The Fires of Summer (first draft)

There's a commotion beneath the waves, stirring the wildlife into action, the fish all scurrying about in a hurry. A whale cries and the current picks up, embracing the wildlife as it goes, and it all ejects into the open ocean, sending confused fish for the ride of their lifetime, as well as stray pieces of broken coral and seaweed.

Somewhere near the end of the current there's a huge net sweeping near to the ocean floor. Numerous fish have already found themselves trapped, unable to quite figure out how to escape, but soon the current sweeps something quite unique into the net's grasp.

Up above, the sailors begin to reel in their catch once they feel it getting heavy, all three of them putting their backs into it.

The shortest, a man standing at five feet and ten inches, looks over the side of the ship as the net is lifted. "Holy shit- pull, quick!"

Alarmed, the others pull with more vigour until the net is hauled onto the wide deck. Through all the flopping fish there is a body.

The tallest of the sailors and their captain, a brunette half-elf of six feet and three inches, wearing a very simple tunic and trousers, gets to his knees and drags the body out of the net.

It's the body of an effeminate man - or at least he assumes from the beard - with horribly overgrown black hair and decomposing clothes. There's no valuables on him, and at first he thinks he's dead, but the man's still got colour in him and hasn't rotted seemingly at all apart from his clothes.

"Check to see if he's breathing, captain," the short man says, but there's no rise and fall of a chest. "I think I recognise him, that's-"

"Captain Undying," the taller man affirms in sudden realisation.

The captain rolls him onto his side and water spills from his mouth like a waterfall. When it's all out, he starts to cough hard, the rest of it cascading out, and then his dark eyes open and he clutches his stomach, throwing up nothing but water, and then he's done, gasping for air.

Naturally, Haley is confused. A little scared, even. He's never had so much water come out of his mouth before and he feels completely empty, his entire body in pure agony. He tries to speak but all that comes out is a pained groan.

"Piscis, get him a towel and some spare clothes," the captain orders, and next thing Haley knows he's being carried and sat down. His head throbs and he can barely feel his body despite the amount of pain it's in. The other sailor, a mau-ryxt (cat men, though to call them such is considered a great insult) resembling a fishing cat, deals with the actual fish they caught.

The shorter one, assumedly Piscis, approaches him and sits down at his side. "Hey... sorry to bother you, but you should probably get out of those clothes or you'll get pneumonia. They're really wet, we can hang them out to dry until we get back to the dock."

Haley doesn't respond, looking down at his feet. Everything is coming to him in flashes. He sees Ellamia, their rings and the words they exchanged, their promises. He sees the crew, remembers Axel and the feeling when someone alerted them to Sanguis ships.

"What's up?" Piscis asks quietly.

All Haley hears is the screams and shouts, the explosion, Max telling him he's scared. He sees the wall of flames separating him from Ellamia and Corvus, then the darkness: the oppressive darkness swallowing him whole, filling his lungs and dragging him down.

When he zones back in, his cheeks feel wet. He notices Piscis sitting down a second time, and he finally looks up, confused. The man appears to have gotten some water for him, which he takes appreciatively, It feels wrong and almost inappropriate to be drinking water after throwing so much of it up, but he's smarter than to reject it.

"Are you okay?" Piscis asks again now he has Haley's attention. He finally takes in Piscis' appearance. He's a skinny man with symmetrical wavy black hair and pale skin. His eyes are golden and there are pale orange and red scales on his cheeks and his forehead. He also has a finned tail, most comparable to a koi in appearance. He seems kind, but Haley can't shake the Greek accent mixed into his light, breezy sailor voice. It sends him back to that night, to the King's command.

The pirate wipes his eyes, sniffles, speaks lowly, "Yeah."

Piscis radiates his doubt but doesn't press. "Anyway, just uhm... dry off and stuff, and then when you're dressed I'll go hang up your other clothes."

"Alright," Haley says.

"Great, I'll check up on you in a bit then. We're headed for Seafarer's Shore, so we'll drop you off there," Piscis informs him, standing up to leave.

Before he can go, the pirate looks up at him, meeting those glimmering golden eyes. "You sound like a Sanguis."

"Huh," he says, though he sounds more dejected than surprised, as though he's heard that a lot. His long ears, tipped with pale red and orange, usually upwards-facing, twitch and lower just the slightest. "Well I can assure you I have nothing to do with the Sanguises."

Trying to lighten the mood, Haley offers a half-hearted joke. "Good to know I'm not sailing to my arrest then."

Piscis laughs quietly, then takes his leave, heading to speak to the others.

When Haley finally takes off his clothes, hiding under the towel as he does so, he can't help but be confused. There's a deep ache in his heart, but it can't seem to surface. Even though he's crying there's an empty pit inside of him, refusing to give him anything but that pressing weight.

He tries not to look at his wedding clothes as he puts them to the side, wrapping himself in the towel, face blank despite the tears running down his cheeks.

Having the clothes off is a significant weight lifted. A little strength seems to return to him. Even though the air is mostly warm, even the slightest breeze is managing to make him shiver under the towel. He hugs it closer to his body, looking up to the sky.

