Soulbound

by Mistral83

What is a measure of a man? What is the measure of a dark elf, for that matter? A scholar who never had any aspirations towards adventure or great deeds is forced to face this question after several encounters with Druchii leave her life changed forever. Armed only with her wits and her education, she has to find a way to survive and preserve her identity.

9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Rules of Engagement

"Good Morning, sunshine!" Yalene singsonged and gave the sheets covering the resting human woman a careful tug.

"Go away. I hate you all." Lavinia groaned in response and demonstratively buried her face in the pillows of the captain's bed.

"True, but you hate me a little bit less."

"Don't care. Don't want to get up. It's cold."

"We have breakfast down below."

"Not hungry."

"Yes, you are." Yalene replied cheerfully, and for a moment there, she thought that she heard the other woman's stomach rumble a bit, although it was perfectly possible that this was just vivid and wishful imagination.

"… Did they hang the ship's cook at last?"

"Not yet, but I'm certain that it's only a matter of time."

"Yuck. I'm staying in bed, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Technically, that was true. As long as Lavinia didn't tantrum before the eyes of the crew or questioned Captain' Blackwater's orders even implicitly before anybody else other than his personal slaves, she could pretty much act with impunity. Despite the fact that two of the three newest additions to his hold – namely herself and the Tilean - were pretty much confined to it and his quarters, the elf was surprisingly lenient in his conduct. Yalene did have some anxiety about regular beatings and a lot of angry yelling, but nothing of this had materialized, nor was it common among the captain's slaves. From the sounds she could overhear on this ship, she had been incredibly lucky to count herself among those women in the hold, who were sheltered from the wrath of the crew. As for the wrath of the captain, she had only seen a glimpse of it; the true wrath and hate was reserved for the beautiful Norscan woman he had captured a while ago. Hjördis was the only one carrying her chains, and she was the only who was reportedly on occasion mistreated. She was definitely on the receiving end of rough bed-acrobatics, as far as the nightly noise with her indicated.

Currently, the Norscan was busy securing the captain's cabin like any reasonable sailor would and as it was her job. The troubled sea was enough to warrant such action, but as far as she had heard, there was a storm front on the horizon that would be hard to circumnavigate. With the ship's movements now more heavy, Yalene knew at least intellectually that any experienced crew was able to deal with weather like this with ease. Of all the women in the hold, she was the only one new to extended travel at sea, having only resided on ships before as a guest for a few weeks at most. But aside from Lavinia and Hjördis, all of the slave-women had been serving the Druchii captain for years. The Tilean for her part had been a navigator on her ship, trying to survive and thrive in a world that was still dominated by men. No wonder she was completely unconcerned with the current motion of the sea.

Hjördis was a different matter, though. Dark Elves looked down upon humans as a 'lesser race', but they bore murderous hatred towards Norscans specifically, and Yalene could not blame them. Norscan raiders were a scourge on the Sea of Claws and beyond. It was strange that one of their longships had been far from home so deep in winter, since the sea around Norsca froze during the cold season, making any passing utterly impossible. But when spring came and the ice melted, the Norscans were raiding, pillaging and burning again, as they had done for centuries on end. Other than being ruthless pirates, Norscans also worshipped the Ruinous Powers, and that made them utterly reviled. Even Dark Elves seemed to agree to this.

It was worse than that for Yalene. It was something that Nordlanders loathed to talk about, but the truth was that centuries of colonization, pillaging and raping had produced the predictable side effect that the vast majority of Nordlanders had some Norscan blood flooding through their veins. During her travels, Yalene had also noticed a few cultural quirks that must have been imported from Norsca, like the singular way the Nordlanders embroidered their collars and seams, the penchant for bright-coloured clothing, or even some celebrations like Doomstag that had probably been appropriated from another culture. Even the general tall, fair-haired Nordlander appearance mirrored that of the stereotypical Norscan. So prevalent was the threat from Norscan raiders for her people that Yalene admittedly felt satisfaction towards the fate of Hjördis' crew, which she had been told had been almost completely slaughtered.

All save for Hjördis. Even chained, this woman looked proud and defiant, her eyes glowing with disdain. She also had the nasty habit to glare at everybody and mutter under her breath, which Yalene did not fault her for. If she were in the Norscan's shoes, she would glare a lot, too. In fact, the defiance shown by this woman and her regular resistance against her proverbial and physical chains made her heroic in Yalene's eyes, despite her background. Hjördis had also used one of the three Norscan words to describe herself that Yalene happened to know: Skjaldmær – Shieldmaiden. It must have been shameful for her to admit defeat. Still, this woman was dangerous; even without knowing this word, the other women in the hold could feel it and avoided her. The Dark Elves saw the same in her as well, which was the reason why they had chained her. It was also the reason, or so Yalene suspected, why Ruvol hated her so much. She was strong, so he had to bring her down.

