The Long Night had Valyria turned upside down, mainlanders scurrying like scattered roaches at the first sign of anything truly awful beyond their echo chambers. Something unknown.
Wars happen all the time. Some poncy lord wants this land, another wants to line their pockets off the bleeding backs of those getting their hands dirty on their behalf. Disease, hunger, peasants revolting.
But nothing quite like the way the Long Night caused faith to crumble as easily as the leylines seemed to, or the terrible beasts that now spilled forth across the continent, had brought ruin right to the doorsteps of even the most common of Valyrians until now.
To the crew of the Dealbreaker, it wasn't much of a change. Only a few with ties in a former life to the affected had become unsettled, yet it would be business as usual even to them. It was just another thing to adapt to. If anything, it opened more opportunistic doors that had never been open before.
The ship veers port side with Zenon at the wheel, the stoic half-giant easily steering them through the choppy waters that were barely felt. Everett leans against the wooden railing on his forearms, peering out over the now forever darkened horizon as his first mate barks orders.
A well-oiled machine that sparked and livened with anticipation of what was to come, each person on this armed vessel just as much part of it as the rigging or the lumber that held it together.
"Whenever will you introduce me to your friends?"
The only tell of surprise or annoyance at the presence of the voice – a small twitch of the cheek – is lost in how Everett doesn't startle or move from his position. None could see it, lest they stare at his back and notice the sudden tension winding in his shoulders. "Your… crew…." she continued, a hushed whisper that crawled up his spine as though the one who spoke it pressed themselves intimately to his back.
"I crave an audience. It’s a bit rude that you haven’t told anyone about me yet. A g i r l could start getting suspicious that you are… ashamed… of me, Everett…"
Instead, the voice comes from within; entwined throughout his core as though it’s always been sourced from him. That internal monologue given sentience.
Everett’s nostrils flare, decorated fingers twisting around one another as he bites his proverbial tongue on what he truly wanted to say. He had to remind himself that he had been the one to say ‘yes’ in times like these where Caelestis tries her luck.
"I'll give you an audience the second you have stopped pesterin' me about it, love," he replies lightly, unable to conceal the sharp edges from the entity that shared the same mind.
Everett didn’t truly care to hide it, though, nor did he feel fear when he noticed the spike of emotion at the base of his skull. Intangible, yet entirely understandable in its intensity. A brief flicker of amusement, then a flash of irritation.
He’s not so naïve to think that Caelestis couldn’t simply force herself to the forefront, seeing as how she’s done it before, but it didn’t seem to come easily to the shade. For now.
"Cap'n," the familiar voice of Ishmer drags him to the present, "ship spotted. Fifty klicks off the starboard thereabouts. Can't make out colors yet."
The human smiles, pushing himself to his full height and swiping a palm down his beard moistened by the early morning dew and sea spray. Brine clings to the air as he takes a deep breath, feeling the entity's energy expand within as though mirroring it.
He spins on his heel, smile broadening into a grin as he watches some of his crew pause at the clap of his hands. "Well, then," Everett calls out, "suppose we will just have to get up close 'n personal enough to see for ourselves, won't we?"
To the navigator his head turns, chin lifting to the upper deck as a hand waves in a loose circle. "Turn us about, lad, the day isn't gettin' any shorter."
Zenon nods, though says nothing. The idlers give an excitable echo of acquiescence and a smattering of laughter at the jest, bursting with newfound vigor to toil with the sails as the Dealbreaker begins to turn.
Everett crosses the deck, weaving between the runners and takes out his spyglass to lift it up. Once the other ship came into focus, an eerie sense of dejá vù washes over him. Although sight is limited, especially for a human in the near pitch darkness, there's a hint of familiarity to the silhouette of black on black.
An elven gunner sidles quietly up next to him, nearly bouncing on his toes with eagerness although he merely waits for the word. "Ready the cannons," Everett murmurs eventually, distracted now by the suspicion of just who approached, "and do well not to blow yourself up this time, yeah? Save it for them."
The human watches him go, not missing the glare from the freshly scarred face at the jab. Any levity brought to the discovery of a potential mark has been stripped away for the pirate captain, replaced by a growing frustration mixed with tepid amusement. But he tempers himself, for now, on the off chance he might be wrong.
