[PLAYER PLOT] THIS WEATHERED HEART

[katabasis]

WHO: A Lotta Folks
WHAT: Preventing a Venatori plot on a distant island; everything goes a-okay.
WHEN: Mid Kingsway
WHERE: Nascere, an island off the coast of Seheron
NOTES: OOC information and plotting post HERE. Ty to cass and mj's nevarra city log structure which I shamelessly ripped off.

ARRIVAL.
Accommodations are tight on the single ship which leaves Kirkwall, but spirits—of the crew, at least—are surprisingly high given what is likely to be unpleasant work ahead. In true Waking Sea fashion however, the weather turns just as the Walrus enters the straight between Ostwick and Brandel's Reach. A number of days are spent at the mercy of viciously inhospitable weather, shouting over screaming wind and struggling the length of slanting decks, as the ship beats its way East to smoother seas. On the plus side, the days which follow allow plenty of time to repair anything carried away or damaged by the storms. 'Better now than when we're trying to land,' seems to be the general opinion of the seasoned sailors aboard.

When the Walrus passes into its native latitudes, great care is taken to avoid all sight of the coast until they can skirt in under the cover of darkness. So what at last rises up from the horizon in the night is not an island but a shadow. The lightless shape rising against the canvas of the night sky consists of some mountain range rendered featureless by the dark, jungle cliff sides, and just the faintest line of foaming bio-luminescent waters against a narrow strip of beach. The landing itself is uneventful - a series of longboats run them to shore, then return to the Walrus with a skeleton crew fit to see the ship smuggled back over the horizon.

Now effectively stranded, Riftwatch (and their half a crew of pirates) make their way through the hilly jungle terrain and eventually into the valley beyond where the vegetation and twisting paths occasionally give way to signs of agricultural life—groves of macadamia trees and broad swathes of sugar cane—and the faintest flickers of light from distant plantation houses. Their destination is a small farm cut into one of the red foothills. From its overgrown state, it's clearly been abandoned for some time. The farmhouse is beginning to grow dilapidated from lack of care, and its interior has been cleared to accommodate both Riftwatch and the small force of about twenty insurgents—a strange combination of escaped enslaved and pirates-turned-revolutionaries, and evidently just one of a series of rebel cells in hiding throughout the island's interior—they meet there.

DAY.
With some expectation that it will be a few days before they mount their assault on the rift and the underground ruin, the first day on Nascere is meant to simply be an opportunity to familiarize themselves with the current conditions on the island. The bulk of Riftwatch's force is either to stay put on the farm away from prying eyes, or may accompany one or two rebel scouts to coordinate with other cells scattered across the island so long as they can move quickly, quietly, and avoid detection. Specifically, two groups have been tasked to gather information in Nascere Town proper—particularly any news relating to the whereabouts of the missing half of the insurgency which disappeared when the rebel force was successfully broken by the ruling force in residence—, and to explore as much of the network of caves leading to the ruin as is possible while avoiding detection.


LOCAL GOSSIP - Athessa, Byerly, Isaac, & Vanadi

Seemingly carved out of the living rock overlooking the harbor below, Nascere Town is a visage in relief upon a steep hill, its deep contours cast in a harsh light by the rift fixed high above it at the hill's summit. The buildings at the base are built on stilts, with stairs or ladders leading up to the entrances. As the elevation rises, the buildings fall until they are all level with the dirt road that cuts through them.

Residences and shops line the road on either side, and what seems to be otherwise shockingly normal commerce is slowed by the purposeful momentum of a few Venatori gathering supplies and taking them somewhere. The warehouse near the lowest point of town is supplying wagons with tools and rope and chains and the like, the supplies needed to imprison rather than to build. A handful of Tevene-aligned foot soldiers not at work can also be found enjoying drinks or a meal at the tavern or enjoying intimate company at the brothel across the street. The center of operations seems to be the old Chantry—built as counterpoint to the Qun fort overlooking the bay when the Imperium took control of the island, converted into a public market during the pirate possession of the island, and then reverted back to its former religious significance upon the Governor's takeover—, overlooking the town and back lit by a verdant veilfire sun. It's where the ranks sleep, and plan, and where it's rumored a few people have never returned from.