In contrast, Lavinia, as much as she had cursed at their first meeting, was much more docile. She was still impulsive and hot-headed, though, but smart enough to know when to keep her head down. Getting her out of bed was the next step.

„Lavinia, please get up. The sun is already high." Taking care to keep her sentences simple as not to stumble over missing vocabulary, Yalene now started good-naturedly teasing the Tilean by slowly pulling the sheets, careful to not startle her too much. She could hear Hjördis scoffing in the background, presumably because the tone used for this exchange was too gentle. Lavinia grumbled in response, but didn't move. Yalene had meant to say more, as she was startled by the sight of Lavinia's naked shape, her bottom having turned into seemingly being just one large, purple bruise.

To her complete and utter surprise, Lavinia chuckled and managed to wriggle her poor, maltreated bottom. "Don't look so shocked." The look on her face was almost dreamy, and she looked thoroughly amused. "I've never thought that I'd see a squeamish shadow elf, but here you are."

"How can you laugh about this? What is he doing to you?" It was correct, Yalene was shocked by the sight, but Lavinia merely waved it aside, the satisfied gleam of rapture in her dark eyes.

"It's hard to explain. He does it in a way that keeps getting better. Once when you get used to the pain, things start to get hazy, and then … " She sighed contentedly. "Bliss. Pure pleasure. Yes, it hurts a lot, but he caresses it away a second later and then starts again. It's euphoria after some time. Of course, I don't even want to think about sitting on a chair today, but it was totally worth it." Yalene must have looked sceptical to her, since Lavinia's expression grew more serious. "Don't worry about me. I have fun."

There was an awkward pause, after which Lavinia dryly added, as if she had just the first sober thought after waking up after a night of drunken stupor. "It's disgusting and I don't know why I like this."

What to reply to a statement like that? Yalene still tried to wrap her head around the fact that apparently, Lavinia liked being whooped by the Druchii Captain, and given all that insanity that was going on on this ship and what people generally did in their bedroom, who was she to judge her for that? This wasn't the same situation as with the Norscan. If Captain Blackwater did all this to her with her explicit blessing, then she couldn't even judge him for this. So she just patted the Tilean's head affectionately. "Nothing to be ashamed of. People do a lot worse in the name of pleasure. Your body is yours to use as you see fit and you two seem to enjoy yourselves. What's the harm?"

"Only that my body isn't mine to use as I see fit." Lavinia stated bitterly. She was … not wrong; it was just surprising that she admitted as such although she seemed to enjoy her captor's bed manners, and also a rather sudden change in mood. There was nothing that Yalene could say in regards to that uncomfortable truth. so she just nodded affirmatively and after a pause, handed her a nightshirt so that the naked woman was at least able to cover herself, which she did.

"I still want to slit his throat. Is that strange?", she added in an alarmingly quiet and sombre tone. Announcing one's own murderous intention towards a common master, especially since Yalene was a member of the enemy species from Lavinia's point of view, seemed only strange on the surface. But impulses, desires and delights like these always went deeper and were magnified by solitude. Lavinia was a social creature, after all, being kept apart from her fellow humans by the language barrier and only being shown tenderness by the man who tormented her, and only to be able to communicate with a woman who wore the face of the enemy. This was a terrible situation to be in. While she was lucky in being treated well, like a hummingbird in a gilded cage too small to move, her vivacious spirit withered in captivity, and her mind was crumbling under the weight of guilt and isolation, making this a torturous experience for her.

Yalene could not think of anything else but to try to comfort this woman. "No.", she replied gently, yet firmly, continuing in the most gentle and soothing tone she could muster. "You do what you have to survive. He pleasures you, but he harms you as well. Conflicting thoughts. Conflicting treatment. But whatever he does, your mind is still your own. Treasure that."

There was a long pause in which the Tilean stared at her incredulously, her dark eyes transfixed on her interlocutor. When she broke eye contact, Yalene just knew … Lavinia didn't believe a word she was saying, believed in some sort of deceit or verbal trap. How could she not? In her eyes, Yalene wasn't human, but something else entirely, something that every instinct told her to distrust. For some reason, that felt as heartbreaking as Lavinia's obvious suffering.

