Anyone Remember That Eel? - Traav and Sunday
Apr 1, 2020 21:25:13 GMT
Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar, BB, and 4 more like this
Post by Sunday on Apr 1, 2020 21:25:13 GMT
Evening, 30th Ches, 1497
Sunday emerges slowly from the hold, taking her time to climb the narrow stairs to the main deck, a tankard of ale clutched in either hand. Having navigated the ascent, she picks her way carefully and gracefully over the coiled ropes, around the masts and rigging, generally avoiding the maritime miscellany covering the wooden boards.
Handing one of the drinks to Traav as he leans against the starboard rails and stares out intently over the grey-green waters, Sunday hops up beside him to perch precariously on the side of the ship. She is still wearing the new armour she picked up the day before, its surface covered in varicoloured seashells, curlicues of coral, and fronds of marram grass. Noticing Traav’s preoccupation, she looks out over the sea, her cropped hair - still growing out after the alterations needed for the Avernus disguise - buffeted by gentle winds rolling off the waves. She cannot see anything in particular he might be staring at.
“What do you reckon?” She says casually to the half-elf beside her. “Was that more or less messed-up than trying to fight the entire Abyss at once? I mean, that one had a whole ‘assaulted by the combined armies of Orcus’ vibe going on, but this one… like… he ate its entire face. And that was a big face to eat.”
Traav smiles, lifting the drink to his mouth.
Sunday studies him for a moment, before turning back to watch eLk gambol alongside the ship in his giant seahorse form.
“You know, we really have done some crazy shit together. But an insane mind flayer turning a leviathan eel into a gargantuan aboleth… let’s just say I didn’t think going home and seeing my aunt would be so low down the list.” She shrugs. “Well, I say ‘home’ - Kantas is my home now.” She takes a swig from her drink. “Where did it used to be for you?”
“Luskan.”
Sunday nods. “Must have felt nice ending up in another port?”
“It felt familiar.”
“But without the pressure of home and family, right?”
“Right.”
Worse than Varis, this one. Sunday thinks, about to try another question but quickly shutting her mouth as Traav continues.
“My dad’s a real piece of work. A ‘freelancer’ of sorts.” The bitter stress on the word is unmistakable.
“What line of work?” Sunday prompts softly.
“Piracy, mostly, I think. He has a crew. He makes a good living.” Traav says sardonically. “What do your family do? In the Hells. What did you do?”
“I was made to kill people, mainly. Literally made, I mean. Born, bred, trained - and then unleashed on my family’s enemies.”
“That makes sense. I've always been around killers and thieves. But you've turned it into an artform.”
Sunday looks taken aback. Hurt, but also complimented by his words.
Traav glances at her. “Sorry. But you do it so well.”
Sunday smiles ruefully. “Family - always trying to make you join the business, right?”
“Ooooh yes….”
Sunday watches BB and Pieni huddled by the mainmast, comparing notes they’ve taken on various deep sea flora and fauna.
“You're not so bad yourself at the killing, for someone so young - you didn't want to join up?”
Traav scoffs at the irony of her words, before replying. “I wanted away from my father. Away from the terrible people he surrounds himself with. Away from...” he trails off. "You know, I forget why..."
“Well, that's good, I guess…” Sunday looks at him out of the corner of her eyes, weighing his words. “Do you want to remember?”
Traav nods. “Yeah, I know it’s how I ended up with this sealskin armour. But the details, the memories... they’re not there.”
Sunday turns her full attention to what he’s saying. “Gone… or taken…?”
Traav’s voice is flat as he says: “I traded them away.”
Slow creeping realisation dawns on Sunday. “Your father… Did he hurt someone you loved?”
“I think he killed my mother.”
The long silence that follows is broken only by the brief shouted words of the sailors working the sails and the occasional crash of waves against the ship’s prow.
“I can see why you'd want to lose those memories.” Sunday says eventually.
“Yeah, but one day I will go back and kill him and his entire crew.” Traav says matter-of-factly, like he was talking about returning a borrowed book to a friend.
A second lengthy pause. Traav finishes his drink. Sunday looks at her cup, still half full. She passes it to him.
“You know we’ll go with you, if that's what you want?”
“It is a long journey.”
“Longer than the one to Hells? You forget, we can travel by magic.” Sunday waves her fingers. “That shit's pretty quick.”
“That's true.”
Sunday jumps down from the rail, looking up at him. “Well, the offer is there.” She nods across the deck to where the giant half-orc is talking quietly with Varis. “I know Baine for one would volunteer in a heartbeat. Quicker, actually.”
“You should know… my father... it'll be incredibly dangerous.”
Sunday nods. “I hear you. We've plenty of time to get ready.”
A brief hint of a smile flickers across his face. “It would be good to have the best damn fighters I've ever seen with me.”
Sunday bows, mockingly. “Reckon you'll stick around Kantas for a while ‘til we’re ready to go? We turn around sometimes and you're just gone. Don’t forget: we’re not just fighters; we’re also friends.”