That is a story that can be from a number of different people in town. Some folks just vanish, and it's chalked up to the guerrillas in the surrounding jungle, the pirate resistance, sometimes even the Governor's men. But sometimes they're seen being led to that holy spire, and what else are they supposed to think when it's Venatori taking them there?

It's too risky to approach the Chantry itself, but it's clear enough by the commotion in the streets that there isn't any time to waste. This is confirmed by the nervous and surprisingly competent gentleman named Mr. Featherstone who meets them in the tavern's back room. He unfortunately doesn't know much about the missing half of the rebel militia; all he can offer is a few rumors that they've been smuggling people off the island, which could explain some of the fighting still happening in the jungle, or perhaps that they scarpered entirely when the resistance fell. Most on Nascere have taken to believing them dead.

The most important information Featherstone has to share is that whatever the Venatori are planning to do will be happening tonight.

UNDERGROUND EXPLORATION - Caius, Dorian, Gwenaëlle, Leander, & Madi

At first, the passages are simply dirt walls, roots and moss, but slowly, they give way to stone. It would be easy to get lost in these caverns, if no one was paying attention. The passages branch, though some open into single-roomed chambers and others have collapsed or been overgrown by plant life. But upon close inspection, it's clear which routes have seen regular foot traffic, and Madi has some knowledge of the route, enough to quell doubt upon reaching forked passages, though it's inevitable to take a few wrong turns and come across closed chambers or mark light ahead where tunnels curve back towards the surface into the jungle. The walls bear runes and other markings, some appearing to be simple directions while others are historical and instructional in design. Luckily, there are plenty of small crevasses to wedge tunnel markers, ensuring a return to this route won't require as much trial and error.

Eventually, the echo of voices prompts the dousing of torches while guiding forward travel. The tunnels give way to a large, vaulted chamber. Debris has been moved to the edges to reveal looping, intricate runes set into the floor. A single shaft of light illuminates the dark-smeared altar in the middle of the room. A number of Venatori are in attendance, clearly hard at work in preparation for something. Torches have been lit, and the glow reveals a set of cages along the far wall, ceremonial robes, a table of sharp implements reverently arranged.

Walking further into the chamber is too much of a gamble. Every time it looks as if the room will empty out entirely, a few more Venatori reappear. But it is possible to eavesdrop on the conversations as Venatori come and go through several other entryways. The discussions reveal that the Venatori have used regularly visited this chamber to perform rituals, as well as that they are confident in having finally crafted the exact sequence of events that unlocks⸺

Something? It's hard to say, because the Venatori never refer to the outcome in anything but vague, glowing excitement. But it is safe to assume that the outcome of the upcoming ritual is probably very bad. Judging by some of their conversation and the layout of the ruin's modifications, Caius (and potentially a few other nerds present) will be able to calculate that the fallout from a spell like this has the potential for some serious collateral damage if left unchecked, enough so that the town above proper might be endangered by it. Luckily, it's possible to back out of this cavern and backtrack towards the town to pass along this information without attracting any attention from the Venatori prepping the ritual space.

NIGHT.
Time being a luxury evidently in short supply, efforts to coordinate and strategize promptly take on new urgency. While the bulk of the effort is dedicated to rallying forces and preparing to move out, two teams are sent to alert select local contacts to the destructive potential of the runes under the island and to fetch a secret cache of gaatlok buried on the island.

SACRIFICIAL LAMBS - Barrow, Lukas, Ilias, & Silver

With the warning that the town could be turned into collateral damage, a more tangible threat than several years of guerrilla warfare, evacuating the town to safer ground is the only logical thing to do. John has an idea of who should be told first, which brothel, which tavern, which spaces in the town square and market they'll need to visit to make sure the alarm they're sounding carries swiftly and effectively.

However, they make it as far as the town square before it becomes clear something's amiss. More amiss than usual.

The town is crawling with Venatori. The streets are full of people trying to scramble into hiding or being dragged from their homes or from behind the market stalls. The gallows, always an ominous sight, are eclipsed by a barred cart into which people are being shoved, or thrown. Even in all the chaos and rising level of hysteria from the townspeople as they try to avoid capture, it quickly becomes obvious that the Venatori aren't rounding people up for a night in the pokey.

