Kithaere could hear the hammer blows stop, the cessation of the singing in time and the faintest of sounds as the delicate ring was placed to one side. She took in the strongly-muscled yet elegant form of the smith, her short tunic and sensible trousers - which she wore tucked into boots - protected by an apron in the manner of a crafter of old. The woman's eyes were a shade of purple, and her close-cropped dark hair stood up in a simple disarray from her scalp. Yet the observer of details could tell that, in a different light and another dress, the effect would be less tomboy and more gamine. For herself, the jeweller noticed the tall yet slender form of the Wraithsmith behind the Fire Dragon at last, and gave her a warm smile. "Well met, to you also, Song-Crafter; we do not often see your kind abroad from Lugganath, save if it be from Il-Kaithe and allied in war." Was it the sigil she wore, or had the smith heard of Kithaere's reputation? @Casavay
[Before entering the Webway] Iktomi stood comfortably upon his command platform on the bridge of the Arcadia. His ship, his home, and the last place he expected to ever see again. Desertion was common among Corsair warbands, however the punishment for doing so depends on the mood of their Prince... or in this case Princess. The various charts and screens of the bridge appeared before Iktomi in miniature size before a hovering lectern. He swiped lazily through the pre-checks, engine reports, liquor stocks, etc. All very tedious, but not all Felarch duties were supposed to be fun. That was, until a panting Avrielle blasted into the bridge. One or two of the more green Corsairs made for their weapons, quickly dissuaded by Iktomi raising his hands in 'at-ease'. Leaving Iktomi to once again greet a familiar sight, a dear member of his ensemble. Adjusting the wide brimmed hat, Saurid feather in place, Iktomi smiled broadly. "Many thanks my dear Avrielle. What has kept your attention away from the disembark?" Raising his forefinger and thumb to show them almost touching. "I was this close to calling it off and starting over from the beginning. Thank goodness you returned my hat in time. Thank our new signalmancer crew!" Everyone said thanks, if begrudgingly. It was simply easier to do as Iktomi said, rather than ignore him. He could be very stubborn and has a cruel sense of irony. [Later] When Yareli spoke and made to depart. Iktomi was compelled to watch as she left. Such grace and deliberate movements, her touch still lingering upon his ear and shoulder. 'She makes it very hard to stay mad at her.' The Felarch thought. Touching the floating stand, Iktomi sent a single order through the Arcadia's wraithnet, Access Granted, all levels. Just in case Any of the new crew member faced unforeseen problems from the more aggressive Void Dragon spirits. 'We're all Crew now.' The sounds Irlityra coming to from her trance make Iktomi wonder if maybe he had something to do with it. Having the authority of dozens of spirits can easily be taken for granted by those who did not sing with them. Only pointing in a direction and letting the rest take care of itself. Live combat was different, spirits had to focus on keeping the ship in one piece and repair damaged systems. Then the crew was truly tested, then Iktomi could truly fly. But that wasn't now. Signaling for a helmsman to take over, Iktomi took a few light puffs of orbo and made for the training deck. 'I'll get a few swings in before making for my cabin. I wonder if any of the crew went through my room while I was gone... better check for any surprises. Lest we start another ambuscade war among the crew. The last one nearly formed a blackhole inside the ship. Juri and his pranks.' Iktomi thought with a laugh to himself.
Spoiler Kortana's eyes flit from the warlock to the corsairs' flight. The two combatants disappeared within a heartbeat, but even so, little escaped the ranger's keen eyes. The dark gaze returned to the warlock, and she inclined her head once more. "Of course, warlock, I would be honored," she answered, electing not to comment on his little quip, and entered the chamber beside him, eyes turned forwards to observe the spirited sparring amongst the Void Dragons.
Amriel bowed to the jewelmaker before replying. "I came to see what facilities are available. I am Amriel, Fire Dragon of Yme-Loc. I was searching for this Chamber when I heard your singing. It was very beautiful, as is that ring. I had not expected to find such excellent craftsmanship on board a Corsair ship, although that is clearly due to my own ignorance rather than any actual experience." He took a couple more steps inside to appraise the available equipment. It was nothing compared to a true Chamber of Vaul, such as they had back on Yme-Loc, but it would do. "And I am not a member of the crew, merely assigned to it for the time being."
