WHO: Yseult, Darras, Derrica & Flint WHAT: Gathering intel on the blockade failure and the state of Val Chevin's harbor defenses; an unexpected dinner party. WHEN: Early Wintermarch WHERE: Val Chevin, the Waking Sea NOTES: N/A, will add if necessary.
It requires very little work to revert the Tevene sloop, captured during the escape from Minrathous, to be more in line with her former appearance. The colors are slightly different, the name arbitrary, and the rigging altered just enough to throw off any theoretical Venatori with an encyclopedic knowledge of lost or captured vessels, but what matters is that it is definitively not the boat which has stood at anchor in the Kirkwall harbor these many months.
Which doesn't make approaching Val Chevin easy, but it buys them the luxury of reasonable doubt. And that is something. It is enough to allow them first to spend the day beating back and forth hull down from the port city with sharp eyes and spyglasses at the mastheads to observe as much as is possible from a distance, and then to finally come creeping in closer as night falls.
It allows, if they are lucky, for one of the ship's boats to be swung out for Darras and Derrica to climb down into it.
"Watch for the patrol boats," Flint is saying. "If you can get close enough to to take soundings over that wreckage, do it. We'll send an alert by crystal if we see any sign that you've been spotted."
"But be careful," Yseult adds from beside Flint, arms crossed. The fact that her instructions don't actually conflict with his doesn't stop them having the vague tone of a disagreement. "We're not best equipped for a chase or a battle, so it isn't worth the risk of getting caught, or you running up on the wreckage. Get what you safely can."
"Lucky my name means 'careful'." Darras grins at her with (for Yseult, at least) familiar stupid bravado. It's nothing of an assurance and nothing of a response, really. But at least he doesn't embarrass her any more than that.
Besides all that, he's ready for the work. As soon as the little boat has hit water, he's climbing his way down, easy with it. The sun was high and warm today, but with the dying of the light, a coolness is rising off of the sea. The waves are short and choppy, and lap at the sides of the boat which rocks a little when Darras lands in it with a quiet thud.
Derrica is painfully nervous. Not about the work, which is familiar enough, but about doing it in such close proximity to both Commander and Scoutmaster. She scrubs her palm anxiously against her thigh before nodding jerkily and swinging her legs over the edge. The soft sound of Darras' landing comes just as she settles her weight.
There's a moment's pause where she is clearly trying to think of something to say, before she gives up, flashes a brief, stiff smile over her shoulder and lowers herself down after Darras. She drops the last few feet to land just behind Darras, arms spread slightly for balance.
"Let me sit towards the bow," Derrica says, knowing full well they aren't meant to fight but on the off chance this is a trap or they happen upon someone capable of raising the alarm, she can try to contain it at a distance.
Down in the boat, Darras makes dutiful space for Derrica to move into the bow. He takes up the oars--flashes one last grin up at Yseult (his name might mean 'careful', how's she know that it doesn't), and with that as his farewell, he pushes off from the sloop and starts them toward the wreckage.
The sky is painted with the last fingers of the sunset. Dusk is not proper dark. They have a little bit of the light still, though it won't last them long, so they make as swift a way as they can toward their goal. The wind is mild, and those choppy little waves prove surprisingly easy to cut through. Soon the sloop--and Flint, and Yseult--are behind them. There's the land before them, sprinkled with lights here and there, brighter down the coast to the left. No obvious patrol ships, nothing ahead of them. The waves and the wind and their progress, wrinkling the smooth face of the sea, trailing a white furrowed wake that is smoothed over by the next wave, swallowed up again.
Darras eyes the water as the oars make their next cut through it, pushing them forward. "Got to be close," he says aloud, half a question and half a statement. Surely they are.
"I can see something ahead of us," Derrica agrees. She's been chewing the inside of her cheek nervously, but the further they get from Flint and Yseult, the steadier she feels. "Can you try to pull to the left slightly? We'll be able to drift alongside."
Wrecks give her a terrible feeling. This stretch of sea is almost soaked in the lingering after-image of death and misery. She can feel it as clearly as the spray of sea water on her skin.
"Do you think it's odd no one else is out here?" She murmurs, turning to keep Darras in her peripheral vision as they glide closer. Were the patrols that confident in their defenses?
