#drasonval

[therunawayscamp]

Through Hell and High Water

R'khan did not take much convincing, that was the first surprise. When Ethysil presented his idea to the captain, with Vilayn sat numb and mute beside him like a corpse propped up in the chair, he watched R'khan frown, the same way it did when the officer of the watch presented him with news he didn't like, then settle his brow into a familiar line of determined resignation.

'You sure this'll work?'

'No, relkhan. Not in the slightest.'

'Very well. Give me time to think on it.'

Three days later, the permanent crew of the Runaway Scamp crammed themselves into Casethar's cornerclub atop the hill. The last of the daylight clung to the walls long after the rest of Blacklight fell into darkness and shone on the river until it burned. The name Firewater for the club had been well chosen. Before anyone could settle in with a glass of its other namesake, however, R'khan stood up on the bar. Although the wood was still gleaming, untouched since the day of Hazil's wake, Casethar didn't bat an eye at the boots scuffing across it. He had an arm around Vilayn's shoulders and seemed oblivious to anything else, least of all the sailors sneaking towards the bottles on the shelf.

'Hold yourselves, lads, I want you clear-headed for this.' R'khan paused, eyes settling on a cheerful, patient smile in the front row. 'Mr Braskan, what is Mistress Morinah doing here? I made it pretty damn clear that this'd be crew only.'

After a long silence, presumably spent hoping his captain would forget asking the direct question, a nudge from Morinah's elbow finally prompted Braskan to answer. He threw in a lazy salute as well, clearly hoping this would win him some favour from R'khan's stony face.

'Well, R'khan... there's this rumour, see, that ya's gonna ask us ta sail inta Oblivion, an' I might a' mentioned it ta Morinah. Only as a rumour, like, but she said if we was then mebbe she'd be useful, seein' as she works with all that Daedric shit.'

Everybody else in the room leaned forwards slightly while R’khan rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Gossip spread through the crew faster than ataxia. It took the wind out of his sails somewhat, but then again, they had heard the rumour and turned up to the meeting anyway, which at least meant they hadn't dismissed the idea out of hand. He cleared his throat.

'I don't know how you does it, but you ain't far off. Most of you knows Farel Hazil, our own Mister Vilayn's husband, and his recent passing.' He paused, expecting Vilayn to flinch, or close his eyes, anything to show he was still alive, but no. Only stillness. 'And you also knows we can't go fishing every lost soul out of Oblivion, or wherever they ends up. But for reasons I ain't telling you 'cause it don't bloody concern you, this is different. Mister Ethysil believes that although the Oblivion Crisis sealed off paths from Oblivion to, ah--'

'Mundus,' supplied Ethysil, in an undertone. R'khan swept on as if he'd said the name himself.

'--there's still gates as go in the other direction, like the one Lord Seht used in 2920. There's reports of one underwater, out in the Sea of Ghosts, but with Ethys's magic and a bit of help from our... mutual friends, he believes we may be able to access it.'

He waited to see what effect his words would have. Perhaps he should have waited to make the announcement, let them get a good amount of the bar's contents down them before proposing such madness, but something had prevented him from doing so, in the knowledge that being tricked into an undertaking of this scale would kill their morale. Besides, he couldn't be alone. The years had been catching up to them recently, cold and relentless, and he knew no person could outrun them forever. Time and tide waited for no man.

So far the general attitude seemed cautiously positive. Most of the crew were talking amongst themselves, and there were heavy looks on all their faces, but only a few were glancing towards the door or outright scowling. One or two, most notably Braskan and Sham, were not excited, exactly, but already decided. They nodded unconsciously, settled, assured, eyes on their captain. Drasonval, sat beside them, seemed less certain, and as soon as the muttering died down he stuck a fist in the air.

‘What about getting back again?’ he asked. ‘Let’s say we find this gate, face whatever’s inside, and find what we’re looking for. How do we get home?’

R'khan stamped his foot on the counter until the whispers subsided.

‘You want the honest answer, Mister Drasonval? I don’t know. Could be a one-way trip to hell.’

‘Ya’s always sayin’ ya wants ta get away from th’wife,’ said Braskan. Somehow, faced with the prospect of his imminent doom, he still managed to maintain the lazy smirk. ‘Here ya go. Perfec’ chance.’

Before the exchange could develop into a scuffle or, even worse, a ruckus, R’khan kicked the counter again.