It's a brilliant blue, clouds far and few, and it looks to be the golden hours before the darkening of the afternoon. From the warm air and the vibrant sky he concludes it must be summer. When he turns his gaze to where they're headed, he sees land a few miles in the distance, and guesses they'll be there within the hour given the wind doesn't turn against them. He aches to be behind the wheel or to at least help man the ship, but he knows better than to exercise his freshly-awakened body, if he even can.

With the help of the warm air and the gentle breeze Haley dries off in no time. He uses the cover of the towel to put on the breeches and then the shirt. Both fit him fairly well, though they seem made for someone with more muscle than him, hanging loosely on his arms and chest. Being a captain and spending so much time steering his ship, he does have some semblance of muscle on him, but nothing compared to the two fishermen that Piscis is with. They're built quite wide and strong, likely hardened by years hauling in fish and hunting. Idly he rubs his wrists, thumbs running across skin that feels far too bare.

The sailor he's yet to meet, the mau-ryxt around his height, finishes talking to the others and comes over. He's got friendly daffodil yellow eyes that look over the pirate with intrigue and he's wearing a simple smock and breeches. "Never thought I'd have the Captain Undying of legend wearin' my clothes."

"They say the first rule of the sea is to expect the unexpected," he manages a half-hearted smile.

"I've certainly learned that in the past hour or so," he returns with a laugh, extending his hand. "I'm Meru, it's an honour to meet you."

"Aha, it's uh... a pleasure. Sorry, I'm not used to formalities and all. The name's uhh," Haley looks around quickly, lays his eyes on the other's clothes, decides that'll do, "Smock."

"Apologies Smock, yer a bit of a folk hero at Seafarer's Shore," Meru chuckles lightly, scratching his arm idly. "Everyone's gonna be amazed to see you alive - how did you survive? How long have you been drowning down there?"

"I don't know how I'm alive, but the last time I remember being awake was... well, the night they sank my ship," Haley, no, Smock answers. No matter how hard he tries not to think about it, the flashes of fire won't leave his mind.

Meru's eyes widen and his tail twitches. "What? There's no way.."

"Why?" his stomach churns.

"It's been seven years since they sank the Bloody Undead," his suspicions are affirmed, and his skin crawls.

"That can't be right," Smock laughs. "You're pulling my leg, Meru."

He looks him straight in the eye, "I ain't pullin' no legs, Smock. I was a lad of fourteen when my ma came in cryin', sayin' the snakes had killed one of the biggest pirates out at sea 'n taken the whole crew with 'em. She said there were no survivors aside from the traitor that sold 'em out. I remember it clearly, but I'm a man of twenty-one now."

"Holy shit," Smock drops his head into his hands, staring at the floorboards, convinced that if he glares hard enough he'll wake up from this sick dream in Ellamia's arms.

"You've really been underwater this whole time?" Meru gasps, his furred jaw slack.

"For seven fucking years," he laughs, incredulous.

For some time they share each other's presence in silence, Meru unsure what to say and Smock lost for any words at all.

Seven years. Somehow seven whole years have passed since Corvus attacked. He refuses to accept that he's been uselessly drowning beneath the waves for that long, wasting away while the Sanguises continue to terrorise people and get away with their crimes, while they kill pirates and innocents, while they rob people of their lives and what they love like they've done to him.

If he were alone he would scream, but he can't bring himself to in front of these people. Instead he simply breaks into tears again, unable to do anything else.

Meru quickly sees that letting him sit and ponder things isn't helping. "We reeled in a special catch today that people are going to love, if you'd care to let me show you."

Too defeated to decline, Smock simply stands up and wipes his eyes, allowing Meru to guide him to the middle of the ship where there's a clear hatch. He stands aside as the mau-ryxt pulls a lever and the hatch opens to reveal a storage unit inside the ship.

Smock peeks over the side, and sure enough there is quite the incredible catch. Laying in the middle, surrounded by baskets of various fish, is a small whale.

"You're going to make a crazy amount of money out of this," Smock comments, his voice croaking from all the crying. "It'll feed people for days."

"Exactly. Piscis was scoutin' out the best place to cast our nets when he stumbled across the poor swine all alone. He knows the sea's inhabitants better than the lot of us, so it met a swift 'n merciful end compared to what it'd be with the spears," Meru explains, looking down with pride. "We'll probably be stayin' for the party they throw with all the meat, you should come."

"Oh, I'm alright. I'm probably gonna spend the night somewhere to recalibrate and all," Smock frowns. In truth, the idea of a party makes his stomach ache, and feels all too familiar.

"That's a fair choice. If you change yer mind everyone would welcome you with warm arms," he nods, letting Smock finish looking over all the fish before closing the hatch.

"Yeah..." Smock says quietly. "I'll make sure to come by some other time soon, when I'm a bit more with it."

Meru smiles his feline smile. "Glad to hear it mate."

Next time Smock looks up, Seafarer's Shore is within sight, and his clothes have been hung on a rack to dry, surely picked up by Piscis whilst he looked at the whale. The small town looks to be bustling with life, merchants enjoying business on the side of the beach. Its buildings, made mostly of wood, brick, and stone, don't look at grand and well-polished as he remembers, seemingly slightly worn with time, but it's still as bright as ever, the whole town adorned in colourful decorations and all sorts of signs. Other fishing ships and other small sailing boats sit at the wooden dock, where a few more merchants have set up, mostly the sailors trying to sell their catch.