That moment that could have been a chance for closeness dissipated as the Tilean woman crawled clumsily out of the bed and took a moment to stretch lazily, after which she sauntered to the window to take a look outside. Captain's quarters on just about every ship that Yalene had ever encountered were at the stern above the waterline, so the windows showed the ocean behind them as well as the other ships in the flotilla sailing in loose formation. Raindrops pattered incessantly against the windows under darkened skies and black waves breaking against the ship's hull. Yalene stood there together with Lavinia in companionable silence; the lack of rattling of Hjördis' chains even told her that she had not only storm-secured the quarters, but joined in this moment of peace within the safety of the ship, albeit from a distance.

This silence was broken by a sudden disturbance on deck, which made Yalene's heart sink. Commands were shouted, and the sounds of heavy steps were heard on the wooden floors. "Battle. Very soon.", Hjördis mentioned in her heavily-accented Reikspiel, smirking while she turned to Yalene. "Scared, weakling?"

A bully in its natural habitat, how delightful. "The better part of valour is discretion. Unfortunately, pontificating poignantly before you strikes me as an act of cruelty." Seeing that neither of the other women spoke Reikspiel to this extent, she was certain that the only person currently understanding her own words was herself. She kept her town polite, even cheerful, which seemed to confuse Lavinia and annoy Hjördis.

"Hávær. Big words. You still bleed, Druchii." The Norscan accent was so thick that even Yalene had trouble understanding the words and gathered their meaning more from the threatening tone and body language that struck Yalene as posturing, not a real threat.

"Cosa ha detto?", Lavinia interjected defensively, mildly concerned.

"Hvað sagði hún?", Hjördis asked brusquely, clearly annoyed.

"Was hat sie gesagt?", Yalene threw in exasperatedly to adequately keep what she assumed was a rhyme of the conversation. Before more languages were thrown into the room to make Yalene's head spin, Captain Blackwater made certain that the mood turned in an instant. He stormed into his own cabin, making an obvious effort not to slam the door like he clearly wanted to. He stood there for a moment, just staring on the ground and so obviously seething that the women instinctively stopped in their tracks.

When Blackwater looked up at the them, they could see his features soften a little. His skin still stretched tightly around his jawbone. He took three deep breaths before he addressed Yalene in a terse voice. "Send the other two down."

Yalene had no idea what was going on, but the situation was apparently severe enough that any questions would be ill-received right now. So she merely complied by whispering the translation to the other two, gesturing for good measure. Lavinia at least had the decency to appear concerned, while Hjördis did no such thing. That commotion was not enough to scare her … how absolutely thought that in her human form, she had never been frightened in as alarming a frequency as elf Yalene was. Furthermore, she was apprehensive of the captain in the light of their last meeting, and that she was still confined to his quarters and the hold told her everything she needed to know about his opinion on that matter.

When she stepped closer to the captain, she saw that he was in the middle of getting his weapons and armour ready. After having them laid out on the table, he turned to her, his voice kept carefully calm, polite even.

"Do you know about the rules of engagement at sea?"

Yalene eyed him warily, keeping her body language deliberately muted and her demeanour reserved, while she spoke in a tone that she hoped conveyed the flawless politeness she was aiming for. "My apologies, but I am no fighter. I also know little about Druchii warfare."

He seemed pleased by that reply, taking it as an invitation for a more thorough explanation, as if he was teaching a child about a significant life lesson. "The first thing you have to know is that naval combat is slow. We harness the winds to manoeuvre into position and shoot at each other with our weapons. For humans, it's often cannons. For elves, it's ballistae. Whoever has the higher range and winds on his side controls the engagement, so every captain tries to get both on his side quickly. To have the advantage of the winds is called the weather gage."

Captain Blackwater's body language was more lively than usual as he described this topic that he was clearly passionate about. While he was clearly annoyed by some occurrence on deck, he still took the time to explain the situation to her. "So two opposing vessels could take hours of manoeuvring before shots are actually fired, while the actual boarding was done comparatively quickly.
That all means that I currently have plenty of time to get geared up. It is one of the many tasks of my slaves to help me with that. You've never worn armour, correct?"

She shook her head. "No, but I do know how to fasten a cuirass of human make."

That seemed to genuinely surprise Ruvol, as he arched an eyebrow, but did not wait for any explanation, merely handing her the first piece of armour, which happened to be a coarse, sturdily woven tunic that went over his shirt like a gambeson, although the fabric itself was surprisingly thin. While he showed her how to help him into it, he continued with his explanations.

