#sorry Gaura for butchering your hella awesome speech I canno remember

[landfilloftrash]

It Begins

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Summer days tended to be her least favorite of the seasons. It was a bright day, brighter than her eyes liked as the sun glared through the sea’s waves back up into its eyes, and she’d pulled up her hood, contracted her pupils, and closed its third eyelid to combat that, but even so, she sunk deeper into the folds of her robe like a petulant child at the audacity the waves had to be reflecting like knives into its eyes today.

When someone needed out of the country, or simply out of Ӕngelӕnd, they usually left in the night; the cover of darkness shielding the fleeing subjects and the owlin's eyes easily cutting through the shadows to discern what was actually there. At least the moon was always kinder to her eyes on the waters than the sun had ever been. But it wasn’t so stupid as going as far to nag the sun for something about the ocean, and she wasn’t going to hiss at the sea for a feature that made it beautiful; she just felt like complaining about a hurt within the sanctity of her mind as it waited for the ship to be off.

She had been sitting in the crow’s nest as she waited. And wait she did— Both to stay out of the crew’s way (they had more than enough people to set the riggings right, that rations and spare sails were stocked up, that everything was running as a tight ship should) simply due to her size, reputation, status. And staying up here was to have a, hah, bird’s eye view of the situation.

Ӕngelӕnd had a very specific set of superstitions— she wasn’t 100% sure if it extended past this place or if it was simply the Ӕnglish, however. 

A Priest on a ship was one thing, to get tongues wagging about religion and how badly it mixed with the sea, nevermind the gods of the sea and how temperamental they could be on their own. A woman on a ship was said to bring bad luck; everyone else on the spectrum was fine, but when a woman got on board it simply spelled doom. That had always made her laugh. A Priestess of the Blood Clerics set all the wagging tongues to silence, and pure fear in her presence. Eno was well aware of what blood clerics' reputations were. She herself had been one for more than a few years at this point, and the change from having outsiders of the church approaching her every day for everything and nothing at all, to them out right avoiding her was a stark contrast.

Not that it could blame them to be honest; the idea of someone being able to puppeteer your body into doing whatever they wanted you to do simply because you have blood was a horrifying concept— and the main reason she had stayed under counseling of the teachers and Saints for half a decade longer than her peers.

Quite honestly, it was rather eye-opening to see the shift of severity, if still open-minded teaching, that the Blood sect of the Church had. She knew going in, that it was going to be a little bit more firm in its guidance, opposed to something like Tempest or Life— but watching her Father eye each and every one of them with a fierce fire in his eyes as he talked calmly about what would happen should they have decided it would be funny to try their powers on an unsuspecting civilian was quite… the memory.

The snapping of the staff he had been holding in demonstration like a simple twig had also been quite expressive of his feelings on the matter.

(It had been after leading an afternoon sermon that a man approached her– the strong smell of medicine, along with the strict air suddenly surrounding her, giving away who it was as she turned to anticipate him.

“Father Dolmayan,” it greeted with what humanoids treated as a smile and a bow of the head, “what can I do for you? I hope you do not need me to be a test subject for your students again, I don’t have any injuries at the present moment.”

“Priestess Folook,” he gave a small bow from the shoulders in return, “Thankfully, no. I come bearing official business at the moment.”

More official than what he practiced? She let the ‘smile’ drop in favor of her curiosity— tilting its head in an offer to continue.

“You are not busy I take it?”

“Not anymore– is there somewhere you’d rather discuss this?”

He seemed to consider this for a moment. “Why don’t we take a walk in the forest? It would do me some good to walk and talk.”

Eno would be the first to admit one of its favorite pastimes was to simply exist in the forest and hear the sounds surrounding her, quiet any thought she might have had, but the idea of taking a walk and discussing official business had her on guard already. They should’ve sent Rollo with this news, it internally joked. He’s much better at all this.

They went together out into the woods and discussed smaller things first; how their respective jobs were going, small concerns or gripes, little victories and achievements, but nothing unusual until they were halfway through the woodland hike near the church.

“We have received word from the King that they request a cleric to be on a voyage to Nassau, and myself with a few others deemed that it should be you.”

“To Nassau?” she questioned, thinking of the People’s Republic. The enemies of the crown, a fierce and protective people, and often collated with a cult, which was incorrect if she had her sources straight. None of this was said aloud in the seconds that passed. “Whatever for?”

