Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"I came here a few weeks before...Before I was taken," started the dragoness, briefly relapsing into the dark memories of her imprisonment, before pushing them back out of her mind determinedly. "An exile, Ezreal and I, were travelling together, and the weather was growing really harsh. Powerful lightning and winds that were nearly impossible to fly in. It was so harsh and unpredictable that we ended up getting split up. I had been trailing him, and I don't think he realised I was forced out of the air. So I came down here for shelter," she explained, nodding when she noted Septimus's sudden attentiveness at the mention of an exile. "I rested up there," she chirped, nodding towards a ridge raised several feet above the cavern floor. "I fell asleep there after trying to call to him, and when I woke up, I saw all this," she concluded.

"The exile...Did you inform him about...?" inquired Septimus.

"Yes, I did. He knows. He just doesn't want to go back. Or at least, that's what he told me," chirped Ceridwen simply; a fact that baffled the Scholar, but one he did not question.



"Thank you, officer," stated Andruil simply with a respectful nod, before pressing onwards. They were losing light, and with it, time. The Dunefox likely was a relatively small vessel, faster and more likely to get him where he needed to go quickly. But that also meant it relied on darkness to reduce its risks of being detected by raiders. The sooner they were aboard, the sooner it could get underway, and the sooner they could make use of the dark.

[C S]

Syria felt for Septimus. Another unwilling exile meant another blow against his mission and the standing of his and his father's reputations amongst the homestead Hueilin. She frowned at the idea of another dragon as troubling as the elusive Chassan, and her heart sank outright when she mulled over the possibility of this Ezreal being lost to the storm that forced Ceridwen to take refuge. It seemed very likely the case, as why else would he continue without seeking out his companion? Was he truly so unfaithful, or was it that his final whereabouts were far more fateful? And that was to say nothing of Ceridwen's own tragedy.

Syria closed her journal, leaving the quill to act as a sort of bookmark. In doing so, she closed her mind off to such thoughts. The mage then swung her legs out and dropped off from her seat, dusting off her coat when she was back on the cave floor. "Thank you, Ceridwen," Syria said to the dragoness with a warmth to her voice and expression. "I cannot speak for what has come before and what will come after, but at present, you've truly given us the most magical way to end a day."




Subsequent encounters with officers went along similar routes. The time it took for them to realize the company that came before their posts sharply decreased from one instance to the next, though there was hardly any spectacle to it, oddly enough. As daylight waned and the business of prepping ships for nightly excursions reached a feverish rush, news of the armored being and the Riverdale heir remained mostly unspoken across the outpost base. There were simply too many busy workers to care for petty gossip. The party of three walked down paths that the sails covered and through the shadow of the minaret, passing awning stalls and various crates of just as varied sizes and no doubt content. A few more caravans had their carts tied up near depots where merchant oriented folk spoke to the drivers and negotiated their terms with manifests bunched up in their hands.

A short walk past this receiving market, dockworkers were hard at work hauling deliveries to and fro and hoisting lines of rope over their shoulders. Nine great wharfs extended out towards the sandy yonder, each pier able to service two ships, one on either side. Not every single one of the eighteen piers were servicing a ship currently, but of the ones that were, there were sled-ships with their bows pointed towards the hub and there were sled-ships with their bows directed outwards. Incoming and outgoing traffic. The land-harbor was a busy hive of leather garbed soldiers moving supplies to and from individual ships.

Walking single-file through the crowd, Desrium, Andruil and Pyranex made their way down the fifth dock. Pier ten was off to their right, as the wooden sign below a burning lamppost pointed out to them. As promised, a ship was there in the soft sand, the mark of Valenhad being a stripe of navy blue around the exterior. The form of the sledder was very nautical with the exception of the notable bulges from which steel plated carriage wheels were mounted. Ropes were being undone from capstans by the time they came to the boarding ramp extended over the portside bow. In the orange light of the lamps, and the blazing sunset, the outside of the wide hull shined an earthen bronze. There was not much height around the sides of the ship above the sands, though the masts themselves were tall and proud, holding up large triangle-cut sheets framed by rope. At the stern, a prominent wheelhouse was fixed with multiple fringed flags bearing the phoenix crest of the Valenhad kingdom, each one bearing a deep blue and gold trim.

