Before anything else, I own nothing but the original characters, and content therein related to them. Avatar: The Last Airbender is owned by Nickelodeon, and any mentioned creator's work belongs to them, and them alone.
Avatar: The Last Airbender. Gun-smoke, and Hellfire.
Book one. Gun-smoke.
1807 AC. War is on the horizon. The British Royal Navy seizes US merchant sailors and presses them into service of the crown. In the Northwest Territories, American expansion leads to conflict with native tribes allied with Britain.
The young United States of America is desperate for weapons, and where there is desperation, there is demand, and with demand comes profit… So long as there is supply…
Aboard a merchant frigate, returning from France, a young New Yorker, born the son of a north Irish family, seeks to make his fortune providing arms to America, free of taxation. With his crates full of guns in the hold amid the rest of the cargo aboard the ship he'd chartered, Connor Campbell, stood on the weather deck, thinking to himself.
Suddenly a hand was clapped to Connor's shoulder. Connor turned, and sighed in relief, as it was only the quartermaster. "Finally get some sea legs?" He asked.
Connor nearly scoffed, as he held his cloak closer to his body. "I damn well should have got them on the voyage to France."
"Only three more weeks until we make port. You'll be home in no time." The quartermaster said, before stepping away. "Dark skies ahead, I'd get below deck unless you want to get wet." He said, from behind Connor.
Not twenty minutes later, Connor was tucked away on a bunk, with the storm above leaking down into the main deck, as fierce waves rocked the ship. As the ship rolled, Connor was thrown from his bunk, and struck his head on a barrel nearby. He stood, with blurred vision and in pain. Finding not another soul below deck, Connor climbed the sharp stairs to the surface, expecting to find the crew fighting to keep the ship, only for there to be no one. Rope flailed around loosely, sails flapped in the wind without direction, and the wheel ran free with the waves. As a squall beat the side of the ship Connor fell over.
Shaken from his dazed state, the young man got to his feet, and stumbled across the shifting deck. In a desperate attempt to control the vessel, Connor took hold of the wheel, and attempted to steer her through the storm, though to no avail. Without a crew, the ship was at the mercy of the sea, and with a great crack of lightning, the main mast was set ablaze. The sails caught fire, and the thick timber that held them began to crack. The mast began to list, and with splinters sent flying it fell. With a cry of fear, Connor held his arms over his head, while jumping out of the shadow cast by the falling wood. Though he had avoided being crushed, a heavy pulley came down with the beams, and Connor for the second time, was hit in the head, only this time his vision darkened, as the storm raged on.
99AG. In another world there is a war that has been waged for nearly a hundred years…
Chapter 1 The Irishman.
Jolting awake and drawing a deep breath, Connor felt his senses overloaded. The bright light of day stung his eyes. The sound of waves against the shore, and gulls squawking over the breeze filled his ears. The smell of salt from the water, and blood was in the air. His throat and mouth were both dry, as if they'd gone days without drink.
Pressing his hand to the deck, Connor rolled onto his back, before shielding his eyes from the sun. Sitting upright, then pressing his hand to his head, Connor found that he had been bleeding, though it seemed to have stopped, as the dried liquid was encrusted to his brow.
Turning, Connor found the ship in a horrible state. The masts snapped and mangled, the sails burned or torn, debris strewn across the now dried deck. Standing with the assistance of the nearest railing, Connor went wide eyed as he found the ship beached, half it's hull forward of the foremast aground in the sandy beach of what to Connor looked like a tropical island. Gaining balance, Connor walked across the slightly tilted deck, back to the hatch that would take him below, grabbing a still burning lantern along the way.
The main deck was as empty as the weather deck, and the hold below moreso, though half flooded with sea water from its rough beaching.
Leaning against the nearest wall while down in the hold, water up to his waist, Connor grabbed at his bright red hair in frustration, and fear. He was making many assumptions, but all the same, he believed the ship had washed up on the coast of Africa after the storm turned it around and the currents took it. As for the crew, beyond the supernatural thought that they'd been taken by the sea itself, not much could be deduced.
Decidedly, Connor began to gather everything he thought he would need from the ship, and started to make something of a camp on the beach, feeling safer on land than he did on the ship, where he'd be at the mercy of the tide pulling the now hazardous vessel back out to sea.
With a compass, and the sun beginning to set, he came to the conclusion that he was indeed on some landmass's west coast. Again, the African continent came to his mind. Looking around at his small camp, with it's tent made of sailing canvas, his pot above the fire taken from the cook's cabinet, and his food and water stocks, Connor came to the conclusion he could be met with dangerous wildlife, or unfriendly locals. He boarded the ship once again, and cracked open the armory, taking a simple cutlass and flintlock for his own safety, then affixing them to his belt.
