Heirs to the Final Empire: Roleplaying Thread

[Wyrmhero he/him]

It's cool, I was at work still >>.

 

The Turn is over.

 

I will contact players individually this Turn.

[Adamir he/him]

The skaa were marching on a farmstead. Hundreds of skaa, marching to torch a farm. A farm.

 

How many skaa would die tonight? How many would kill one-another? Would the farmers be lynched, for making food that sold for boxings that ran into Farrsolin coffers? Would the farmstead be burned to the ground? I knew what people could be like in riots; anyone not part of the group is against it, and anyone standing in between a riot and its target is its new target.

 

"Go fetch Aleph," I hissed to one of my servants. "And you," I turned to another, "find Master Bet." I continued issuing orders regarding the depressingly short list of Farrsolin Mistborn and Mistings. But even if there were few Farrsolin Allomancers, House Farrsolin was not Allomantically bankrupt.

 

"Send a missive to House Etoro," I yelled to another servant. "Tell them to gather their Allomantic forces; I invoke the Obligation. We march to protect skaa."

 

Note: This is a public reaction to the fact that a horde of skaa is attacking one of my farms. My response is to gather a large group of common foot soldiers, led by Lord Thay and several Farrsolin Mistborn, and reinforced by every Allomancer that Houses Farrsolin and Etoro can muster, to protect the farm. Farrsolin propaganda writers are going to use this attack to reduce sympathy for the skaa rebellion among the skaa; Thay is going to discreetly kill a handful of farmers, if the rebels have not done so, with no witnesses. These dead farmers are going to be shown as skaa murders by the skaa rebellion, in an attempt to undermine their goals.

[Kasimir he/him]

Thalia Heron #3: The Great Green

Sailors called the ocean the ‘Great Green.’ It was difficult to understand, when you lived in a port-city like Lansing, where the ocean was a distant blue, occasionally murky from all the disgusting things people threw into it. Around the Southern Islands, the waters were bright aqua, even ultramarine blue; bright and inviting.

But out in the open ocean, the colours varied from a dark blue to a pale, dull green.

‘Thales’ had fallen in love with the Great Green when he first served on the Fleetwing, and sometimes, when his duties allowed, he would head up to the bow to glance at the shimmering waters of the ocean on a good day; gazing out into the wide--and so it seemed to him--untrammelled expanse of water.

There were charts, of course; the best, depicting dangerous rock formations and the depth of the water in various places, in order to be helpful to ships. Looking at them, at the ocean given complexity, at the correspondingly simplified forms of the landmasses, ‘Thales’ had asked what lay beyond the Southern Islands and Remote Dominance.

The navigator, a short woman by the name of Aile just shrugged. “Don’t know,” she said, curtly. “We aren’t supposed to go there.”

“‘Supposed’?”

“The Ministry doesn’t like it,” the first mate said. He was scanning the charts himself, frowning at the possible routes it showed.

“What don’t they like?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the first mate said. “I’m just a sailor. I suppose they don’t want us exploring too far beyond the known boundaries of the Final Empire, though as to what lies out there…” he shrugged. “Either way, we’re a merchant ship, sailing under the protection of House Eiren. If we don’t follow the Ministry’s rules, we get stripped of our license, and the Captain of his papers. We’d be all out of jobs.”

It didn’t, of course, answer the question. Thalia informed him as much.

“Get a ship of your own, then,” the first mate suggested. “When you do, you can sail the Great Green as much as you want to. Go anywhere, see anything…”

“Be a quick way to die though,” Aile said. “Exploring’s dangerous. Out there, far from any ships, off the charts, you don’t know where the prevailing winds are, much less what the water depth is. If you get blown too far off-course, you might spend years struggling to limp back to shore. And if there’s a storm and you’re caught in it and taking on water...A ship’s like a prison, Thales. Except that you have an extra chance of dying there.”

‘Thales’ thought about the prisons in Tremredare: he thought about disease, fever, about inmate violence. He said nothing. ‘Thales’ wasn’t supposed to be familiar with prison conditions.

“Depends,” the first mate said. “The maps we’re using come from the Bennet of the Southern Islands.”

Aile snorted. “The Southern Islands are uninhabited,” she said, slowly, as if rehearsing a very old argument. “Riles, no one has ever lived there until the Heatherlockes started making their push to the south.”

“You tell me where the maps come from, then,” Riles said. “They don’t use the conventions of the Empire, and they’ve explored further than we’re supposed to go.”

“What maps?”

Aile said, “There are charts and maps which purport to show larger portions of the ocean and coast than the known records in the Final Empire. Riles has claimed to see such a map before, while serving on the Sea Sprite. I wouldn’t put too much stock on it: there’s tales of ghost ships, and lost charts and disappearing islands all the time. Nothing comes out of them.”

“Why else do you think Haley made such swift journeys?” Riles countered. “He had the charts. He knew the Great Green better than any seafarer who’s sailing today, because he was using knowledge from an entire people who had devoted their lives to sailing, exploration, and cartography.”

“If the charts were so good, why didn’t you copy them?” Aile wanted to know. She took her own charts and maps from Riles and began folding them back up again, preparing to keep them away safely.

“They were Haley’s,” Riles said, fiercely. “It wouldn’t have been right of me to do so.”

“Bilge,” Aile said.

“Haley was taken by the Canton of Orthodoxy,” Riles snarled. “You tell me if doesn’t say he knew something they wanted to silence.”

Aile shook her head firmly. “Doesn’t prove anything, Riles,” she said. “He was found smuggling, by your account. Heatherlocke was well within their rights to hand him over to the Canton.”

“Except, why Orthodoxy?” Riles challenged. “Orthodoxy doesn’t handle criminal matters, Aile. It controls knowledge. Haley was carrying knowledge too dangerous to be known, and so they silenced him. Besides, what of all those people they’re now sending to the Southern Islands? I’ve talked with some hands on those prison ships, and they claimed that they’ve found signs that some people lived there before them.”

“And where did those people go, then? The Bennet are a legend, Riles. Just as much as Captain Montgard’s ship is a legend. They dissolve when you look at them in the light of cold, hard facts and evidence.”

“Tell me that the Empire didn’t cull them,” Riles said, at last. “You look at how we’re living on the land. You know why we’re here. Out here, the Captain’s word is law, and none of what the Lord Despot says can affect us. You think he’d hesitate at sending men to quash a whole nation of seafarers? Why do you think the Southern Islands have a long reputation as being pirate havens if they’re supposed to be uninhabited?”

Aile bit her lip. “That much, I’d grant,” she said, shortly. “Your story doesn’t quite work. But neither does the official one.”