His grunt has a kind of positive lilt to it as he takes another pull on the oars, favoring the right for a few strokes until their little boat has turned in the direction she'd requested. He's thinking about the sloop's position on the map, the little ticks marking out the perimeter of the wreck--and thinking about what's ahead, how much farther they have to go.
"It's dinnertime. Or it's superstition," he opines, as they continue forward. "Not even a patrol wants to mess with watery ghosts. That's a joke." In case that was in question. "I doubt our scoutmaster would have sent us out here if she was expecting a surprise. Can't say that with the same surety for Captain Flint. Don't know him half so well." Also a joke, but he doesn't call it out, only grins a little as he keeps up the job of rowing. "They did say to keep a weather eye out. So if this is a trap, we'll just be quick about our examination. Get out before they can spring it."
Which they'll have chance to do quite soon, seeing as they're nearly upon the wreckage.
All he gets in return is a quiet hum of assent as her focus shifts from the possibility of discovery to the rapidly closing distance between them and the wreckage coming into focus before them.
Soon, they're close enough for Derrica to put a hand out to guide them up alongside the ruined husk of the wreck. When the rowboat comes to a stop, bobbing gently in the wave, she leans even further over. Death clings to every fiber of wood.
"Look at this," she murmurs. "Some of this damage is from when they must have moved the wrecks, but this..."
Derrica is no expert, but she has seen wrecks. She has seen the aftermath of fires. The charring around the great blown out holes in these ships is irregular, or at least, it is not what she had expected.
It's darker than when they first set out, but there's light enough to see by. The spars of wood jut up from the surface like claws of some sea-beast. Derrica's hand looks very small, laid where it is. And the rest of the wreckage is just there below the surface, and all of it marked clearly with the black char that the water hasn't managed to wash away.
Darras leans a little to the right, trying to see around to the other side of it. "This side that's facing us," he says, slowly, "that'd be what faced outside. And then the other side--it was Orlesian, yeah? They're always painting the insides. Look there--the way the spliter happened. Means that whatever blew those holes out did it from the inside."
"Do you think they swayed some of the sailors to set off explosives inside?"
They shouldn't really be questioning this here, out on the water. But Derrica doesn't see another option. Unless someone managed to get aboard and plant an explosive, or pay off someone to do it, how else could a ship be blasted apart from the inside?
"We should look at another," she continues, before Darras has a chance to say either way. "In case this one was a fluke."
Risky, but neither Flint nor Yseult have signaled them yet. It's likely safe enough to try to poke around a little more, take that sounding and then retreat. The silence continues to be unnerving. It serves their purpose for the moment, certainly, but Derrica's skin is prickling with anxiety as she looks at the ruined ship in front of them.
"Coin can sway a lot. I'd think a sailor would have the good sense not t' blow up the ship they were standing on. Considering the consequences."
But, then again, given the evidence-- Well. Darras tears his gaze away from the splintered wood and takes up the oars again without further comment. He's going over it in his mind as he guides them over to the spars of the next shipwreck over. It's a short distance, not far to go. Even as they're making their approach, they can see the markings all over again. Black char, splintered and wrecked wood. The waves slap at its ruins, and the sound seems loud in the eerie quiet.
Darras stops their little boat when they're within easy reach of the wreckage. It's the same. He doesn't need to say it. Leaving them floating a moment, he shifts, the boat rocking with his movement, and digs out his sending crystal.
"We can make a report," he says into it. "Any sign of company yet?"
"No," she says quietly, eyes on the scorched wood. She can feel the misery of this place clinging to her skin. Forcibly, she pulls her gaze away to scan along the water. A faint ripple of sound comes across. Voices, the bob of a torch too far to make out.
"Not yet," she amends. "I can hear something, but I can't tell if they plan on getting into a boat or just watching from where they are."
Easy enough to evade someone who plans to stay rooted to the dock. There's no urgency in the distorted murmurs that make their way to them across the distance.
"Ask if they can see anything with the glass," she says, and then, a little softer, "I want to take those soundings. We might not get another chance."
Darras nods, and raises his crystal to speak into it. He's marked that torchlight as well, moments after Derrica. He's watching it now, distant though it is.