Knowing what's scheduled to occur at the ruins, it's safe to assume the people being thrown into carts haven't been volunteered to act as moral support so much as they're intended to provide the required blood component.

Stealth is paramount; it's crucial to keep the Venatori from realizing any opposition beyond the pirate rebellion has arrived on the island. That being said, the Venatori also can't be allowed to haul a cart full of potential blood sacrifices down to the ruins. Therefore the task becomes: either find a way to release the victims and prevent the Venatori from collecting more without being seen, or make sure no Venatori are able to raise the alarm if there's no way to proceed stealthily.

TREASURE HUNT - Edgard, Darras, Derrica, & Flint

Armed with Flint's knowledge of where the cache of gaatlok is buried, it seems an easy enough task to locate and unbury it. Or it would be, if there weren't an enemy patrol in the nearby vicinity (likely motivated by the burial site's proximity to a now abandoned rebel encampment). That discovery is brought about by one of the enemy scouts straying too far from a familiar path and snagging his boot on an old trip-wire. His impact with the trap makes enough noise to call over two others, and to cover the sounds of a retreat into cover.

The Venatori can't be allowed to discover the gaatlok, and the risk of an alarm being sounded is too high to get away with being spotted. They'll have to be scared off or eliminated. Anyone who cares to eavesdrop a little can discover that the Venatori are already spooked, thanks to the Veil being so thin on the island. There have been ever increasing reports of wraiths, shades, and even ghosts manifesting on the jungle. Some have even heard the sounds of wailing loved ones or the voice of the Maker himself whispering on the breeze.

RIFT & RUIN.
With some sense of what they're up against and a gaatlok cache shaped ace up their sleeves, Riftwatch and their allies are divided into two forces. One party is to take the foothills just north of Nascere Town where the burning rift demands closure. They've been instructed to value speed over subtlety; with the bulk of the Venatori force preparing to make their way into the underground, they'll need to draw some of their number back to the hilltop if the team handling the ruins is to have any chance at scuttling the magic being performed there. The other group is to spirit the gaatlok underground and disrupt the ritual by destroying key segments of the temple's sprawling adapted runework.

THE RIFT

When viewed by night, the rift which sits at the crest of the hill overlooking Nascere Town is naseauting in its brilliance. Likely it has grown slowly in magnitude and any change has been so gradual that the locals can hardly recall what it looked like to begin with; but to anyone familiar with what a Rift should be, the danger is indicative in the sheer span of the grim aurora spilling over the hilltop. The rift hasn't torn itself open yet, but yet seems to be the operative word.

Immediate resistance is relatively light, consisting of a few Venatori mages and shockingly ill-equipped foot soldiers. Unfortunately, reinforcements from the town below will quickly answer and it will briefly appear likely that the bid for the rift will fail. However the closer they get to the rift, the more disorienting and serpentine the jungle vegetation seems to become. What must be a path certain to lead to the glowing summit instead winds travelers in circles; forms inexplicably familiar - an old friend, a favorite childhood dog, a girl someone once loved - flicker at the periphery of vision and tempt wrong turns. The confusion makes it possible to escape being overwhelmed; unfortunately, it will be easy to become separated and Riftwatch and its allies are as prone to being scattered by their desire as the enemy is. Anyone separated from the bulk of their force may find themselves prey to rare hunger in the dark.

When they at last find their way to the rift, it is as a swollen belly being split open with pulsing heaves of nauseating light crackling across the rocky summit. What at first appears to be the guts of some great thing spills from the seam in slow motion on regrettably necessary closer inspection, is in actuality some appendage of an entity ready to push its way through the Veil which takes the form of twisting snakes. They are appealingly hypnotic, turning end over glittering scaled end, as with each pulse of light they slip further into the world where they might attempt to devour anyone who gets too close.

While at first it may seem as if Gwenaëlle and her supercharged anchor should have no trouble closing the rift herself, as whatever is happening in the ruin below progresses, Vanadi will have to aid her to counteract the effect of the ritual and successfully close the damn thing.

