A Tear in the Fold

With their pardons secure, Fyrian felt a new sense of security wash over her. The Fold had been spared Necian wrath with the return of the Golden Lantern, and the time was approaching when they would have to consider what to do with their new lease on life. The Chiron still lay below the sea, and the pirates as a whole had opted to refuse a new ship. Instead, they regularly congrated to place which their beloved vessel had been scuttled to begin attempt at rising it to the surface once more. It would sail again, and Fyrian knew that if any could bring it up from the depths, her men would be the ones to do it.

A small group of Necian galleys surrounded the Chiron's grave in a loose semi-circle. The Fold was interspersed aboard each ship, and a few could be seen in the water, ferrying what had been brought up by divers to be passed up to those waiting on the ships. It was a tedious process, but necessary. Anything not attached to the sunken vessel was to be stripped away in preparation for those with water affinity could begin their own tasks.

Fyrian, her red mane of hair dripping as she climbed aboard one of the Necian galleys after her own shift of diving, was handed a drying cloth by one of her men. Drying her arms, she turned to watch the efforts continue below her.

The girl, Erifa, could be seen darting about just below the water's surface.

It would be a long while yet before the Chiron could be brought up, but Fyrian was patient; she knew that it would ride the waves once more. She accepted an offered cup of wine, looking at the man who'd given it to her.

"It will be good to see her in the sunlight again, no?"

“Better still to see the Fold on board again, living and working under our own terms.”

Lagare slid one hand along the wooden railing that Fyrian had climbed over. His lips twisted at one corner into a hint of a frown. It was sturdy and well-crafted vessel they stood on, of that there was no doubt – but it was lifeless. Like a well-made table or chair, it served its purpose but had no real character and its owners would have seen it turned to tinder without much of a thought. That notion didn't sit well with Mishuran, who washed its taste away with a sip of wine.

“These Necian galleys have their uses I'm sure, but I for one won't be sad to see the last of them.”

Fyrian stood beside her Glaucan companion with a scolding expression on her face. It was half-hearted however, as she had suspected that their new existence chafed more than at least one of her crew. That Mishuran voiced those misgivings was no surprise.

Another drink of her wine, and she turned to lean against the railing, green eyes tracking up from the water to search his face. It seemed to be unreadable, save for the brewing restlessness in his own eyes.

"We've only bettered our standing with these people, Mishuran; they aren't our masters by any means."

“Not yet,” the pirate muttered, his expression souring with the bitter aftertaste of the wine. Nose-wrinkling, he sloshed the dregs overboard and was rewarded with an angry cry from below. Carefully, with both eyebrows raised, he set his empty cup aside.

“What I mean to say is... better to have these shores at our stern sooner rather than later. I've about as much taste for Necian politics as I have for Necian wine - and the longer we tarry here, the greater the chance we'll become permanently entangled in some web of...” - here, he waggled his fingers vaguely - “...intrigue.”

"It is a bit late to escape that."

Unlike her crewmate, Fyrian finished the last of her wine. She gave a brief look out to the waves, though she was unable to hide the light grin at his behavior. Through it all however, the disdain rolling from his was almost a tangible thing.

With a sigh, she set her cup alongside his own. In the immediate days following the Fold's release, she'd set their attentions upon the task of bringing the Chiron up from where it'd been sunk, but the time was fast approaching when the finer points of her bargain would be exposed.

"I don't expect many to be satisfied with the state of things at the moment, but I've done the best I could in bargaining for our freedom. We're lucky that the Phressian Satrap has garnered enough support for us to allow us even the chance to raise the Chiron from the deep."

She pulled in a long breath through her teeth.

"Surely even you wouldn't refuse the chance to raid the southern coastlines on Necia's coin?"

“On Necia's coin,” Mishuran echoed, voice almost a drawl. The warm wind stirred the folds of his shirt and the scent of salt carried with it made the Glaucan long for the open sea. “But at what price? Perhaps for now we may roam where we like - and to raid the southern coasts is a fine thing, I'm sure - but Necia would not scatter dole grain to the crows if it did not think it could make pets of them.”