Meru's eyes brighten with excitement. "Looks like a busy day. We'll be rolling in gold at this rate."

"You will - it's an impressive haul," Smock says, planning his next move. "I wish you and the others the best of luck with it.

He's not sure quite where to go or what to do with himself. There's no crew to speak of, no ship of his own, and not a single coin to his name. Not even a weapon resides at his hip. With such a rugged appearance and his hair flowing far past its regular limits, he doubts he'll be going very far in terms of charisma either. All he knows is he can't stand to be there, not with his stomach twisting and memories battering him like strong waves.

Meru bubbles with energy. "Thank you. You too, wherever you go."

As soon as they dock he hears the noise of the town in full swing. Being a pirate town, it's populated by only the loudest of folk, the air so full of sound that any ordinary person would most certainly be unable to hear their own thoughts.

"We need some help with the catch!" the captain calls out to the people on the dock, who rush to their aid. Smock steps back as Meru re-opens the hatch and he watches as a few sailors drop down, exclaiming about the whale before starting to lift up the baskets.

Feeling guilty for watching, Smock helps Piscis to set up the baskets for sale on the ship. They haul them into rows in front of the captain's quarters until everything is sorted, then the whale is pulled up onto the deck. The captain orders it to be taken to the upper deck and set at the back, opposite the wheel.

Piscis wipes his brow. "Thank you for the help."

"It's no problem. I hate sitting around and watching," Smock shrugs. His limbs ache from all the lifting, seven years underwater having deteriorated his stamina.

"Once a captain, always a captain," the fishlike man laughs. "Anyway, your clothes probably won't be dry for a couple more hours."

Smock thinks for a few moments, calculating his next move with a frown. "I think that I'll be staying at Seafarer's Shore until the next ship out to Pirate Island, so I'll be around to come get them."

"Oh yeah, they'll probably be able to get you back up and running back there," Piscis nods, crossing his arms and looking out to th. "We might be heading that way within the week when we go deep-sea fishing again, but I'm sure there'll be some pirates here that might be heading out sooner."

"Hopefully," Smock says quietly, following his gaze out to the waters. Seagulls fly overhead, some drifting comfortably on the waves, some perching on the rails of the ship before being shooed off by Meru. The sailors that helped to haul up all the catch come in to get first picks. "I'm going to go into town before the merchants flood the ship."

"Alright, take care - I'll see you later!" the sailor smiles, turning to the sailors and getting to work.

Promptly Smock takes his leave from the ship (only after waving to Meru and the captain) and heads down the dock to the town. He gets a few strange looks, which he assumes is from his unruly appearance, and others of alarmed recognition that he tries his best to ignore. Thinking about all the questions makes his stomach churn. Having to recount it all for Meru had already been bad enough. Lingering on it only makes the emptiness heavier.

Merchants shout left and right, advertising their stock, each competing for their voice to be heard the loudest. As he walks onto the wooden planks of the street, he sees all the food stalls with workers rushing to prepare food and drinks and considers giving one a go before he remembers he has no money.

Rich smells waft towards him and he breathes them in with a warm appreciation. It's familiar, reminding him of all the outings where Ellamia would insist upon getting just about everything from the seafood vendors. She'd always insist on giving him a share of everything, making sure he was well-fed.

Smock decides to head for the nearest tavern. Whilst he's got no money to his name, it would at least be an environment that he can stand.

When he opens the door, the bell rings, and Smock avoids the bartender's eyes, making a beeline for a booth. The place is quiet - most taverns are during the daytime - and nobody seems to mind him at all when he takes his seat. For a while he just sits there, staring into the wood of the table. At some point his brain turns off and he feels like he's floating, the world around him feeling like an illusion. There's no flashbacks, no noise in his head, nothing at all.

Two tankards are set down on the table with a loud clatter, drawing Smock back to reality with a jolt. It looks like beer, and one tankard is pushed to him. Confused, he looks up to the man offering it to him.

He's lithe with broad shoulders and clear muscles under his black vest, with heather skin speckled a pale eminence purple. His ears are long and slightly upwards-facing, pierced at the lobe with golden rings that circle the webs on the underside of them. Unique is his golden gaze, somehow purple where the shadows lie across them, looking relaxed and comfortable. On his eyelids there's bright blue and yellow eyeshadow that makes his eyes pop against his dull skin. His dull eggplant hair is short and wavy, longer on the right side than the left, and the light makes it shine with a rose gold touch. His thin bow lips are thin and curled into a friendly smile. Despite his imposing build, him standing about six-foot-nine, and his angular features, he has a very friendly demeanour about him.

Smock takes note of the numerous golden accessories he's adorned with, all sorts of bangles and necklaces, shiny all but one that's a shark tooth on a black string. As the man takes a seat, he sees a long, webbed tail slink beneath the table.

"You look absolutely miserable, mate," the man laughs, though it's not a mocking laugh by any means. Smock hears the exact accent Piscis spoke in, just a bit more on the pirate side. "I got you the local brew, figured you'd like it."