THE RUIN

Thanks to the earlier mapping mission, it's relatively simple to slip back in through the circuitous network of caves leading to the underground elven ruin. Even better: they have a perfect cover story. After all, the folks down in the ruin are expecting a few guests. Down in the caves, dirt floors cede to stone, and then to lovely domed rooms once laced with elaborate dalish decorative stonework sheared into shapes which grow more brutal and hard edged the closer the party gets to the central chamber. Deep furrows have been cut into the floor of these passages and brushed with some dark stain; according to the earlier survey, they form some elaborate rune all their own whose center rests in the main chamber.

Riftwatch (and their cache of gaatlok) are to secret their way along passages which run parallel to these main corridors, taking anyone they might meet by surprise. When at last they arrive at the central chamber, it is to be greeted by a ceremony already underway. A series of glyphs burn at key locations around the room, each managed by a pair of mages, and arranged around the central platform with its ugly Tevene altar lie a number of corpses (likely Nascere's missing persons) face down in the furrows which converge there.

Riftwatch's job at this point is to simply ("""simply""") fight their way to the central platform, set the gaatlok, and blow the central series of interlocking runes where the Veil has been rendered most thin. They'll be facing off with a number of Venatori mages, but the working theory is that they only have to last long enough to get the charge off. Maybe it requires an elaborate relay of passing the gaatlok from behind one series of barriers to another to avoid being blown up by stray magic; maybe stray magic does trigger the explosion. What is guaranteed is that when the explosion rocks the chamber, it decimates the central platform, sends stony shrapnel spitting in every direction, and knocks anyone left on their feet to the ground.

And as the central series of conduit runes in the subterranean ruin is split, power lances free. It courses lightning like along the channels—twisting rune forms—which spiral outward along the floors of various arms of the underground cavern from its main chamber, strippign the life out of anything unlucky enough to be standing (or stumbling or lying) in any of the carved furrows as the arcane burst surges down it.

In its wake, the ruin splits.

ESCAPE.
If anyone wasn't already moving to escape before the ceilings of the ruin's ornate underground rooms begin to fall in, and as walls and floors begin to crumble away into widening fissures, they should be now. A collapsed wall exposes a previously unmapped series of passages leading up and away from the ruin's chambers. As the network of caves tumbles in on itself and Riftwatch's forces underground flee through the rough hewn tunnels to emerge in the chaos of the disintegrating Qun-era fort which once guarded Nascere Town and the harbor beyond, an otherworldly fog rises ravenously after them.

Meanwhile, the team responsible for closing the rift has their own problems. While the disorienting effects of the jungle have evaporated with the rift's closure, the moment the bedrock fractures and the caverns below begin to fragment so too does the hilltop. The rift closure team will have to outpace the foothill's collapse to join their fellows struggling out of the ruin. By the time both groups converge in Nascere Town, there will be little doubt that the destructive force meant to shred open the Veil—power derived from years worth of a guerrilla war, from decades of bloodshed produced by both the island's internal turmoil and its embittered exchange of ownership between pirates and the Imperium, the Qun, and whoever came before—is perfectly capable of doing the same to the island when left unchecked.

At this stage, there's little to be done to control it. The best Riftwatch can hope for as the port town and the mountainous region surrounding it break into pieces is to get to something that floats and out of dodge before the harbor and its contents can be sucked into whatever cavity opens as the entire landmass breaks apart. In the bitter pre-dawn aftermath, the place they came to has been reduced to irregular jagged teeth plunged under a fog so unnaturally dense that it refuses to burn away even as the sun rises and the Walrus creeps in to rescue them from whatever irregular fleet of longboats and little sailing vessels they managed to escape on.

The ruin is gone. The Veil is intact. Technically speaking, Riftwatch accomplished exactly what they came here to do.

Comments

[filotimo]

There's only so much that can be gleaned from a person's back when they're suffering. (It'll pass, I'm fine.) But in the subtle straightening, in the wince, the slosh of bloody water and the stillness of the room, there's an emptiness they've all felt and know the ache of. The hollowed-out scrape of something against their insides.

Madi approaches, slowly, fetching up a severed cord and following it to its end. She would rush to John, and has, but this is a new aspect to their arrangement that she agreed to, and won't be on the periphery of it while John supports Flint alone.

Her hand finds his shoulder, settling lightly at first, then tightening enough to be an anchor. An echo of his hand on her leg.