Riles shrugged. “Believe what you want,” he said at last. He stretched and strode out of the navigator’s cabin. “But we weren’t the first to feel the call of the Great Green, we won’t be the last, and I’d wager we definitely aren’t the only ones to have done so.”

Aile glanced at ‘Thales’. “Well, boy,” she said, “Best get back to work, before the bosun finds you.”

That he didn’t want. ‘Thales’ scrambled off, searching for the galley, where the cook would no doubt have more work waiting for him.

 
Thalia Heron #4: The Black Flag

Thalia stared out at the shores of the Southern Islands, teeming with seabirds and other sorts of wildlife. She’d heard stories--seafarer’s tales--of islands so remote that the wildlife never fled; you could walk right up to them and touch them, and they wouldn’t balk, but the wildlife on the Southern Islands were, by now at least, accustomed to human presence and would flee as soon as they set foot ashore.

Perhaps, she thought, recalling the old argument between Aile and Riles, it should’ve been another sign that the Southern Islands had once been inhabited, before House Heatherlocke had begun deporting criminals there: that the wildlife still remembered a deeply-ingrained fear of humans and fled before them.

As the waters grew progressively more shallow, they lightened to the pure, welcoming aqua that Thalia by now associated with safety. She kept an eye on how far in the ship was: too far, and they’d have a hard time bringing the Stormchaser out again. Karch, doubling as navigator, was taking depth soundings, keeping an eye on how shallow the water was getting.

Finally, he nodded to her; Thalia called out the halt, and they dropped anchor in the cove, some distance from the shore, safe from the eyes of any naval presence in the area, although patrols never went this close to the Southern Islands. They were only too content to leave the deported criminals to their own devices: something that sat well with both the pirates and the deported, some of whom had been no more than petty thieves. This close, they didn’t even need to take the boats out to the shore, although Thalia ordered them prepared anyway.

The crew grumbled but obeyed. It was another thing she had to keep in mind: she’d been elected to the position of Captain as an almost-joke--over Karch, as an expression of no confidence in the former Captain, Estares, and she’d fought since then to gain and keep the respect of her crew. If they felt she wasn’t bold enough, or leading them sufficiently well, she would be deposed. Deposed Captains were not always treated well.

The knowledge hung over her head; a constant reminder at the back of her mind. On some days, it was easy to forget. Not today.

The boats dropped into the water as they unloaded crew onto them. One by one, laden with pirates eager to see the shore and taverns again, they rowed for the beach.

“It’s been too long,” Karch said, sitting opposite Thalia. The corded muscles of his arm flexed with ease as he pulled on a pair of oars. Thalia took the other set of oars. It was important, she told herself, to show that she expected no privileges from her position as Captain; in any case, pirate crews seemed ill-inclined to grant any.

“It has,” she agreed. It hadn’t been an unsuccessful foray, at least. For four months out at sea, they’d taken ten ships, most of them making that wildly profitable run between Lansing and the Remote Dominance, just as the Fleetwing had been, when she was herself taken. They’d managed to add two ships to their fleet, sending them limping back to the port in the Southern Islands for much-needed repairs.

The Stormchaser herself was customarily moored in that sheltered cove, for reasons of secrecy. Legitimate traders, too, and on occasion, naval vessels, came by the port at the tip of the Southern Islands, and while the Stormchaser was well-disguised as a merchant ship, there was no point in risking detection. Her infamy was already beginning to grow.

“We needed to resupply, in any case.”

Karch nodded; he knew the situation as well as she did, being the quartermaster. Their supplies of grog and food had steadily diminished, and their complement of crew had shrunk due to the commandeered vessels. They still had more than the average merchant ship, but it made their numbers suboptimal for attacking another ship. While they’d raided the stores of the ships they’d attacked, Thalia knew that it was time to take the Stormchaser back to land for repairs and for resupplying.

“True. Could be worse. I’ve been wanting something stronger than grog.”

“Well, you’ll get it,” she said.

“That I will. And what about you?”

“Asking some questions,” Thalia shrugged. “Finding some things.”

Karch shook his head. “They’re a myth,” he said. “But if there’s something more to the stories of the Bennet...well, I think you’d be the one to uncover it.”

“Thanks.”

Karch shrugged. “I’m an honest man, Cap. I speak what I think is the truth.”

“Except when playing cards.”

“Except when playing cards,” he agreed, sombrely. “The quartermaster is a different creature from the out-of-work pirate.”

“No honour among thieves, then?”

“We’re honourable enough. You should know that.”

A strange sort of honour, Thalia thought. But then, it came with the life she had chosen, and she wasn’t sure if Heron honour was the sort of thing worth coming back to.

-


By the time the Far Raider pulled into a sheltered cove on the far side of the Southern Islands, ‘Thales’ had been allowed onto the deck, along with Ulf and some of the others who had been willing to swear to turn their backs on their former lives, sign the articles, and sail beneath the black flag.

‘Thales’ watched as the hue of the water shifted; lightening, and couldn’t help but gasp as it shifted to a light aquamarine.

Someone laughed. He turned to see a pirate leaning against the side of the ship, his skin burnt dark from the sun and salt spray. He wore his hair in matted braids, with beads that clacked against each other, and ‘Thales’ noted the beads were of wood.

“Got your first sight of the Southern Islands, boy?”

There was a hint of a strange accent to his voice, ‘Thales’ thought. It didn’t sound familiar; consequently, he was unable to place it.

He nodded. “I’ve never seen water like that before.”

“Nor will you,” said the pirate. He shook his head. “Not with the way the Empire’s drawing the boundaries, these days.”

‘Thales’ stared at him.

The pirate laughed. “Lots of unexplored waters out there, boy.” For some reason, his voice sounded almost wistful. “The world’s a much bigger place than you think.”

“Have you seen them?”

“I wish I had,” the pirate said, at last.

“How do you know they’re there, then?”

The pirate laid a finger to his lips and winked. “Secrets, boy,” he said. “And stories.”

[Wyrmhero he/him]

I'm afraid I'm not feeling too great this weekend. I spent most of Saturday afternoon in bed, and I'm not 100% today either. But as I was planning to take time off during December anyway, this shouldn't delay us at all. I will do this Turn's results next weekend.

[Curious Anamaximder he/him]

Okay. Sorry your feeling bad.

[Wyrmhero he/him]

Generation 5: Turn 4

 

Hadrian Penrod looked at the assembled skaa and members of his own, House, and even a few of the lesser known Houses that were their allies. There was a mild sense of unease at first, but that had evaporated pretty fast when the wine had started to flow. The merchants were the first to open up, having spent the most time in the company of the nobility and feeling the closest to them. After that, the workers were quick to follow.