"Oh, thank you pal," he gladly takes a swig, missing the taste of alcohol, craving it especially in that moment. After chugging a good deal of it, he wipes his mouth, feeling the prickle of his unruly beard against the back of his hand.

"Not a problem. Name's Anguilla, though I know you already, bein' a pirate 'n all," he sits back, kicking his feet up onto the table and leaning his back against the wooden wall of the booth, lifting his tankard to his lips.

"I'm going by Smock now. Better to have a new start after all this time," Smock sighs, swirling his drink idly.

"Good choice. Seafarer's Shore won't sell you out but I'm sure others wouldn't hesitate to tell the news about Captain Undying reappearing if you went about usin' that name. Corvus would really not be a fan of that," Anguilla rambles. "Things have sucked since the whole attack. People are startin' to take other careers, they're scared to death of gettin' killed like that."

"People are quitting piracy?" Smock feels his heart sink.

"Yeah, they just don't think it's worth it anymore with how much the Sanguis family is crackin' down on it," he shrugs. "It's crazy, ten years ago quittin' was unheard of, it was like breakin' an oath."

"I guess the Sanguises are getting what they wanted. Fuck..." he clenches a fist atop the table, looks across the tavern to its few inhabitants. Seafarer's Shore is void of Sanguis influence, not a guard in sight. He can't imagine it under their influence even if he tries.

Anguilla sits up, looks across him at the table. "Just means we gotta fight twice as hard."

Smock can't help but feel disheartened. The flame of rebellion within him burns lower than ever. "It'll take something real drastic to stop them. As long as Corvus reigns they'll beat us down."

"Don't tell me you're thinkin' about leavin' too?" he leans in, quiet.

"Gods no! I just," Smock fumbles for words, takes a drink, tries again, "It's just disheartening to see so many people go, y'know? I'll be in this 'til I die, this isn't just a career to me, it's my everything."

Anguilla breathes a loud sigh of relief, "Jeez, you had me scared for a second there. Good to hear it though. I can't imagine ever leavin' this behind either."

Together they finish their drinks and Anguilla asks the barmaid that collects their tankards for a refill, which he pays right there for before turning back. "So where are you headed from here?"

"The plan was to get on the next ship to Pirate Island," Smock tells him.

"Oh, you should head out with Piscis - tell him his big brother Anguilla sent you, he'll take you for free on his next fishing trip," Anguilla chuckles fondly.

Smock looks at Anguilla. The only thing he shares in common with Piscis at all is his accent, otherwise they're completely different. "You're Piscis' brother?"

The man laughs heartily, leans back, "Yup. My family is uhh... really weird. Just wait 'til you see Pistrix."

"You're Pistrix's brother too?" Smock exclaims.

Pistrix, often referred to as the cut-throat captain due to his brutality to just about everyone that comes against him, much unlike his siblings. In appearance he's vastly different from both Anguilla and Piscis, with completely black, glassy eyes, spiky black hair where theirs is wavy, dark blue-grey skin, and extremely angular and narrow features. His sharp teeth poke out from his lip and he has a scarred shark tail. Even his ears are different, with spikes at the bottom instead of a smooth curve.

"Yup. It's uhh... hard to explain," Anguilla chuckles. "I see you've met him."

"Yeah, we once sailed side-by-side to Pirate Island. My wife Ellamia, she would talk to him all day, exchanging stories," Smock smiles just thinking about it.

"I'm not surprised he liked her. She sounded like one free spirit honestly. Wish I could'a met her," he says gently.

The barmaid brings over their drinks, and Anguilla thanks her, pushing a decent tip into her hand. She thanks him profusely before returning to work.

Anguilla changes the subject before the air gets too heavy. "Where are you stayin'?"

"Uhh..." Smock looks to the floor, then goes quiet. He takes an awkward sip of his drink.

"You don't have anywhere to stay?" Anguilla raises a brow.

"Look, I didn't think that far ahead," he quickly defends himself, though admittedly it's not his best work.

"You forget your logical thinkin' skills often?" Anguilla asks before sliding some money across the table. "Don't tell anyone I gave this to you. Rent out a room here or uhm... your best bet is probably the next town over, the prices are dirt cheap so you'll have some left over for your travels."

"You mean Deadeast? I'm surprised that place is still standing," Smock remarks, taking the money and putting it in the pocket of his breeches. Last time he went to Deadeast he almost got robbed at knifepoint.

"I think we all are. They're survivin' solely on people comin' through at this point," he shrugs.

"Poor sods," Smock sighs, taking a drink.

They continue drinking for a while, Smock appreciating the company, managing to keep his mind from wandering. Anguilla refuses to let Smock pay for drinks, insisting that he has plenty money to spare (where he got it from is anyone's guess - even pirates usually aren't so wealthy) and that it's some sort of 'welcome back' gift. Smock rolls his eyes but takes it, figuring the money will be needed for his journeys, at least until he can get back to earning it for himself.

"God, I'm itchin' to get outta here, wanna grab some food out on the street?" Anguilla asks suddenly, downing the remainder of his drink and getting up from his seat. His tail slinks out behind him, idly swaying.

"Hell, why the fuck not? I'm in," Smock agrees. Eating might go a long way in helping him regain his strength, so he figures it'll be beneficial.