"We're on the wreckage," he says to Yseult, careful to keep his voice low. "Don't want to turn back until we've done what we came out here for. There's some light off to the east of us. Far off from us. Can you see what they're about with the glass?"
"Looks like a fisherman," Yseult reports, lowering the glass.
She speaks more directly into the crystal. "You ought to be fine. We'll let you know if they start moving closer. And you send word the moment you turn back to us."
The crystal's message is for Derrica to hear as well, and Darras nods to her once Yseult's response has come through. "We'll be quick," he says in response, then tucks the crystal back into his pocket. They'll hear any warning Flint and Yseult might send.
He trusts Yseult's assessment of the other ship. That doesn't mean he has to feel entirely at ease, and his gaze flicks back to the torchlight as he takes up the oars again.
"I'll keep us in place. Take the soundings, I'll break and write 'em down as they come. Fair?"
Derrica follows the movement of the torchlight uneasily before she looks back to Darras and nods.
There's no sense fleeing at the sight of a single fishing boat. But Derrica is thinking about how quickly guards would come scrambling at the sound of a shout as she reluctantly shoulders her staff. She can't work and clutch it, and there's no way shes going to give up on getting this particular piece of information so—
She takes the soundings, potentially with weighted ropes, who knows. And the entire time she's murmuring back to Darras she's straining to keep track of the fisherman or to anticipate the crackle of warning from Darras' crystal.
Darras does as he'd said he would, dutifully scratching out everything Derrica says. This sort of notation is simple enough to manage, the sort of thing he's learned to get by. And he stays calm, easy--watching the torchlight, ears pricked for the distant sounds of the fishermen that come over the water, that occasional splash of an oar, or slap of a wave against the distant bow.
They get no word of warning as they work, and Derrica is winding her potential weighted rope back up, he picks up the crystal again.
"Finished with the one. We'll get another. Those fishermen stayed fishermen?"
The conversation comes in muted, distorted waves across the water. As Darras speaks, Derrica plunks back into the boat. The weights drops to the floor, resting against the sodden roap, as she strains to get a glimpse of the fishermen and try to chart their trajectory from where they are. Yes, Derrica wants one more measurement. But she doesn't want to have to kill two fishermen for the crime of floating too close to them while going about their business.
Yseult, still keeping a careful eye on the fishermen and the docks both, replies quietly through the crystal: "Yes, still clear. One more, then come back." She flicks a glance sideways at Flint to see if he'll disagree.
A storm - so typical for the Waking Sea in this season - catches them shortly following their retreat from the Orlesian coast. It's unpleasant, gnashing-wind weather that transforms the graceful sloop into a dunkard plowman - bashing bow first through and then being battered by waves in turns. It should be a relief when the storm finally blows itself out.
But there, revealed by clearing skies, sits a large ship. She is twice their size, has the wind behind her, and is flying a dark blue flag. In almost the same instant she's spotted, the ship alters course toward them.
"What do we do?" Derrica asks, grip tightening on her staff as she looks directly at Flint. Their options right now are not very good at all. Stand and fight, they'd be killed. Flee, and that hulking ship would give chase. Third option?? Perform a minor miracle?
From his place at the rail, Flint takes this moment to follow in the grand tradition of many sea captains both Northern and Southern: he ignores her in favor of calling for a glass. His assessment of the vessel through it is brief, the calculation of seconds rather than minutes.
(Amazing, how quickly a conclusion can be reached when there are so few options to hand.)
"There is an Orlesian flag below. Bring it up and see that it's hoisted upside down. Be quick about it." He lowers the glass, adding before she can get anywhere, "Alert the Scoutmaster as well. Have her and Rivain join me in the cabin, then come see me when you're done."
And then he's shearing off, moving off to speak refer to one of the ship's crew.
At which point Derrica scuttles off to do just that.
Or to delegate to whichever person she finds first to hoist the flag in the specified position before running to get Yseult's attention while not interrupting whatever she and Darras are talking about. That's probably an excruciating ordeal, but we'll skip describing it for sake of brevity.
For the sake of brevity, there is likewise no need to detail any of the long, fictional, and mostly pointless story that Darras had been telling Yseult. The true point of the story had been of course to make Yseult laugh. She has a very nice laugh, which would (if anyone asked Darras) be worth detailing.
Once their party has gathered in the cabin, there isn't a great deal of laughing. Yet.