A smile at that, and Fyrian watched as those in the water continued to retrieve goods from below. The sound of their voices below mingling with the light crashing of waves upon boatsides brought old memories to the forefront; in some ways it reminded her of times past.

"It is a good thing we are smarter than the crows then, I should say."

But, all things change. Some would wish for the old ways, but time had a way of forcing evolution upon all of them.

"Be that as it may however, we cannot always ply the sea."

She waved a hand in an attempt to better vocalize her own thoughts.

"Have you not considered that maybe, the time would come where we had to choose a path away from our previous lives?"

Bending forwards for a moment, Lagare glanced down into Ariadne's empty cup, before swinging his gaze back up to the Captain herself, a mistrusting arch to one 'brow.

“Just how much wine have you had? ...I can't tell if it's too much or not enough.”

"Oh come off it now."

With a disapproving frown, the Glaucan woman turned away to stare at the galley's prow. His contrary nature was beginning to unsettle her to a slight degree, and there was no mistaking the first stages of frustration creeping into her demeanor.

"We must all evolve beyond what we were before, and forge through the path of least resistance. If that means making pacts and forging alliances with those who used to be our enemies, then so be it.

"There's no sense in stodgily clinging to old and outdated methods; especially when doing so would send us into extinction."

Looking after his Captain with a suppressed sigh, frown lines appeared at the corners of Lagare's eyes. “You would do well to take counsel from your comrades, Captain,” he called out, as another pair of blue-skinned figures passed by, glancing darkly between Mishuran and Ariadne as they shared muttered words, “...'less you wish to find yourself with no comrades to take counsel from. At least offer them the courtesy of open discourse, so they have some say in the matter.”

Her green eyes settled on him in a rather placid stare, and Ariadne shifted her weight to one leg while resting a supporting hand on the railing at her side. Her lips parted only slightly, and she ran her tongue over her lower teeth. He was bold, to say such words aloud as he had, and the Glaucan woman gave a low snort of surprise at that fact.

"I could've let you all rot in a Necian prison,you know."

Her hand slapped at the rail then, as she stood up straighter.

"But that would never do. I'm as bound to you all as I'm bound to life itself, and will scratch and claw myself up from the abyss of the Dark Waters to ensure your very existence remains constant.

"Come with me," she gestured to the captain's cabin a short ways off.

"Burakan managed to bring up an untouched cask of our own drink from the Chiron's galley, and you and I must speak in private."

By the time he opened his mouth to speak, Fyrian already had her back turned and was stalking towards the captain's cabin. Mishuran shut his mouth and, after a pause, sauntered after her with a little less stomp in his step.

“Our own drink, you say?” he asked, stealing a glance over the captain's shoulder.

She knew that he'd be curious of that; as curious as she had been overjoyed at the sight of Burakan hauling up one of only a few intact casks that held the potent, sipced alcohol that they'd all grown up on.

Leading the way into the cabin, Ariadne hid a grin.

In the open area of the center of the room was a table, covered in charts, maps, compasses, more than one stylus, and other implements of navigation. But, set atop it all was the one prize that she knew Mishuran would be drawn to.

Sufficiently dry, the cask waited to be open, and Fyrian stepped to the side to allow her companion the honors.

Lagare clapped his hands together then thrust them out towards the cask and gave it look as affectionate as any ever bestowed on a child by its mother. The world over, it was believed that the gods had given the Glaucan's gills so that they could live beneath the waves but Mishuran would have sooner dunked his head in the cask standing proudly before him than dived into the deep, dark waters of the seas. He twisted the cork free and for a moment the Chiron and Necia could be forgotten, as a spicy scent tickled his nostrils.

“Ah!” He poured two generous measures and held one out to the Captain. “That smell.. always reminds me of dear old mum, gods rest her soul. Used to send me to bed with a half-cup. By the time I could walk, I reckon I could have out-drunk half the lads in the local ale-house!”