"Fuck yeah," Anguilla smiles, waiting for him to finish his drink and then taking his leave.

Smock follows him, the brightness of the sun a complete contrast to the dim tavern, forcing his eyes to swiftly adjust. Anguilla hums to himself, looking around, considering his options. Smock isn't particularly inclined towards anything, instead opting to recount the joyful memories that begin to arise.

When the little lads first joined the crew, Ellamia decided to introduce them to Seafarer's Shore, saying it'd be a great place to introduce them to pirate culture before overwhelming them with Pirate Island. The lads loved it, having gotten their first taste of proper pirate street food. That night the crew took to the tavern, and he vividly recalls spending an especially interesting time in his room with Ellamia once everyone retired to their beds.

Another time he remembers hearing that an especially well-known hunter was going to be making an appearance. Much to everyone's shock, he dragged in a whole great white shark, and Smock grabbed Ellamia's hand and rushed to the vendors as soon as they hung up their 'limited time' signs and started serving. He remembers it being damn good, almost tastes it in the haze of the memory.

"Hey, wanna try those whale skewers?" Anguilla asks, pointing to a stall with a makeshift sign indicating they managed to get a cut of Piscis' crew's catch. "I haven't had anythin' excitin' in ages."

"God, fuckin' same, let's do it," Smock agrees quickly.

Anguilla quickly takes initiative, ordering for the both of them. With the food he orders drinks made of local fruit and gin, and when Smock goes to pay his hand is (gently) swatted away by the ever-generous man.

"Where do you get all that money from?" Smock can't hold back his question any longer. They get their food and drinks and find a spot on the beach to sit. He takes off his shoes and sinks his feet into the warm sand before digging in to the food. The meat melts in his mouth, perfectly tender, perhaps a bit oily but overall delicious.

"Fuck, this is good-" Anguilla sighs in satisfaction, finishing his first skewer before he answers. "Money, right... well, my family are rich, to put it simply. I don't bother to steal out at sea, 'n my crew are welcome to funds if they want 'em. My sister comes 'n finds me here every month with a load from our 'ole pops - I get my siblings' money 'cos they refuse to take it, so I just end up filthy rich. I spend most of it on other people 'n all, ain't much a pirate can do with that sort'a cash otherwise."

"The more I find out about yer family, the weirder it gets," Smock jokes lightly.

"Oh trust me, it gets weirder. But I won't bother you with that," Anguilla smiles, idly swishing his tail, making marks in the sand.

"I'll consider that a mercy," he looks out to the dock, bustling with life, and then out to the vast waters ahead. It calls to him, tugging at his heart like a distant but unforgotten lover. To a pirate it's an infatuation not so easily dispelled, not by anything, and he longs for nothing more in that moment than to man a wheel again.

He wonders what happened to his ship, what inhabits it below the waves, whether it's been claimed by merfolk or aquatic elves or whatever creatures may have wandered upon it or whether it remains desolate and untouched. He wonders if the ocean has claimed it as its own, covering it in coral and seaweed, painting it all the colours it had been on that night.

Smock turns back to look at Anguilla, his mind suddenly turning to something far less comforting. "What happened to Whitmore?"

"You mean the traitor guy?" he laughs bitterly, his usual smile falling into a frown. "Last I heard he was lickin' Sanguis boots for his spot as a royal guard up in Gore. Needless to say he's dead if he steps foot on pirate soil ever again."

"That good-for-nothin' fucking snake cock-suckin' bastard," Smock spits out with a rage that burns almost as bright as the flames that devoured his ship. His eyes well up with tears and he drops his head into his hands, unable to control his sobs.

Anguilla's quick to come forwards, slinging an arm around his shoulders and squeezing him gently. "Karma's gonna fuck him up, he'll get what he deserves in the end."

Smock doesn't respond. His tears burn hot into his hands and a fire rages in his heart, one that can never be extinguished. Everything had been taken from him in the space of one night, by a traitor and the damned Sanguis family. There's nothing he wants more than to give them a taste of their own medicine, to burn their castles and palaces to the ground, to make them feel just as empty and destroyed as him. He wants to see them reduced to scum on the street. He wants Whitmore to feel the betrayal he had so callously caused. He wants to tear Corvus apart with his bare hands, rip him open to show the filth within him, to see what really lies beneath the King's perfect, made-up skin, to pluck each feather from his grand wings, to see how ugly he truly is.

They stay there for a while, Anguilla rubbing Smock's back soothingly as he cries, and once his tears settle they continue to sit in silence. Eventually the sun begins to set, falling over the horizon, painting the ocean in all of its glorious orange hues, then into a deep purple, and then deep blues as it becomes truly dark, the stars making themselves known. It's a beautiful full moon and the light illuminates the beach in a very gentle silver glow. The market is still bustling with life, plenty of pirates and sailors coming in for the night, and the beach has been populated by people who settled to watch the sunset.

Suddenly Smock comes to his senses, tuning back in to reality, and he looks to the bright moon. When he speaks his voice is raw and breaks between words, though he's clearly trying his best to keep it together. "Sorry to uh... get all depressed 'n then leave you, but I need to get my clothes from yer brother and head out to Deadeast."