 

He stood up, picking up his wine glass and a fork, rapping it gently for attention. The entire courtyard slowly stopped their talking and turned to face him. He smiled and put the flute back down, clearing his throat. “I would like to thank you all for attending this evening. I am glad to see so many people from different walks of life, out here in my gardens, enjoying themselves.”

 

“There has been a lot of friction, recently, between the nobility and the skaa in other parts of the world. The so-called Skaa Rebellion has arisen because of this. The nobility elsewhere mistreat their workers, without realising that they are in fact the only reason they can live as they do. Yes, there are laws that separate us. The Lord Ruler forbids a union between us, and even we must obey that rule. However little we care for it.”

 

“But regardless of that, we have made great strides towards equality, here in Fellise,” Hadrian continued. “Nowhere else could we have a scene such as this, with everyone sitting here peacefully, talking and feasting companionably.”

 

His brow furrowed and his his voice took on a more melancholic tone. “The rest of the Empire does not want to see this. They do not realise that such hatred can only cause more rebellions. They may be able to stop this one, but what will they do next time? Or the time after?” He shook his head. “We must be the template for The Final Empire to follow. We must make the changes that the others cannot or will not make.”

 

“It all begins here, with us. With you. Your presence here means that you believe in my vision. In our shared vision. In the vision that we also share with those fighting against the Empire. That is another reason we are here, to remember those who have fought and died for such a future. They believed in the idea of equality enough to die for it. I would like to ask for a moment of silence for our brave, fallen friends.” He lowered his head, and closed his eyes as silence descended on the group.

 

Slowly, the sound of slow clapping replaced the quiet. A single figure, covered in a hooded Mistcloak, stood at the gates to the Penrod Keep, applauding through the silence. Behind him were a dozen other figures, dressed in the same attire, but apparently less amused.

 

The figure looked up, his eyes shining in the glow of the torches dotted around the courtyard. “A very pretty speech, Hadrian. Very pretty. But The Lord Ruler doesn't share your point of view. He's really not happy with it, I'm afraid. So we are here to... Censor your speech. In a rather permanent way.” He reached behind him, and a large double-headed axe was passed into his hand by one of the others. There was a scream from the audience. “Clearly the rot here in Fellise has reached down into the foundations. Something clearly festers in the Canton of Hegemony if they continued to let you take control of the city. We even warned you about the path you were on, but it seems that such corruption cannot stop so easily.”

 

The Inquisitor cleared his raspy throat. “For crimes against The Final Empire, consorting with Skaa, supporting the Skaa rebellion and so on and so forth, you are all guilty of treason.” He raised his arm and rested the axe on his shoulder. “For which there is only one punishment – execution.” His face contorted into an evil grin. “Get 'em, boys.”

 

Generation 5 Player List

1. little wilson - Allera Wilson

2. Unodus - Victel Uethorn

3. Adamir - Thay Farrsolin

4. Venture Mistborn - Anatax Orielle

5. Orlok - Nestor Tekiel

6. Aonar Faileas - Kyrien Izenry

7. Quiver - Samden Queade

8. wblk - Irim Wair

9. phattemer - Vulco Erikell

10. Araris Valerian - Hadrian Penrod

11. Shallan - Coanti Vinid

12. Haelbarde - Graeth Heatherlocke

13. Mailiw73 - Kler Zerrung

14. Kasimir - Jocasta Heron

15. Winter Cloud - Dieter Venture

16. IrulelikeSTINK - Phil Domos

17. TheMightyLopen - Ophelia Nohr

18. polkinghorndb - Elijah Lignum

19. DeathClutch19 - Soren Jormundgand

20. Creccio - Inor Haze Olimac

21. Sogaple - Cade Malroux

 

Hadrian Penrod has been executed! He was a Skaa Sympathiser. House Penrod will be out of the game until the next Generation.

(what? I had to >>)

 

Generation 5 Turn 4 has begun! It will end on Friday the 11^th at 6 PM.

 

I am also going to be tightening a few rules here and there. From now on, I will not accept any doubled-Actions.

Edited December 6, 2015 by Wyrmhero

[Mailliw73 he/him]

By doubled actions, you mean "build ____ and ____"?

[Wyrmhero he/him]

Indeed. They are one of the things I regret about the very early game

[Kasimir he/him]

Thalia Heron #5: Running The Tide

Thalia clicked open her pocket watch and examined the scarred face. It was, all things considered, as much a testament to the work of the Heron craftsmen as it was to how well she’d kept the watch, that it still worked.

Both high tide and low tide occurred more or less at the same time each day, with some difference allowable due to inaccuracies in the timekeeping. You could, Thalia thought, even set your watch by it, as she did.

She clicked the pocket watch shut again and pocketed it.

“You mean,” Karch said, lying back indolently on the sand, his eyes half-shut, “The fearless Captain has now finished confirming the time?”

“Yes,” Thalia said, tartly. “You know very well that makes the difference between running aground on a couple of rocks, or on getting to the farmost island.”

Karch shrugged. “I know nothing,” he said, cheerily. “I am the quartermaster. I speak for the crew, I make sure people do their work, I bang heads together when people quarrel too much, and I follow where the fearless Captain leads.”

She kicked the toe of his boot.

“Is there a point to this?” Karch wanted to know.

“You’re being silly,” Thalia retorted. “Come on. Let’s go. Time’s a-wasting.”

“It’s a rusting island,” Karch said. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“If you didn’t want to come, then why volunteer?”

Karch grinned. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble,” he said wisely. He yawned and stood up, stretching. “I figured it may as well be the most handsome man on the ship. And the most sensible.”

She brushed sand off his sleeves. “Well,” Thalia said, “If you’re baiting the Captain, then I doubt you’re really all that sensible, are you?”

Karch shrugged. “Captain has authority only in engagements,” he pointed out. “Signed the articles. Otherwise, it’s not your ship, so much as ours.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Thalia said, dryly. She burned tin, checking the state of the rocks around the farmost islet. The water had begun to flow over the rocks, covering them; it would give them some degree of leeway, but they’d still need to be careful to avoid scraping the keel of the rowboat against them.

“Well?” Karch wanted to know.

“Looks good,” Thalia said. “Let’s go.”

-

Working in silence, they got the rowboat with its supplies down into the water. The Stormchaser was still idling in the bay as the carpenters made the necessary repairs, dealing with storm-damage and the damage sustained from repeated engagements.

Karch had seen to the haggling and the supplies; now, they found themselves with a little time on their hands. Thalia, in the meanwhile, had ghosts to chase.

The surf swept in around first their ankles, and then their calves, as they waded deeper and deeper, hauling the rowboat with them, until finally, the boat was more or less afloat. Karch clambered in first, his greater weight steadying the swaying boat, enough for Thalia to climb in as well.