[slashmaster101]

At a quiet stream flowing through a small clearing in the woods that bordered a formerly Draxonian city, a large figure could be seen resting beneath a small sapling, occasionally shifting his position as droplets of water fell from above. The white steel plate armor gave much protection for the elements, and foes but when a few droplets of cold water managed the find their way in between the joints of the armor, it gave the wearer no small amount of discomfort. Sighing, the figure stood from his spot and stretched, arms easily passing the over head branches. Reaching for his helm, which resembled a roaring bears maw the warrior undid the straps and removed his head piece, freeing his long white beard. Looking skyward the man narrowed his eyes and noticed the suns position, not wanting to spend yet another night out in the woods, the warrior replaced his helm and headed off deeper into the woods to search for shelter..

[The Kingpin]

The dragoness perked up noticeably at that, the dense plumage around her snout puffing up as her eyes shimmered with pleasure. "Of course! I don't know many others who appreciate things like this much. It's nice to see someone shares my feelings about this stuff," she twittered excitedly, something that drew amusement from the Scholar.

"I wonder if we can make it to this place deeper in before we lose light," he rumbled, half to himself.

"Probably not. It took a while to walk down there from here," responded the dragoness, furrowing her brow thoughtfully.

"Can we go? Please?" asked Beshayir, hugging the dragon's forelimb pleadingly.

"I don't know...It would mean staying here over night. What do you think, Syria?" asked Septimus, his gaze settling on the mage, wanting her opinion before they came to a decision...




"Welcome aboard, m'Lord! And greetings, Desrium! T'is an honour!" came a strong, but chipper voice from the ship's deck. A man with raven hair and dark green eyes stepped along the quarterdeck before descending the steps, making for the boarding ramp. An elf with a bronzed complexion, the man was clad in a beige shirt and dark brown pants, black boots on his feet and a tricorne atop his head, worn over a white, triangular cloth which wrapped around the back of his neck and over his shoulders. The first of the three points of the garment framed the front of the tricorne, resembling a widow's peak in its angle. The other two wrapped around over his shoulders and tucked under his waistcoat, itself a light blue garment with epaulettes adorned with two stars each. "Captain Siril Vern, at your service," he introduced, stepping aside of the ramp as Andruil boarded the vessel.

[C S]

After some deliberation, Syria's answer was, "As long as everyone stays warm, I suppose there's no harm in it." The dragons were obviously exempt from the caution, so it was clear she was referring to Beshayir and herself alone, even though her coat was so handy at combating the elements. If there was anything her time in the jungle taught her, it was that nothing was to be taken for granted, and just because she wore a wirsah didn't mean she wasn't susceptible to a cold. In Beshayir's case, Syria shared the same worry overheard from mothers on the streets of Daaven. Anything and everything was grounds for some terrible illness if she were to take those snippets literally. Nevertheless, Beshayir could use the experience, to encourage her curiosity and appreciation for the natural world.

Besides, it would be a chance to teach the girl how to channel her own light when it got too dark to see, and that would make it worthwhile all its own.



"Vern," Desrium echoed in greeting and all but mirrored the captain in stepping aside for Pyranex to board. However, it was not formality that inspired his actions, but a worry. The ramp before him had no doubt withstood much weight loaded and offloaded to and from the deck, but the armored being had a doubt that it had withstood anything near his weight in one go. Deciding that snapping the walkway in two upon taking his first step across would be a marked setback in the travel plans, Desrium took note of the lines draped over the mast. It was less than ideal, but with little else alternative, he reasoned he could use the rope in a similar fashion to the lift back in Brodudika used its chains to carry massive burdens.

"Can you spare some rope, captain Vern?" he asked as he thought out this unorthodox course of action.

[The Kingpin]

The elvish girl's face lit up with excitement, hopping in place enthusiastically, until she accidentally stomped on the Scholar's paw as a result, gasping and hopping away in shock as she looked up at him with an apologetic expression. The Hueilin smiled softly, shaking his head. "It's alright, Beshayir. It will take more than a little girl to break my fingers," he rumbled light-heartedly. "Let's press on then, shall we?" he rumbled, looking to Ceridwen to lead them; a matter she quickly and enthusiastically addressed, rushing ahead of them with a spring in her step that seemed almost out of place on a dragon...



Pyranex, unaware of the Armoured Being's ruminations, held his head high with pride as he strode across the ramp and aboard the vessel, happy to finally receive the respect he felt he deserved. "My, that is a handsome gryphon, M'Lord. I can't remember ever seeing one with such striking features," commented Siril.