"Regular corsairs don't wear metal armour at sea or only wear partial armour. The alternative would be leather, and there's only one thing worse at sea than metal armour, and that's leather armour." There was a vain smile on his face, his tone momentarily slightly suggestive. "But as you know, I am not a regular corsair. I am a captain, and my station calls for more elaborate armour, even though it might sink me. If I'm not smart enough to avoid being thrown overboard, or not strong enough to swim even with armour, that's on me." What an unforgiving attitude towards their leaders the Druchii had, and how easy they were to pose such a risk on them in the name of showing strength and daring. Following the instructions to help the captain into his blackened cuirass, she had to admit to herself that the design was more sophisticated than the human ones. It was strapped upon the body in about the same fashion, though. In the end, he handed her a heavy, green cloak that she had seen last during the sacking of Hochfels. It felt odd, rubbery and scaly at the same time, and also quite heavy. When she looked at the captain questioningly, he seemed to be back to his amused and easily entertained self.

"This cloak is made of Sea Dragon hide.", he exclaimed proudly. "It is as strong as dragon skin is supposed to be and so light that it floats on water. It's perfect for corsairs." Since dragon skin was known to be resistant to sword and hammer, it was indeed impressive that the Dark Elves had enough resources and not to mention Sea Dragons to equip their whole fleet with these cloaks. During the attack on Hochfels, the overwhelming majority of Druchii had worn a cloak like this; those who didn't, so she had come to understand, had been scouts or regular soldiers only temporarily hiring on a corsair vessel. She also noticed that despite the treasure she must have held in her hands, that the cloak itself was not well-worked, rugged around the edges and only barely held together by two clasps. With guidance, she helped Ruvol into this cloak, a little bit annoyed at how unwieldy it was.

"This is rare and useful material. Why isn't it fashioned into more fitting armour instead of cloaks?"

The Dark Elf chuckled. "Does this hide look cooperative to you? It has a mind of its own and doesn't like to be cut more than necessary." Fair enough. Since it was hard to damage, it was hard to form into a desired shape.

The whole time she had assisted the captain, he had been a picture of adult behaviour of the best kind, merely showing her what she had to do and nodding affirmatively if she did well enough. But now, she noticed that he hesitated, eyeing the door as if a terrible monster was waiting outside. Even more so, she received the impression that he paused and hesitated because he wanted to be asked. It was easy to comply with this behaviour, so she did with as much tact as possible, feigning more concern than she felt right now.

"We are not in any danger, aren't we?", she asked, a touch too melodramatic. That seemed to be the right dose for Ruvol Blackwater, since he smiled encouragingly and patted her cheek.

"Don't you worry, dove. I'll protect you." After Yalene pretended to be reassured ever so slightly, he seemed to weigh if he would say more. His features hardened ever so slightly, and for a moment, he was not able to look her straight in the eye. "In fact, this will be a bloodbath for the other side."

For a moment, Yalene was a little shocked. She hadn't taken the captain for a man who shied away from needless violence. But here he was, appearing genuinely concerned as he stepped away from her and started pacing.

Taking her silence as an invitation, he continued. "We spent the winter further south and were lucky in evading any patrols and organizing our supplies. Usually, we return home before the sea around Naggaroth freezes. This means that raiding season has not even begun and I am already in the race."

"Fortune seemed to smile upon you." Yalene commented cautiously while the Druchii kept pacing.

"Yes. In fact, the holds of this flotilla are filled to the brim. We can't possibly take anything more than a little bit of water and food. But we've been so successful that I meant to dock at an Ark in two days to get some much-needed repairs and then sail to Araby. If I managed that, I would cultivate my contacts with the Arabyan traders and wouldn't have to worry about Ulthuan patrols. This raiding season would be much easier." This was the moment he stood still, looking straight at her, frustration gleaming in his eyes. "And now, there are three vessels flying Bretonnian colours in our grasp. One is clearly a trading vessel, the other seems to be escorting her. The third …" He rubbed his neck. " … is a sloop, a little different from the others. But she is in bad shape and even though the winds are in her favour, she is still not under full sail. That tells me that she is flat out of materials, like timber and ropes. I just know it."

"So you have easy prey, but no way to profit from it. You are also on your way to what I presume is a safe port. Why don't you let your quarrel escape?" She assumed that an Ark was meant to be a safe harbour or port, or something of that kind. The syllables used indicated as much, but in truth, she had no idea what he was talking about, only that he considered it safe.

The Druchii captain clenched his teeth. "Usually, I would. But one of my officers has been undermining me for months now. He gave the command to beat to quarters and argued for 'target practice'. Disrespectful asshole." He started rubbing his temple, a rather strange looking gesture from Yalene's point of few. "This will be wholesale slaughter and a terrible waste of possible resources when we attack. Plus, the escort ship looks well-armed. As much as I dislike cannons, they will do some damage to the ships. We could repair it at the Ark, but that will cost me more time. If I call off the attack, I will look weak. If I lose time, I will look incompetent."

