Renalt and His New Compatriots Depart from the Collective

As the sun finishes its journey above the horizon, the Ekzokia seems to glow with glittering gold in the morning light. It is smaller than many the Caravan ships Renalt had travelled aboard prior, but such is to be expected. After all, this Felazo v’Icria does seem to be the lone member of the caravan among his own crew. Together with the huntress and Den, the trio approach the ship. Sitting at the plank, put across to the dock to aid in embarking, is a strange small seemingly sentient simian. As Renalt approaches, he notices the monkey is not quite right, a warping of flesh and something else. Not quite an unnatural thing, per se, but certainly not a natural creature. The huntress gives the creature a look as she approaches the magical creature, before nodding and saying, “Kalzia.” The creature does not seem to bother the huntress, so Renalt walks forward. The mystical monkey eyes the musician as he passes, but makes no moves to stop him, so the human takes it as an invitation and strolls past onto the deck of the small ship.

“Humble, honorworthy huntress,” Renalt begins, “Might I inquire what manner of mystical monster be that cautious creature you called Kalzia?”

The elfish woman looks back at the human man with an odd mix of confusion and irritation. “It’s one of Felazo’s experiments. Are you always going to speak so strangely?”

Behind Renalt, Denlo shakes his head. Renalt waves him off. “In what way would one weigh whether one’s way of working words were weird, one must wonder.”

The huntress sighed deeply. Denlo steps past his partner in travel. “No, but only if you just ignore it,” the large masked man informed the woman. Clearly their brief discussion the night prior meant something to the Elfi’ika.

“Den, don’t you dare divulge any additional advice about dealing with mine own habits and practices, or I may feel the need to do the same regarding yours,” Ren warns his friend.

Denlo stares down his friend. “You wouldn’t dare.” That look would terrify many. Has terrified more than a few. Renalt stares his friend back down, the smirk on his face only growing.

“Wouldn’t I?” Renalt mused, before strumming his lute and whispering a quick song in words that, even if they had been hearable, would not have been intelligible. Making eye contact with the huntress as he passes once again past his friend further onto deck he smiles.

Then, as Renalt finishes his ancient song, Denlo’s stoic demeanor drops for a moment. And the massive man begins to clap vigorously. Between his cheers, Denlo informs his travel buddy, “I hate you so much.”

Renalt laughs, puts away his lute, and corrects his friend, “No, you hate most magic in general, you begrudgingly tolerate me.”

“No, I meant what I said,” Denlo replies with a smile.

Renalt shakes his head. “In any case, oh secretive so-called scion, you be the one among this trio who has travelled aboard the Ekzokia aside this Felazo of the Caravan v’Icria. Is there anything we might do to aid in our departure prior the captain’s arrival?”

“Not really that I know about,” the woman curtly replies, “And don’t call me scion. Felazo barely gets to call me that.”

“Since such a statement, a simple sobriquet said as an aside, summons so stark a sentiment, said signifier seemingly supports some significance.”

“I think I agree with your friend’s earlier statement,” the woman replies, much less jokingly than Denlo.

Fortunately, cutting through the slight awkwardness is the arrival of the other two members of their crew. Felazo and the Sister of the Cold Fist blessed Hilan. “Everyone ready?” Felazo asks, “Because you already pissed off this town so it’s too late to not be.”

“I already want to murder one of your new friends,” the huntress informs the captain.

Felazo laughs. “Excellent, you’re already becoming a proper crew for the boat then. Den, would you mind pulling up the gangway.” Denlo looks around for a moment before understanding what the ‘Gangway’ was. Renalt is once more reminded that his compatriot has never before been on sea, and his first time is going to be on a Caravan ship, which means he’ll get to experience night on the waves. Once Denlo begins to move the plank, Felazo starts muttering a few words and flinging his hands out. The ropes that tie the Ekzokia to the dock unfurl themselves and rise above the caravanner like tendrils at the ready. He turns them to look out at the dock’s heart, where the woman who had greeted Renalt and Denlo in the evening of their arrival stands. The ropes sway as though saying goodbye, though in what may well be the most threatening manner of farewell, as they move less like arms and more like serpents swaying in preparation of a strike. Then, he turns his attention to the crew once more, gesturing outwards. “Alright, Sari, I want you up top, tracking the wind. Ren, set the sail pointed in that direction for the moment, then listen to Sari. Sister, Den, a shove off would be nice, the ebbing isn’t going to pick up in earnest quite yet and I am getting impatient. Let’s get this adventure on the move!”

Before Felazo finished his commands, the huntress, clearly named Sari, bolted up the mast. Renalt began to pull the ropes, turning the large sail to face with the wind. Denlo and the sister blessed Hilan held onto the side of the ship and, using their legs, they shoved off from the dock. As I set sail and begin tying it off, the wind starts picking up, filling the sails. “Ren,” Sari shouts from the top, “Turn it around about a shoulders-width back at the far edge.” I chuckle a little at the precision the woman wants, but I follow the direction. It does seem to catch more of the wind, somehow. And, after tying off, I look back. Felazo is holding the twin wheels of the ship in slightly different directions. As we begin to peel out, he pulls a lever and locks the wheels in place.