He side-eyed her, seemingly waiting for her to catch up, but it genuinely could not connect why they would want a cleric on this voyage. Priests already were frowned upon by sailors; she could quite literally only try to imagine why the King would want her kind of presence on board. And who had even decided it’d be her? She was no good with laws when they went against what it believed in, but then again, she wasn’t completely vocal with that particular opinion; and for good reason.

“It seems to be an attempt at taking the rebels back ‘into the fold’ as it were;” he finally explained at her continued confused look— perhaps she needed to work on conveying that expression. Only the Saints and the other beast-people seemed to understand that one; “finally re-become a part of the King’s nation.”

Ah. That explained a part of the puzzle, including an explosive argument between the King and her Saint, but didn’t explain her part in it all. “I can think of several better candidates for this than myself,” it mused, thinking of Eamon and Alvaro in particular with their more zealous determination; Order domain as they were, they’d be perfect for enacting the law and duty to the King. “It would be a couple days to summon them, but they would no doubt be up for the task. Far more invested in this sort of thing, you know?”

Dolmayan had started shaking his head about half way through its suggestion, and before she could try and convince the man that she was not the one to be tasked with this— he continued.

“The King seeks a Blood Cleric to attend on this mission.”

And suddenly things made a lot more sense; dread made itself at home, curling in a looping spiral around her heart and guts.)

But none of that was important at the moment, because she was keeping an eye out for a very specific someone.

This someone should theoretically be easy to spot. Especially considering the man was— Well. A triton. There was nothing intentionally racist about the thought, it was simply, tritons kind of stuck out in a place of land-faring people. Not to mention he was an entire admiral. Both these visual cues combined should make spotting him fairly easy. He just. Hadn’t arrived yet. At least not under her watchful eyes. Maybe he’d shown up days beforehand? Simply lurking in the Captain’s cabin? She’dve assumed it would have heard something from him at this point, especially considering the frazzled look of the one who greeted her when it had arrived, so it had to assume he wasn’t here. So perhaps, was he going to be one of those people that showed up at the very last second? She wasn’t sure, but it was certainly reaching that point in time amongst the ship’s crew.

And just as she was wondering about all of that– she spotted him. A little hard not to; he was the shade of something dark in a sea of pale, wearing a mother of pearl armor set and wielding a trident— presumably befitting of his station.

She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, lie. He was absolutely stunning.

Eno watched him strut— because, that’s what the man was doing, he was very clearly strutting— onto the deck of the ship and watched with a sharp eye what everyone was doing. Clearly, he was in his element.

His aura… well, whatever she’d been expecting, and had previously experienced from similar ranks of army men, was not at all what this man exuded. Underneath some face paint, or simply a creative use of makeup, it couldn't tell, to boot. Confidence, arrogance, sure those were standard, and were detectable, but the main thing that caught its attention at the moment was the fact it nearly wasn’t, under the.. nigh almost stabilizing facade he seemed to bear in the face of his underlings. Not the best word to use but it was the only one she had. He was sharp, but not a cold presence as he walked beside the gesticulating man. Cutting through chaos with aplomb, but with a slide to his step so as not to disrupt anything. 

So this was Chief Admiral Sir Gaura Arzorath. 

Definitely not what she’d expected, but that, in of itself, was to be expected, she thought. Can’t judge a book by its reputation, and definitely not just because of its fancy cover.

Eno watched him for a little longer, trying to see if he was perhaps abominably rude from up here, but it was simply too loud for her to hear any conversation not yelled at 60 decibels louder than a normal conversational tone. But luckily– and just as unluckily for her sensitive hearing— it didn’t have to strain too hard to be able to hear something after the man talking to Admiral Arzorath disappeared from her current viewpoint. There was a specific sound approaching her– the creaks of the ropes and wood getting louder as someone climbed up to the crow’s nest.

The apprehensive face of a human peeked over the sides of the nest, and she eyed the man with unconcealed curiosity; the expression tended to look very, very creepy to non-avians, and that was exactly what she was aiming to stir.

“Ah– Madame Priestess?” he stuttered, his eyes darting across her face, and she could almost hear the wood give a creak from how tight he was holding it.

“That is I,” she rumbled out, ignoring his fear politely, “what do you need?”

“A-ah, begging your pardon, ma’am, but Admiral Gaura Arzorath is formally asking for your presence.”