[hornswoggle]

John moves slower, hand having lingered at the door as he watched Madi cross the room. The sting of failure is resolving itself for him into silent relief at realizing what's most precious has been saved from the wreckage.

(His thoughts travel back briefly to another small room, Flint sat beside him as John sponged the blood and dirt of a long journey back from presumed death from his body.)

His gaze glances over the scattering of chart, the rumpled fall of the coat, snags briefly at Flint's forearm before it comes to rest on Madi's hand at Flint's shoulder. John eases his weight back against the table, suppressing a pained groan. That isn't how John wants to break the silence, even though they must all be aware of each others' hurts, all the injuries that have bloomed into pain since they'd fled the shore.

"Do you need a proper healer?" John asks. His gaze lifts to Flint's face, anticipating the denial. John doesn't particularly want to invite another person into this room. Not until Madi and Flint strike him as less raw, open wounds.

[katabasis]

Excess water is wrung from the cloth. Under the lay of her hand, Flint's shoulder rises and falls as the fold of the fabric is reversed to reveal some patch and then is slipped back into place. It's stinging and cool over shallow lacerations left by the swipe of slashing, clawed fingers. Aching over bruises. A near miss - luck, or the blood's boon, or the right instinct urging him to flinch in some preferable direction.

No, he doesn't say. Instead, with some subtle shift of the shoulder and a hand rising between then, Flint simply removes Madi's hand from him.

"We'll need to know what's left." He is dimly aware of his side as it relates to the pressure of his hand. "Once some order is established here, whatever boat is lightest and fastest should be sent back to take observations."

[filotimo]

Her hand drops, and she cedes the contact with no argument.

"We can send your men and mine to do it," she says, stepping closer to the wall on the far side of the strewn papers to lean against it, arms crossed, self-comforting. "They will know what to look for, and where to look. They will have the instinct toward what matters and what does not."

If they send anyone from Riftwatch, there would be too much time to spend on explaining.

[hornswoggle]

If John could easily get down and up again, he'd gather the charts from the floor. Instead, after a moment, he inclines his head slightly at the unspoken answer. The worst of the injury is presently obscured by Flint's hand, and John leaves the topic alone for the moment.

"I'll send them," John continues, picking up Madi's train of thought smoothly. Yes, their people. Yes, only a small number. Yes, only those with a level head. "After the bulk of the preparations have been made, I'd meant to go out among them. We can decide who's best then."

Someone had to take the temperature of the crew, decide how best to divert their reaction towards a single goal. John recognizes, though he does not say aloud, that they can keep the crew if they redirect their grief and animosity towards a single point of blame.

"We're going to need to make some decisions before I do anything," John says instead, quieter.

[katabasis]

What matters is that the place is gone. That it is little more than stone and sand, shale divided. That is is fallen away into the sea. That it is, in its breaking, made inconsequential. Nascere could be an outpost, he'd insisted to Byerly and Thranduil both. A foundation. A tool. An inert, solid thing. And here it is, shattered and shockingly bloody in the hand. A split stone that weeps. Cracking an egg to find a half formed bird in it.

There are decisions to be made.

(A narrative to craft for the crew, for Riftwatch. A way forward to be crafted with no tether. For fuck's sake, they'll have to make for the Seheron coast to take on water for turning South again, even—)

Flint looks at John. His side stings. It's a scattered, unspecific pain. He sets his teeth until his jaw crackles and then unhinges far enough to ask,

"Was it them or us? Who did it."

[filotimo]

That's for John to answer; Madi has heard snatches of dialogue here and there, but there are too many pieces to sift through. She looks down at the charts, thinking.

What can replace this? What can stitch the wound? Where do they go from here? Her fingers curl tighter against her arm.

[hornswoggle]

Does it matter? John almost asks. But he remembers sitting in this cabin in the wake of Nevarra and the expression on Flint's face then, and knows that it's the wrong question to pose. The question then becomes what does John offer as an answer?

Between the three of them, it had been him alone in that cavern. It's his impression that will shape this story going forward, how much both of them perceive this disaster to be of their own making. John looks from the pressure of Flint's hand over an open wound to Madi's fingers digging into her arms and breathes out slowly. If he will not lie, he can at least blunt the edge of the truth so it lands softly.