“Alright, we should be good for about an hour, before we need to move into a northerly flow,” the captain says to his crew. “Now is time for more honest introductions so we don’t have to deal with any miscommunications in Hetha. Because I prefer to not be murdered by the city of exiles because someone accidentally mentions something they aren’t supposed to.”

“Do we truly need to worry so substantially about such matters?” the saintly sister questions, “I mean, who here has secrets that would likely cause ire?”

Renalt looks at Denlo, and they both chuckle. “Shalt we raise our hands in solidarity?” Renalt proposes, “All those who hold in their pasts possibly death-bringing secrets, without any pressure to share any such secrets, hold high thy hands now.”

Denlo and Felazo raise their hands immediately. Denlo stares down the Sari woman, as does the Sister, and she raises her hand, too. Renalt finally, after careful consideration of his many questionable decisions in life, puts up his hand with mild confidence but clear uncertainty. “Right,” the sister says, shaking her head.

“To be fair, Den,” Renalt says, “You’re probably not going to have too much trouble in the New City States with your secrets.”

“Really?” Den questions.

“Depends on your secret,” Felazo explains, “If its just related to New Tolfirin business, you’re probably good.”

Denlo pauses, as though he needs to consider his options. “No,” he says, “But many places may have a problem when they learn I’m Elfi’ika.”

Felazo chuckles. “You’re fine, as long as we stay in the northern third of the Sea that Once Was Not. They’ll assume you’re a pirate of Torigora, but that won’t matter too much.”

“It may matter should we embark into Retya,” Renalt corrects the Sea Elf, “but besides that unimportant isle he shall be fine. I should lack a problem as well, so long as we encounter not any of the few individuals who may still hold grudges for past misdeeds. And it matters not what you know, as they shall likely recognize me and come forth with aggression prior to any dialogue.”

“As long as you guys only refer to me as Sari, and don’t talk about where I’m from, even if you figure it out, we should be good,” the huntress says. So Sari is her personal name, muses Renalt. That means she is likely from the Kingdom or Betrayer State. The soul of her mystical twistings of her strikes implies a warped land of nature. The Ley Islets of the Betrayers or the Clifffront of Vyrrolte’ytta. Or Ressyta from either, he supposes, though that isle is so small and at constant war, he doubts any truly live there anymore. He’ll have to ask sometime whence she hails.

“I suppose it is my turn,” Felazo says, “I am Felazo v’Icria, and I have an often, and generally unfairly, maligned habit of finding new use of the long dead for aiding in simple tasks, as you have seen. And in some places, I may have done so without the permission of the families.”

“Great,” Denlo says, “We’re definitely going to get murdered.”

“Do not worry, my truly terrifying friend,” Renalt replies, “Of all of us, you’ll likely survive when they come to do the murders.”

Denlo shakes his head. “My money’s on the holy woman. She looks as hearty as, if not heartier than, me, and she actually has a shield.”

“And, seeing as we’re going to die together, what is everyone good at? What do you do?” Sari asks a rather important question, that Renalt is honestly a little surprised never came up before.

“Besides kill efficiently?” Denlo muses, “Very little.”

“He truly be quick and quiet, as well, but essentially, indeed, his skill lies in the fight,” Renalt elaborates. “Mine be in music, and speaking to peoples’ souls.”

“But that song you played in the crowd, that wasn’t just a song,” Hilan asked, “You have some kind of magic to you, don’t you?”

“Mayhaps,” the musician deflected. Denlo nods silently to answer her.

“Fascinating,” Felazo responds, “We must chat sometime.” After that, he pauses a moment, before realizing the purpose of this exercise. “Right. As you know already, I do the evil magics. And the mad sciences. Say hi, Kalzia.” At the prompting, the small not-quite-natural monkey waves at the group. Felazo continues, smiling, “All the fun things like that. Sari, your turn. No backing out this time, ‘cause you asked the question.”

Sari glares at Felazo, a clear indication for Renalt that the statement holds more than some truth to it. Shaking her head, the elf woman says, “Mostly I’m just a hunter. I am adequate at fighting, but my expertise lies in the wilderness, and in finding things that don’t want to be found.”

Sister Hilan steps in. “She’s being too modest. She saved my life when we met. And I, hopefully, can help everyone stay well and safe.”

Renalt looks at the sister curiously. “You hold and arm yourself like a sister of the Bold Flame. To which order do you belong, if you mind not mine asking?”

“I mind not. As you clearly know our church, you would be able to determine such if you were to come upon me in the morning. I am of the Darian order,” she states.

That piques Renalt’s curiosity. The Darian Order seeks knowledge and truth in all things. It’s an order of advisors, diplomats, and bureaucrats, not well known for its militant arm. “Truly? We really should discuss that at some point in this coming journ, as well,” Renalt says with a smile and a nod.

With a sigh, Felazo speaks up. “Well, great chat. Cleared so much up. That out of the way, the scion shall keep watch from above, while the rest of you aid in moving the sails to keep the wind flowing. I also might have to ask Hilan or Den to aid in turning the wheel once we strike the hungering in the evening. Sari, if you see anything, shout. This Heartward twist is still around, and though it is aiding us currently, it has me on edge.”