He picked one pair of oars, handed the other to her.

She took them up and began to haul on them as she called the working cadence. Eventually, she didn’t need them: they’d rowed together enough times to lapse into a quiet familiarity with the rhythm they needed.

They made decent time, as the rowboat headed closer and closer to the farmost islet.

“So, tell me,” Karch said. “Why this obsession?”

Thalia thought about what to say. “I heard about the Bennet when I was serving as cabin boy on the Fleetwing,” she said, at last. “The mate there was saying that the Bennet made the best charts. They were an entire people of seafarers, and they went out further than any of us had ever done, and made all these maps of waters and coasts we’ve never seen; routes we’ve never thought of taking. It’s not the big score, but it could be useful.”

“Bennet,” Karch clucked his disapproval and shook his head. “Next, you’ll be saying Montgnard’s ship still plies these waters, looking for souls to join his doomed crew.”

“You did say if anyone was likely to find them, it’d be me.”

“Only because you’re too rusting stubborn to give up unless they absolutely didn’t exist,” Karch retorted.

“Well, the farmost islet has never really been explored. All these people deported from Lansing have more or less set up on the main islands. And we’ve found little trace of the Bennet there, but it’s unsurprising, since all the stories say the Lord Ruler tried to eradicate them. But then, it occurred to me: the Bennet were seafarers. Why’d they stay put as the Lord Ruler tried to get rid of them?”

Karch frowned. “Even the bravest seafarer must come ashore sometime for supplies,” he pointed out, dubiously.

“Which is why I’m checking out the remote islets here,” Thalia said. “It’d be the ideal place to flee: the rocks would deter pursuers, and if they didn’t, they could run aground or sink their ship here. The waters can get pretty choppy, too. The Bennet knew these waters. If they fled and established a land base anywhere else, they’d pick their ground.”

“Rusting stubborn,” Karch repeated, as he rowed. “And if it’s the charts you’re after, why go haring after the Bennet?”

“The problem is,” Thalia said, “Anyone who knew where those charts are isn’t around any longer. I’ve tried looking for Riles, but you all sent him packing to the mainland when he refused to sail with you, and the shipping manifests don’t indicate if he’s sailing with anyone right now. There’s his Captain--Haley--but Haley was taken by the Canton of Orthodoxy, meaning that any charts he might’ve had are also in the possession of the Canton of Orthodoxy. We might be the ‘terrors of the Southern Seas’ but we still pay our dues to the Steel Ministry, and in turn, they turn more or less a blind eye to us. For now. Raiding the Steel Ministry would change things, drastically.”

“Not to mention that the Steel Ministry is in the heart of Luthadel,” Karch said. “Where lots of noblemen and Allomancers gather.”

“That too,” Thalia said. “Details.”

“Details make the difference,” Karch said. “You know that.”

She did. It was why they had to go after the men for missing belaying pins, for sails that weren’t tacked properly, for jibs that hung at awkward angles. Small things that could go unnoticed in good weather killed men in bad weather.

And the sea was an unpredictable mistress; her moods consistently shifting.

It was, if anything, the only constant.

“We’re nearing the islet,” Karch said, changing the subject. “Best slow down, or we’ll cut her open on those rocks. You memorised the charts?”

Thalia tapped her temple with a finger. “All in here,” she said, confidently. “We’re good to go; preferably without having to wait for the next high tide.”

 
Thalia Heron #6: Take What You Can

Thalia raised her spyglass, bracing herself against the railing for balance as the Stormchaser ground closer towards its target. It was rare for a pirate ship to have a Coinshot; carrying a skaa Allomancer (and most of those in their line of work were certainly skaa) meant extra risk. The Final Empire did not have a strong naval presence in these waters, but she didn’t doubt that all it took was word of a skaa Coinshot to spread and the Inquisition would come hunting.

Still, ships that did not have Coinshots employed weighted javelins and mechanical catapults, meant to send heated stones ripping through the sails and mast, tangling them up and causing the target ship to flounder and go dead in the water. The Stormchaser had both: their Coinshot, Arkell, clung to one of the ratlines, and surveyed their prey.

It was a proud merchant ship bearing the symbol of House Azend; a lesser House in the Southern Dominance, and an easy target, as far as Thalia was concerned. Azend ships were usually armed, but the Stormchaser and her crew could easily take them.

The Revenge and the Infamy came after; riding the Stormchaser’s wake. They’d done this enough times: the Stormchaser would soften up the target and then the pirates on the Revenge and the Infamy, having the more maneuverable ships, would pull up alongside and attempt to board from the stern.

Normally, a fair number of ships simply fell dead in the water when they saw the colours hoisted. This one, it seemed, wished to fight.

Thalia was more than willing to give them one.

Arkell was still assessing the situation. He’d have to drop and brace, Thalia knew, if he expected to send metal shot ripping through the mast or rigging of the Azend ship.

Gregain was alongside the Stormchaser’s catapults. It was his job to see that these were in working order, as the men hastily loaded unheated shot into the cradle and prepared for launch. Gregain, too, would be calculating distances and arcs in his head, deciding when it was appropriate to launch the payload.

Gregain, Thalia thought, and men like him: skilled with numbers and the manipulation of them, was one of the true advantages that the pirates of the Southern Islands had. He’d claimed to be a dockworker, managing the simple system of pulleys that loaded and unloaded heavy cargo an ordinary dockworker couldn’t manage, before he’d offended a member of House Thesar and was fired and put onto a merchant ship as a hand.

They had the weather gauge today; they were tacked to the wind, and they were the swifter ship, while the Azend ship--the Ranger, Thalia now saw, through her spyglass--was heeling as it attempted to shift course and to fight back instead of fleeing.

They drew closer.

Gregain shouted the order.

Thalia heard the sound of the catapults whipping into position, releasing their burden. Shot flew through the air, smashing through the rigging of the Ranger. Some of the shot missed entirely; sailing through thin air to splash harmlessly into the water.

Thalia set aside her spyglass, focusing on the helm steering, forcing the two ships to come alongside. The catapults were already reloading, even as a shower of javelins fell on the other ship, some of which hit their targets in the rigging.

Karch was already shouting--his voice carrying over the clamour--for the men to brace. He followed his own example, ducking beside the thick, shielded bulkhead of the Stormchaser. The reason was obvious: in the next moment, flights of crossbow bolts smashed into the Stormchaser, ripping through flesh and the wood of the deck. Men and women screamed; but there was no time to deal with that.

Karch ducked out from cover and cried out for the men to bring grappling hooks. He followed his own example, whirling the hook about and hurling it over the side of the other ship and hauling for all he was worth. The other pirates followed: if the grappling hooks didn’t find purchase, there would be no boarding.