"A Tevinter ship, heading back the way we've just come, turned around to say hello. And us with no chance of outrunning them. So we're..." Darras looks expectantly at Yseult. "I know what I'm going to say. D'you want to give your idea first, now that we each of us know what we're likely up against?"
Any laughing Yseult was doing was cut off immediately at Derrica's knock, it not being professional to seem capable of such things in front of subordinates. And it's true there's not much to laugh at on deck. (Yet.)
"Brazen it out," she proposes. "It's already too late to run, and we're badly outnumbered. But this is a Tevinter ship, and we have a Tevinter captain. We might get away with it briefly, depending what they want."
"Then we're of a similar mind. We'll make to windward of her as sedately as possible. If she allows us to pass without question, all the better. But I imagine, given how keen she is, she has questions and will comply us to heave to for the answers. In which case—"
He pauses, regarding the three of them in the watery grey light of the cabin. "We are fresh from Val Chevin, newly refit from breaking the blockade. That ship is flying House colors; I doubt ut would be so brazen if they weren't certain it was sailing into friendly water.
"Rivain, you're to be my second here at the quarterdeck. Derrica, I would have you ready in the tops acting as rigging crew and ready to do whatever you see fit should things begin to go wrong."
And to Yseult: "I assume you are comfortable with the operation of a crossbow. Post yourself near the stern ballista in some way which seems incidental."
Yseult's nod is brisk, and she waits only a moment to look between Darras and Derrica for any sign of disagreement before heading for the stern. There, she adopts a show of peering behind them through a glass as if searching for something and definitely not paying any attention to the ballista at her hip.
Following Yseult's lead, Derrica moves off to do as ordered. Her initial instinct to weave a barrier around the three of them is suppressed; if anyone is watching the deck, she'd give herself away immediately. Instead, she grimaces slightly before inclining her head and beginning her climb as the distance between the two ships rapidly closes.
She positions herself carefully, balancing and unhooking her staff while keeping her eyes on Flint and Darras. Maybe this gambit plays out no problem, or maybe she has to set fire to that ship. It's hard to say.
"None of their men on deck have weapons out," Derrica murmurs into the crystal. "None that I can see, anyway."
No disagreement from Darras, either, and he nods his agreement to the plan. He can take orders when he needs to, and this is a moment of need if there was one.
When they're out on the quarterdeck, he watches Yseult as she picks her path off toward the stern, keeps his eyes on her until she's out of sight. Then he turns his attention back to Flint, to wait for next orders.
Derrica's message is easily corroborated from their position as well, as the other ship closes the gap, near enough to make out small details and getting nearer all the while. "Good for us if it's true," Darras says, mostly to Flint. If he can see the lack of arms on their ship, they'll surely see him get out his sending crystal to make a reply. And what innocent little ship from Val Chevin would stock its crew with crystals? "Easy enough to play the lamb and leave the teeth to come out later."
And that ship is still getting closer. Darras scratches at his cheek, thoughtful. "I'm ready to lie," he offers, cheerfully.
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VAL CHEVIN;
Which doesn't make approaching Val Chevin easy, but it buys them the luxury of reasonable doubt. And that is something. It is enough to allow them first to spend the day beating back and forth hull down from the port city with sharp eyes and spyglasses at the mastheads to observe as much as is possible from a distance, and then to finally come creeping in closer as night falls.
It allows, if they are lucky, for one of the ship's boats to be swung out for Darras and Derrica to climb down into it.
"Watch for the patrol boats," Flint is saying. "If you can get close enough to to take soundings over that wreckage, do it. We'll send an alert by crystal if we see any sign that you've been spotted."
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Besides all that, he's ready for the work. As soon as the little boat has hit water, he's climbing his way down, easy with it. The sun was high and warm today, but with the dying of the light, a coolness is rising off of the sea. The waves are short and choppy, and lap at the sides of the boat which rocks a little when Darras lands in it with a quiet thud.
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There's a moment's pause where she is clearly trying to think of something to say, before she gives up, flashes a brief, stiff smile over her shoulder and lowers herself down after Darras. She drops the last few feet to land just behind Darras, arms spread slightly for balance.
