Topic: Exodus - Red Sails

Dib Jaster Aurene · Date: 2009-05-21 20:19 EST

The wind and rain were unforgiving.

The deck seemed to roll beneath Xerveth Goreen's steady feet, keeping pace with the dark surface of the water. It could be worse, and the swells never seemed to break, but his instincts told him they were merely on the edge of a much larger storm. The same feelings had kept him alive at sea for fifty-two years; they wouldn't betray him now, not now that...

"Captain!"

Goreen did not look back at his first mate. He knew her voice immediately, as well as he knew the seven hundred and fourteen other voices of the Aurkindri packed belowdecks like sardines. "Calm-an'-even, Jasha."

It took her aback, though she had heard those same words many times before, whenever the old man detected too many signs of panic. "...Right. Sir, if we keep southeast, with the wind, we can reach port within fifteen miles of RhyDin." Her captain remained silent. She sighed through her nose, and even with the noise of the rain, he could hear it. "Look, we haven't seen red sails in six hours -- "

"Hardly surprisin' in this weather. They could be right behind us, for all I know. We risk the storm an' make for RhyDin, an' get there before midnight. The storm might kill us, but so will they, if they catch us. Tell the others we got a long night ahead..." The old man smiled grimly, and the nasty scar that zig-zagged across his cheek stretched and deepened. "Can't hardly wait for the dawn."

"Aye, captain."

The scar itched, and he scratched at it gently as his first mate left to return belowdecks. With his other hand he clung to the rigging, but his feet stayed steady, and he knew it would take more than a few little bumps to send him into the depths. It would take a lot to kill him at all, and even more to break his will.

The scar had been given to him by the Scarlet Swords, the military/police arm of the True Natives' Guild. The Guild was in control of their homeland, the seaside city-state of Therbey?n, and had represented the city's increasingly xenophobic policies for the last three years.

What this ship carried was those Aurkindri who had not already fled the increasing level of persecution and violence, those who held out for their families and their friends until the state began executing the Aurkindar community leaders. Then what remained of the community turned to the one Aurk who still owned his own sailing ship - three nights ago, they slit the throats of the Scarlet Swords 'helpfully' embedded in their crew, threw them overboard, took on the refugees and set sail. They had slipped in and out of sight of one of the Swords' warships, distinguishable by their red sails, twice already...

He only hoped RhyDin would be enough of a deterrent. His cousin, Dib Jaster Aurene, apparently a businessman of some prominence in that city already, assured him in their correspondence that this would be the case, and post-scripted his last letter with the enigmatic words:

"The House takes care of its own."

Dib Jaster Aurene · Date: 2009-05-30 17:17 EST

The King's Solace bobbed in the stormy water within sight of RhyDin, lights flickering in and out of the old captain's view. He had overplayed his hand, which was a very rare thing, fueled by the desperation of their condition. They had faced the brunt of the storm, and five miles out the mast nearly split under the heavy winds, the sails tore, and the rigging had become a lost cause. His crew scrambled all over the slick decks, and only Jasha's stern warnings and keen eyes kept any from slipping overboard.

It was getting harder to keep the refugees belowdecks, the captain surmised. They began to panic, as news reached their ears that they were crippled, and the storm easing off again only meant the Scarlet Swords would close even sooner. Wind, rain, and nightfall provided some cover, and it was an advantage he had chosen to sacrifice.

"Jasha!" he bellowed over the horrible clamor, and the first mate turned to him. "Light the beacon."

Heads turned the captain's way. Jasha stepped forward. "...What do we tell them, captain?"

Goreen smiled, and his scar ached. "Tell them Xhast!"

It was a strange order, but one that was faithfully carried out by the nimblest among the crew. He scaled the rigging, even in its treacherous state, clearing widening gaps in daring leaps, scrambling his way up to the crow's nest. He kept one hand wrapped up in a rope lest he tumble to the deck below, or even worse, into the ocean; with the other, he ignited the great runic lamp before him, brightening and dimming it with practiced turns of a lever, issuing a great green glow that spilled over the water, visible all the way up to the horizon.

Xhast was an Aurkindar word, the same as saying "howdy or "cheers." He was toasting his cousin and their Aurkindar allies in the House DeMuer, and prayed they got the message.

Dib Jaster Aurene · Date: 2009-06-02 14:54 EST

Seven months following Lisa Jefferies' death, her namesake went on the prowl in the black twilight waters of RhyDin. It was her first true voyage, the maiden voyage little more than a pleasure cruise to the coastal village of Sainte-Ouen and back. The crew of the Lady Baroness already had an idea by the time they left port, but now the signal lights from the King's Solace and the bright lamp at the end of a House-owned pier let them know that their Aurkindar allies were hunted, by a hostile ship with red sails...

She was large but sleek, and her enchanted sails took on the color of the sky as she slipped by the crippled refugee ship completely undetected. Her engines were off, rune-marks manipulating the wind to generate enough speed, and those of the crew on the decks stayed as low and still as their tasks would permit. No man or woman was without a weapon, most carrying pistols and daggers stashed in their belts; some had carbines, others kept scatterguns at the ready in case combat became too close for comfort. But the real arms were belowdecks.

The 'Blue Devils,' as many in the House had taken to calling their blue-skinned and red-eyed colleagues, dominated the crew on the deck, well-suited to nocturnal vision. The rest wore the strange round yellow sunglasses they had been given a supply of by S.P.I., giving off only the faintest glow as they looked to one another, communicating by hand signals whenever possible. Not a single lamp was lit.