"I don't know. I don't even know if we managed to set off the gaatlock or if it was a happy accident. After they realized we were there..."

John's hands spread. Embedded in his palm are the elements of what he is going to say later, elevated on deck, surrounded by their people: blood, scrapes, dirt, ash, a burn leading into a scorchmark running up the cuff of his coat. The elements of a battle.

"If you want my opinion, what they'd built there would have gotten them the same result whether or not we'd intervened. Between that, the blood they'd meant to feed it, and the rift, the result likely would have blown them from here to Seheron."

[katabasis]

If you want my opinion, he says, and the sharp point of Flint's study cedes - attention shifting from John before him and Madi in his periphery to the bank of the cabin's stern windows. The light coming through them is warm and golden. In these latitudes, the seasons are wet and dry. Later, he thinks distantly, they may see rain. If they put up the empty casks on deck and rig spare sails to gather it, they might avoid or at least reduce the need to touch along the coast. They might make it to Antiva - friendly places to chance taking on fresh water.

He searches the glass of the windows, whorled and imperfect by merit of its making. From this place, at this angle, the world outside the ship is reduced to smudged colors, a blurred horizon line, and the calls on the deck muffled into obscurity by closed doors.

Were they too late, or was there simply no chance to begin with? Which is less painful? Which is easier to swallow? To sell? To live with?

(DeMontaine's Juliette Remarche is a story about a chevalier who loves a fiction.)

[filotimo]

Madi takes a breath. "No."

The charts and papers on the floor tell her very little; more than they did when she'd first met these two men, but still far less than they can glean themselves. But they make for a decent focal point, something tangible to focus on while the mind reels, grasping for anything to cling to in moments like this.

"It would have been worse without our intervention. More of our people would have been lost, fed to that ruin, and the Venatori would have been even stronger. It is better that they have lost a potential weapon."

[hornswoggle]

Is Madi's assessment a balm to the sting of their failure or an underscoring of just how late they'd arrived, what two years had cost them? John's eyes finds hers, holding her gaze for a long moment, but he doesn't voice his own uncertainty. He's made his own decision about where the blame should lie.

"And that they've given us something in return," John says, to the tune of I agree. "We'll be able to leverage this in Llomerryn, point to what's been done here and remind that island that they could easily be next."

None of John's weariness shows through as he speaks. It's a path forward. He has a sense that's what they all need, rather than even the suggestion that their cause has shattered apart along with Nascere.

John reaches to draw a chair over with a long scrape along the floorboards. Seating himself in front of Flint, he props his crutch at the edge of the bunk and makes a small, solicitous gesture for the soaked cloth Flint's pressing against the wound.

"Let me," John says. The request is weighted with so much intent, tone softer.

[katabasis]

It is, at best, a collection of half truths. Yes, she is right - if they hadn't intervened then the Venatori would have succeeded in feeding who knows how many more lives into that ruin, into that rift; Yes, he is right - this can act as a testament to exactly how far Corypheus' forces are willing to go.

But if they'd returned two years ago instead of today? What then? An abbreviated war; an island stronghold as evidence of what standing against Coryheus and Tevinter and winning could look like. Something to be held in the hands. Proof.

There is dirt under John's fingernails. He recognizes it distantly as he unpeels the cloth from his side.

The wounds under it are shallow things just below the ribs: a neat series of slash marks from a clawed hand. And while the blood has stopped, the flesh is tender and warm. Sour with the tang of the Fade. Not serious, just—a hurt. The kind which stings. The kind that will infect, and then ache, and finally burn itself out given only time and patience and the sense to let it.

"Your mother should know of this," he says, unable to bring himself to look Madi in the eye as he does it. That woman had been given assurances, had made herself and all she oversaw vulnerable in their name. Look at all the good it has done them.

[filotimo]

"I know," she says, dismissive. Follows it with: "I have already drafted a message to be sent once the losses have been counted."

She exhales and gathers up the papers and charts from the floor and moves them to the desk. Silver will be able to look at them better there, once he's done seeing to Flint.

"It will be better if I can delay such a message until we have a plan ready."