Finally able to rest, he pulled off his still water logged boots, and flung his brown cloak and coat onto a crate full of salted pork to dry. Connor pulled the cork from a bottle of whiskey with his teeth, then spat it into his palm. Raising the bottle to his survival of the storm, Connor, like a true Irishman, drank his troubles away.
Awakening the next morning with bleary eyes, Connor sat up from under his tent, and groaned. The fire had gone out, and his bottle was empty. Standing, Connor filled the bottle with fresh water from a barrel. He glanced to see if the ship was still beached, which it was, and turned to face the lush jungle to the east. Immediately Connor went wide eyed, as he saw smoke in the distance over the treetops. Where there was smoke there was fire, and where there was fire, there were usually people. Weighing that the locals were more likely to be helpful than hostile, Connor corked his bottle then got to work.
Filling a powder horn, and taking a pouch full of paper cartridges, Connor hastily set off into the jungle towards the smoke. Hacking broad leafed plants out of the way as he went, Connor tripped on a root he couldn't see, and rolled down a steep hill. Landing face first in the dirt, Connor got back to his feet, and came face to face with several men and women on the outskirts of a small village or town.
Curiously, the folk of the land Connor found himself in were not the dark skinned Africans he was expecting to find, rather they were anywhere from being as tanned as the Hispanics, to the off yellow he'd heard Asians to be described as… In fact they looked very much like how he'd heard Asians looked. They were dressed in reds and browns, and the town around them was constructed out of stone and wood. For a moment Connor was extremely confused, before that confusion was replaced with concern.
Two young men of roughly his age approached, frowns apparent, and while Connor sheathed his cutlass to appear as less of a threat, he heard them speak in a language he couldn't understand, but it sounded harsh, and was clearly directed at him.
Treading carefully, Connor extended a hand to shake, and spoke calmly. "Hello there, I'm Connor."
Promptly, the nearest boy grabbed his arm, and swept his foot out from underneath him. Landing on his rear, Connor hit the ground with a thud. Groaning, he realized that his first impression was going poorly. The two boys spoke, one seemingly shouting at the other, before the boy who'd attacked him did the impossible, and cast fire from his fist towards Connor. Thankfully the spry young man was able to roll out of the way of the main blast. Though his shirt had caught a trail from the gout of flame, it was still wet enough from the day prior to fizzle out.
In a state of panic, Connor took several steps back as the boy who'd attacked him took up a stance he had no knowledge of. "Stay back!" Connor said, taking his pistol off his belt. "Back I say!" Continuing his retreat as the many people around ran off towards the center of the village, Connor cocked back the lock of his pistol, and gave one final warning, as the boy stepped closer. "DAMN YOU, I SAID BACK!" With his final warning Connor planted his feet, and fired.
The thunderclap from the gun startled what few people were still witnessing the altercation, but none was more shocked than the other boy, who, after the gunsmoke cleared, rushed to hold the fire throwing boy. As the flame wielder fell to the ground, he cried out in pain. The lead bullet had put a gaping hole in his shoulder, and the boy bled into the dirt profusely.
Connor worked to reload as quickly as he could, before 5 men in what looked like antiquated padded armor and metal helmets began to make a half circle around him, his back to the hill and jungle. Four brandished spears, while the only one without took up a stance similar to that of the boy's. The unarmed man said something clearly directed at Connor, though whatever it might have been went unheard, as Connor shouted back at the man. "God sakes, stay back! Drop the spears, and I will be willing to sort this out."
The unarmed man looked down at the bleeding boy, and his eyes widened as he glanced between the wound, and the pistol in Connor's hands. There was a flash of orange, as the unarmed man cast a stream of fire at Connor, who fell back on his rear to avoid the attack. In a panic, Connor pulled the trigger of his pistol, and with another thunderclap, the gun fired.
After the smoke cleared, Connor saw the man who'd attacked him clutching at his gut, the bullet having passed through his armor. The others all gasped in surprise, before the four spear men turned back to Connor, and encroached with their weapons kept at the ready.
Now with an empty weapon, a sheathed sword, on his back, and spears pointed to his throat, Connor finally ceded that he was fated to lose this confrontation in any event. Dropping his gun, the Irishman held his hands up in surrender, before shackles were locked over his wrists. Disarmed, Connor was dragged away by his shoulders, as the unarmed man collapsed.
