to read were fascinating. She truly must make the time to converse with their host about some of the books’ subjects. Finishing donning her armor, she makes her way towards the stairs up to the deck. Sprawled out across the bed, Felazo remains asleep. Their discussion can come later, she supposes as she passes his sleeping form. As quietly as she can manage, Sister Hilan climbs the stairs. Unfortunately, in full armor, she is not very good at remaining quiet. Especially considering she isn’t very light on her feet to begin with. As the door creaks open, and she slides out, she hopes the Sea Elf is sleeping deeply enough not to notice.

Out in the fresh air, with the bright lights of the rising sun bouncing off the sea to her east, Sister Hilan seeks out a steady, open spot on deck to do her contemplations. She finds it near the prow. Standing, facing the rising sun in anticipation of the dawn, she recites the creed of the Darian Orders’ members. Then, kneeling, hands at her sides, her face just above and facing the ground, she states the call to purpose of the House of the Bold Flame for their adherents. Straightening her kneeling posture and looking out over the ocean, she chants the affirmations of the Cold Fist. With the aspect of the self contemplated, she moves on to the rest of them. Staying knelt and facing the East, she begins going through the aspects of each pillar in the eyes of the Bold Flame. Each aspect has its own set of motions, head positions, and gestures to take and make while recognizing them. As a member of the Darian order, she must always start her pillar rituals with recognition of seven aspects of the Tripartite Throne. Then she moves on to face South-West and recognize the four aspects of the Twin Flames, and finally North-East for three aspects of the Lady. As she comes to each of the beatings of the ground in the required motions, she makes sure to do so softly, so as to not awaken her ship’s captain. After a time and only once she is done with her contemplations, is she truly ready for the day.

Standing at the prow, Sister Hilan gazes out over the water. The only thing breaking the monotony are the occasional jutting rock which does not seem to belong, along with the much more frequent massive wave that, if it were closer, would be truly problematic for their small ship. Along with the glittering caused by the sun, those great shifts caused by massive waves look almost like some kind of valuable gem off in the distance, a whirling of bright glittering that one can somehow still sort of see through. Being this far out into the Inner Ocean isn’t a situation people oft find themselves in. These are not sights that most people ever are able to see. At least, those who do not travel by Caravan. And, if her mentors who, admittedly a while ago, went off to there missions via Caravans are any indication, generally when in larger caravan groups as well, these sights are not seen. Unless there is some use or trust to let the passenger take to the deck. And so, rather than move her mind on to other things, she takes the time to marvel at and enjoy the seascape before her eyes.

Her time gazing out upon the ocean comes to its conclusion when a series of noises penetrates the silence from above. Shaking, bouncing, and swooping noises. Looking up to see what sort of creatures exist so far out into the waters that would cause such a strange combination of sounds, she sees not some kind of monstrous bird but a woman making her way down the mast. It seems Alessari chose to spend her morn at the highest point all around them. “Hail and Good Morn, Miss Ud Tise’el,” Sister Hilan says loud enough for the descending elf to hear.

With a sort of smile, Alessari replies, “Good morning to you as well, Sister Hilan. And that’s not really… um… Nevermind. Please, just call me Alessari.”

“I am unsure whether that be proper, but if you insist, Alessari,” Sister Hilan says, “But what is on your mind?”

Alessari takes a moment, then answers. “It is nothing, just be careful about referring to one’s family’s name. Some will not take kindly to it, and others will begin to use you because of it.” Sister Hilan can tell, she isn’t saying everything. It isn’t that she’s being dishonest per se, but rather that there is some other element to her address that was improper or incorrect. She will need to figure that out on her own time.

Instead of pressing on what Alessari is not speaking about, Sister Hilan moves over to the past her traveling companion mentioned. “What exactly happened to your family? You mentioned something of a coup, and of flight from your home, but nothing more.” Then, hastily, the pious woman adds, “Though you do not need tell if you are not comfortable doing so.”

Alessari shakes her head. “It is fine,” she says, “Tise’el was a great house. We were not-quite banished to what was once an unimportant isle that is now the focus of the war between the Kingdom and the Betrayers. I mean, the Alliance. A subordinate merchant house, one that is not as not-quite banished as we are, began to grow in favor within the court of the Kingdom. They decided to take advantage of our unfortunate situation, kill us, and take over. I assume. I am uncertain exactly their plan, as I got out of dodge before they could kill me.”

