RWBY (c) RoosterTeeth

Beneath The Tides

The Queen's Command

Nothing brightened Tyrian Callows' mood more than watching people die. The screams, the pleas for salvation, the smell of gunpowder, the rumble of cannons. Its was a truly beautiful symphony - a soothing lullaby to his ears. Of course, the distinct coppery scent of blood in his nose and the feel of flesh parting from bone would be a delightful little addition to the chorus, but alas he was content with this.

The Captain observed the destruction proudly. A clear admiration on his giggling face at the work of his cannonners and gun crews. The Argent Moon was appropriately named indeed. It was only fitting that the ship met its end on a night such as this, with the full silvery moon to bare silent witness. The thought only increased his mirth at the situation while he watched the cargo vessel's stern powder stores explode, setting half the ship aflame and left the other half sinking.

Its nose pointed up and the bow slowly swallowed by the water. The few poor unfortunate souls who survived the Argent Moon's destruction bobbed and swayed in the water, waving their arms with screams of mercy and surrender on their lips. They were all swiftly executed by long barrel rifles and muskets. Their accuracy and rifling honed to absolute perfection.

The Queen's Command had done her duty well and Tyrian moved from his station atop the rudder, taking deliberate steps down stairs towards the Captain's cabin. This fine vessel was a Ship of the Line, and a gift from his benevolent patron, and so he named it in her honour.

Truth be told, Tyrian had not anticipated things to go so smoothly, yet he couldn't hold back the delightful giggle of victory rumbling from his throat. His men were dutifully attending to the task of scouring the wreckage for survivors and summarily executing them.

"Captain." The Quartermaster approached him with slow measured strides before Tyrian could enter his cabin, his voice a deep rumbling boom. His name was Hazel Rainart, a tall stoic man whose brow seemed etched in a permanent line of disapproval.

"Was this bloodshed really necessary?" He gestured off the starboard side where the cargo ship had just been scuttled.

Tyrian's head tilted to one side, as if the very question itself perplexed him. Still, he affected his theatrical tone. "Everyone who acts against the best interests of our Queen must be punished accordingly. We are simply doing our duty. I fail to see how this wasn't necessary."

This answer didn't appease the Quartermaster whatsoever, whose scowl seemed to deepen even more. "We could have negotiated. Offered terms; One life in exchange for dozens."

Tyrian straightened his back, smiling his inane smile. "They were the ones who chose to harbour a dangerous fugitive from the Queen's justice. How likely would it have been for them to hand over their treasure so easily?"

"I fail to see why all of them deserved to die this day." Hazel grumbled, turning back to walk towards the man deck, giving curt orders to their men. All of them dressed in black uniforms highlighted with the same red eye symbol that decorated their sails.

Tyrian's affected smile vanished quickly. Hazel's infuriating determination to reduce bloodshed ground against the Captain's nerves.

Inside the cabin was lit by an oil lamp over the cabin door, its faded flickering light did little to illuminate the shrine-like arrangement of the room. Dozens upon dozens of long wick candles were set about the room, all of them congregating around a strange flat crystal-like mirror the shade of obsidian set at the room's centre. Tyrian unclasped his hand and reverently took a lit to one line thin candle and lit the rest of them one by one.

Once Tyrian had lit the final candle, he placed his own back on its pedestal and muttered the words, an incantation that his Queen had so graciously taught him. An ancient arcane language belonging to a world centuries dead and gone.

A swirling red mist appeared from the mirror's centre, expanding outwards in a flurry of colour before the image of his God Queen came into focus. She sat on her throne, as serene and divine as ever. Her hands clasped imperiously on her lap and her pale flesh the colour of milk. Her red eyes shone like the most brilliant fire rubies, and her hair appeared carved from marble.

"Tyrian," Salem greeted, the corner of her lips curling up in an expectant smile. "I trust my gift to you has proven satisfactory in your latest mission?"

The Captain bowed reverently to the Queen. "That and more, Your grace. I'm pleased to report that I've been most successful in my task."

Salem inclined her head ever so slightly. "Is that so? Well done. My congratulations."

"You honour me with your praise, my Queen."

Salem's expression returned to polite blankness. "So, enlighten me. Were you able to capture the girl?"

Tyrian blinked, caught wrong-footed and hesitated before he spoke again. The glow he felt from the Queen's praise faltered for a moment and he glanced up to meet her even gaze. It would not do him to lie. "No, your Grace. The vessel was destroyed."

Salem nodded slowly, considering this. She reclined further on her throne. "Find her corpse."

Tyrian blinked again. He feared to question or contradict the edicts of his Queen. Her word was divine gospel, her commands were absolutes. There was only victory or death in her service. But in this case, Tyrian feared he must... suggest a complication to the command.

"Your Grace. She was aboard the vessel as it sank. How could I possibly find a corpse swollen by the tides? Surely you-" Tyrian offered his hands, mustering his best effort to be supplicant to the Queen's command.

"All magic of this world is mine, and mine alone." Salem declared, reclining on her throne. "Find her corpse."

"But, Your grace. How can I possibly find a corpse swollen by the tides. Surely-"

"Be ingenious." Salem cut him off with the stern order, then gestured through the mirror towards him, a rippling red energy sprang to life from her palm and shot through the mirror.

Tyrian was struck with the full force of a blast like a kick to the chest and doubled over. He cackled even as pain wracked his body, the red energy transitioned to a rich purple before sinking into his skin. His eyes, tiny gold coins in his head, flashed a dangerous purple as the magics subsided. He straightened up and could barely contain his glee which all but washed away his prior fear of disappointing his Queen.

"All of the magic in this world is mine, and mine alone. For only I have the possess the means to wield its true power. But I bequeath to you just a piece of it, a sliver of my blessing." Salem declared, her hand lowering to her armrest. "Your vessel, the Queen's Command, was crafted with many gifts. Employ them. Find the woman, or her corpse, and bring it to me."

Tyrian rose to his feet, feeling the power surging and cackling just under his skin. Such fury, such magnificence. And this was the tiniest fraction of her true might. The Captain swept down in a bow, eyes still dyed purple from the magics settling in his veins.

"At once, my Queen."

Author's note:

So, Tyrian Callows was commanding the ship that attacked Summer. Are we surprised by this?

Check out Mr-Blind on Tumblr for the awesome thumbnail art I commissioned from him.

I welcome feedback and criticism,

Aurora313