‘Some of you -- Mister Azareth, Mister Braskan -- you lived through the Oblivion Crisis, I’m guessing ‘cause even the Daedra couldn’t find a use for your worthless hides, so you knows what we’re up against. But you’ve also sailed with me and Mr Vilayn a damned long time, and not once have you turned your backs on a challenge.’ He lowered himself down so that he was sat on the bar. Although he spoke quietly, he had their attention now, even over the temptation of the bottles behind him. 'I don't think I need to tell you, my lads, that this ain't just about Mister Hazil. We've all felt it, and been feeling it for a while now. We been on the sea since the last era and that's a bloody long time. But if we're going to finish it, if it's got to end, I ain't retreating quietly into a comfy house where I can't feel the wind on me face. I'm going to die where I belongs, and that's on the deck of me brig, the sea beneath me feet, doing something outrageously bloody stupid just because people told me I couldn't. Now, I ain’t making of you do this. I’m telling you now it’s madness, so none of you is obliged to follow me, and there ain’t no hard feelings for those as stay behind. But by the Three, those who do, we’re going to leave you a damned good story to tell and you'd better bloody tell it. So -- who’s with me?’

[gravecuriosity]

"We're all men, women, giant lizards and cats of our word. Except Eddis. We ain't sure what he is." [Drasonval]

[Prompt]

Nelle giggled at the last comment and turned her eyes towards the mer in question. He seemed perfectly fine to her: all smiles and good cheer There was something, however, deep in the back of her mind, that was unsettled slightly by the Dunmer, but she ignored it for the time being.

“Well, whatever mister Eddis is, I’d say he’s alright to me.”

[hoistingcolours]

therunawayscamp

Despite laughing as heartily as anyone at the time, Vilayn was not about to let the insult to his captain go without at least a little defence, even if he did smile throughout.

‘I think it would fall until Article XI. And if it doesn’t, I have a feeling he’ll be making a few addendums if you’re going to be helping Mr Drasonval bring us home.’

He paused to listen to Willa’s question and sipped at his tea.

‘You can arrive whenever you’re ready. All of you deserve some time together after everything that’s happened, and R’khan won’t begrudge you that.’ His smile returned. ‘Not if he doesn’t want to lose his hat again, anyway.’

“I can see it now; Article XII; don’t mess with my hat, and Article XIII; don’t fuck the bloody mermaids,” Carina snorted, flashing him a lopsided smirk, and propping her hands on either side of herself along the counter. “You can tell the captain that so long as I work with Mister Drasonval, he and his hat will have nothing to fear from me,” she added, holding up one hand while placing the other over her chest.

Willa smiled too, a bit wider than earlier and less forced, at what he said next, and relaxed against his side again.

While the three of them had been talking, Lucy had been preparing their meal, and now she set the pie into the oven. “What would you like to drink with your food, Vilayn?” She asked as she approached a wine rack between them and the kitchen.

[Vilayn & the Scamps/Willa]

[vvardenfellcat]

'Oi!' The oh-so-friendly greeting is accompanied by a hunk of bread flicked affectionately at J'hasi. He is, apparently, the lucky inn patron the Scamps have singled out to bother this evening, lead on this occasion by Drasonval. 'What're you lookin' so miserable for?'

The Khajiit flinched at the bread, ears flicking back as he looked at the Dunmer. Though…they looked sort of familiar… He pulled his mead closer to gulp down more, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth when the last fifth or so of the bottle was emptied.

“” J’hasi crooked a brow at the mer as if adding a silent ‘hm?’ before grabbing his next bottle, quietly cussing a few choice words in Dunmeris when the cork refused to come out nicely.

[therunawayscamp]

“Why do fiddlers always have to stand on the table in taverns?”

“What?”

“You always see it. Buy them a drink, hand them an instrument, and watch them leap up onto the table like a nix-hound springing over an ashpit. You do it too, Mister V. You lot just aren't happy unless you're kicking over people's drinks and stamping in their dinner.”

“We like to make sure everybody can hear us.”

“Want to make sure you’re the centre of attention, more like.”

“...get back to work.”

[therunawayscamp]

mistresselegance

Parthena sat down next to him on the bed, and she laid her hand on his arm. “I understand,” she said softly and offered him a reassuring smile.

“Why don’t we get you draw you a hot bath, get you cleaned up. Maybe a massage? There is nothing wrong with pampering yourself from time to time,” the Altmer purred while rubbing his back soothingly.

‘Aye, well... That’s true enough, I s’pose.’

Drasonval tugged at his earring, pulling the tip of his ears down, and then nodded decisively. Some of the cloud was clearing from his brow.

‘Sure. ‘Bout time I had a wash, anyway.’

[breachingsecurity]

therunawayscamp

The conditions Niv described were, even Vilayn had to admit, the sort which even the Morrowind Navy would have been hard put to match. His expression softened, which merely meant that he scowled at a point somewhere over Niv’s head rather than directly at her, and he waved a weary hand.

‘All right. Fine. Follow me. You too, Mister Oran. You’re going to explain your arrest to the captain.’