Anguilla withdraws his arm and gathers their trash into a pile. "Right. It's been uhh... eventful?"

"Guess you could say that," he returns dejectedly, brushing the sand off his feet so he can put his shoes back on.

"Yeah... well, I hope you're safe on the journey Smock. I would hate to hear that somethin' bad happened so take care," Anguilla's voice is low and genuine. "If you need any help there's usually one or two of my crew that stay here for a break every now 'n then, so don't hesitate to ask for me - they'll take care of you."

Smock smiles a small, unenthusiastic smile, unable to muster up anything more. "Thanks Anguilla, I appreciate it."

"Anytime," he says as the two get up, preparing to part ways. Anguilla waves him off as he leaves.

Smock doesn't take long to find his way to the fishing boat that had dropped him off. Nobody's on deck, and when he goes to knock on the door to the captain's quarters he sees a note pinned to it.

Check the crate by the mast :)

He takes the note and heads to the crate, where he finds another.

Thank you for the help setting up today. I got you a couple gifts in return, I hope you like them and that they can be of use to you on your travels

- Piscis, Meru, and Captain Thaw

Intrigued and surprised by their act of kindness, Smock opens up the crate. Within it he finds his wedding clothes, folded neatly and clean, a black leather satchel, a grey-blue sweater (in his size it seems, he guesses they must have approximated his measurements from Meru's), some deep blue bandages, and a vermillion scarf. It's a generous offering from them, and he almost feels as though he's done too little to deserve it. He stuffs it all into his new satchel, slings it over his shoulder, and digs into his pocket for the money Anguilla had given him. He counts through it, weighs out his necessities, and then leaves some within the crate for the sailors to find in the morning before taking his leave from the ship and, to his slight dismay, Seafarer's Shore.

Following the street that heads into the back of the town and into the sparse tropical rainforest of the Riloran mainland, Smock is increasingly aware of the sound of nocturnal creatures all around him. Riloris is known for being rich with wildlife and creatures big enough to be his natural predator, and without a weapon he's pretty much done for if anything catches him.

Still, he continues his trek, following the dirt path, sheltered by wide leaves, following the spotted moonlight that manages to break through their cover and light the way. Moonpaths like this are common around Aldelis, but this one hasn't been maintained, leaving the light very sparse and in some spots completely void.

Smock finds himself about halfway between Seafarer's Shore and Deadeast when he sees a light shining ahead. It's orange and low, flickering, and as he approaches, mindful to keep his steps calculated and quiet, he confirms his suspicions of it being a campfire. It appears to be in need of more fuel.

The rainforest is not only too dense here for him to find his way around it, but it's pitch black, the only light being that from the fire. It seems like the only safe way to pass is right through the middle of the camp.

He lowers himself into a crouch, observing the route ahead. The path takes him between two tents and straight up to the clearing and the fire. Opposite that is another tent, so his exit isn't so apparent. A clothes line is set up, attached to two trees, hanging high above the tents and the fire. Most importantly, there is a man sitting on a chair next to the fire, wearing the Sanguis crest on the pauldron of his lightweight armour.

"Fuckin' snakes," Smock mutters under his breath. It's strange to see them so close to pirate territory, especially Seafarer's Shore where their influence is completely unheard of. Corvus must be getting brave.

Upon further observation, he sees the man's head is hanging and his chest is rising and falling very slowly, eyes closed and to the ground. It seems Smock has found himself in quite a fortunate position.

He takes a deep breath and starts to move forward. His steps are quiet on the soft soil and he places them carefully, keeping his head up where possible to stay aware of his surroundings. The fire in the middle of the camp presses its warm glow against his skin. In summer in coastal Riloris, especially the start (which Smock safely guesses it is), ocean breezes make it slightly chilly at night, so setting up fires to keep out the cold isn't too uncommon. He takes a moment to stop and stare into the flames, recalling the night all over again, willing them to burn their way into Corvus' bed so he wakes up choking on smoke and dying in their embrace,

The guard stirs and Smock takes a deep breath, eyes darting to the sword at his side. Whilst he knows he has a chance at matching one guard unarmed, he knows a commotion will wake the others, and that's certainly a battle he can't win. Uneasily he watches as the guard shifts in his spot, straightens his back, stretches out his arms, lets out a hefty yawn, and then goes straight back to sleep.

Smock releases his breath. Cautiously he proceeds, treading lightly around the opposite side of the fire to the guard, looking for his exit.

Much to his annoyance, the pathway seems to be behind the sleeping man, with only a narrow opening to pass by.

Slowly but surely he approaches, so close that he can clearly make out the man's full features and the prickle of recently-shaven facial hair on his jaw. Smock doesn't spend long observing him, instead squeezing himself through the narrow pathway between the man and the way out.

Smock is certain the man is going to wake when he bumps into the chair, but luck is on his side. Whilst he stares, paranoid, his eyes wander to the black coat on the back of the seat, about his size and with some curious-looking notes in the pocket. The man has a very distinct appearance, one he's sure he won't forget, the most notable feature being that he's a snow elf. They've been hunted to near enough extinction, and are never seen this far south-west.