Word moved quickly to the capital city of the Fire Nation. The sole report of a "man washing ashore," had not initially raised any concerns among the court and royal houses, until the Fire Lord himself heard the full story. Ozai, with Azula a member of the court during the monthly meeting, listened intently to the provincial governor's oral rendition of an incident.
"My lord. In the early morning, a lone man, thin and sickly pale, dotted as if burned by the sun at random, with bright red hair like fire itself, came out of the jungle of West Long Island. With a drawn sword, he frightened the villagers, before wounding a boy, and killing the guard captain with some contraption that blew smoke." The provincial governor said.
"And what of this stranger? What was his fate?" Ozai asked.
The provincial governor smirked. "He was apprehended before any more damage could be caused. He remains in the local jail, try as he might to escape."
Ozai looked over at Azula, who sat right of him, at the meeting table below his throne. "Do you know where the strange red haired man is from? Has he not given you a name or nation of origin?" Ozai asked.
The governor cleared his throat. "Unfortunately My lord, his speech is like none I've heard. I fear even if he wanted to tell us such things, we'd be unable to understand him."
"Is he soft headed?" Ozai asked.
"Perhaps… Though… Everything else would indicate otherwise… You see my lord, the guard followed the trail he'd cut through the jungle back to the shore, and… There was a camp, and a ship, a grand vessel made of wood, half the length of a Fire Navy Cruiser. It had masts, though all were broken, as the ship looked to have weathered a horrid storm and crashed against the shore. The sails would make the ship taller than all but the Emperor-class cruiser. It was full of boxes and barrels of goods, half of which I've no clue the origin of, all stamped with code or proofs none could read… And… Crates full of weapons, contraptions like those that the stranger killed the captain with." The governor said. "The ship itself was deserted, it's flag missing, what papers in immediate sight was soaked beyond salvation, and there were no signs that any others came with the stranger…" The governor paused as several servant's entered carrying boxes with them, many marked with the "code" the governor mentioned. "We've had a few things taken from the ship to present to you, My lord."
Before Ozai, the servant's held up brass and steel instruments. A compass, a whale oil lamp, several swords of varying style, some straight, others more curved, several devices of which Ozai had no basis of an understanding of, among them, the contraption which the stranger carried.
Azula craned her neck ever so slightly to see what the servants were holding, before the artifacts were distributed to those sitting at the meeting table. The contraption was placed on the table, and War Minister Qin picked it up to inspect it. It was a metal tube nestled in wood, with several smaller mechanisms attached to the side of a plate in the device, one clamping onto a spark rock. There was a finger trigger, much like that found on a crossbow. Qin thought better than to fiddle with the device without proper safety measures in place, and passed it along the table, assuming it was a highly advanced form of cannon.
Eventually the contraption was passed to the Princess of the Fire Nation. Holding the contraption in her right hand, Azula imagined this contraption being used as a weapon that blew smoke as described, then fiddling with the mechanisms on the right side, noticed a small hole in a pan that it possessed, what looked like a match hole. Holding the weapon to her nose in what would otherwise been seen as uncouth, Azula caught a whiff of sulfur and a hint of urine. Raising an eyebrow, Azula came to a swift conclusion. "It's some sort of one-handed cannon…"
All heads in the room turned to Azula, and War Minister Qin scoffed. "Obviously, Princess… But cannons, let alone hand cannons, were hardly a sweepingly successful weapon two centuries ago. Who in their right mind would use one in this day and age? And at that, seemingly make them more complicated."
"Apparently this stranger… The mysterious ship the governor has discovered carried these small cannons in great numbers, yes? And the stranger was able to kill a man with one, through his armor I'm assuming?" Azula asked.
The governor spoke. "There were well over a thousand similar weapons on board the ship… And yes, this weapon managed to defeat a man through his armor, Princess Azula."
"Then it would stand to reason that some thousand or so people intend to arm themselves with these cannons." Azula rebutted. "Tell me what could a thousand men in the right place do with these things? Assassin's would never need to get within arms length to kill their targets."
"What could a thousand men in the right place do with bows, or poison, or bombs, Princess? There are better ways to assassinate men, and in a field of battle, a mere thousand hand held cannons could not contend with the same number of fire benders. Nor would they be able to fend against men with spears in a skirmish." The Fire Army's High General Hun said, placing a fist on the table.
"Well at the end of the day it isn't exactly our place to make judgments on this matter, General." Azula said, before turning to face her father.