So it was inevitable that these Bretonnian sailors and traders would be attacked by the superior Druchii flotilla, and since there was no more room for plunder, there was to be senseless slaughter. If given the choice between being slain or being sold to Arabyans as slaves and having a fighting chance, Yalene would choose the latter. She was careful, left a thoughtful pause before she phrased her question in a more timid tone than she was used to.

"Why not take the vessels as prizes? This would give you more storage."

There was an audible snort before he started huffing. "That is simply not done. No true Druchii would lower themselves to work on a human vessel." That might have been the case, but she had seen greed glimmering in his eyes for a split-second.

"I am so sorry, I just thought … well, since this Ark is so close. The crew will respect you more for bloodshed than for more profit, yes?"

She saw the proud Druchii captain cursing under his breath, then rushing to his weapons and fastening them on his belt, grumbling all along. "We can tow them. It's just two days … it'll work." Pausing, he looked at her, his face gradually brightening. "I could put Viroges, my dearest, rebellious officer. in command of a prize vessel. That would be shameful for him. I want to do that. I will do that! Great, now I have a plan. Get to safety, dove. I'll be back soon!". Before Yalene knew it, he planted a quick kiss on her brow, turning so dramatically that even the heavy lizard skin flew, scooped up his helmet and marched out of the door. He did this with so much style and panache that Yalene had to close the door behind him, and then returned to the hold to huddle up with the other women and weather the slaughter of innocent Bretonnians.

Neither her books, nor Hendrik or Ruvol had been lying when they had stated that naval combat, even in the storm, was a long, drawn-out affair. A lot of stitching, sewing, knitting and gossiping was done before they could hear the twanging of Druchii ballistae and cannonfire in the distance across the howling of the wind. From the movements on the ship, Yalene could feel that they were sailing around the edge of the storm and meeting only moderate winds, but even then, the ship only erupted twice when the hull was hit by a cannonball, but it seemed to Yalene that only one battery saw any use. Not long thereafter, shouts and cheering erupted and turned into battlecries. As far as she could tell from the soundscape, the Bretonnians were indeed overrun quickly, as apparently, none of them managed to board the Druchii vessel they were on. The sounds of battle, clashing of swords, shouts of men and a few women fighting and dying faded more and more, until a victory cheer from the Dark Elves told Yalene that the Bretonnians had either struck the colours or had been so completely overwhelmed that any resistance had died down. The pursuit and demise of three ships had taken four hours, and the aftermath of the battle did take longer. It had been tense hours for Yalene, in which she had told herself over and over that her words had prevented a much worse bloodbath, that the victory of the elves had been decided by their higher numbers, faster ships and difference in weaponry.

For once, Yalene was thankful that she was currently not allowed to go on deck. It had been morning when she had tried to rise Lavinia and the Bretonnians had been sighted. Now, over the course of the day, her fellow slaves hurried into the kitchen or went to tend to Captain Blackwater and his wounds he hopefully had received. What she heard from the other women was that he had of course survived and that his losses had been miniscule, only confirming what Blackwater had already told her – the Bretonnians had been outmatched, and two of the three ships had indeed been taken as prizes and were now being towed.

The situation calmed down enough that she could take a break from her tireless sewing and have a humble dinner while listening to the sounds above and beyond the wall that parted her from the rest of the hold. It sounded like drunken celebration. And all she had done in the meantime was making certain that she had a second dress to work with, with Mireille and Agnés anxiously working on a third one, which Yalene thought was too much effort. She tried to have pity for the Bretonnians, but she felt so numb to pain. Since she wasn't forced to watch them, it was easy to feel numb.

Even the steady chatter by Agnés and Katharina, the dry, sarcastic remarks by Lavinia and Cevirin and the constant glares from Hjördis that would normally amuse and entertain her now felt like an intrusion. So feigning to be indisposed, she retreated to the tiny bathroom in the captain's cabin to get at least a little privacy.

She hadn't noticed that the sky had gone so dark again, that night had fallen in the meantime. How fast time could run. Preparing herself to nurture her wounded conscience with a philosophical debate with the best opponent she could currently think of, namely herself, she had already started to ponder, when she heard the door in the captain's cabin opening. Startled and acting completely on instinct, she had crouched down behind the thick curtain that obscured the bathroom from the cabin. For a moment, the blood rushing through her ears seemed so loud, but she remained perfectly still and was apparently not noticed by the three Druchii now gathering in the cabin around the table. From her position, she could peer into the room from the smallest opening in the curtain. Even with the lighting not in her favour, she immediately recognized the tall frame of Captain Blackwater, as well as the withered and frail form of Nisha, the sorceress who had hexed her secret out of her. The third one, Yalene identified as the first mate Iruvan, a man who frequented the captain's quarters, but whom she had only seen in passing.