His hair is a dark blue with a slight wave, a single bang draping over the right of his face, to his jaw. It partially covers scars like claw marks on his brow and forehead. A neat braid falls next to it, falling to his shoulder. Two light blue horns sprout from his forehead and sit back on his head, twisting in and then back out. Pure white freckles, like snowflakes, are all over his cheeks and nose. His features are slightly carved and handsome, and his jaw spotted with a couple stray strands of stubble. He looks quite well-kept despite being in a rainforest, and exceptionally peaceful while sleeping.

Smock decides to take one final risk. Praying to his God he reaches for it, pulling one side of the coat down with ease. The other, however, is not so easy. It's tucked behind the man's shoulder, and there's no way he can move it without running the chance of the man waking up.

"Fuck it," he whispers to himself before yanking the coat at full force from the back of the chair. The guard jolts awake, sitting upright and grabbing his sword before turning around. Smock is already running, putting on the coat, the night breeze whipping against his face.

A yell emerges and the sound of at least two people running kicks up behind him. Smock runs along the moonpath but he knows that'll be their idea too, so somewhere along it he runs into the shrubbery where it becomes sparser, dodging trees as he ventures deeper and deeper, until he can just barely see the moonlit path in the distance.

There he stops, trying to catch his breath whilst also staying quiet. He sees the silhouettes of guards running along the path, hears a yell from them, waits until they run further down to finally allow himself to breathe properly. The air feels damper here in the midst of the rainforest and the faintest scent of rain sits in his nose.

Smock figures he'll have to wait for the guards to head back to camp before continuing along his way. If he runs into them along the path, he's almost certain he'll be faced with an angry, coatless Sanguis guard and his equally as angry friends, and that does not sound ideal.

He runs his hands over the surface of the coat, checking that there are no snakes embroidered onto it, and then sticks them into the pockets. There's not much in the outside pockets aside from a couple of notes which he definitely won't be able to read in the pitch black of the rainforest, but when he checks the deep inside pockets he finds two small bags of coins and what seems to be rations. There's a couple of small glass vials at the bottom and a drinking flask. In the other pocket he finds a few rolled up pieces of parchment bound with what feels like ribbon, and if he knows anything from the wear and tear it's that they must be maps. With them is a small notebook.

He pulls his hand out and feels along the rest of the inside of the coat, almost cuts his finger on a small dagger, and touches the numerous empty straps alongside it. Smock can't help but feel as though he's struck extremely lucky with his impulsive decision, something that doesn't happen too often.

Silently he sits and waits, listening to the noises in the rainforest. Being a pirate, he's quite unused to noises and threats that the land has to offer, so the sound of creatures around him only lends to a growing anxiety. He shuffles in place, conscious of everything happening around him, every brush of a leaf against his body, every sway of the breeze.

Sure enough the figures return, this time with a torch in the leader's hand. Smock ducks down, crouching amongst the leaves, but the torch doesn't seem to be able to shine far enough to see him, its light flickering just a few meters away, leaving him obscured in the darkness.

When the light fades into the distance, leaving just the faint glimmer over the moonpath, he doesn't hesitate to get out of the creepy rainforest and proceed on his way, though he's careful to remain quiet in case the guards are still searching. He sees their footsteps trodden into the soft path and follows them, hoping that his destination isn't far.

Eventually the path leads him onwards to his destination. Last time Smock came to Deadeast it was run-down but still standing decently. Now it's completely desolate. The only light in the village comes from a single building in the middle, and it casts a glow over the dishevelled town, displaying walls of chipped wood and windows cracked. Weeds dominate the wooden path, overgrown from years of neglect. Buildings are stacked atop each other to meet the rise of the hill ahead.

The village is nestled within a small clearing. A wide stream runs in front of Smock and he crosses the wooden bridge atop it into the town. To his right is the cliff and the waterfall running from it, its crashing a ceaseless background noise, and beyond it more rainforest.

He makes for the tavern. It's the least destroyed building in the village, with at least a slight effort to cover up the damage on the walls, though that only counts to make it more noticeable. Beside the door there is a notice board, but he pays it no mind, entering the tavern. A bell rings above the door and everyone within turns to stare at him, some with malice and others with mere curiosity. Being a pirate, he's used to entering places he really shouldn't, so it doesn't bother him all that much to be dissected by their eyes whilst he takes a seat at the bar.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender is quick to come over, leaning across the bar to look at him. They're a short-haired half-elf, freckles all over their face, and black eyes. They have numerous small scars all over their face, as do most people in Deadeast, the rough life and the guard patrols unkind to its people.

"The most popular beer you sell," Smock answers, "and a room for the night."

"Sure can do," they say, fetching the key from under the bar and handing it to him. "Room four. If ya forget it's on the key."

Sure enough it's etched into the base of the key. He stuffs it in an outside pocket and feels the notes within.

His curiosity piques and he pulls them out. Immediately the first note catches his attention. The beer is set down in front of him and he pays with the coin from inside the coat, taking a sip as he begins to read. The handwriting is elegant but has an edge to it, as though written in a nervous rush.

To Sir Lukas,

I have received orders from King Corvus Sanguis to press forth your operations and begin to pressure Seafarer's Shore as your peers are doing across the rest of the Riloran coast. You are not to raid the town, however you may send guards in undercover to infiltrate and learn what you can. Be extremely wary as Seafarer's Shore is the closest in relationship with Pirate Island and any threat will be met with overwhelming pushback. We are simply here to discourage them and get as much information as possible. Nothing more, nothing less.