Lord Ozai hummed to himself in thought at first. "A strange man, a sail ship, though a weapon of Fire Nation origin, and coded writing… Minister Qin, can you say with certainty that your mechanist has not been creating weapons for our enemies?" Ozai asked.
"Of course not My lord. His compliance is assured by the threat of the destruction of his people." Qin said.
"Father, if I might be permitted to speak freely?" Azula asked. Ozai nodded to his daughter. "I believe Minister Qin is correct in his assumption that these weapons are not of his inventor's design. There is too much that speaks against this. I can't fathom the snow savages coming out of their fortress of the north for much of any reason as they've yet been left to their own devices, and the southern tribal people have been essentially returned to the stone age. The Earth Kingdom would gain nothing by navigating the vast ocean between our western shore and their eastern one, either to deliver weapons to rebels in the north west colonies, or the southern snow savages, as the Earth Kingdom has hardly any seafaring capability, and the distance alone would be too great… Now I'm not quite suggesting that the spirits are involved, but rather that it is entirely possible that this ship and the stranger belong to an as of yet seen faction in play."
"I find it highly unlikely that the naval blockade was unable to stop or even identify a ship of such a supposed size… Perhaps it, and in turn it's cargo, have remained within Fire Nation waters, My lord?" The Fire Navy fleet admiral suggested.
Ozai hummed to himself again. "This matter concerns me greatly… The potential for an enemy to have slipped under our noses for even a single week, is intolerable… However… This stranger, his ship and it's cargo, must be investigated thoroughly before we can draw any conclusions or take actions to prevent any such recurrences." Ozai looked around at the table of lords, military leadership, and ministers. Then narrowed his eyes on his daughter. She had been the one to judge, correctly at that, that assassins would find it much easier to prey upon their targets with the advantage a ranged weapon could provide, a weapon that did not take years to master. "This meeting is now closed… Clear the chamber, all but my daughter and Governor Hochi."
All that were requested, stood, bowed to their lord, and exited the room. Ozai tilted his head down slightly. "Princess Azula… Rise." At her father's request, Azula stood. "You are fourteen years of age… An accomplished fire bender, and wise well beyond your time spent on this world. The day has come for you to be entrusted with responsibility befitting the heir to the throne of Fire Lord… I am tasking you with your first royal duty… In my stead, you and a unit of Imperial Guard will go with Governor Hochi to Long Island Province, and discover all you can, about the stranger, and his purpose here." Ozai said, as his daughter bowed to him.
"I will not fail you father." Azula said.
"I know you won't." Ozai said. "Go now, both of you, and return to me in a month's time with your findings."
Governor Hochi stood, and after he bowed to the Fire Lord, both he and Azula left the chamber.
Once passed the door, Azula spoke to the governor. "So… What exactly is this strange man like?"
Connor took a right hook across the face, and spun into the wall of fellow inmates as they all cheered on the fight between him and the other man in the provincial prison yard with him. Pushing away, he raised his fists again with a bloody grin. "Come on ye' bastard, give me me money's worth!" Connor yelled, knowing none of the others in the prison understood him, as he went in once more, taking a left cross, and in turn trading the swing for one of his own, before blocking several more punches. Stepping back, Connor wiped blood off his nose, and chuckled. "Me mum, beat me harder than that when I was a wee man!" He said, motioning for the man to come back at him. Come back at him the man did. Connor had his feet taken out from under him as the hulking figure took him around the waist with his arms and picked him up. Connor put his fists together and beat on his opponent's back, as he locked his legs around what he could of the man's torso. "Oi, ya fuckin' cheat!" He shouted, before leaning back and socking the man in the side of the head. Nailing his opponent in the ear earned a satisfying yell from the man, and caused the big guy to drop Connor to hold the ringing organ. Taking the moment, Connor gave a little showman's spin to the audience he'd gathered and clapped his bloody knuckled hands, his opponent looking at him with disdain, and rage, uttering what he only assumed was a curse.
Connor turned and looked at the man. "Oi, you's the one who wanted a tussle with me, big man!" He taunted, arms to his sides, before he quickly raised them again, to block another punch. Seeing one last opening, Connor ducked out of the way of a swing, and led into an uppercut. With his last punch dolled out, the prison guards finally made it to the yard and through the crowd to separate the fighting duo. "Oh, com' on, I was just gettin' star'ed." Connor said, before his arms were grabbed by a man each, and his legs were kicked out from under him so that he was forced to kneel. Connor looked up to the one guard that he knew hated him from day one, and smiled a toothy grin. "Wot' want me to polish a knob, ya' sodomite?" Connor asked sarcastically before laughing at the man, as he took a wooden baton from off his waist, and swung it into Connor's jaw, only for the punch drunk young man to chuckle as he hung his head. "Ya' hit like a girl." He muttered, before spitting a lip full of blood into the dirt.