“I'm always around.” Traav downs the rest of Sunday’s drink. He hands her the empty mug, as he heads off below decks. “Thanks for that.”
(Written with Jimbo (Traavor/Torvald) )
Sunday emerges slowly from the hold, taking her time to climb the narrow stairs to the main deck, a tankard of ale clutched in either hand. Having navigated the ascent, she picks her way carefully and gracefully over the coiled ropes, around the masts and rigging, generally avoiding the maritime miscellany covering the wooden boards.
Handing one of the drinks to Traav as he leans against the starboard rails and stares out intently over the grey-green waters, Sunday hops up beside him to perch precariously on the side of the ship. She is still wearing the new armour she picked up the day before, its surface covered in varicoloured seashells, curlicues of coral, and fronds of marram grass. Noticing Traav’s preoccupation, she looks out over the sea, her cropped hair - still growing out after the alterations needed for the Avernus disguise - buffeted by gentle winds rolling off the waves. She cannot see anything in particular he might be staring at.
“What do you reckon?” She says casually to the half-elf beside her. “Was that more or less messed-up than trying to fight the entire Abyss at once? I mean, that one had a whole ‘assaulted by the combined armies of Orcus’ vibe going on, but this one… like… he ate its entire face. And that was a big face to eat.”
Traav smiles, lifting the drink to his mouth.
Sunday studies him for a moment, before turning back to watch eLk gambol alongside the ship in his giant seahorse form.
“You know, we really have done some crazy shit together. But an insane mind flayer turning a leviathan eel into a gargantuan aboleth… let’s just say I didn’t think going home and seeing my aunt would be so low down the list.” She shrugs. “Well, I say ‘home’ - Kantas is my home now.” She takes a swig from her drink. “Where did it used to be for you?”
“Luskan.”
Sunday nods. “Must have felt nice ending up in another port?”
“It felt familiar.”
“But without the pressure of home and family, right?”
“Right.”
Worse than Varis, this one. Sunday thinks, about to try another question but quickly shutting her mouth as Traav continues.
“My dad’s a real piece of work. A ‘freelancer’ of sorts.” The bitter stress on the word is unmistakable.
“What line of work?” Sunday prompts softly.
“Piracy, mostly, I think. He has a crew. He makes a good living.” Traav says sardonically. “What do your family do? In the Hells. What did you do?”
“I was made to kill people, mainly. Literally made, I mean. Born, bred, trained - and then unleashed on my family’s enemies.”
“That makes sense. I've always been around killers and thieves. But you've turned it into an artform.”
Sunday looks taken aback. Hurt, but also complimented by his words.
Traav glances at her. “Sorry. But you do it so well.”
Sunday smiles ruefully. “Family - always trying to make you join the business, right?”
“Ooooh yes….”
Sunday watches BB and Pieni huddled by the mainmast, comparing notes they’ve taken on various deep sea flora and fauna.
“You're not so bad yourself at the killing, for someone so young - you didn't want to join up?”
Traav scoffs at the irony of her words, before replying. “I wanted away from my father. Away from the terrible people he surrounds himself with. Away from...” he trails off. "You know, I forget why..."
“Well, that's good, I guess…” Sunday looks at him out of the corner of her eyes, weighing his words. “Do you want to remember?”
Traav nods. “Yeah, I know it’s how I ended up with this sealskin armour. But the details, the memories... they’re not there.”
Sunday turns her full attention to what he’s saying. “Gone… or taken…?”
Traav’s voice is flat as he says: “I traded them away.”
Slow creeping realisation dawns on Sunday. “Your father… Did he hurt someone you loved?”
“I think he killed my mother.”
The long silence that follows is broken only by the brief shouted words of the sailors working the sails and the occasional crash of waves against the ship’s prow.
“I can see why you'd want to lose those memories.” Sunday says eventually.
“Yeah, but one day I will go back and kill him and his entire crew.” Traav says matter-of-factly, like he was talking about returning a borrowed book to a friend.
A second lengthy pause. Traav finishes his drink. Sunday looks at her cup, still half full. She passes it to him.
“You know we’ll go with you, if that's what you want?”
“It is a long journey.”
“Longer than the one to Hells? You forget, we can travel by magic.” Sunday waves her fingers. “That shit's pretty quick.”
“That's true.”
Sunday jumps down from the rail, looking up at him. “Well, the offer is there.” She nods across the deck to where the giant half-orc is talking quietly with Varis. “I know Baine for one would volunteer in a heartbeat. Quicker, actually.”
“You should know… my father... it'll be incredibly dangerous.”
Sunday nods. “I hear you. We've plenty of time to get ready.”
A brief hint of a smile flickers across his face. “It would be good to have the best damn fighters I've ever seen with me.”
Sunday bows, mockingly. “Reckon you'll stick around Kantas for a while ‘til we’re ready to go? We turn around sometimes and you're just gone. Don’t forget: we’re not just fighters; we’re also friends.”
“I'm always around.” Traav downs the rest of Sunday’s drink. He hands her the empty mug, as he heads off below decks. “Thanks for that.”
(Written with Jimbo (Traavor/Torvald) )
