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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
Dolphus narrowed his eyes in confusion for a moment. That didn’t seem right…
During his time on the isles, Dolphus had taken a multilingual course which he had failed in most aspects, gleaming a very basic understanding of each of the languages known to the people dwelling in the southern armada when the end result was supposed to be mastery of them all. In all of them, however - not even his native tongue - no combination of worlds could express the proper rebuke for the idea that just popped into his head.
Slowly straightening, he mused on the moment for a moment or two. The empty ruins in the island were getting further and further away. If he was right, Mariner might turn very nasty, and if he was wrong, it was a way to keep talking, so perhaps he should begin moving just in case there were sudden movements.
With muscles tensed, Dolphus gave a slight military bow and spoke his reply. The language did not have a direct translation, with the words spoken more or less equating ‘my apologies’ than the literal translation of ‘my sorry’, but it was followed up with an about face and a slow walk away.
Dolphus did not place his cane as he walked. His hand held both it and his sword.
Mariner slowly shook his head. “You said it wrong” he chuckled. “It’s actually…” Mariner spoke a few similar words, with emphasis on different parts. “You need mandibles to form the words correctly.”
Dolphus stopped, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. Oh thank… uh, Not Magic. Never Magic. I hate Magic.
He turned back, slowly, the hand holding the cane still close to the handle of his sword. His feathers has risen even further.
“Why this vigil?” He turned further, to fully face him as the islands framed the figure standing to witness them. “Why here, to honor her? Why Tharwin’s lead?”
Mariner was contemplative. “I stand this vigil everytime I sail past the island.” He finally said. He took a moment to answer the second part. “I’m not on the mission to honour her. As I said yesterday, I’m here for redemption. Redemption in the eyes of the Armada. I follow Tharwyn’s lead because he, along with Hethila is one of my oldest living friends.”
As the island finally started to dip back over the horizon, Mariner brought his sword up. Flipping the blade so that the crossguard touched his forehead. Then in one fluid motion he sheathed it. For the first time that morning, Mariner turned to face Dolphus.
“First things first, try and form a ball of water in your hand.” As he speaks he forms one out of Fire to demonstrate.