"Let me sit towards the bow," Derrica says, knowing full well they aren't meant to fight but on the off chance this is a trap or they happen upon someone capable of raising the alarm, she can try to contain it at a distance.
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The sky is painted with the last fingers of the sunset. Dusk is not proper dark. They have a little bit of the light still, though it won't last them long, so they make as swift a way as they can toward their goal. The wind is mild, and those choppy little waves prove surprisingly easy to cut through. Soon the sloop--and Flint, and Yseult--are behind them. There's the land before them, sprinkled with lights here and there, brighter down the coast to the left. No obvious patrol ships, nothing ahead of them. The waves and the wind and their progress, wrinkling the smooth face of the sea, trailing a white furrowed wake that is smoothed over by the next wave, swallowed up again.
Darras eyes the water as the oars make their next cut through it, pushing them forward. "Got to be close," he says aloud, half a question and half a statement. Surely they are.
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Wrecks give her a terrible feeling. This stretch of sea is almost soaked in the lingering after-image of death and misery. She can feel it as clearly as the spray of sea water on her skin.
"Do you think it's odd no one else is out here?" She murmurs, turning to keep Darras in her peripheral vision as they glide closer. Were the patrols that confident in their defenses?
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"It's dinnertime. Or it's superstition," he opines, as they continue forward. "Not even a patrol wants to mess with watery ghosts. That's a joke." In case that was in question. "I doubt our scoutmaster would have sent us out here if she was expecting a surprise. Can't say that with the same surety for Captain Flint. Don't know him half so well." Also a joke, but he doesn't call it out, only grins a little as he keeps up the job of rowing. "They did say to keep a weather eye out. So if this is a trap, we'll just be quick about our examination. Get out before they can spring it."
Which they'll have chance to do quite soon, seeing as they're nearly upon the wreckage.
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Soon, they're close enough for Derrica to put a hand out to guide them up alongside the ruined husk of the wreck. When the rowboat comes to a stop, bobbing gently in the wave, she leans even further over. Death clings to every fiber of wood.
"Look at this," she murmurs. "Some of this damage is from when they must have moved the wrecks, but this..."
Derrica is no expert, but she has seen wrecks. She has seen the aftermath of fires. The charring around the great blown out holes in these ships is irregular, or at least, it is not what she had expected.
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Darras leans a little to the right, trying to see around to the other side of it. "This side that's facing us," he says, slowly, "that'd be what faced outside. And then the other side--it was Orlesian, yeah? They're always painting the insides. Look there--the way the spliter happened. Means that whatever blew those holes out did it from the inside."
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They shouldn't really be questioning this here, out on the water. But Derrica doesn't see another option. Unless someone managed to get aboard and plant an explosive, or pay off someone to do it, how else could a ship be blasted apart from the inside?
"We should look at another," she continues, before Darras has a chance to say either way. "In case this one was a fluke."
Risky, but neither Flint nor Yseult have signaled them yet. It's likely safe enough to try to poke around a little more, take that sounding and then retreat. The silence continues to be unnerving. It serves their purpose for the moment, certainly, but Derrica's skin is prickling with anxiety as she looks at the ruined ship in front of them.
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But, then again, given the evidence-- Well. Darras tears his gaze away from the splintered wood and takes up the oars again without further comment. He's going over it in his mind as he guides them over to the spars of the next shipwreck over. It's a short distance, not far to go. Even as they're making their approach, they can see the markings all over again. Black char, splintered and wrecked wood. The waves slap at its ruins, and the sound seems loud in the eerie quiet.
Darras stops their little boat when they're within easy reach of the wreckage. It's the same. He doesn't need to say it. Leaving them floating a moment, he shifts, the boat rocking with his movement, and digs out his sending crystal.
"We can make a report," he says into it. "Any sign of company yet?"
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"Not yet," she amends. "I can hear something, but I can't tell if they plan on getting into a boat or just watching from where they are."
Easy enough to evade someone who plans to stay rooted to the dock. There's no urgency in the distorted murmurs that make their way to them across the distance.
"Ask if they can see anything with the glass," she says, and then, a little softer, "I want to take those soundings. We might not get another chance."
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"We're on the wreckage," he says to Yseult, careful to keep his voice low. "Don't want to turn back until we've done what we came out here for. There's some light off to the east of us. Far off from us. Can you see what they're about with the glass?"