This prompted Pyranex to address him personally, his neck craning as his head swivelled to face the elf. "Storm Gryphon. We are one of the rarer and more powerful of gryphon-kind," rumbled the snow-pelted beast, still riding the prideful high of Desrium's motion.

"Desrium? Something wrong?" asked Andruil as he heard Desrium's inquiry, which promptly drew the Captain's attention from the gryphon, much to Pyranex's irritation, the two elves looking over the side of the ship at the former Justicar whose gaze seemed to be fixed on something in the ship's rigging.

"I could arrange for it...Any reason?" asked Vern, somewhat bewildered at the odd request.

[C S]

Syria panned her eyes after her until she could no longer see the smaller dragon after she rounded a frozen corner. "Dearie dearie," said the mage before she started to gather her things. Her hands speedily slipped her quill into its pocket inside her coat, capped off the ink and likewise stowed the bottle away and then tucked her journal underneath her arm. When she was all set, she slid off her ledge and jogged after Ceridwen, calling over a shoulder, "Ride with Septimus, Beshayir, I don't want you slipping on ice!"



"To cross as I am would be unwise," Desrium replied. "I would not want to risk damaging your ship." It would bode ill indeed if such misfortune were to pass before the ship started moving.

[The Kingpin]

"I'll be fine, Syria!" said Beshayir excitedly as she ran after the dragoness, only to suddenly lose her footing a few moments later as the ground seemed to melt under her feet, sending both of them in opposite directions, and her backwards, only saved from a rather painful and embarrassing fall be the pull of magic at her arms, pulling her upright once more and setting her down firmly on her feet.

"No dear, you won't. Trust us, ice and snow are not things you should be running in. People far older and more experienced than you have trouble with it all the time," rumbled the Scholar amusedly to the crestfallen girl.

"But Ceridwen's running!" responded Beshayir, still not convinced she had to miss the experience of walking through snow and ice despite nearly falling a moment ago.

"Ceridwen has four legs, dear. And she has a lot of experience in snow and ice. We have a lot of it where we come from.

"Okaay...I'm not going to run...but I want to walk, at least," responded Beshayir, looking at the Hueiln pleadingly.

"Stay close to me, then," growled the dragon finally, knowing it would be cruel to keep denying the girl experiences. They could not keep sheltering her forever.

The girl was satisfied with that, making her way, carefully, to the dragon's side.



The ship captain, unfamiliar with Desrium's specific condition, was confused. But he did not argue. "How do you wish to use the rope?" he asked after signalling one of the deckhands over to a coil of rope further down the deck.

"We'll be hoisting him up. Like you would cargo that is too heavy for the ramp," said Andruil, which only confused the captain further.

"Surely he can't be that heavy?" said the captain quietly so as not to be heard by the armoured being.

"You're dealing with a being that is innately magical. The natural perception of the world does not apply to him," responded Andruil bluntly. He had seen some of the arrangements Desrium had made for himself in Brodudika, and had long since accepted that not everything made sense in this world.

"Of course, m'Lord," said Vern, looking towards the deckhand. "Leave that rope here. Go down to the cranesman and summon him for me," he ordered, earning an 'aye, cap'n' from the deckhand, who rushed down the ramp and ran off towards the end of the dock with a sprightliness that one wouldn't suspect of a man who'd spent several hours making sure the sled-ship was ready to sail.

[C S]

Desrium saw the man go and subsequently disappear into the crowd and din of the late-day shift crowding the port. "Crane," he said, still looking down the length of the wharf. One could just about see the armored being's own confusion. "Should I not go with him?" he asked no one in particular. His understanding of such things went back to the harbor of Zuppoland. Gigantic vessels with bulbous bows fitted with decorated serpents, the type that required scaffolding built around the moors to raise and lower the foreign and immaculate riches that made the city of the shell such a jewel in the sea.

It seemed so utterly and incomprehensibly backwards to him to imagine such spectacle... surrounded by sand.

[The Kingpin]

"No need. The crane will be brought here, after all," responded Vern nonchalantly, finally at ease in his own element. He knew how this port worked, and while it wasn't quite like a marine harbour, it wasn't too different either.