@Jorimel Yareli could not help but laugh softly, not in a mocking - but rather entertained way. "I see what you do, and I appreciate it." The Diplomat said, taking a slow sip of her beverage. "There are a million dances and you decided on those two, very... Poetic, in a way. You, just like I seem not to fit in here - at first glance. But what do you know of me beyond my name, I wonder? Have you already forgotten of Prince Yriel? Autarch and High Admiral of Iyanden. He may have been a bastard, but of Ulthanash nonetheless. Look what he has become, the most idolized corsair of all. I, I am only of a small noble house compared to his. Have I no right to seek adventure? Have I no right to lose myself in the whirlwind Iktomi is? To seize the opportunity and aid in releasing the potential he has?" She leaned back, relaxing with a wide smile. "Iktomi is... Unique. My father indeed had warned me about all sort of people, but you know what the truth is? He was unphased by my bloodline, origin, who I was. He took me for who I am. Not who my family is. On Mymeara, my old home, certain men would attempt to court me only because my father is in the Seer Council, to become a connection to him and gain benefits. But our dear Felarch?" She shook her head to symbolize her opinion of how he really cared little about it. "In a realm that was a dream of the past, yet reality. I saw him fence with brutality, yet finesse. It was impressive to see him not just talk, for I thought he was too full of himself. But he did in fact show skill with the blade that I have seen of no Aspect Warrior before. Fast like a banshee, but strong like an avenger, yet... Theatrical like a Harlequin. But that is only when he actually got my interest." Remembering her head moved towards the ceiling, her finger idling along the rim of her glass. "A fallen Eldar. Being consumed by greed, pride and other sins. Having become half-daemon it seemed. Carrying Soulstones, each so close, yet so far. Tears of Isha, spilled tears for our protection, to find a home for our souls." Her eyes came down to the dreamer before her, her gaze turning in an avatar of Khaine. "And that traitorous bastard dared to crush one of them before our very eyes. With anger, frustration and wrath we attacked him. Yet it was he who attempted to seduce me to a darker side, to as well fall. Because it would be so much more valuable to corrupt me, perhaps the rest of my craftworld. At the same time, I knew that I had to distract him to allow Iktomi and the others to fight on a more even level. So with my faith put into my companions, especially Iktomi....." She took a deep breath, not daring to close her eyes, focusing deeply on the woman in front of her. "And I let the daemon enter my mind, where I trapped it within, enduring the horrors it setup on me. Felt like torturous, long-lasting hours. But once it was over..." She smiled softly and shyly down to her glass. "He was there. And. In the darkness, the pain... He was a beacon of light... And when we talked afterwards... I realized, he faced this before. And his lightheartedness... It is not because he is a fool. I was a fool for thinking he was. But instead because life is too precious to spend with petty politics, bureaucrats, feasts nobody wants to go to, and all those other annoyances... Along with the darker aspects of life. I appreciate that, while realizing that Iktomi could become more, free from the shackles of Saarania. And so... I dedicate my life to him... Us. So I may show him the potential awaiting within, while he may show me how to enjoy life a bit more." There was a little break afterwards, drinking from the delicious wine, much better than anticipated - leaving just a bit at the bottom of the glass. "And for the record, lovely Reevia. I am no princess in corsair terms until he is a prince." The smile on the Mymearan was a rather bright, happy one.