They were whispering among each other, with Nisha gesticulating wildly. "I could do so much more with a prize like this. Imagine the strides we could do!"

Ruvol Blackwater regarded her coolly, his voice stern. "I think not."

The scarred sorceress scoffed at this reply. "Why not? She is of no use to you and will only serve to bore you once the shine wears off. But if I could recreate the ritual, do you know what this would mean?" Her voice was breaking as she ran her fingers across her face, but her words dripped with acid. "That hag Morathi is guarding the secret to immortality for her and her precious son only. She will never share it with us, her loyal followers. But if we could just use able bodies … I could be whole again. The strongest of us would not have to fear death. We could become immortal!"

"That's how magic works, Nisha? Or is that how you wish it worked?" The demeanour and voice of Ruvol Blackwater was now sympathetic, but still firm and unyielding. "What you dream about can't be done. You heard the human; the ritual failed, and the sorceress must have studied this for a longer time than you do. Besides, you have no way of experimenting safely on this ship."

"I was hoping that you would release me from your service and allow me to go home to conduct my experiments …" It was almost pitiful how this undoubtedly powerful crone now started pleading, but Blackwater cut her off quickly.

"Last time I checked, I have bought your services for the next two years. I don't fancy raiding without a trustworthy and competent sorceress on my side, especially if she wants to run off on some fool's errand."

"Do not insult my art, boy." Her rebuke was so sharp and intense that even the faintest part of her faux-friendly persona crumbled to dust in an instant. It allowed Yalene to be able to catch a glimpse of the cruel and dangerous woman this crone was able to be. The sorceress' whole demeanour changed, as if a shadow was cast over her features, her voice cutting as a knife. "Pray that nobody tells the Hag Queen about your little secret."

This time, it was the first mate who responded in the same, sharp tone while the captain glared at her. "Pray that nobody does. The Hag Queen demands complete loyalty, after all. It would be a shame if anybody told her about your plans and delusions of immortality."

That argument seemed to have the desired effect, as it successfully silenced the sorceress, whose eyes narrowed as she now regarded the first mate like an insect that had managed to sting her.

"The word of a successful corsair captain carries more weight than yours, sorceress. You know that." It was Ruvol who feigned sympathy for her, and feigned it badly. The sorceress reacted with cold disdain as she turned around and marched to the door, only to turn around at the last second to have the last word.

"I hope for your sake that you remain successful, Captain." With these chilling words, she departed, slamming the door for good measure. Yalene's head was spinning … she had wondered if somebody would take advantage of her state, but she didn't know that it would be so fast and would cause so many problems. She had heard the name Morathi, had read a little about her, but that had always been the narrative of the High Elves she knew. As far as the Asur were concerned, Morathi was the mother of all Druchii, the architect of their society, her feminine wiles and exquisite, seductive beauty only matched by her cruelty and greed. She and her son were the rules of the Dark Elves, with Morathi being believed to have poisoned their wayward cousins with her hate and her ambition. So even though the truth was almost certainly more complex, Yalene could see that this exchange was not only tense, but invoking the name of a tyrant Queen did drive a wedge between a formerly loyal sorceress and her commander. Since she was firmly on the side that guaranteed her survival, this was a disheartening and frightening situation.

While she tried to calm her racing heart, she saw that the two remaining elves checked the door to make certain that they were undisturbed, before quietly talking among themselves.

"That might become a problem.", the first mate remarked dryly.

"Is there any way it won't be?", Ruvol Blackwater retorted before slightly shaking his head. "That woman is too clever by half. I don't trust her, so she doesn't get her way in this case."

"As you wish. We also need to talk about Viroges …", the first mate probed, which only served to make Ruvol Blackwater press his forehead against the table and groaned. Iruvan seemed awfully unfazed and continued in the same, businesslike manner. "Very well. Show me your unicorn and then we can talk about our enterprising officer."

Harrijassesne! How was she to get out of this one? If they called her up from the hold - where she was supposed to be - , it would quickly become apparent that she had eavesdropped. Listening in on a conversation that she decidedly should not have heard could only be detrimental to her health, so she decided to be offended by all of this later and act first. With a silent prayer to Ranald for luck, the Azure Man for guidance and Shallya just in case everything went absolutely wrong, she looked from her position. What little she could see, she determined that the two elves were currently facing the window, having turned their backs to her position. The way to the door to the hold was clear, as she had to merely step through the curtain to arrive at the door. So she only needed a distraction to make this one, important step without being seen.

Following her first instinct, she went for the risky route, silently weaving the strands of magic and focused on the window. She imagined that little game she had played with her father when she was young, when he taught her how to use the winds to make people drop things. Having a dab of butter was always helpful in such an endeavour, but alas, she had nothing of this sort. This time, however, it was the window that was to be buttered.