Enemy in sight - hard to port! One Blue Devil hissed it to his half-elf friend, who passed the message along until the ship turned. Captain and first mate stood by the railing, the former peering through an enchanted eyeglass until the red sails she'd been watching ran parallel to their own. The Scarlet Swords' ship bobbed in the water, her lights twinkling with the movements.

The captain nodded, and the first mate raised his arm, and the guns zeroed in on the target, adjusting their angles... When the first mate received another nod, he brought his arm down.

Within moments, the order was cried out, and the guns of the Lady Baroness blazed to life, smoke and flame roaring from the muzzles. The first salvo was off but not by far, one shell hitting its mark. Sunglasses were removed and sensitive eyes averted as the projectile exploded violently, tearing a gaping hole in the side of the ship. Fire erupted onto the deck, and the ship was saved by a good soaking from the rainstorm... but only saved for a few moments.

The second salvo learned from the mistakes of the first. The smaller and unarmored Scarlet Swords' ship almost completely broke apart under the force of the explosions, and the officers on board had little time to react or give orders as the crew that were still able quickly abandoned ship.

Hurrah! Hurrah! echoed eerily up from belowdecks on the Lady Baroness, and the other sailors took up the cry, raising their fists to the flaming wreckage.

"Orders, captain?"

She grinned nastily. "Let the Moon's Livery tend t' tha King's Solace. Le's, ah... swing by tha wreckage, an' offer tha survivors a lift."

Dib Jaster Aurene · Date: 2009-06-02 19:26 EST

While 'Xhast,' to the Aurkindri, can be a warm salutation in the form of a greeting, a toast, or even a farewell, and is often used to welcome expected and beloved guests (or those they wish to believe are beloved), its derivative 'Xhastil' has come to mean "a place where you are welcome/beloved." In the Aurkindri's time as a diaspora, the term has been used for taverns and other establishments that are owned by or at least open to the Aurkindri, as many establishments observe strict laws for the race's treatment and general segregation.

For the Therbey Aurkindri, applying any place larger than a singe establishment that warm moniker, Xhastil, seemed a madman's dream for a fabled land of milk and honey...

"How much further, Mister Ibrastopius?" the old Aurk captain asked as he leaned on the deck railing of the Moon's Livery. The coastline swam in and out of sight, wreathed in fog and mist, and the ship took it at her own slow but graceful speed to keep from running aground. Many of his friends and kin were gathered up there with him, huddled under blankets, murmuring quietly to one another, occasionally pointing to the shoreline but on the whole not yet ready to believe that somehow, they were out of the woods, and no one could blame them. Most, however, were sleeping belowdecks; can't blame them, either, Goreen thought to himself with a smile.

"Any minute now," the younger (and much shorter) of the two captains replied. He was a gnome, but his wavy hair had barely greyed, and there still was not a single spot or blemish on his nose. His own gnome 'subspecies' showed their age with nose-freckles, on top of grey hair, wrinkles, and the usual array of symptoms for sentient hairless mammals. "You and your people are, ah... very fortunate, I might say. Unfortunate, yes, to leave your homeland so, but... very fortunate, to have made it so far. Very fortunate, to have a place here, of all places."

Goreen could not help but wonder what the younger man meant. He found it strange that they were not in RhyDin, and wondered what this 'Barony' could possibly hold for them... His own thoughts were interrupted by the sound of work. He squinted in that direction, and he could make out lights drawing near as the fog began to roll away.

They cleared a rocky point and came upon the construction site, the foundations of what promised to be a sizeable village already laid, men and women carrying bricks and lumber, unloading them from trucks, talking to the surveyors and planners, and erecting buildings. So far only four, probably bunkhouses, had been completed, and a single half-finished road made of a smooth, natural-looking light brown rock divided it almost perfectly between north and south. What seemed to be three mages lined the road, staffs raised, coordinating their spells to shape and form the stone lane - a few of their comrades could be spotted by the flashes from their magick spells, as they levitated large stone blocks into place and did their very best to coordinate with the others.

"I..." Goreen could not find the words. His eyes felt strangely, uncomfortably warm, as he had forgotten he could cry until the tears touched his cheeks, and he blew out a rattling breath. "Ah... what the hell is this place...?" A sense of wonder touched and softened his shaky voice, as moved by the generous gesture as he was by the reactions of the Aurkindri around him. Some pointed and laughed, crying out with joy; others sobbed, kissing and embracing one another.

The gnome captain said nothing for a moment; then he clapped him on the side (the shoulder would have been too hard to reach) and said, "Best get your people organized. We'll help with the luggage as we're able." He stumped off to shout at some people as the Moon's Livery drifted in alongside the only completed pier.

The coast made the site an excellent natural harbor, protected by the short rocky point behind them extending southwest, and another further up the coast reaching almost straight out west, where Goreen could not help but think a lighthouse would go very well. There would be abundant space for docks and warehouses, maybe a shipyard or two... and, above all else, a place they could call home, where they could feel welcome.

The old captain let out a delighted cry of his own, limping over to the opposite railing at a familiar voice, and raised his arm to his cousin Jaster on the pier, who cupped his hands around his mouth and called out in greeting, "Xhast!"

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