Crowssbows, however, took some time to reload, but at last they were reloaded, and Karch was forced to take cover again as another deadly hail arced out from the Ranger. Thalia abandoned the helm now; their two ships were close enough, and tangled with each other, although the men of the Ranger were doing their best to cut away the grappling hooks. Instead, she drew herself over the side of the Stormchaser and sprang, kicking off for all she was worth.

It was a risky move; the sides of a ship often turned into a chopping board, as defenders hacked at the fingers of any visible pirate. But this part of the ship was relatively unattended-to, and Thalia hauled herself up and over the sides of the Ranger, and drew her broad-bladed cutlass and was on the deck before any of the ship’s crew could react.

There were two crew members on this part of the ship; one of them a cabin boy. Careless, Thalia thought. She whipped her sword about--a strange memory from her past--and brought the flat of her cutlass smashing into the boy’s head. The cabin boy collapsed. She didn’t like killing children.

The other crew member was already reacting, drawing his own cutlass. The seas today were relatively calm, but still, the deck of the Ranger shifted with the waves. Balancing was a tricky affair, but by now, Thalia was used to adjusting her movements to the pitch and roll of ships in rougher waters than this.

She beat aside the downward chop of the crewman’s cutlass; in the same heartbeat, she drew one of the many knives she had secreted about her person and flicked it. At close range, she didn’t miss--the knife rammed through his unprotected throat.

Thalia left it there. She had others.

Some of the other crew of the Ranger were sprinting towards her; pulling away from defending against the shower of grappling hooks. The men of the Stormchaser had abandoned the catapults and were beginning to do their job: sending their own flurry of crossbow bolts back at the Ranger, forcing them to take cover as well, so the long process of boarding could begin.

Being first-boarder was risky, but you had to be bold, if you wanted to survive for long as a pirate captain. And you had to remember never to hold yourself above the others, and you had to lead them to ample prizes.

She blocked the first two; felt a third open up a cut above her eye. Thalia cursed; the last thing she needed was poor vision, and forced him back with a series of swift strokes with her cutlass, and, taking advantage of his open defence, slit his throat with an off-hand knife, just out of sheer principle.

By this point, Karch, too, had gained the deck: both his cutlasses were drawn, as he scissored a pair of swift strokes at the nearest resisting crew member. A heartbeat behind him, Ione dropped down onto the deck, shifting to keep her balance as she fended off the cut of a boarding axe and responded by slicing off the crewman’s hand.

Where was the Captain of the Ranger?

She made to battle her way towards them, when the blade of a sword whipped towards her, out of the corner of her vision, and only a desperate step back; her off-hand knife and cutlass criss-crossed allowed her to catch it before it would have hacked deep into her face.

The woman could be none other than the Captain of the Ranger; certainly, Thalia recognised the way the crew fell back, deferentially, giving her room in which to maneuver. But beyond that, there was the look of haughty disdain that she recognised too well in the eyes of the nobility: they thought themselves endowed with the divine right to exert their might in the world, and a fragment of that consciousness, too, was in that Captain’s gaze.

Thalia flicked the sword away and aimed a clumsy chop with her cutlass, that went awry because of the motion of the ship. “If you surrender,” Thalia said, “We will give quarter. There’s hardly call for slaughter.”

The Captain of the Ranger laughed. “House Azend does not surrender,” she said, confirming her identity. “We never give up what is ours.” She flicked an imperious gaze at the rest of her crew. “Show them no mercy! Anyone who falters now will be dangling from the yard-arm after we get rid of these skaa thieves!”

So be it.

“Pirates!” Thalia shouted. “Take what we can!”

The answering cry arose from the pirates of the Stormchaser, from Karch, from Ione, from Arkell and all the others: “GIVE NOTHING BACK!”

 
Sofia Heron #1: Northern Skies

The sky up north, in the mountains of the Terris Dominance beyond Tathingdwen, were clearer than those back home, and Sofia Heron perceived, gleaming overhead, the curtain of stars, without any obscuring mist or ash, as was only too common nearer to the Ashmounts.

She sighed in appreciation and reached for her pack.

She’d carefully brought along plenty of paper, and ink, and she found a quiet spot to prop the paper against a piece of wood and to begin making her crude map of the starry heavens. Some of the books back in the Heron library had spoken of how the skies up north were clearer, more ideal for stargazing, further away from the dust and pollutants of the city. Sofia was glad to have discovered that the authors hadn’t exaggerated.

Much.

Durav, she was unhappy to notice, had not been particularly accurate in his observations. It was a point of frustration, for he’d written many other works, most of them travelogues chronicling the situation in the early Final Empire. It was as good a mirror into the early Final Empire as had been written, Wyren had added. But he wasn’t particularly good as an astronomer. More was the pity,

Someone cleared his throat, non-discreetly.

“Ah, Khorisar,” she said. “See to the site, will you?”

“Are you not worried, milady?”

“Of?”

“Bandits,” Khorisar said, with a theatrical shudder. “I knew we should’ve asked for more men…”

“Nonsense,” Sofia said. “I wanted a quiet expedition, up north to study the stars, to try some of the Terris food Durav was always writing about, to see Tathingdwen, perhaps even the historic Mount Derytatith...I wanted to travel light, none of that ‘please sit in a caravan with twenty armed guards, Lady Heron’ sort of thing.”

“Your father will be displeased.”

“He’ll deal with it,” Sofia said, with a shrug. “I did write him a letter. And it’s not as if I’m quite running away, like Thalia did…even if I did, where would I go? I like living in a Keep. I just like the stars and seeing the world more.”

“And your upcoming betrothal has nothing to do with this, milady?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Sofia said, with a straight face. “I’m perfectly happy to marry Kler Zerrung. I’ve met him, he seems decent. I can’t say I’m dreading the prospect of being married to him.”

It was, in any case, not quite Khorisar’s place to comment. That she had absconded from home with a pair of guardsmen was bad enough. Even worse was that the other had died before they’d quite reached their destination in the Terris Dominance.

Explaining that when they got home…

Sofia wasn’t looking forward to it. But she was here, now, and as she breathed a deep lungful of the clear mountain air, gazing at the stars she loved, she couldn’t find it in herself to dread that prospect.

It was worth it, she told herself. Here, the air was cool; the leaves of the deep-rooted trees were dark, and the skies were--most importantly--clear, so she could count the stars in their groves, and map them.

It wasn’t just her father’s project, for his mosaic. It was very much her own as well. She wanted to write a book about the observations of Durav and Tusar, correcting mistakes, trying to add her own tiny chapter to the libraries, to the sum of human knowledge about the heavens. She wanted to know the stars, at a single glance; she wanted to understand and to uncover their mysteries, and here in the mountains of the Terris Dominance, she thought she was just this much closer to doing so.