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"Have them send word the moment they turn back."
They'll slip the anchor cable and be free of this place the moment the boat is swayed in.
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She speaks more directly into the crystal. "You ought to be fine. We'll let you know if they start moving closer. And you send word the moment you turn back to us."
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He trusts Yseult's assessment of the other ship. That doesn't mean he has to feel entirely at ease, and his gaze flicks back to the torchlight as he takes up the oars again.
"I'll keep us in place. Take the soundings, I'll break and write 'em down as they come. Fair?"
https://i.imgur.com/gWxwPbn.jpg
There's no sense fleeing at the sight of a single fishing boat. But Derrica is thinking about how quickly guards would come scrambling at the sound of a shout as she reluctantly shoulders her staff. She can't work and clutch it, and there's no way shes going to give up on getting this particular piece of information so—
She takes the soundings, potentially with weighted ropes, who knows. And the entire time she's murmuring back to Darras she's straining to keep track of the fisherman or to anticipate the crackle of warning from Darras' crystal.
https://i.imgur.com/5avaxe7.jpg
They get no word of warning as they work, and Derrica is winding her potential weighted rope back up, he picks up the crystal again.
"Finished with the one. We'll get another. Those fishermen stayed fishermen?"
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Hopefully, their pathway has remained clear.
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UNEXPECTED GUESTS;
But there, revealed by clearing skies, sits a large ship. She is twice their size, has the wind behind her, and is flying a dark blue flag. In almost the same instant she's spotted, the ship alters course toward them.
jumps the gun casually
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(Amazing, how quickly a conclusion can be reached when there are so few options to hand.)
"There is an Orlesian flag below. Bring it up and see that it's hoisted upside down. Be quick about it." He lowers the glass, adding before she can get anywhere, "Alert the Scoutmaster as well. Have her and Rivain join me in the cabin, then come see me when you're done."
And then he's shearing off, moving off to speak refer to one of the ship's crew.
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Or to delegate to whichever person she finds first to hoist the flag in the specified position before running to get Yseult's attention while not interrupting whatever she and Darras are talking about. That's probably an excruciating ordeal, but we'll skip describing it for sake of brevity.
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Once their party has gathered in the cabin, there isn't a great deal of laughing. Yet.
"A Tevinter ship, heading back the way we've just come, turned around to say hello. And us with no chance of outrunning them. So we're..." Darras looks expectantly at Yseult. "I know what I'm going to say. D'you want to give your idea first, now that we each of us know what we're likely up against?"
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"Brazen it out," she proposes. "It's already too late to run, and we're badly outnumbered. But this is a Tevinter ship, and we have a Tevinter captain. We might get away with it briefly, depending what they want."
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He pauses, regarding the three of them in the watery grey light of the cabin. "We are fresh from Val Chevin, newly refit from breaking the blockade. That ship is flying House colors; I doubt ut would be so brazen if they weren't certain it was sailing into friendly water.
"Rivain, you're to be my second here at the quarterdeck. Derrica, I would have you ready in the tops acting as rigging crew and ready to do whatever you see fit should things begin to go wrong."
And to Yseult: "I assume you are comfortable with the operation of a crossbow. Post yourself near the stern ballista in some way which seems incidental."
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She positions herself carefully, balancing and unhooking her staff while keeping her eyes on Flint and Darras. Maybe this gambit plays out no problem, or maybe she has to set fire to that ship. It's hard to say.
"None of their men on deck have weapons out," Derrica murmurs into the crystal. "None that I can see, anyway."
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When they're out on the quarterdeck, he watches Yseult as she picks her path off toward the stern, keeps his eyes on her until she's out of sight. Then he turns his attention back to Flint, to wait for next orders.
Derrica's message is easily corroborated from their position as well, as the other ship closes the gap, near enough to make out small details and getting nearer all the while. "Good for us if it's true," Darras says, mostly to Flint. If he can see the lack of arms on their ship, they'll surely see him get out his sending crystal to make a reply. And what innocent little ship from Val Chevin would stock its crew with crystals? "Easy enough to play the lamb and leave the teeth to come out later."
And that ship is still getting closer. Darras scratches at his cheek, thoughtful. "I'm ready to lie," he offers, cheerfully.