Shortly after, Connor was dragged out of the yard, and placed in solitary confinement. Once the door shut, Connor pushed himself to a sitting position, then licked his split lip, as he moved the straw mattress against the padded cell wall. Stretching his arms, he laid down, and slept.
Azula watched the fight transpire from the warden's office overlooking the yard. "The governor did say he seemed to have a temper." She mused, before glancing at the wardin sitting in his chair, seemingly bored, though wary of her presence.
"I'm sure you can handle him, Princess." The warden said. "Like the governor probably already told you, he's not a bender, or he would have actually been able to escape by now."
"But he's tried?" Azula asked.
"Seventeen times by my count… And it's only been thirty days since I've had him." The warden said.
"He must not be too bright then?" Azula asked.
"I wouldn't say that. He's persistent, and methodical. He's done almost everything from trying to book it past the gate when it's open, to climbing the fence in about every place he can, to using a key on his cell door that he rubbed out of a wood block. We can't understand a word of him, and he can't understand us any better, not like there's been much effort on either of our parts." The warden said.
"Right… Well I'm here to rectify that." Azula said. "Set up a visitation for me…"
Outside light stung Connor's eyes, as the door to his solitary cell was opened. "Ah ye' cunt, see I'm sleepin'!?" He asked loudly before a guard pulled him to his feet, cuffed his wrists, and walked him out of the room and down the hall.
With a thud, Connon was forcefully seated in a wooden chair, a table in front of him, and another chair opposed to his. Another guard placed a few things on the table, a stone, a pitcher of water, a feather, a candle, and the final object being the pistol he'd had the month prior. "I don't suppose you think I'm gonna' blow me own head off eh?" Connor asked, before getting slapped in the back of the head, his guard saying something that he had come to learn was close to a "shut up."
The two guards left the room, and as Connor stood up to protest being taken from his solitude, in walked a girl. A short, no more than five feet tall, raven haired, amber eyed girl, in the same sort of armor that the rest of the soldiers and guard seemed to wear. Her armor however was more ornate than the others, accented with gold and far more black than red. "Oh boy, they sent a woman to torment me." Connor said. "Are ye' happy God? I know ye gave up on me but had I known ya' had a sense of humor…" Connor trailed off as the girl sat down at the table across from him, laying out several scrolls of parchment, before unraveling one, then placing a bottle of ink and a brush beside it.
The girl looked up at him blankly, before offering a thin smile. She spoke for about a minute, and when she was finished, her raised eyebrow indicated to Connor she was asking a question. Looking between the girl and the objects laid out on the table Connor came to an understanding. "Oh shite, I'm in a school room."
Azula wasn't sure what to expect of the stranger's speech, but "gibberish," certainly fit the bill. No matter, she'd studied several dead dialects, and communications skills at the Royal Fire Academy for Girls. Figuring out the most basic forms of understanding couldn't have been too hard.
Up close, the stranger looked near exactly as described. He was tall, taller than her father at least, white as a silk sheet, with discolored brown dots all across his cheeks, eyes that looked like polar ice, hair which was a fiery orange more than the supposed red. He wasn't muscular, but he was indeed a larger man. After he spoke, he sat back down.
"Alright… I don't know how well this is going to be understood, but as far as I can tell you're a potential threat to the Fire Nation, and as such you will be imprisoned until a time that you can be deemed otherwise. My purpose here is to attempt to communicate with you and discover all I can about you and your intentions here. The easier you make this for me, the easier this will be for you… So, can we start with names?" Azula asked, raising an eyebrow, before the stranger's own eyebrow rose in clear confusion before he spoke more gibberish.
"Ok, I should have seen that coming…" Azula said, rubbing her temple. This stranger had not the slightest clue who she was or why he should fear her, and that was going to make any sort of interrogation far more difficult, on top of the apparent language barrier. "Names…." Azula placed a spread hand on her chest. "My name is… Az-u-la." She patted herself when she spoke her name. The stranger poked himself in the chest, and raised an eyebrow. Azula held her hand out to the stranger, and nodded.
"Cahn-nor Camp-bell." The stranger said.
"Quite a mouthful." Azula muttered, before then speaking his name back. "Cahn-Nor Camp-Bell." She said pointing at him. He nodded, then pointed at her with both hands.