Distantly, for she was focused on the task at hand, she heard the sound of Khorisar driving stakes into the ground. Jocasta, of course, hadn’t been interested in things like the stars: she much preferred studying politics, governing Tremredare, and practising combat and her Allomancy. And for all of that, Sofia couldn’t imagine her older sister being willingly dragged out into the far northern expanse of the Terris Dominance in order to sleep rough, eat cold baywraps and watch the skies.

Thalia might have, though.

She hadn’t heard from her younger sister in years. Father’d received a handful of letters from her: she was doing well, he’d said, and then faltered as he’d explained that Thalia was on a ship in the Southern Seas.

“She’s a sailor?” she’d asked.

Her father had shaken his head. Not sailor, he explained. Pirate.

Tusar had written that seafarers, too, used the stars to navigate: to find their place at sea, using a variety of instruments. Sofia wondered, in that moment, if Thalia, too, was looking upon the same stars; if they would one day guide her home.

For the moment, though, she simply allowed herself to drink in the starlight, and that pristine, clear beauty; otherwise so elusive, to reach out for the beating heart of the stillness that surrounded them, only marred by the susurrus of night-calls, the hoot of an owl, and the murmur of the nearby stream.

It was moments like this, Sofia thought, in which you felt truly alive; in which you gloried in it.

As she did now.

 
Athán Heron #1: Blue Skies From Pain

When Athán was seven, they killed his mother.

Not his real mother, of course. Or so they told him. And she was only skaa.

The woman who fed him, who clothed him, who laughed and clapped at his little exploits, who taught him his letters and basic numbers, who told him all sorts of stories and tucked him in at night, who sat with him to keep the night-demons at bay, who bandaged his hurts, who played with him, who held him when he woke up crying for no reason--

She wasn’t his real mother, they told him. And she was skaa. And a rebel.

He watched as they killed her.

His real mother stood by his side. She didn’t take his hand.

He watched his mother die; watched as they killed her, made her scream out her crimes, first, and made him watch. He saw his name on her lips, felt his world shatter, on the inside.

Felt something open up within him.

He hadn’t known, Athán thought, that it was possible to hate so many people, this much.

“Come,” his real mother said. “We’ll be late for dinner.”

“You killed her.”

“She was a rebel,” his real mother said, shrugging. “Or she was helping them, in which case, she was stupid.” She looked down, at him. “The only way to deal with rebels is to be strong, Athán. If you’re weak, they’ll walk all over you, and then you’ll find yourself dealing with an army where you only dealt with one of them.”

He didn’t have the words. Athán wondered if he ever would.

-

When Athán was five, his mother told him about maps and charts. She told him about the ocean. And she told him about about strange lands, beyond that distant horizon.

(Her father came from Southport, he knew; moved to Tremredare because there were too many dockworkers in Southport and too few in Tremredare, back when they made the docks bigger, and because they were hungry and didn’t have enough to eat.)

He always blinked, trying to fathom what that last meant. “Well, we have plenty of food here,” he said, firmly, “So you won’t go hungry.”

(She laughed; he didn’t understand why, then.)

She told him about turtles, about the aqua waters of the Southern Islands; a clearer, brighter blue than he could imagine.

She told him about the Great Green, about white shores, and a far green country beneath a swift sunrise; about how things that were lost were never truly lost, how you could meet those you loved again, on the far side of the world.

He dreamed about the songs of fish; about the silent dance of the overhead stars, about silver glass and grey rain.

-

When Athán was nine, his aunt came home.

(Two years of silence; of being left to his own devices. His mother was slightly interested to learn he’d Snapped, but that only presaged hours under tutors, being taught to do more things with numbers and letters and words; learning history, governance, and how to defend himself. And, surreptitiously, reading the works of lettered men and women before him: thinkers who offered dangerous ideas.

“What is more dangerous than an idea, Athán?” his Uncle Wyren had asked him, at one point. “Ideas change the world. They always have.”

He’d nodded, back then. It was hard to understand how; yet as he read, he thought he saw why. There was a treatise written and published by House Penrod suggested skaa were people. He looked at it and wondered why people needed being told something so obvious, and then he remembered.

He was seven when they killed his mother.)

He was old enough to understand the uncomfortable silence; the careful neutrality with which they spoke to each other. Aunt Thalia was burnt dark by the sun, with unruly hair that she tied back behind her, and a yellowing shirt that might’ve once been white, and she wore a deep red kerchief, tied like a bandana at a jaunty angle.

“And who is this?” Aunt Thalia asked, catching sight of him.

“This is Athán Heron, my son,” his real mother said, shortly. “Athán, greet your Aunt Thalia.”

“Hello Aunt Thalia,” he said, politely. She grinned at him, and in that moment, he liked her better than he did his real mother.

“Hi yourself, Athán. How old are you?”

“Nine. How come I’ve never seen you before?”

His real mother looked very disapproving. That might’ve been why Aunt Thalia said, casually, “I work at sea.”

Athán frowned. “Have you met a pirate? My m--my tutor said they’re a real problem along the coast of the Southern Dominance.”

No one seemed to notice his hesitation.

If anything, Thalia’s grin seemed to broaden. “Well, yes,” she said. “I have met a few pirates in my line of work.”

“I want to meet a pirate someday.”

“Athán!” his real mother snapped.

“Why?” Thalia asked.

Because I want to know about the far side of the world, Athán thought. But he could never have explained that. Because I want to know about those waters; a clearer, brighter blue than you’ve ever known. Because I want to know about the songs of fish and turtles and whales, about white shores, about silver glass and grey rain.

Instead, he shrugged. “I have some questions,” he said. “And I’d like some answers.”

-

When Athán was nine, his Aunt Thalia returned, for the last time, to the Heron manor in Tremredare. He would later learn that it had taken a long time for word of his grandfather’s death to reach her at sea, and even longer for her to make her way back to Tremredare to pay her respects.

He watched, solemnly, as she visited his grandfather’s tomb and stayed there for a time.

In the end, he asked her one question.

When Thalia Heron left, Athán Heron snuck away to leave with her.

When Athán was nine, he took to the sea for the first time.

It would be years before he returned.

Action Three:

•Who? - Jocasta Heron, in her capacity as Lady Heron

•What? - Jocasta is attempting to recruit 4 MP of soldiers.

•Where? - In Tremredare, naturally.

•When? - This is my third action for the Turn.

•Why? - To increase security/law and order given these turbulent times; presumably, these would serve as stabilising influences within Tremredare/Heron properties, further reinforcing the 'stick'.

 

Also, why the red, Cap? We playin' SE here or something?