Good luck and report any findings directly to me.

Best regards,

Lady Erin Sanguis

Smock stares at it for a moment, blinking, stuck. This sort of thing would be laughed at by Sanguis forces themselves seven years ago, knowing it's a mission that won't succeed; pirates know their own almost as well as they know themselves.

What's more concerning is that the guards are still posted. All he can think to do is give the note to Anguilla once he gets back to Seafarer's Shore. He takes a long drink.

Smock opens up the next note. He reads over a very long list of observations of Seafarer's Shore and those within it. There are notes on Anguilla, Pistrix, Piscis, Meru... just about everybody that he met. He's already made up his mind to destroy it when he reaches the last and most recent observation.

The locals claim that Captain Undying is alive and well. Report to Lady Erin immediately.

His hands feel clammy. He starts counting how long he has until the guard writes a new report, and until that ends up in Corvus' hands.

Smock takes a deep breath and puts the note away. The next two are mundane, just the guard's notes about things he needs to get or do. He brings out the rolled parchment and the notebook from the inside pockets. He unrolls the first to see a regular map of the entirety of Aldelis, which is nothing special to a pirate.

The second map he half-recognises. It appears to have trade routes on it marked in blue, but there are lines in red marked in a language that he can't read, places circled and annotated and crossed off.

The third is the most notable, because whilst he can't read what it says either, he quickly figures out what it is. It's a map of Riloris, marked with red 'x's in seemingly random locations. Between Deadeast and Seafarer's Shore, right on the path, is an x, with 'Σστρατόπεδο Σ' written just above it. Quickly it becomes apparent that it's a map of all the guard postings throughout Riloris, a very up-to-date one by the looks of it.

Smock rolls up the scrolls, decides to keep them, and then opens the diary. The first page indicates to him the year: the one-hundred-and-seventh year of the era of the peacock, or 107ep. The book is populated by miscellaneous events involving the Sanguis family, mostly minor things like trade deals, up until the most recent addition: an open court date in the Sanguis Palace itself, held by none other than Corvus.

He spends a few moments flicking through the empty pages in the rest of the book, then he drinks down the rest of his beer and gathers the notebook, returning it to the pocket. He decides to retire for the night, finding his way upstairs and to his room.

Once he closes the door everything that he's pushed back settles on him like a stone. A sinking feeling presses down in his stomach and his hands begin to shake. He almost drops the key when he goes to lock the door. Trembling, he undresses to just his shirt and underwear, draping the rest neatly over the chair to the desk opposite the bed, before getting under the sheets, where he stares up at the wooden ceiling.

The room is nothing remarkable, just as run-down and beat-up as the rest of the town, and the sheets are slightly rough on his skin. It's nothing compared to how the fire battered him, or the force of the explosion, or the sound of clashing weapons all around him, or the screams and cries of people filling the air.

He grasps his hair in his fingers, pulls at it, feeling how overgrown it is. He pulls at it, trying to drown out the noise, desperate to even just muffle the sounds, or dull the burning sensations. Over and over it all replays. In flashes he sees blood on his blade, blood on his hands, the mangled bodies of the little lads, the warmth of Max in his arms, and then he sees the wall of fire, the flames licking at the air, Ellamia just beyond them. Then he feels the sensation of falling and everything goes black and cold. He jolts and it brings him back just slightly to reality, but it continues to plague his brain.

Slowly Smock becomes aware of warm tears rolling down his cheeks. He rolls onto his side, lets them drip down onto the pillow, curls in on himself and holds himself in a tight self-hug. He grips his sides, feeling his nails digging into them even through his shirt.

Even when I go back to Pirate Island, what's left for me? he ponders. He knows he can never give up piracy, not even if it's at the cost of his life, but the thought of sailing without his wife or his crew makes his stomach churn.

Being at sea with another crew would be no better. From what he's heard, being a part of an average crew seems unsafe with the looming Sanguis threat, and another deadly run-in with them would surely cost him his sanity. Only Anguilla and Pistrix seem to be safe options, but if they would have a spot open is a different matter.

For the first time in a very long while, Smock considers asking for help from his dads. It's the safest option, perhaps the smartest, and he knows all five of them would take him in without hesitation.

Finally he weighs out the option of just returning to Pirate Island and staying there. Everybody knows his face and he has talents that can make him a living, and on top of that his two dearest friends would welcome him back with open arms. The thought of them flashes through the fire, so vividly that he almost tries to reach out, wishing they were here to hold him. He thinks of them back home going about their usual routines, wonders if they thought of him, if they mourned when they heard the news. He wonders what they're like now, what they're doing after seven long years, if they've changed. He hopes they're alive and safe and unharmed.

Smock curls in on himself tight. His body shudders with breathy sobs and finally he closes his dark eyes, trying desperately to erase the scene that lies behind them, though to no avail. Too tired to fight it and keep his eyes open, he succumbs to the unforgiving grasp of sleep, allowing it at long last to slow his breathing and steal away the memories. Like death it holds him, and like a killer it drags him into a long rest.