“Sorry. Though i doubt that’s a good enough apology.”
Noticing him, Mako walked over to Dolphus, before snapping his fingers in Dolphuses ears. “Sunshine or not, time to haul yourself out of sleep. Whomever is the captain, certainly wouldn’t enjoy you excessively sleeping, no matter how bad the nightmares.”
Dolphus flinched and scowled at the sudden, sharp noise, which made his head ring. If Mako was trying to sour his reputation with the entire crew, he was well on his way. Trying to think of a retort, Dolphus eyed the stern and figured proximity to Mariner might keep Mako from being a child.
The irony is not lost on me.
“Go jump off the boat again.” Dolphus spat, collecting his cane with his one hand and striding away from Mako in a huff. It looks quiet up there. Maybe if that clod doesn’t follow me I can exist without Mariner even noticing.
Mariner had not moved during the entire situation. He heard the footsteps of someone approaching, but did not turn his head to look. He flexed his fingers slightly, his longsword providing some reassurance.
On the island, just visible in the early light of day, were ruins. These ruins contrasted the forest around them, bright reds, yellows, and turquoise. It was these ruins that held his gaze, and filled his mind with pain.
drip
He felt tears building in his eyes. He felt pang after pang, as memories plagued his mind.
“I don’t remember her.” Without realizing, he’d vocalized the thought.
Having made considerable distance from Mako, Dolphus relaxed, strode to a quiet stop, adjusted his collar, swallowed, and opened his mouth to politely inquire if he would be too much of a nuisance to perhaps look about at the sea in silence.
If one could view Mariner’s front, one would gradually notice Dolphus leaning to one side to try and understand what in the world was happening. No, there was no one in front of him. No, there was nothing major they were coming up towards, unless… That land formation, with the cluster of ruins nestled in among the autumn leaves. Perhaps there was some significance to them?
Dolphus dared not to speak. This was a reverie, and an unhappy one at that. And yet if he was standing and listening to the entire thing, it would be an affront, undoubtedly, to discover him eavesdropping. So Dolphus backpedaled a few steps, in silence, and then pronounced his approached more noisily as he stepped forward again, rubbing his eye as if he had just awoken.
Mariner was so lost in thought he hardly noticed Dolphus. His presence did register however. He felt conflicted. He felt like companionship was the right thing to seek, but he also knew with this crew, it might be turned on him as a weapon.
Eventually, the pain won out. “Do you remember your mother?” Mariner spoke softly. Sorrow evident in his voice. “I don’t.” Tears were flowing freely now.
His fingers tightened, the tip of his longsword dug into the deck. Leaning on it for support.
Dolphus almost dropped his cane. The breeze pushing the ship ever forward seemed to die for a moment, although perhaps only to him.
Where did Mariner go? Where was the large, armored individual with a checkered past, the committer of some unspeakable deed in the most decrepit pub on the isles? What happened to this monstrous knight hidden beneath layers of steel, unknowable archfiend to all that was wicked and irredeemable in the universe?
And who, in his stead, replaced him with Dolphus?
The approach.
Dolphus very quietly moved to Mariner’s right, as far forward as the deck would allow without getting too close to the edge, and also not getting too close to Mariner. Just enough for him to see, if he wanted, whom he was speaking with.
His wing quivered beneath its cape. Not a chance. I’d rather share that with Muck-o than divulge to Mr. Marine. But the fish are biting, and I’ll let him have a nibble.
“The stars.” He replied, feeling the silence with his fingers to gauge how loud to speak. He was quieter than Mariner had been, but not much quieter. “I remember the stars in her eyes made everything else glow.” He had to stop putting so much pressure on his cane, as his arm was starting to wiggle about like a twig in the wind. “I was there the moment she died. I felt her pulse stop.”
“Now there are no more stars.” Dolphus looked up at the last few fading lights of night, partly because he was getting sentimental and partly because a tear was starting to form and tipping his head was the only way to keep it from crawling out of his eye. “Those lights are liars, and so is any light that illuminates or shines in the dark.”
“The world is dark.” Dolphus’ voice also carried evident sorrow, but it was a callous, shallow wall, to hide his actual emotions. Perhaps that wall was audibly obvious, or perhaps the hollow ringing the emotion behind it made as it tried to break out. “And I don’t know if it will ever be light again.”
Mariner listened to Dolphus’ story. In that fraction of a moment, he saw in this boy, a reflection of himself.
When Dolphus had finished, Mariner waited a moment to ensure nothing more was forthcoming. “When my mother was killed, I felt anger. I set out alone, and brought the perpetrators to justice. It was not enough, I hungered for more.” In speaking these words Mariner seemed to regain some of his martial bearing.
“Consumed by vengeance, I led my people in war after war. Even the hottest fire eventually putters out. When it did, I found that my rage had been all I had left of her. I don’t remember her face, her voice, her laugh, or even her name. I never got the chance to tell her mine.” Mariner sighed. “I stand this vigil to honour her, and all my people. Everyone I failed. That island was my home once.”
It seemed as though the weight of responsibility Mariner was burdening himself with might have been his primary motivation for dumping the position of captain onto somebody else. Nevertheless, his reply brought Dolphus back to reality, and he looked up at the motionless head of this elusive individual.
Perhaps, Dolphus thought, the old Gorov tradition of sizing up everyone you meet and stuffing them into a pigeonhole of thousands of others who fit the same class and cognitive level would have to come to a close. It was clear the personality of this unpardonable patron of the Drunken Mule was perhaps a pinch more perplexing than he had first perceived.
“I am sorry.” The cane was rested against his hip. “I never did shake your hand.”