Edited December 10, 2015 by Kasimir

[Araris Valerian he/him]

The thing is, the part of the speech Hadrian didn't get to was an announcement that all parents of Half-breeds would be executed... And that is even the part I put first in my RP. I guess the Inquisitors weren't around to hear that bit .

 

Just curious, what sort of bad things happened to people getting rebelled on? As in, was it worth me getting executed to avoid that sort of thing?

[little wilson she/her]

I didn't have major riots, but some of my properties rioted and didn't produce anything for that turn. That was it, though I know some people had some of their properties burnt to the ground. A little bit of MP loss as well. And whatever you used on the skaa riots to bribe or get them under control.

[Unodus he/him]

Anyone in need of MP support this turn?

[little wilson she/her]

Who: Lady Allera Wilson

What: Building a Library

Where: Fadrex City

When: Action 1

Why: Research and anything else that may strike House Wilson's fancy

[Mailliw73 he/him]

Action 1: Crack down on the skaa, increasing beatings of any disobedient skaa. Any that show rebellious tendencies will be executed immediately.

Edited December 11, 2015 by Mailliw73

[Haelbarde he/him]

Action 1: Marry Alicia into House Zerrung.

[Unodus he/him]

Sorry, haven't had time to write any Rp... Again... x=x

Action 3

Who?  Relmolina in her capacity as House Lord

What?  Trying for an Heir [boy: Atelt, Girl: Myrh]

When? Third action

[Aonar he/him]

Before I forget: (This week's been really busy, sorry.)

 

Action 1: Arrange a favourable marriage for Lucca with an NPC House.

[TheMightyLopen he/him]

Action 1: Arrange a marriage for Inigo with an NPC House.

[Wyrmhero he/him]

While strictly speaking the turn should have finished two hours ago, due to the fact it's the end of the Generation and we're taking a break over Christmas, I'll still accept actions up until I post a closing write-up on Sunday.

[phattemer]

^Thanks, Wyrm.

Action 1: Spend some Wealth to recruit in Luthadel

Why: I want to reassure my House and also myself.

[Shallan she/her]

^ ditto.

Action 3: Buy a Training Yard

Why: So I can get a better army

Where: Luthadel

[DeathClutch19 he/him]

Action 2: Build an apothecary

[Orlok Tsubodai]

I've been trying to get some RP finished in time for this, but will edit it in shortly.

What: Donate 20 wealth to the poor of Fadrex

Where: Fadrex

When: G5T4A1

Who: Lord Tekiel

[Wyrmhero he/him]

Generation 5: Turn 4

 

“I would like you to repeat what you have just said,” The Lord Ruler said, resting his chest against his fist on what passed for his throne as he stared down the Obligator before him.

 

“I-yes, Lord Ruler,” the Obligator took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed nervously at the sweat that was pouring off him. He had drawn the short straw, and so he was here, bearer of bad news and all. Life was not fair. “We have received reports of further rioting, sir. The city of Fellise has erupted in chaos-”

 

“Yes, I am aware and remain unsurprised,” The Lord Ruler waved it away with his spare hand. “I am glad we have dissolved the Canton of Hegemony. They clearly had no idea what they were doing when they handed the city to that traitorous House. I'm certain that the skaa have help from the nobility, those that should be trusted. It is impossible that they could have mounted such a rebellion without actual intelligence driving it... But regarding Fellise, House Zerrung has requested ownership of the city. I am minded to let them have it, if they can quell the riots and bring the city to its knees. Whatever they conquer they can keep, as it were.”

 

Now he leaned forward, arm falling to the armrest of his chest. “But that is not what I care about. The issue I have with what you have said is that you have claimed an army is currently lying outside of Luthadel. Outside of this very city, the capital of the Empire. I suppose at least this is something Commander Uethorn has done right, leaving a small force here, even if there is evidence that the man is utterly useless. Pathetic and cowardly, hiding our armies within the walls of Luthadel, or protecting only his allies, not hunting them down..." He looked up. "This new army. Explain, now.”

 

“...Yes, My Lord. I think the only explanation is that Lord Heatherlocke has abandoned leave of his senses,” the Obligator wiped his brow once again, shrinking back under The Lord Ruler's withering gaze. “The House was once seen in good stead amongst those in the Steel Ministry, but it seems as though he has decided to throw it all away. Even House Penrod wasn't this foolish.”

 

“So, why have steps not been taken to remedy this situation? Bring me the head of every Heatherlocke out there on the field!”

 

“We would, sir, nothing would give us greater pleasure... It's just that our army is a little depleted at the moment. Our problems with the skaa insurgencies have spread our forces thin, and weakened them. We can't repel his forces without heavy casualties.”

 

“I fail to see the problem,” The Lord Ruler replied. “If it is to be a massacre on both sides, then very well. I want them dead.”

 

“...Very well, My Lord.” The Obligator winced. Such a waste of life, all because of one upstart House.

 

“No, I have changed my mind,” The lord Ruler said, holding his palm out to stop him leaving. “There is no sense in wasting loyal soldiers on that rabble. My Inquisitors shall deal with this.”

 

“My Lord? Forgive me for saying so, but... The men besieging the city number several thousand. Even all the Inquisitors in the Empire would have difficulty with that number, and that's if they were all here in Luthadel.”

 

“You are not permitted to question me. My Inquisitors will deal with this by use of the Koloss. There shall be a massacre, but none that die in the battle will be of any note.”

 

“Koloss are not known for being discrimating, My Lord. Is there not a danger that they could enter the city and just start killing even more people? Those who aren't involved in the battle, and are most likely supportive of you?”

 

The Lord Ruler sighed. “You tire me with your constant questions. The Koloss will only make it as far as the slums if they even enter the city. And if they do, well... I do not feel particularly fond of the skaa at the moment.” His fist clenched slightly, and he seemed to grow a bit distant, speaking through gritted teeth. “They are worthless, defying my rule. I've touched infinity, and they still deny me. The Empire must take further action if it is to remain stable. We've been too lenient, as you say.”

 

“I didn't say anything, My Lord?”

 

“Leave. You have your orders, take them to the Inquisitors. I must think upon how we continue to deal with these useless peasants...”

 

A full Generation has gone by, and the Skaa Rebellion has not been defeated! House Uethorn has been stripped of its command of the armies. House Heatherlocke has also been stripped of its Governance of Lansing, for rebellion and treason.

 

The Turn is over, as is the Generation. I will post in the Generational thread when I have a date for the next Generation to begin, as well as my thoughts so far at this near-halfway point.

Edited December 13, 2015 by Wyrmhero

[Kasimir he/him]

Thalia Heron #7: Give Nothing Back

“A member of House Azend,” Arkell said, shaking his head.