"Az." He said with a toothy and still bloody smile.
Azula frowned. "Azula." She corrected, pointing at herself.
The stranger seemed frustrated, shaking his head. "Cahnor." He said holding up his right index finger. "Az." He held up his index finger on his left hand. "Cambell." He held up the rest of the fingers on his right hand. "Ula." He said holding up all the fingers on his left hand. "Cambells." he wiggled his right hand fingers. "Ulas." He wiggled his other fingers. Azula palmed her own forehead.
"Family names. He has a family name…" She said to herself, rubbing her forehead. That complicated things. Usually family names were only ever taken if a family was particularly large at one point, bordering on over a hundred people. "Azula." She pointed to herself. "Cahnor." She pointed to him. That seemed to satisfy him, as he nodded his head, a universal sign of understanding.
Glad that they had at least established names, Azula moved on. This was going to be a long and grueling process to even begin extracting any useful information from him, but already the seeds of curiosity were germinating in her mind… This young man, well and truly, was alien in both appearance and tongue. She picked up the unlit candle that was on the table. "Candle." She said, holding it up.
The stranger shook his head a little, before speaking his language with a shrug. "Kændl, wæks, laɪt?" He seemed to ask, eyebrow raised.
Azula sighed, before gesturing to the whole thing. "Candle." She repeated, before passing it to him. He looked over the red cylinder in his hand, then sighed.
Taking his thumb nail, he scraped the side of the candle, causing flakes of wax to accumulate. He held up the small clump and shook it in his fingers. "Wæks." He said, before running his hand over the candle. "Kæn-dl." He held up the wax again. "Wæks…" He pressed the red ball of wax to the candle. "Kæn-dl." He shook it. "Wæks kæn-dl." He then flicked the wick of the candle, and spoke once more. "Wɪk." He set the candle down, then snapping his fingers over the wick, and seemingly sprinkling imaginary dust onto it. "Faɪə."
He gestured to the whole candle, then snapped his fingers and made the same sprinkling motion. "Kændl faɪə." He said.
Azula snapped her fingers, and repeated the last word back to him. "Fi-her?" She asked.
He made the sprinkling motion again. "Faɪə." He snapped. "Laɪt." He then made a motion as if he were using spark rocks, then made the sprinkling motion. "Laɪt, laɪt faɪə." He pointed at her, made the spark rock motion, and then the sprinkling one. "Azula, laɪt ðə kændl faɪə." He then sighed, before throwing both his hands together and making a "WOOOOOOOOSH!" sound, one very crudely resembling a thrown fireball.
Azula was almost impressed. Well, she was impressed by two things. One impressive thing was the fact that he was able to communicate a verbal command she could understand in roughly a minute with nothing but hand gestures and a single object to articulate them around. The second impressive thing, yet equally as concerning was the fact that he seemed to understand what fire bending was, but seemed more interested in testing her ability to do so… As if it was a novel concept to him… Deciding to humor him, Azula lit a thin blue flame between her index and middle finger, and smirked. "Hooooooooo. Gɒd dæm." Cahnor said in aw. She lit the candle as requested, which burned blue before she relinquished her control over the fire, and the candle burned it's natural orange. "Mæʤɪk." Cahnor said.
Azula's smirk never faded. "Faɪə bending." She said in a mix between their two languages.
"Faɪə mæʤɪk." cahnor rolled his hand in it's cuff. "Pie-row-man-see."
"Well that's a complicated word." Azula muttered, before picking up the candle, and blowing it out. "Wax." She scraped the ball of wax off the candle as Cahnor had. "Candle. She gestured to the candle as a whole. "Wick." She poked at the wick with her index finger's elongated nail. "Light." She re-lit the smoldering candle with her fire bending, and then held her palm around the blue fire as it once again faded into orange. "Fire." Drawing the small ball of flame away from it's wick, it turned blue once more, as Azula held the cold blue fire in her palm. "Fire bending."
"La, lazhu, xin, huo, huo wan." Connor said, pointing to everything as he named it, though screwing up his pronunciation quite badly. "What the fuck is goin' on?" He asked himself, scratching his head. Azula smirked as she returned the blue fall of magical fire to the candle where it became orange again. "I'm learning a new language from a magic oriental girl that can throw fire around." Connor muttered biting his lip. "Least she's cute." He said aloud, knowing she couldn't understand him.
Azula, put the piece of paper in front of them both, before dipping the brush into the pot of ink. She began to draw. I looked like an upside down Y with a few brush strokes on either side. "Huǒ." Azula said, as she spun the paper so it was facing him.