The hand was offered, his elbow at a ninety degree, looking up at the slotted mask of the leader of this expedition. To Mariner Dolphus’ face was as soft and untainted by the harsh realities of life as ever, despite the water still lurking in his eyes; in Dolphus’ mind, however, he appeared as gentlemanly as he could be capable of mustering.
Surprised, Mariner took the proffered hand. “You’re an interesting individual Dolphus.” After a respectful handshake, he returned his hand to his sword. He was quiet for a moment. Gazing at the ruins in the distance.
Mariner noted the effect the conversation had on Dolphus. He decided it might be best to carefully prod the subject in another direction. Casting his mind out, he could only land on the one thing that had been on his mind this entire trip. Home.
Eventually he broke the silence. “Would you like to hear about my home?”
Dolphus did not reply, glancing at the hand for a split second as it reached his. His stature always made the hands of others always being larger than his own something which came to his attention regularly, but Mariner’s height made his hands larger than most. Maybe not everyone would notice something as trivial as a minute difference in fingertip length, but hands spoke more to a person’s soul than eyes typically did. You would find who someone was by the shape of his hand.
Mariner’s, however, were gloved, concealed much like the rest of his body, so the individuality began and ended in their peculiar size. The moment passing, Dolphus also returned his gaze to the sea a moment after Mariner had.
Now the difficulty was not in trying not to offend Mariner by not talking, but by trying not to offend Mariner by talking wrong. Possible replies came up into his head, and most of them seemed to be far too presumptuous. Unintentionally, of course; he would never verbally presume, only physically and mentally and emotionally and if there was any fourth option he would take that too.
“Did you live there long?” He asked, his innate curiosity into the topic making the question sound less like a Real Man inquiring of another Real Man, but a boy asking his father something silly, like why birds flew or why he had to be present when his mother’s heart stopped beating and why he had to literally feel such a thing happening.
Perhaps I’m going on about it a little too much.
Mariner smiled at the question. It felt good to not have to always speak of serious matters. He never liked being too serious anyway.
“My entire childhood. Until I went on my quest. You see, in my people’s culture a child is not given a name at birth. Their family will refer to them as terms of endearment, but to the rest of the village they are just called ‘child.’” He took a deep breath as he remembered those innocent carefree years.
“When I was about your age I started working on a ship. There I was given the name Mariner, as were all the other young sailors. We would only earn a name when we had a great achievement. At that point we’d be considered fully adults.”
He paused to catch his breath. “Each achievement was specific to you. You weren’t measured by how great the achievement, but by how well you set out to achieve it. If you met the bare minimum, the village would select a name for you, if you excelled however, you chose it yourself.”
“My achievement was to sail around the isles faster than anyone else had before. I spent every free minute perfecting my boat, and learning to control it expertly. When it came time, I made it around in just 12 hours.”
His voice falters. “I went home to announce my new name.” He stops suddenly, clearing his throat before continuing. “We’d had visitors, they didn’t care for our ways. They didn’t care for us. To them, we were just food.” He blinked away tears. “When I got home, it was too late.”
Endearment was a term Dolphus had scarcely heard. For his father, Dolphus may as well have been an adjective as it was a name. his mother had mentioned his name scarcely, but it-
Focus. Dolphus tightened his jaw. Who’s the one weeping here?
So, Dolphus inhaled very slowly through his nostrils. I suppose he’s never let himself have a name because he’s tied down to his guilt over losing his mother. Although perhaps now a title change would be a little inconvenient, given his position in this stupid magic dumb ship stupid-
The coil of rope.
Dolphus felt his feathers rising again. The cane rested against his hip, but his hand didn’t leave it. It was hard to tell when Mariner was and wasn’t looking at you. But still, he had to be answered, and the tone in his voice implied a careless reply could be deadly.
“Where did you go?”
With that in mind…
Mako turned to Tharos.
"I’ll be going back down now. Again, my apologies. "
He said as he started to descend dowards into the ship once more.
“With my father’s sword, and my boat I gave chase. A child had hidden when they came. She told me which way they went.” Mariner made an agitated clicking noise
“I caught up to the first ship that evening. I boarded, and began my hunt. By the end of the third day the third ship was in flames and on it’s way under. They were so surprised they couldn’t organize a defense.”
It was then he remembered how young Dolphus was, and exactly what message he was setting for the lad. Mariner blinked a few times to clear his head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t burden you with my troubles”
Tharos hopped to his feet, and ran after him. “Wait, Mako.” He caught up with him at the hatch. “I have something I’d like to talk to you about.”
'What?" Mako asked, still facing the doorway.
“I noticed your use of magic is a touch. Uh. Cavalier to put it gently. I just wanted to ask if you’re aware of the risks, such a position has?”
Tharos took a moment to compose himself. “It’s potentially hazardous to you.”
Mako knew this well. But in simply enjoying something, something he hadn’t done in such a long time, he had forgotten. It hadn’t been the first time. And on that occasion,
too much happened. " I know." He continued down into the ship.
“I can teach you, if you’d like. How to build your stamina, spending less magic to do the same things.” Tharos called down after him. “If you’d like.”
“Sure.” Mako said. It could be useful. “When?”
Mariner was old, or at least older than his body had aged. Maybe he had used magic to enhance his own physical limitations, or maybe his ‘people’ had some strange enhancement. Regardless, he should be old enough that he would never have heard of the Gorovs.
That’s how that works, right?
“But you have.”
Dolphus slowly turned to glance at Mariner’s heavy helmet. Would his retort come off as offensive? Condescending? Rebuking? Inquisitive? Child-like? Child-like, but in the bad way?
“Speak as you intended to speak.” Don’t fail me now, Swordmaster.