“I will be down in a moment,” it hummed. “Run along.”

The human didn’t need to be told twice. He nodded earnestly and startled hustling his way back down from the crow’s nest, giving her a moment to ponder her options.

She didn’t know quite how to approach this. Clever woman she was not, but it was at the very least an imaginative one. Everything she’d heard on the streets about this Admiral pointed towards him being a very bad person to approach with the idea of perhaps not binding the Nassauean people’s will to her own, and forcing them upon the ships as prisoners— or killing them should they be able to resist her hold; but from how the people surrounded him, he was not all the stories spoke of him to be; but that proved absolutely nothing about how he felt about this particular mission.

As the blood cleric tasked with this duty, she would very much like to protest this course of action— possibly directly to the King himself, if it didn’t think it might get immediately arrested and possibly hanged for it. She doubted the second part, but hey, her imaginative anxiety was allowed a little free reign; Eno wasn’t quite sure of the King’s policy of a sole someone protesting about a given order right in his face, especially in regards to what amounted to conquest.

For now, she thought, climbing onto the railing of the nest; perching, I’ll keep this facade. Best to have people not questioning my secrecy if that’s what they expect from me, rather than them know me as I actually am.

She leapt down from the top of the crow’s nest, feeling the air rushing past but not hearing a sound, and with an easy swoop of its widened wings to catch the air and slow the fall just enough as she landed with a crouch– perhaps a bit hard on her knees— before rising to its full height and tucking her partially extended wings back behind her. 

It made for an entrance, and one that will keep people from bothering her. 

“Admiral Gaura Arzorath,” she intoned with a bow of the head.

“Ah,” he exhaled, eyeing her in wary curiosity, but keeping polite. Smart. “You’re our blood cleric then?”

“That would indeed be I.”

“Well then, Priestess… ehm,” he blanked, until the human from earlier whispered ‘Folook!’ to him, “Folook, my apologies, busy morning– welcome aboard my vessel. I assume you’ve been informed of the task you’ve been assigned?”

“Yes, sir.” She hummed, pulling the letter from the King from with the folds of her sleeves.

“Good!” he nodded, clapping his hands together with a little flick of his tail, and eyed her letter’s seal with a careful eye before ignoring it entirely. “Good, good, good. Arthur!” 

“Aye, sir?” the human next to him startled to attention. So his name was Arthur. That was nice to know.

“Can you bring some buckets to my cabin? Don’t need to be filled or anything, I can do that, but it did just occur to me. It would be wonderful if that could happen.”

“A-aye, sir? Filled with..?” 

“Seawater,” he responded with aplomb. “But again, I can do that.”

“Also,” he pointed a finger up in sudden remembrance, “Would you mind gathering the men once we’re about to make way? I’d like to say a few words before we shove off.”

“Aye, Admiral,” he nodded, and hustled off to start shouting something to the helmsman, lost within the general cacophony.

Sir Admiral Gaura Arzorath was a tad… goofy. 

She refrained from giving a smile at the thought. Just because he’s goofy does not mean he hasn’t earned the title of ‘The King’s Favorite Murderer’, just means there’s a person behind it, like there always is.

So instead she watched Arthur run off, slightly amused. It was always interesting to watch someone go about their job, and seeing the person-to-person interaction, even briefly, where the only reason why Arthur seemed to be so on edge was due to her and the ship about to set off?; she enjoyed that it was only that and not the Admiral himself.

“Now, ehm,” it turned its attention back to the aforementioned Admiral, who’s smile turned slightly rueful as she turned back to him, “Madame Folook. If you wouldn’t mind, I have a couple of questions for you?”

Questions? This could very well be interesting. “Ask away, Admiral.”

He pursed his lips as he lifted his hands in a steepled position for a moment, debating something, before pointing at her with the hands’ positioning continued. “What does a Blood Cleric… do?”

..Huh?

“I beg your pardon..?”

“I mean no offense–!” he quickly waved his hands in a gesture so fast they blurred, “I just! Don’t know what Blood Clerics do! Or why you’re specifically on my ship!”

His hands stopped moving so fast so that he could apparently cross his arms across his chest in a bit of a defensive maneuver. “I like knowing these things, y’know? Good for an Admiral to know the role of everyone on his vessel.”

Oh. Heavens.