It worked like a charm. The windows flew open, bringing with them strong winds, making the paper maps fly and distracting both elves enough so that she could slip through the curtain and dart to the door, where she simply laid her hand on the handle. That tiny display of magic without the safety of an arcane language and a more ritualistic approach came at a cost, for she could feel cold and unnatural winds around the captain's cabin, something that was hidden through the winds of the storm, but probably felt like a bad omen for the two elves, who had just closed the window as the winds of chaos receded. Ruvol and Iruvan spotted her almost immediately, while she had frozen in her movements, fumbling for words.

"I-I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to intrude …"

The two elves exchanged slightly baffled looks, then beckoned her to come closer, to which she complied. "We were about to send for you anyway. I have a task for you in a minute. Stay there." He managed to even wink. While Yalene silently complied as to make as little fuss as possible, she was finally able to take a closer look at the first mate and listen to the conversation.

Iruvan himself was tall, slender as a bow, with a thin face that barely showed any emotion at all. His skin was pale with a greyish hue, only marred by a small, faded scar at his neck, but otherwise, he seemed too stoic to be wounded in battle. Unlike Ruvol, who favoured tying his hair back in a ponytail when on deck, he wore his hair loose aside from two small braids to keep the strands of hair out of his face.

"About Viroges …" He began again, and once more, the good captain groaned. That display of displeasure was quite disappointing. Throughout the conversation with the sorceress and now with his second-in-command, Captain Blackwater had been surprisingly businesslike and level-headed, carrying himself with an air of authority and the slight detachment that came with that kind of sensible leadership. But apparently, hers and the first mate's presence were non-threatening enough to relax and let his guard down, as he listened to Iruvan. "Your decision to sail for Araby is a sound one, especially if the repairs don't take too much time. Viroges will try to undermine this decision, though."

"I certainly hope so." Ruvol smiled a little too smugly. "Time to lure him out. He's questioned me almost openly. Now I turned his little scheme into victory, he is miserable on this human boat and lost a lot of credibility when he badmouthed the 'don't fuck children'-rule."

Iruvan shook his head in apparent incomprehension. "He did that on principle, not because he wants to get his hands on kids. Now he wages his whisper campaign to undermine you. It will only get worse, especially since he's under the illusion that this would net him prestige and a promotion."

"That's why I'm escalating now. I'd rather deal with this sooner than let it fester. He's still only rumour mongering and being a general pain in the ass, isn't he?" When Iruvan nodded, he enquired. "Well, what kind of rumours is he spreading?"

"The usual, mostly harping on your 'weakness'." The first mate seemed almost bored. "He's especially irked that you don't sacrifice more slaves to Mathlann and Khaine. He also mentions that you are young and brash." For a moment, there was a flicker of an amused smile on Iruvan's face. "He is also likening you to an animal in heat because of your treatment of your slaves."

"You can always sacrifice more to the gods, but I have a crew to pay and ships to repair. He knows that. As for my women: he can only say that because Viroges is a self-absorbed rapist brute who deludes himself thinking he acts with finesse. Pshaw! If he were captain, he would have a hold full of beautiful women as well." Yalene had to contain an amused smile as she heard that statement out of this particular mouth, but managed to remain unmoving, stone-faced and listening attentively as Ruvol rubbed his temple with two fingers. "Seriously, I'll never understand anybody who just throws themselves on a cold, tense woman's body.", he huffed. "True art lies in seduction, not only in pleasure, but in all things, to find out what the other wants, and then give it to them. For example, Viroges is now looking for a reason to rebel. Let's give it to him. Let's announce a few common sense rules – he will protest, because he currently protests everything, and then watch him self-destruct before the crew he tries to sway."

Iruvan tipped his chin pensively. "Yes, that could work. But we need to be clever about this and approach those rules patiently. His rage is not going to fade anytime soon, thanks to you, nor is his ambition. We have time to set it up." There was a hint of teasing now in his voice, almost too subtle under his monotone speech patterns to notice. "Let's see if he can be 'seduced' towards ruin."

"You still think it's funny?"

"Very." Iruvan noted with amusement so dry, it had collected dust for centuries. He then turned towards Yalene. "What do you think of Captain Blackwater's skill in seduction?"

"The art of ferreting out another person's motives, desires and intentions is known to me as 'empathy' and 'diplomacy'." Yalene tried to answer in as pleasant a tone to the obvious trick question as she could muster without shifting uncomfortably, now raising her gaze to meet the other man's. "This only proves how little I know about this matter, and thus I am not qualified to cast any judgement."