"Huo… Fire… That's a drawing of a fire." Connor said, as he rubbed his chin. "You paint your words?" Before he could do much more, Azula had held the brush out for him to take. Connor pursed his lips together. The brush head wouldn't be small enough… The feather that sat to the right of him however… Connor took the feather off the table before he bit into the shaft, creating a hollow tip, which he dipped in the ink, and started scratching into the paper. "F-I-R-E." He pronounced each letter as he wrote the word underneath the character she had drawn. Azula looked intrigued, so Connor started writing the words of each object on the table. "R-O-C-K… Rock." For the stone placed in the center. "W-A-T-E-R… Water." For the glass pitcher placed on her side. "F-E-A-T-H-E-R… Feather." Before shaking the feather in his hand. "P-I-S-T-O-L… Pistol." He pointed to the flintlock sitting between them.
At that final word, Azula's attention snapped to the gun, before she picked it up, and spoke in her language, raising an eyebrow at Connor. He caught the word fire, and her word for magic in there somewhere, but was otherwise confused.
Connor rubbed his eyebrows. "This is about that village still ain't it? Look see, I've no clue who you really are, or what you want from me, but that boy and that man I shot, attacked me both after I put me sword away." Connor said. Azula seemed to grow frustrated, before she took a breath as she set the gun down. She took the other scroll she had brought in, unrolled it, placed it on the table, and spoke to Connor again. He wasn't listening however, as he recognized that the paper was in fact a map. Though no map he could recall ever having seen.
Azula broadly swept her hand over the map as she continued speaking, then pointed to the map, an island landmass, part of an archipelago, and gestured around them both to the room. She then pointed to herself, and then at another section of the map what looked like a large city. "Jiā." She said. Azula pointed to Connor, then repeated herself with a raised eyebrow. "Jiā?"
"That's a question… You want to know where I'm from… And I'm… Not from anywhere on the map… uh…" Connor rubbed the edge of his eye. "Bigger? Do you have a larger map?" He asked, gesturing by spreading his hands as far as he could. Azula seemed to understand, as she huffed, and rolled her eyes as she spread out another scroll. It was a larger map, with what looked like a much larger continental landmass to the east, though it seemed to cut it off half way. Connor shook his head again, and made the same motion. Azula raised an eyebrow, as she just laid out the last scroll. This map was much larger, though Connor still did not recognize it, and more pressingly he noticed something that was concerning.
This map was bordered by fanciful scroll work, and at the far north and south, were ice blue landmasses. "What the Hell?" Connor leaned over the map to inspect it, and licked his split lip. "This map has a detailed polar north and south… That's not possible… There can't be land masses that stretch from the north sea to the world's end at the south, if it's not the old world or the new world. I'd know of it… Yer maps wrong…" Connor said, sitting back in his chair with a shrug.
As Cahnor requested a larger map, Azula obliged him, wondering first if his place of origin was from the colonies or perhaps the still contested regions of the Earth Kingdom, upon his rejection of the second map, something crept into the back of Azula's mind that was both uncomfortable and unfamiliar. Uncertainty… Azula had never been uncertain of anything in her life, but now, there was an uncertainty… Then, as the stranger spoke to himself, and sat back in his chair, failing to name his home, Azula blinked in confusion. She looked between the maps, the scroll that they'd written on, and then locked eyes with Cahnor. Suddenly an answer came to her that would have sounded preposterous to her the day before, and only then looking back at all she knew of him, or of her interactions with him, did it become clear.
"You are not of this world." Azula said. Cahnor swallowed a lump in his throat and licked his split lip, as if he knew what she said. Looking past the improbability of it, all other logical arguments that he was a native of her own world were disputable at best.
A strange man, who looked nothing like any peoples of the four nations, on a wooden sail ship too large to be built by the nation that used sail ships, who somehow managed to get passed the naval blockade, while speaking an unknown language, yet willingly cooperating with the first person who attempted to understand him. Any agent infiltrating Fire Nation waters would have been far less conspicuous looking, and the code talking act was just such an illogically extreme measure to take if said agent was going to speak at all… Then there was the childish mystified look he grew when she bent fire… Perhaps Azula was too quick to discount the involvement of the spirits.
Connor, broke eye contact first. "The storm… The others were gone, and I… By God, I've been sent to another world… Through some, hole in the sea, or gate in the heavens…" He ruffled his hair, and hung his head, before looking back up at Azula, who still seemed like she was trying to digest the conclusion they'd clearly both arrived at. "Aright', I need to… What in the fuck do ah need to do?" Connor asked himself.