[hornswoggle]

There is a kind of torture in the speculation of what could have been. If they'd returned earlier, would the outcome have been the same? If they'd managed to sway two rifters, would that have been enough?

John will never ask these questions aloud.

"Do you want to deliver it yourself?" John asks, turning to look at her as he sets one palm to the bare skin below the slashes on Flint's side. (The scars John marked into his own hand are fading, as if he'd acquired them months ago instead of a matter of hours past.) His gaze lingers on her, watches her study of the maps before he turns back to the business of cleaning these wounds.

A second, quieter question, directed to Flint as he wrings the excess water from the cloth and applies it to the wound: "Do you have any salves in that desk alongside the liquor?"

[katabasis]

(A plan.

There is a reason the scattered papers had been discarded; putting anything into order had seemed like such a strange prospect, removed utterly from the reality of the moment which demands a series of small, seemingly unattached decisions—)

"In the cabinet." He motions with his elbow toward the built-ins under the stern windows.

[filotimo]

Madi pauses in her fretful shuffling of papers, thinking about it.

Yes, she would want to deliver the message in person. But do they have that luxury? The Walrus men wouldn't mind, surely, but Riftwatch hasn't been given dispensation to make a detour to an uncharted island so she can speak face to face with her mother. Moreover, she doesn't know these people, and to take them all there would endanger her people.

"Telling her in person might not be feasible. I do not want to risk exposing the location of the island by diverting course and it is too far to send a longboat."

And that just brings about another thing she has to worry about. With Nascere gone, a new source of necessary supplies will have to be secured.

[hornswoggle]

The momentary flash of stubbornness on John's face gives way to resignation. He'd like to argue the point until they come to a way to make that possible for her. Would it be some comfort for Madi to see her mother? Yes, the information has to be delivered, but beyond that, even a day with her mother would be a comfort John doubts he could ever replicate.

But she's correct. It's too far to go by longboat, and there is more than one person aboard this ship that John wouldn't trust with the location.

There's a beat of silence as he works his way through converging trains of thought before sighing, agreement winning out. She can likely see it before John even speaks, the way his shoulders sink slightly as he gives up on trying to think of how bend their circumstances into a more favorable conditions.

"We can send a letter back with your people," John proposes, though he isn't entirely fond of the idea. He dips the cloth again, wrings the excess water as he turns slightly from Flint to catch her eye. "Madi, could you bring me the salve from that cabinet?"

[katabasis]

"I doubt there's been time to replenish the ship's stores," is that persistent irritating detail scratching at the back of his attention given some useful form. "We'll need to take on water sooner rather than later. If we have casks enough to make landfall in Antiva to do it, we can shift the string of small craft in exchange for something fit to return your people there. Send a message with them."

Better than returning to Kirkwall and having to hire out a merchant vessel or going overland to accomplish the exact same thing.

[filotimo]

Madi’s nod is for both of them, agreement to retrieve the salve, which she crosses to the cabinet to do, and acknowledgment that she has until they reach Antiva to properly draft the message to her mother.

After the requisite rummaging, the salve is retrieved and — force of habit — confirmed to be the right tin by scent. It is a similar smell to the medicines back home. Madi returns to Silver’s side, offering the open container for him to pull from without needing to balance it on his leg or hold it in one hand while attending to Flint with the other.

[hornswoggle]

Before his fingers dip into the jar, John touches her wrist. It's a small expression of comfort, not quite enough, but meant to soften the understanding they've come to.

"Thank you," he tells her quietly, before beginning the application of the salve to the slashed wounds.

"Mr. DeGroot is confident," John continues on, which might be a generous estimation of DeGroot's moods, but. "We'll make it to Antiva in good time."

It would be useful if they had any apostate on board with some talent for elemental influence, and yet. John's fingers move lightly over feverish skin, brow furrowing as he considers the trajectory. He has half of it in his head, gleaned from DeGroot's agitated report. He hadn't been listening. He'd seen Madi and his attention had narrowed past the point of absorbing anything else.

"Was anyone else hurt when you acquired this?"

The question is aimed as much at Madi as it is at Flint. His eyes lift from the wound to Madi's face, realizing he hasn't bothered to consider any of the people they'd carted here from Riftwatch until this moment.