Sure enough, several minutes later, a large structure, several yards long, was towed down the dock towards the ship by a pair of elephant-sized reptiles, thick, armoured necks holding up equally armoured heads. They seemed like a cross between a drake and a pachyderm, their legs built like pillars though their tails were relatively short. A pair of thick chains were attached to harnesses that wrapped around their torsos, behind which the crane was drawn. It seemed relatively flat at present, though closer investigation would reveal that it was made up of beams, notched wheels, pulleys and chains, and when deployed, would stand quite high.

The cranesman standing on the structure steered the two beasts to the ship, a sharp whistle commanding them to stop once the front of the structure was roughly midway past the ship's length.

"Afternoon, Cap'n!" called the man, a burly Valenhadian man who seemed like he belonged in the mountains, tall, stocky and powerfully built. "What can I do ya for?" he asked as he hopped off the crane.

"We need you to lift our friend Desrium here aboard," said Andruil.

"What? You mean 'im?" responded the cranesman, the confusion evident in his tone.

"Yes, man, him. Trust me there's a point to it," responded the Knight once more.

"Apparently the ramp'll splinter in two if he tries to board that way, so the best alternative is the crane," explained the Captain.

"I suppose...As ya wish, sir," responded the cranesman as he reached into a large wooden box at the front of the crane, drawing a large hammer and a metal rod with a wedged tip. "Oi, metal-man. 'Ow's yer strength?" he asked as he gestured towards Desrium.

[C S]

Desrium tilted his helm to one side to regard the strange contraption behind the just as unique looking work animals. The assembly brought to mind one of the few goblin trinkets he had seen in his time doing errands for the city of friends. The automatic wrench, it was called. Mechanically and functionally sound, if somewhat complicated. In his study, Desrium saw the rivets that kept crisscrossing wooden spanners together in the heart of the construct, along with what appeared to be a counterweight system in the center of them.

"I prefer not to boast," he said after some time.

He walked with some conviction towards the crane, careful to keep his distance from the scaled giants so that his presence would not upset them. He stopped at the rim that encompassed the whole thing, a balancing unit by the looks of things, and seeing as the man had a hammer and wedge, Desrium made the conclusion that he had to remove the pins that kept it off of the ground.

And so he did, without need of any tool. With a metal index finger and thumb, Desrium popped a bolt out of place with the ease of opening a jar. He did it a second time, and third, sidestepping around the circumference of the crane until he came to the last one, where he placed his free hand underneath the heavy rim. Desrium released the pin and gingerly lowered the frame to the dock before stepping away from it, looking to the operator for his lead on the other preparations needed.

[The Kingpin]

The man looked at Desrium, thick, fuzzy brows raised as he scratched his thick brown beard. "I can see why...Gods above, I could use an assistant with strength like that," commented the cranesman as he looked at his hammer and pick, tossing them back in the box before drawing a large crank, before jamming it into one of the large wheels on the side of the crane and twisting the bolt in the middle in with a wrench hanging at his belt, only stopping when he could twist no more. "Think you could rotate that for me? Over then under. That'll unfold the crane and bring it up over us," explained the cranesman...

[C S]

"Impressive," was all Desrium had to say to that, marveling at the ingenuity of the contraption in his own way. He took the handle in his gauntlet and started the turn, semicircle up, semicircle down. On the downstroke, the shifting of metal and wood was audible as the chains pulled and notched wooden gears rotated and locked into place. The interlocked lattice of spanners gradually spaced themselves apart with each pump of the crank, hoisting up pounds and pounds of wood and steel higher and higher as Desrium worked. The gears thumped into place, chains grew taut, and the labor of an hour or more was completed in the span of just over ten minutes.

"I apologize for this delay," he said when he was finished, "but it is my hope that things can carry on as intended."

[The Kingpin]

"Won't be long now," said the cranesman as he rushed over to the seat on one end of the crane, climbing up and into it and grabbing hold of a thick bar in the middle of two pedals, his legs set on a pair of similar ones. As he rotated the crane and pointed it halfway towards the deck of the ship, he pulled a pin out of the arm of the crane, the winch and the chain attached to it extending to the floor of the pier, hitting the ground with a loud clang. "Grab 'old of that, and put yer foot on the hook on the end. Leave the rest to me," said the man.

[C S]

A slight trepidation took the armored being then, an image of the crane toppling over into the sand, or worse, onto the ship itself flashing before his mind's eye. He reminded himself that the crane was designed for this very purpose, and if mortal hands could create a lift that could withstand the stresses he exerted on the world, they could create a crane as well. Yes, Desrium supposed those who devised the means to sail on fluid land had the merit to raise even the likes of him.