For an obviously stoic person, Iruvan answered in good humour, arching an eyebrow. "Is that so? I find that hard to believe. You must have some knowledge about seduction in general."

Yalene couldn't decide if the first mate was currently trying to test her personality by throwing a barb at her, or if he was making fun of his superior officer right under his nose. Since Ruvol was currently content listening to their conversation with an attentive expression on his face, Yalene decided to tread with care and only give the slightest hint of ammunition. So she played along with the first mate's good humour in the same, pleasant tone, her voice as warm and soft as melted butter. "I only have second-hand knowledge. Seduction speaks to desires only, so it takes empathy to recognise them in oneself and others."

Iruvan nodded in obvious agreement, so that Yalene was now absolutely certain that he was currently playing a little good-natured game with Ruvol, with her being a willing participant. "Well said. Empathy seems to be the most important quality to know what speaks to heart, mind and soul of a person. But there are a few qualities that seem to be attractive to a great many people. A tall, dark and handsome man appears to be generally popular." It might have been a trick of the light, but there was the barest flicker of an implied wink, the hint of an expression on the first mate's face without the eyelids moving.

"I concur." Yalene replied. "Especially if said tall, dark and handsome man carries some obvious emotional scars … why, it is the most delicious prey for very young women and her desire to soothe those scars. To heal a broken person is the epitome of romance for childish dreams."

There was a certain tone in his voice, barely perceivable, that made Yalene believe that Iruvan tried to tell her something important in this otherwise pleasant exchange. He stroked his chin while eying her, a flicker of a certain intensity creeping into his demeanour. "Youth is a time for romance and childish dreams. Some feed their whole lives with the passions of past days, whether they eventually grow up or not. Be careful not to mock those desires." The shift back to the more playful part of the conversation was again, barely perceptible, but didn't avoid Yalene's notice. Iruvan nodded empathetically, turning to the mildly confused Ruvol. "What an interesting young thing you have there. I like that. You wouldn't let me purchase Mireille. Can I buy her instead?"

"Absolutely not!" Ruvol laughed. "I don't sell my women to smartasses. Now get yourself on deck."

"Aye, Captain." Iruvan replied a touch too courteously, and there was even a hint of a smile on his face. "Take my advice though and remember that hands tell a lot about a person. Good evening." With these words, he took his leave. As soon as he had closed the door behind him and went back onto the rainy deck, Ruvol Blackwater turned to Yalene, clicking his tongue amusedly for a moment, but otherwise let the matter of their small conversation drop.

"Show me your hands." He demanded in a surprisingly gentle tone, considering the kind of bitter note she had seen him the last time a few days ago. Knowing better than to argue that kind of clear instruction, she raised her hands slightly, palms down and fingers slightly spread as if for inspection. And inspected they were, for the elven man stepped close to her, taking her hands into his and studying them. His skin was of a slightly darker hue and felt a little rough and calloused as he compared both of their hands, his being a little larger.

"I can see what Iruvan meant.", he finally stated, and Yalene could see it as well. Her own hands were all but pristine, aside from the traces of what work she had done the past few days. The skin was completely smooth, untouched by any hard work. As a librarian in her former body, Yalene had always possessed a little rough patch at one joint of her right middle finger, where the quill usually rested. This was now noticeably missing, and she had missed that patch when she had first picked up a quill as a Druchii. Even light work like sewing or writing was felt keenly on her fingers, and this was by no means normal in her opinion. Nobody could have hands that smooth and untouched, but here they were.

Ruvol noticed this as well after having inspected her palms, then stroking over her fingers. "Soft through and through." He was not wrong. Druchii were supposed to be a hard people, and by their standards, she was indeed a weakling, as Hjördis had called her. Yalene couldn't deny that, because she now noticed with a sinking feeling dark stains upon his sleeves … blood. There was no doubt about it. The realization made her stare upon those sleeves, feeling cold and as no muscle would currently obey her commands.

Indeed, she was barely able to look at him, her eyes just transfixed on their hands, only to feel relief wash over her when her hands were released and the Dark Elf took a step back to give her space. "It's still a bit much, hm?"

Yes, it was a bit much, because the fact that the battle that he had waged today and the lives that must have been lost, what he was doing for a living, that she almost thought this normal was just now sinking in as she had seen the traces of blood, and it terrified her. It took effort to lift her head and look at the captain, who in turn observed her apprehensively. After a pause that seemed far too long, he lifted his chin, his voice firm, but not unkind.

"That task I have for you … we will talk about it tomorrow. You may retreat now." Despite the slightly condescending sendoff, Yalene found herself to be immensely thankful to get away, down below to safety where Druchii were at least mostly out of sight for her.