She fought the simultaneous urges to start giggling uncontrollably and to stare at him in incredulous shock. It was getting whiplash here. He had no clue what she was. He had no idea what its purpose on this voyage was. It settled for a weird in-between where it gave him a strange, if a bit ominous, smile.

“Let’s start simply. Do you know what Clerics are capable of?”

“Of course, of course,” he waved a hand in dismissal before crossing it back across his chest. “I’m not that unknowledgable on the subject, just specifically your sect.”

“Then you’re aware that us spellcasters have different domains that help us in a range of different ways, and those domains are usually titled after what they are related to, or have major control over.”

He nodded diplomatically with curiosity in his eye as his tail flicked in her direction. ‘Go on.’

“Clerics of the blood, control that.”

Arzorath stared at her blankly for a few moments as his tail continued gently swishing side to side, gears clearly turning within his head. And then– 

“Oh!” He exclaimed, his eyes going bright with realization, before a slight pause caused his brow to become ever so slightly furrowed in continued realization. “Oooh. I see. Hm. Yes.”

The admiral raised a curled finger to his lips as Arzorath looked down in thought, muttering loud enough for her to hear as the swishing of his tail became sharper. “Hm. Alright, yes, now I see. Well. Your services won’t have any need of use, hopefully, once we approach them with our ships. Three Galleons against a small group of pirates? They’ll bend a knee quickly.”

Before she could think of trying to disagree with it being a ‘small group’ or agree with his hope of not using her abilities, he clapped his hands together with a fierce final slice of his tail through the air. “Alright! I understand perfectly now. It is truly rather unfortunate that your abilities are even possibly needed. Barbaric, you know? Glad to have you on our side— and once again; Welcome aboard ‘The Queen Eliza’.”

She blinked as he twisted on his heel and marched towards the helm with a determined air.

Quick and thoughtful; the tactician he was rumored to be shining through with a threatening gleaming blade, but just a bit oblivious to situations at hand, dulling that shadowy shine.

It truly had no idea what to think about this strange triton.

All it could truly do was eye him as he got to the top of the galleon’s stairs, to the railing peering over the rest of the deck, and called for the rest of the people’s attentions with a sharp whistle that sliced through the general noise like a guillotine.

The noise didn’t silence instantly, lingering briefly like a consciousness, before eyes were dragged to the man himself. He quietly cleared his throat, for none but those nearest and the sharpest ears to hear. “Men, some of you know what we are gathered on board for, what our next task is. Some of you may not. Regardless of whether or not either of these facts are true, I am here to inform you exactly what that quest is.”

“You all have, no doubt, heard of the pirates that plague our waters. Their leader, the pirate lord Lockwell. May have even encountered them yourself on the seas for one reason or another— you may have also heard that our King has been attempting peace treaties with those scallywags, and you may have heard that they have been failing.” His eyes swept across the deck with ice steeled there. “Today marks the day that those rumors come to fruition; they have rejected our words of peace and stand staunchly against us.”

There was a ripple amongst the crew; the beginning of a complete understanding of their undergoing. Arzorath only continued cementing their realization as his voice raised amongst the murmurs; “We are to storm the heart of their power, their rebellion, and to show them our might. In three days, we will arrive on the shores of these rebels, and finally take them into custody. By force if we must, willing if at all possible, but by all means necessary. We fight for our country, for honor, and for duty. For this is our duty to the King, it is our duty for God. Remember above all else; God is true, under Him we are permitted. Give what you must, take it all back.”

The brief silence that took hold of the ship was backed by the calls of the docks, the rush of the sea. She peered at him from the bow. Small on this monster of a ship, yet commanding the area with little effort.

“We make way immediately; for Nassau,” he ordered sharply. “Godspeed to us all.” 

“You heard him, men!” called Arthur with a bellow, “Unfurl the sails, raise the anchor! To Nassau!”

As the admiral swept away into the depths of the ship, a flurry of activity seized the crew once again with a fierce rejuvenation, putting the activity from earlier to shame. Calling to one another up in the riggings and masts, swinging to and fro with pure confidence, and down below, an echo from the boards underneath as they were pulling the anchors in triplicate.

An admiral indeed.

As it felt the ship begin to groan and move, echoed like a howl from a pack from the following two vessels of 'The Queen Eliza', it turned her head westward.

Upon the high seas it was to be.

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Prologue; One - Two - Three - Four

High Seas; It Begins (here you are!) - Something's Wrong - Blood in the Water pt. 1