And so, he stepped forth, taking the chain in one hand and slipping a sabaton atop the hook, awaiting the moment of flight without the aid of wings, golden elemental or those of dragons alike.

[The Kingpin]

With that, the man began to pedal, the chain gradually growing taut. Andruil observed the crane from the side as the pedal sent one of the pulleys along rails down towards the middle of the crane arm, where it locked in place with a resounding clunk. Pulling a lever, a gear within the crane's mechanism shifted, and then he resumed pedalling. This time, a second pulley was being influenced, linked to the counterbalance, the weight shifting as Desrium was lifted off the ground, slowly but surely. It was only a short while before he was suspended in mid air, eight feet off the ground and level with the ship's side, raising a few more feet before the man stopped pedalling. Then he gripped the pedals attached to the handlebars he had earlier used, rotating them as the crane turned on its axis, bringing the former Justicar over the deck. Once there, the foot pedals were once again brought into play, lowering the Armoured Being onto the deck gently. "That oughtta do it!" called the cranesman. "Anythin' else?" he asked the Captain.

"That'll be all, Markov," the Captain called back, to which the cranesman saluted, preparing to retract the chain. "All hands, prepare to depart! Retract the ramp, weigh anchor and unfurl the sails!" he called, a collective "Aye!" responding a moment later as he ascended the steps to the quarterdeck, where the ship's wheel awaited beneath a broad cloth shade. Pyranex, meanwhile, walked up to the very end of the ship's stern in search of a spot that was not occupied by busy crewmen.

[C S]

Desrium let go of the line and stepped off the hook. Already, this venture into the desert was shaping up to be a journey unlike any other he had been on before. He looked on as the hook ascended and the crane's arm turned away, a passing thought going to the effort it would take to bring this Markov down from the height of the construct, and the effort needed to fold it away and send it back to its usual holding place. It was a lot of work to do for his expense, but there was no helping it. Perhaps it would be easier getting off at the Thimeyran port.

He was taken by the sudden activity aboard the ship, and like Pyranex, made to move out of the way as hands pulled the ramp into the ship. It had rollers on the ship-side, which followed rails cut into the deck to allow the walkway to sit flush at the bottom of the draft. Then came the loud flap and rush as air whipped out the fabric of the freed sails. The clattering of capstans followed suit, which preceded the strange sound of grains of sand brushing against the exterior hull, a barely perceptible sound that was like a vague rattling...

[The Kingpin]

The hiss of the sands was, at first, rather noisy. Or at least, Andruil thought so. Pyranex seemed to ignore it, though he did observe how the sand flowed around the hull of the ship, intrigued. "You get used to it," said Siril, noticing Andruil's reaction to the ship's movement. "After a few minutes you will tune it out, and won't even notice it's there. In the mean time, enjoy the views. The mountains in the distance are called the Razors. You'll see why when we get closer. And once the sun goes down you'll get to see the beauty of a desert night. Full moon, the whole cosmos sprawling above you...It almost outmatches the beauty of the sea in such circumstances," he added.

"I look forward to it. Is there anything I can do to help?" asked Andruil as he leaned against the edge of the ship.

"Please, you're a guest aboard this ship. I assure you this ship was going to leave today regardless of whether you asked for transport to Thimeyra. If you would like to learn, I'm sure one of the deckhands would be willing to teach you. But if not, you needn't worry. My crew is well trained. Together, we are as efficient as the finest crews in the King's navy," responded Vern proudly.

"Impressive. What was your purpose for going to Thimeyra before I came along?" inquired the Knight as he crossed his arms.

"Escort duty. A trader needs protection on his return from Thimeyra. His previous escort got sent away on an urgent intercept mission. A civilian vessel stranded near the edge of the flowing desert and under siege by pirates," explained Vern matter-of-factly.

"And you were the replacement? This ship seems a bit small compared to the other vessels in port," responded Andruil.

"Perhaps. But what the Dunefox lacks in size, she makes up for with speed and manoeuvrability. She's easily the fastest ship docked here at the moment. Three sister ships serving elsewhere along the route, but the Dunefox in particular is swifter than the others. Different armaments and cargo capacity. Less room for non-essential cargo. Fully crewed, we have enough food and water to last two weeks. The others have room for that, plus extra cargo in case they capture a pirate vessel. We can't do that. But while it would take them two days to get from Syranika to Thimeyra, we can do it in one. Or less, if the weather's favourable," explained the captain.