"God sends me here. I can't expect him to take me back. I'm lost. Don't speak the language o-the land. I'm out coin, an' in jail for murd'r." Connor started. "I am up a creek of shite I am, an' no paddle." Connor then looked at the flint lock on the table, eyeing it as Azula read over his writings, and tried to remember if he'd seen a gun other than his own since he arrived. "Do you lot not have muskets?" He muttered as an idea entered the back of his mind.
Clearing his throat to catch her attention, Connor pointed at his gun with a raised eyebrow. "Pistol…?" He asked, knowing he'd written the word down. Azula spoke in her language, seeming pleased by the shift in conversation. She picked up the gun again, and eyed it before looking at Connor. She spoke again, with a raised eyebrow. "Ay, I thought you'd want to know how it works." Connor said. Before frowning. He didn't know if he could interpret every instruction. He'd need time, and lots of it.
Pulling his chair in, he locked eyes with Azula once more, before holding his still shackled wrists out to her. "Connor gets freedom, Azula gets pistols." He said, simplifying his offer. Azula looked as if she was suppressing the urge to chuckle. She probably didn't understand the plural. "Right, should have seen that comin'." Connor said, putting his arms down, before taking the hastily made quill and the scroll of writing parchment.
Azula sat and watched as the strange orange haired man drew, then pushed the paper over to her. On it, in a blank space, we're two little stick figures, with his language written below each, one a few symbols longer, likely his, representing the two of them. Between them were two arrows. The arrow pointing at her had about seven bent sticks over it, possibly this "Pistol," and over the arrow pointing at him, there were a few interlocking ovals, with one having a gap in it.
"You seriously think that you can just give me a few crates of weapons I don't know how to use, and I'll let you go? What do you take me for?" Azula asked, giving Cahnor a stern gaze. He groaned. "I hardly know anything about you. What makes you think that I would risk a rogue being free in my nation, in exchange for what we already have? Your ship's been picked clean."
Cahnor sighed, then scratched his head. "Aɪ kæn wɜːk." He said, before pulling the scroll back. Azula watched as he scratched ink onto the parchment, then passed it back to her. There was another stick figure, a crude looking hammer next to it, and beside that, another crude attempt at drawing a pistol. "I'm assuming the stick man is you. The one-hand cannon is obvious… Do you intend to make these cannons?" Azula asked. Cahnor just grinned stupidly at her, as if his offer was one she couldn't say no to, as if War Minister Qin wouldn't be able to figure out the new way in which the cannon was operated, and begin to build them if ever the Fire Nation needed.
Still seeming to understand that he wasn't convincing her of his worth, Cahnor took the paper back then grunted as he realized he was out of room. He took the world map this time and flipped it over to scribble on. He took much longer to draw, having to re-dip his feather every so often. Once finished, he presented her with his masterpiece. A stick figure with some symbol written next to it, and 2 little tally's stacked next to him end to end, that together we're taller than it's head. In the figure's hands was a long stick. Likely a hand held cannon, and protruding from the stick was an arrow that curved over a diagram of a stream and bushes apparently striking another stick man, with 3 squares above the arrow. Azula wasn't sure what to make of the drawing, before she found what looked like a legend, or mathematical equation in the corner.
There was the tally, then below it, ten tallies, and a circle next to them, likely meant to represent the tallies, and below that, ten circles, and a box beside them. Looking between the crude equation, and the drawing above it, Azula's eyes widened. "No, that's impossible, that's what? Roughly two Bu there next to the stick man, and three hundred between him and his opponent? An entire Li? No weapon can be aimed to hit a target the size of a man at that distance, save only a war bow wielded by a master of their trade." She said, narrowing her eyes at Cahnor. "This is an embellishment or deception of some kind."
Cahnor held his hands up in front of his chest as if he understood her doubt, then spoke in his crude language, crossing a finger over his heart, then mimicking the plunging of a knife over it. If some way of trying to assure her of the capabilities of the cannons, or putting his life on the line to back such a claim, Azula had no way to tell, though she was betting on the former.
Azula stood, barked something in her language, before several guards entered the room, and took everything from it, standing Connor by pulling him up from under his arms. Azula stepped around the table before speaking directly to him, though he had no clue what she'd said. After that, Connor was walked back to his regular cell, freed from his shackles, and tossed in.
Connor looked at his much larger cellmate, and spat blood onto the floor. "I've earned top spot." He said, before jumping up onto the upper bunk for the night.