With Vilayn’s purposeful stride and Oran throwing his weight around, not to mention the help of the stories already circulating about Niv’s destructive magic, they soon carved a path through to the centre of the sailors, where the captain was sat on a barrel with one leg crossed over the other, barking orders indiscriminately. He didn’t bother to stand up when he caught sight of the new arrivals, although he did nod approval at Vilayn’s salute.

‘Mister Drasonval has given me the gist, Vi, no need to explain,’ he said. ‘So. Battlemage on the, ah…’

‘Dirty Wastrel, captain.’

‘Thank you. If the stories are true, sera, I ain’t sure why you’re wasting your time down here with this bloody lot. It ain’t just to see my pretty face, I know that much. What’s it you’re wanting?’

The first mate seemed slightly less likely to try and bite her head off at least, even if she had rubbed him the wrong way. Once beckoned, she followed after Vilayn and Oran, keeping her gaze lifted and calmly scanning her surroundings. Her eyes lingered slightly longer in familiar faces, and Drasonval’s in particular.

When the two men in front of her stopped, Niv reclaimed her spot next to the mage and clasped her hands behind her back. While she’d heard of R’khan before, she had never seen him in person. While he exchanged words with his first mate, Niv used the time to scan him from the ponytail, to the mustache, and to the deep blue coat he wore.

“I was under the impression your navigator wanted me to show you something,” she replied, eyes landing on the Dunmer in question as he carried out his orders from before. “There was a... a stand-off, I guess you could call it, between Mister Oran here and myself.”

She adopted a more relaxed stance, placing a hand on her hip and shifted her hips slightly towards Oran. “He seemed to think what I did was significant enough to bring to your attention, and considering what it can be used for I agree with him.”

“I’d be willing to show you, as well as your mages, how the Wastrel earned her reputation in battle in exchange for... hm,” she mullet it over briefly. “I’d settle for dinner,” she concluded with a crooked smile. The way she paused and kept her attention on R’khan night make it seem like she was propositing him, but then she inclined her head toward the Dunmer at her side instead, looking at him expectantly with a raised eyebrow, “with him. If he’d be so obliged.”

[therunawayscamp]

“Have you forgotten your promise?”

To a man - or mer, or Khajiit, or Argonian - the crew stared at Signy with blank, mystified expressions. It was Drasonval who was eventually elected as spokesperson.

‘Uh... What promise? Just for... clarification, like. And say we had, how much trouble would we be in?’

[therunawayscamp]

“Should you really be getting up?”

‘Yes.’

One hand clamped over his eye, the other pressed firmly against the wall in an effort to make it stop spinning around and stay still, Drasonval forced himself up onto his legs. They trembled, buckled, and finally caved beneath him, leaving him lying flat on the floor where he had been knocked down minutes before in the brawl. After a moment he lifted an arm.

‘On second thought... no. Give us a hand?’

[therunawayscamp]

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

‘I know, sera, and that’s the problem.’

Drasonval sighed and knotted his hand into his ponytail. His guilt, if anything, was only increasing, and he stared at his knees with hot, flushed cheeks.

‘Sorry. Ain’t your fault. It’s... thinking ‘bout me wife. That’s all.’

[therunawayscamp]

Reading is not a popular hobby among the crew. Many of them can’t read, period, and those who can aren’t the type to do so for pleasure. Books on a ship take up valuable space in one’s personal possessions. If they were going to bring any aboard, they would much rather have a book full of naughty illustrations to flip through (and indeed, many such a volume has been passed around below decks until the pages were too worn and crumpled to see properly).

The main exception is Oran. He endures the teasing of his shipmates to plough through the hefty tomes he carries aboard, although there is a fifty-fifty chance that if somebody were to look over his shoulder, they would find a copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid tucked between the pages.

Ethysil, of course, has his religious texts. He is exempt from ridicule -- none of the Dunmer would dare mock the Word of the Tribunal. Ashore, he might pick up other books to read for pleasure, but his duties aboard ship don’t leave much time for them.

Vilayn has an on-off relationship with books. During his early days in the Morrowind Navy, when he first had access to mainland libraries and was struggling, as an Outlander, to fit in with his peers, he became an avid reader, only for the constant mockery from his shipmates to put him off. He much prefers the spoken word anyway, and although he does read often enough to have been inspired to write his “manuscript”, he’s almost forgotten how to relax with a book. Being unable to sit still for more than five minutes at a time doesn’t help, either.

R’khan, Tosti, and Drasonval all read when ashore, but less so aboard the Scamp. Surprisingly, the same is true for Sham, who is one of the most notorious when it comes to teasing others for the pastime. She spent a lot of time reading when she lived with her family on the Summerset Isles -- there was precious little else for a noble lady to occupy herself with when business had been attended to -- and it’s a difficult habit to give up when she doesn’t have her daily duties to keep her busy.