"It's a desert. When would the weather not be favourable?" asked Andruil

"Dust storms, m'Lord. A strong one'll turn these sails to tatters in hours, if it doesn't break the mast or pull the ship on her side. The weather here is strange and different to our homeland, but no less deadly. More so, in fact. From Spring to Autumn the heat will kill you in a few hours unless you're careful with your water and clothing. And from Autumn to Spring, the nights will kill you from the cold," stated Vern, a hand on the wheel as he spoke.

"I see...Now this coat I was gifted makes more sense," said Andruil, looking at his wirshah thoughtfully.

"M'Lord?" was Vern's response to that.

"This coat. A friend of mine, a dragon named Septimus, gave it to me. He said it was a gift he brought me from Thimeyra. It keeps the wearer cool in the heat, and warm in the cold, among other things," explained the Knight.

"Aaah. A Sahari Wirshah. I've heard about them. The greatest desire of any traveller," said Siril, parroting what he had likely heard of the garments over his time in the desert. "Thought they were fairy tales myself, but it's hard to argue against seeing it in person," he added.

"Indeed. Septimus wore one similar to this. As did a mutual friend of ours. They seem to be quite popular," commented the Knight.

"Then Septimus is a very well connected character. These things are rare outside of the nobles' circle in Thimeyra and the lords of the Abirus-Sahari nomads. Most people go their whole lives without seeing one. It's why fake ones are so easy to sell. Nobody knows what the real ones are like," said Vern with a laugh. It seemed he himself had been the victim of just such a forgery. Or someone he knew. Andruil chose not to question it.

"He introduced me to my friend Desrium here," he chose instead.

"Did he? Interesting. And now you two are both headed to the desert kingdom that wirshah probably came from. Any reason why?" asked Vern curiously.

"Just meeting a nobleman. An ally from the war," responded Andruil, deciding not to elaborate further.

"I see. Well, I wish you luck in that endeavour. I get the feeling you will be in for quite the welcome when you arrive. Thimeyrans are like that to guests," said the Captain with a chuckle.

"Oh, trust me, I know. Septimus spent a whole evening describing just how generous they are and how frustrated he was. It was quite the tale," said Andruil with a laugh.

"Oh, I'll bet," agreed Vern amusedly...

[C S]

There was much Desrium found interesting in only a few moments. Outpost Syranika was already receding at the stern of the ship, and the armored being was watching it grow smaller from his place off to the side of the masts where the crew made space for him. Loose sand was thrown up as the ship's speed increased, which would have made anybody else shy away from the spot, but Desrium did not mind the sand blowing into his eyes and across his cheeks. The scene alone had him transfixed.

Until he heard mention of Septimus. Desrium had found it curious that Andruil possessed a wirshah, but did not find it pressing nor appropriate to ask about it. Some answers were peculiar that way. Just as how he learned that some time after he had gone on his way to reshape Grymhaven, Septimus had met with the knight. It was tempting to join the conversation to ask about the Scholar, but again, it did not seem apt, in the same vein as questioning Vern's acceptance of a dragon wearing a coat in the first place. Was it a given that Septimus had learned how to change forms, then?

Nevertheless, it did seem that he was doing fine for himself, though.

Not quite himself. He had Syria, and the girl named Beshayir with him too

Desrium was content with that. No matter his hardship, Septimus would not be lonely.

And his reflection through fate's mirror, Desrium remained, for his otherworldly isolation was once again challenged by a mortal. When had he earned the knight's favor to be called a friend?

It was nice to hear.

[The Kingpin]

"I apologise in advance, m'Lord, but I'm afraid I will have to take my leave for the time being. My first officer will take over directing the vessel while I head below to my quarters to make sure all is in order there. These ships have vents that run through to the lower decks to keep the men cool, but it has a nasty habit of blowing sensitive documents around," said Vern, Andruil simply nodding as the captain stepped away and descended the steps to the main deck, turning round and heading for his quarters.

That was when he decided to approach Desrium. While the two had been travelling together for the past day, they had not spoken much, mostly due to preoccupation with the surroundings and listening for possible threats. Now however, things weren't so immediately dangerous. Aboard the ship, they were safe from wild, potentially supernatural horrors attempting to tear them limb from limb, so they could afford to chat more openly.