The Corsair smiled in return with courtly good manners, and bowed his head in acknowledgement. He stepped out of the bridge and led Irlityra along the wide corridors of the Arcadia, passing a couple of the crew along the way. Some of them seemed a little surprised to see him strolling arm in arm with a stranger, but nobody commented. Juri himself kept a pleasant pace, occasionally mentioning some aspect of the ship that it might be useful for a newcomer to know. "If you take a left here, you can reach the Scroll-Room," he said, "it's the closest thing we have to a library; I wouldn't want you to believe that we are all uncultured louts here on the good ship Arcadia. It isn't so much as a Craftworld Scriptorium, but perhaps you might find it useful." "Not to presume that you enjoy only intellectual hobbies," he added later as they strolled past an open doorway from which the sounds of combat spilled. "We have room to practice more martial pursuits. The only thing we are missing, you might say, is a formal structure. And that is, of course, the very attraction of the life." He smiled again, a bit more widely this time, and paused at the door to another room. This one was closed, an ogival arch outlines in pale green and filled in with a delicate tracery. It opened easily with a simple tap on an oval pad decorated with an abstract design recalling the runic name of Isha. Inside, several comfortable, low couches surrounded a space covered in striped mats woven in a number of Exodite styles. The arched ceiling bore several lamps with many small glass panes, casting a soft light. To one side, a small fountain enclosed in a discreet gravity shell tinkled, tiny fish swimming in its waters like darting jewels. To the other, there was space to make tea and a collection of different cannisters, jars and wooden chests. Juri walked in, pausing to take a breath of the incense-tinted air. The scent of pleasant spiced herbs filled the air. He released Irlityra's arm, and waved expansively to the chamber. "Here you are welcome to come for quiet contemplation, to sit and drink tea, to be alone with your thoughts, or just to sit." He grinned. "I daresay the two might look identical to the untrained eye." The Corsair paused, becoming more formal once more. "Would you like me to make you some tea, or would you prefer some time to yourself, ma'am?" @Nurianis
"That's good," the artist said, pausing to look at Faenkon's pose from several angles, "but if you could just relax into it a little, try to bring a little more of a sense of everyday adventure into it. If that's not a complete contradiction." She sighed. Faenkon hadn't really moved at all, but she then seemed to be much happier with the results. Perhaps it was the slightly different viewpoint. She nodded briskly, getting back to her assorted papers. Crayon in hand, she quickly resumed sketching for a few minutes before registering his question. "Yes - that will do. Good use of the drone. It looks archaic, I'm almost tempted to include it in the picture, but do you prefer hounds or saurids? My name is Orthelya. Pleased to meet you, Faenkon. Is that an Alaitoc name? I think I've heard it before somewhere." Crayon swept over paper like a wave over a beach. She swapped for a graphite stick, blocking in finer detail. She paused, and looked up. "Brilliance indeed, such a charmer you are, Mr. Wanderer. But we'll see - perhaps with your assistance, I may yet get something worthwhile done."
Inside the chamber, a wide space had been cleared for combat, several circles marked on the floor. The walls and the high-domed ceiling offered places to climb and fight for the daring, or those who wished some limited practice with the Corsair flight packs so beloved by the Pirates. The sparring Eldar had forgone any such restrictions and leaped and twisted, tumbling as one sought to avoid the other, and to tag the third. It was a three-point melee - between a shorter male, stocky for an Eldar but moving with purpose, his hair short and practical as were his dark clothes and short stabbing sword - a taller, wide-eyed female Eldar with dark makeup around her expressive eyes, but a wicked backhand stroke with the curved sword she carried - and a third Eldar male, this one broad in the shoulder and dressed all in dark green, two daggers his weapons of choice. The whirling circus was taking in all of the floor and some of the walls, and it took a moment for the Corsairs to notice the outside world. "STOP!" the taller male called out, his topknot swishing wildly around his shoulders as he parried a last blow. "Others in the chamber, call the halt of Hoeth!" The trio paused, catching breath, looking at the newcomers with curious, and sometimes predatory eyes. However, the tall one strode forward, holding out a hand in greeting. "Kurneshai, Traveller," he said to Kortana, using the old form, "and to you, Seer of Black Ulthwe. Do you come as passengers or crew?" @Kalle @Colapse
The Crafter smiled as Amriel introduced himself. She held out a hand in greeting. She was not ignoring her other guest, but she did not wish to interrupr her train of thought. "Thank you, Child of Fuegan. It is starmetal, rare enough these days that I find myself making a ring instead of a sword, but one can dream." She smiled. "I am Nyshalla. You must be from the Lugganath Seer's group then - we had heard rumours, one always does. I am curious as to why so many of you are traveling with us, and to where, I will admit. But doubtless our Felarch will tell us in his own time." She paused. "And, as that is apt to be slightly later than doomsday, I will just have to ask his guests until I get an answer!" She went to clean the small amounts of scale from the anvil and take care of her tools, talking as she did so. The chamber was furnished with a small kiln, a smaller forge (such as might be used for jewellery or small repairs: no room, alas, for Vaul's blazing inferno), two sinks and racks of tools. There were a number of stands for armour, some occupied by pieces in the process of being worked on, and more armour was stacked neatly by type. This last was easily recognisable as needing the kind of repair only a Bonesinger could give. "So it would be too presumptuous to say that you work with fire," she said, drying her hands, "but do you also forge with the mind?" @MetalDog4 @Casavay