Braskan does not read for pleasure at all, but he always keeps the copy of Pirate King of the Abecean given to him by Morinah in his pack.

[therunawayscamp]

❝ You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here. What do you have to say for yourself? ❞ [Carina]

‘Um...’

The group of sailors shuffled their feet, cast their eyes to the floor and elbowed each other, a process which was repeated several times before Drasonval was finally shuffled to the front. Still not looking up, he muttered into his chest,

‘We’re sorry we broke into your estate and filled the pond with frogs, Mistress Carina.’

[therunawayscamp]

❝ The trouble you can get into while I’m gone simply boggles my mind. ❞

‘Right, right, whatever, very funny. You can blame Ratface for not telling us it was a mage he was daring us to go and wind up.’

The voice sounded like Drasonval’s, although it could have belonged to anyone. The collection of Scamps, missing presumed passed out in an alley up until now, were hidden behind a thick wall of ice which encompassed them in a full circle, with no gap for escape.

‘Now how about you make yourself useful find a way to disenchant it?’ the voice continued. ‘And if that don’t work, you can tell Ratface to sort it out himself.’

[therunawayscamp]

Another trick Vilayn learned from the Solstheim smugglers: teaching a horse inverted commands, so that shouting “stop!” invited the animal to ride like the wind, presenting an image of obedience while fleeing from authorities. He and Drasonval attempted to train Sock like this when the guar was first obtained. It soon became apparent that while some guars might accept training and learn cues, Sock was not one of them, and was as likely to stubbornly dig in his heels as he was charge off at full speed regardless of what command he was given.

They finally gave the experiment up as a bad job after Sock almost knocked R’khan off his feet when stampeding across the quarterdeck. It was a shame, too, as they finally seemed to be making progress -- R’khan’s demands for the guar to stop only encouraged it, and he was most displeased to hear Vilayn and Drasonval bellowing at the thing to “get on” and “go faster”.

[therunawayscamp]

❝ Discretion isn’t really your thing, is it? ❞ (Jocelyn)

‘What gave you that impression?’An honest question, in Drasonval’s opinion. After all, it couldn’t possibly be the parade of guards chasing a select few sailors in circles around the streets and having their pockets picked every time they passed the corner Luca was stood on. Nor could it be the citizens screaming for help as Braskan approached them with his trademark leer, or as Oran approached them holding a piece of poetry, or Vilayn bent double with silent laughter behind both of them. There was no way it could be Xisthia, Bob and Jo’Raya, an Argonian, an Orc and a Khajiit, strolling casually down a street full of Nords, either. Really, the concept that they might draw attention was an absolute mystery.

[therunawayscamp]

How would the scamps react to finding out they had an illegitimate child in a port town somewhere?

If hot-footing it to the brig and pleading with R’khan to weigh anchor isn’t an option…

R’khan would coolly deny any and all involvement. He would probably be right, in fairness – the elven races tend to be less fertile due to their extended lifespans – but even if the child was his, he would cut off all ties. His sole concession would be a small sum of gold on the understanding that he would never be approached again. In a few years’ time, however, he might just happen to pass by the port again, and if a young Dunmer was looking for work, they would find a place on the Runaway Scamp.

Vilayn’s reaction would be much the same, but if the person making the claim said the right things and pushed the right buttons, so to speak, he could potentially be persuaded into taking a more active part in the child’s upbringing. It would definitely require some conferring with his husbands, however.

Tosti would talk his way out of any and all responsibility.

Eddis would laugh until the person gave up and left, as is his way. If this didn’t work, he would go to the captain for advice, and R’khan would then follow his own tactics as described above.

Drasonval would feel a lot more responsibility than the rest of the crew. Some sort of regular payment would be the least he could offer, and if persuaded he might be convinced to talk to his wife about the situation. She would not be pleased. At all. Contact with the child would end abruptly right there.

Ethysil would open with an argument that we are all the children of ALMSIVI and therefore this particular child is no more entitled to his attentions than any other. If that didn’t work, he would point out that Lord Vivec set out to murder his unwanted children. If that didn’t put someone off, he would become genuinely concerned for the child’s wellbeing and might agree to at least visit.

Oran isn’t averse to the idea of becoming a father, but what he would mostly give the mother and child is a lot of empty promises -- money for the child’s upbringing (when he has some), tutoring (when the child is older), a home (when he stops sailing with the Scamp)...

Braskan, of all people, is the only member of the crew who would be prepared to accept a child and commit himself to looking after it. How would he go about doing this with his lifestyle? The Three only know. He certainly wouldn’t. The most likely scenario is that Morinah would suddenly find herself raising her adoptive sibling while Braskan was at sea.