“Which house, so I might be wary upon our meeting them?” the Sister of the Bold Flame asks.

Alessari shrugs. “Dassin’ari, though don’t worry too much. In all likelihood, any we run into that I recognize won’t exactly be leaving our conversion.”

Such a casual view of murder, Sister Hilan thinks, though she keeps it to herself. Perhaps it is something to do with the Kingdom that Rages in general, or perhaps it is merely how this particular noble was raised, on an isle suffused with war. Whatever the reason, direct confrontation is not a helpful avenue for changing of such a firmly held perspective. Instead she moves on. “These sights, they are truly amazing, are they not? From up above, you must have gotten a wonderful view.”

“I did. Do you know the tale of this land?”

“This land is an ocean, and yes, it is the water that flooded in from the outer oceans when the continent that theoretically used to be here was destroyed.”

“Not theoretical. There are documents of maps of the old continent. And I call it land for a reason. If we are roughly where I believe us to be, this particular land is a key point of strife which is said to have caused the Alliance of Carrosa to leave the Kingdom in the first place.”

“Truly?” Sister Hilan mused, genuine curiosity nearly causing her to forget her concerns about Alessari from before. “How so?”

Alessari is happy to explain. “You see, the official policy of the Kingdom is that the Sea That Once Was Not is not a body of water, but land. And any of it held by the old kingdom, before the Raging, is property of the Kingdom still. Which means the house which has claim over the water region gets treated as though it has that additional land. This particular area of the water was once owned by the oldest Great House of the North who lost much in the fall of the continent. They enjoyed maintaining the power holding the extra land got them, when your Imperium showed up, our war with them, along with some raids from the Heart, caused the Great House’s fields to be non-viable. Normally this would be fine, as the taxation of the Kingdom is not supposed to bankrupt the Houses, this particular house was claiming around thrice their true land and living year to year. When the Court knew they would not be able to pay their bill, even if they gave up claim to the sea-land, the story says that they were summarily and entirely removed from court. Everything about them, their names and lineage, stripped from record. The fact that a House as old as the Kingdom’s predecessor itself could be destroyed in such a way is said to be a leading cause of the secession.”

“Fascinating,” Sister Hilan replies, taking in the information, “Is it true?”

“You would have to get into the sealed records of the Kingdom to know. But likely something close to that is true.”

“The part about the Sea being Land certainly is,” a voice says from behind and slightly below them. Turning, they both see Felazo, now finally awake, climbing up the stairs to the deck. “Just ask any of the young Caravans. Some of the Houses that lay claims also try to tax trade through those claims. Mostly fine due to everyone else’s ignorance on how the waters work, though only the Old Caravans will trade with the outer coast of Vyrrolte’ytta, as, due to how deferential the Kingdom that Rages is to things from the ancient times, we are generally exempt from most rules.”

“We?” Sister Hilan asks, “I know the v’Icria Caravan is well respected in the Elfish-governed lands, but how old exactly are you?”

“Yes,” Felazo jokes. Then, seeing his jokes does not land, adds on, “Depending on whom you ask, as old as existence. Our Chronicles go back before the sky fell and the ground burst. In theory, we were once caravans across the land as well, before we took to the sea to survive what was not meant to be survivable.”

“And what do you believe?” Sister Hilan presses this time. The man, if his study is any indication, seems to be a sort of magical scientist. He shouldn’t believe stories because of their mere existence.

“I believe, from what I’ve found, the Chronicles are generally accurate about generalities, though specifics often get misconstrued in the retellings. That said, caravans that lie about their age too greatly tend to get caught and ridiculed, so the fact that for my, my parents’, and their parents’ lifetimes, we have maintained that status means, at the very least, the Caravan v’Icria is likely as old as the fall.” Then, Felazo chuckles. “As far as before the fall? Only people who could contradict us are her people’s super secret archives and the Historians of the Heart, which means people only have our word on that. One won’t talk while the other no one would believe.”

The Heart, Sister Hilan muses. For some reason that sticks in her mind. Perhaps there is more to be learned by following the phrase.