Some part of him wishes he was, while another can only stir with vengeful hope that he isn't.
Wars happen all the time. Some poncy lord wants this land, another wants to line their pockets off the bleeding backs of those getting their hands dirty on their behalf. Disease, hunger, peasants revolting.
But nothing quite like the way the Long Night caused faith to crumble as easily as the leylines seemed to, or the terrible beasts that now spilled forth across the continent, had brought ruin right to the doorsteps of even the most common of Valyrians until now.
To the crew of the Dealbreaker, it wasn't much of a change. Only a few with ties in a former life to the affected had become unsettled, yet it would be business as usual even to them. It was just another thing to adapt to. If anything, it opened more opportunistic doors that had never been open before.
The ship veers port side with Zenon at the wheel, the stoic half-giant easily steering them through the choppy waters that were barely felt. Everett leans against the wooden railing on his forearms, peering out over the now forever darkened horizon as his first mate barks orders.
A well-oiled machine that sparked and livened with anticipation of what was to come, each person on this armed vessel just as much part of it as the rigging or the lumber that held it together.
"Whenever will you introduce me to your friends?"
The only tell of surprise or annoyance at the presence of the voice – a small twitch of the cheek – is lost in how Everett doesn't startle or move from his position. None could see it, lest they stare at his back and notice the sudden tension winding in his shoulders. "Your… crew…." she continued, a hushed whisper that crawled up his spine as though the one who spoke it pressed themselves intimately to his back.
"I crave an audience. It’s a bit rude that you haven’t told anyone about me yet. A g i r l could start getting suspicious that you are… ashamed… of me, Everett…"
Instead, the voice comes from within; entwined throughout his core as though it’s always been sourced from him. That internal monologue given sentience.
Everett’s nostrils flare, decorated fingers twisting around one another as he bites his proverbial tongue on what he truly wanted to say. He had to remind himself that he had been the one to say ‘yes’ in times like these where Caelestis tries her luck.
"I'll give you an audience the second you have stopped pesterin' me about it, love," he replies lightly, unable to conceal the sharp edges from the entity that shared the same mind.
Everett didn’t truly care to hide it, though, nor did he feel fear when he noticed the spike of emotion at the base of his skull. Intangible, yet entirely understandable in its intensity. A brief flicker of amusement, then a flash of irritation.
He’s not so naïve to think that Caelestis couldn’t simply force herself to the forefront, seeing as how she’s done it before, but it didn’t seem to come easily to the shade. For now.
"Cap'n," the familiar voice of Ishmer drags him to the present, "ship spotted. Fifty klicks off the starboard thereabouts. Can't make out colors yet."
The human smiles, pushing himself to his full height and swiping a palm down his beard moistened by the early morning dew and sea spray. Brine clings to the air as he takes a deep breath, feeling the entity's energy expand within as though mirroring it.
He spins on his heel, smile broadening into a grin as he watches some of his crew pause at the clap of his hands. "Well, then," Everett calls out, "suppose we will just have to get up close 'n personal enough to see for ourselves, won't we?"
To the navigator his head turns, chin lifting to the upper deck as a hand waves in a loose circle. "Turn us about, lad, the day isn't gettin' any shorter."
Zenon nods, though says nothing. The idlers give an excitable echo of acquiescence and a smattering of laughter at the jest, bursting with newfound vigor to toil with the sails as the Dealbreaker begins to turn.
Everett crosses the deck, weaving between the runners and takes out his spyglass to lift it up. Once the other ship came into focus, an eerie sense of dejá vù washes over him. Although sight is limited, especially for a human in the near pitch darkness, there's a hint of familiarity to the silhouette of black on black.
An elven gunner sidles quietly up next to him, nearly bouncing on his toes with eagerness although he merely waits for the word. "Ready the cannons," Everett murmurs eventually, distracted now by the suspicion of just who approached, "and do well not to blow yourself up this time, yeah? Save it for them."
The human watches him go, not missing the glare from the freshly scarred face at the jab. Any levity brought to the discovery of a potential mark has been stripped away for the pirate captain, replaced by a growing frustration mixed with tepid amusement. But he tempers himself, for now, on the off chance he might be wrong.
Some part of him wishes he was, while another can only stir with vengeful hope that he isn't.