Thalia glanced sharply at him. “It was well worth it,” she pointed out. A number of the Ranger’s crew had elected to turn pirate; the rest were dead, as was the Captain. She’d thought of ransoming the woman, that unknown member of House Azend, but she knew only too well how contingencies could destroy plans.

Karch was striding up and down the ship, barely inconvenienced by his bandage, checking on the cargo the Ranger contained. As far as Thalia had seen in her cursory assessment of the ship’s falsified manifest and the actual manifest, the Azend had been carrying a very rich cargo indeed: apart from the usual measure of dyes and metals, it seemed that the Azend ship had been carrying a small amount of atium, which explained why the Captain had refused to give up the ship without fighting to the death.

House Azend would’ve looked very poorly on losing that atium.

But still, something didn’t make sense. Why send the atium by sea? Sea shipping was fast but dangerous; canal shipping was slower, but as canals ran through lands more likely to be governed strictly by ruling Houses, narrowboats carrying goods were less likely to be attacked and plundered than ships.

And atium was worth a fortune. Thalia knew that, even if she couldn’t burn it.

Even if none of them could.

“Atium,” Arkell said. He shook his head yet again. “Well, I bet none of them saw it coming.”

Thalia flicked a coin at him. He caught it, snatched deftly out of the air. Hard to surprise a Coinshot, Thalia thought, even though all Arkell could do was push on pieces of metal, not pull on them.

“Scuttle the jokes, Arkell,” she said, severely. “You’re here to take down ships and get rich, not make bad jokes.”

Arkell shrugged. He flipped the coin in the air. Another joined it, a moment later. And then a third. “Who knows? A man’s got to stay versatile, Cap. Don’t know how much longer this life’s for me.”

Thalia raised an eyebrow. “Thinking of giving up the sea, then?”

“I’m not getting any younger, Cap. And every time I do the--” he twitched his fingers, “--I’ve got to be worried about a bunch of Inquisitors hearing of it and getting on my tail. I’ve heard there’s places in the Empire where you can just live out your life, without having to worry about Inquisitors or the Ministry or doctrine or anything. All you need is enough boxings to live comfortably. Empire’s so big that they can’t be everywhere at once. Be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Thalia said, “I suppose.”

Arkell caught the coin, and then the last two, one by one, and pocketed them. “‘Sides,” he said. “I hear the Heatherlockes are beginning to put together a fleet. Sooner or later, the warships will come. And then it’ll be the Fiddler’s Green for the last of us.”

“Why green?’

“It’s the name in the stories, isn’t it?”

“Green’s a peculiar colour,” Arkell said. “We call the ocean the ‘Great Green’, but the Fiddler’s Green’s supposed to be a place on land, not on the waters. How long can we keep this up, eh?”

“As long as we can,” Thalia said. “Hard to regret any part of it. It’s been a good run.”

He offered her a tentative nod. “I guess it has, at that.”

“Would you have missed any of this? The feel of the ship beneath your feet, the dolphins at sunset, the changing moods of the sea...or even the adventure?”

“Well,” Arkell said, “I’d have liked to miss the ulcers and blisters. Probably the fleas too. And the weevils. Other than that, well…” he fell silent.

“We chose this life,” Thalia pointed out. “I wouldn’t have given up a minute of it for something else.”

“So we did,” Arkell said. He sighed. “Thing is, a man doesn’t always have much options, Cap. ‘Specially when he’s not supposed to be having any of that Allomancy.”

“I never asked.”

“No,” he said. “You never did. Well, d’you want to know?”

Thalia watched Karch begin to sort out the cargo that would be removed to the Stormchaser. The Ranger itself would follow in their trail as they made back for their port in the Southern Islands. With a good number of their crew wounded, Karch among their number, Thalia’d thought it best to plot a course for land again. Infections often went bad at sea, and when they did, the only option was amputation.

“Why not?”

“I’m a bastard.”

“I know.”

“Not that kind,” Arkell said, exasperated. “The other kind. The bad kind. My father was a noble from House Arnkell. You know what seafarers are like.”

She did know. It explained where Arkell’s Allomancy had come from. It was always a parent, Thalia thought, or a grandparent. Some trace of noble blood somewhere in the line.

“He tried to kill her. She killed him. She survived.”

“Mists, Arkell.”

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to exist,” Arkell said, wryly. “We moved further down the coast, to Lansing. And I took to the waters the first chance I got. Didn’t find out about my Allomancy until the Cap had me flogged half to death for not fastening the cargo properly. We lost a bunch of crates, that run. I killed him, too. Wasn’t aware of what I was doing, back then. You see all the pretty blue lines, and you think, ‘whyever the hell not.’ And then you’re in, deep.”

“Trace metals?”

“I guess. I’m trouble two times over, Cap. Killed a Captain, and I’m a skaa Allomancer. Not many options for someone once you’re in that corner. It’s all down on the papers somewhere.”

“Cap!” Karch hollered.

“Thanks, Arkell,” Thalia said. “Good to have you with us. If you really feel that way…”

“I’m still with the Stormchaser for now, Cap. No worries.”

“I was going to say that maybe we can do something about that record.”

“Hardly anything to be done, Cap. That’s with House Urho, now.”

“Oh, you never know,” Thalia said.

Thalia Heron #8: Full Fathom Five

You should have known, Thalia thought.

And in a way, she had, but it had been nothing more than a faint thought at that point; a flicker, like a passing shadow, beneath the surface of water.

She almost laughed, quietly, to herself. Wondered if it was her imagination, if it was too soon to tell, or if she could already feel the new life within her. Slumbering. Growing.

There were diseases which did that, Thalia knew. There were parasites: tiny, waterborne creatures that infested male crabs, castrating them, feminising them, and subverting them into caring for the parasite’s eggs instead. There were strangling vines which wrapped around the trunks of sturdy trees, and slowly sucked precious nutrients from them.

It was the most important rule; the one that should never have been broken, the one that she had, in spite of all things, broken. Never mingle bloodlines with the skaa, her father warned, once again, in her head.

And wasn’t it ridiculous to worry about this when she’d crossed far more lines than this years ago? Burning, raiding, attacking ships, making use of skaa Mistings: each and every one of these was as grave an offense and as like to send her to Fiddler’s Green.

Yet this had always been the unspoken rule, the final line.

It was well and truly crossed, now.

She heard the sound of the waves breaking on the shore; the water as dark as ink by the faint light of the distant stars. She did not carry a torch.

She stepped into the surf, felt the water tugging around her ankles.

How much time did she have? How much longer before it began to show? These things, she knew, were never precise. She’d missed two or three of her monthly courses, but that had been nothing new in the life they led. She was rarely seasick, but they’d been plying rough waters, of late, and she’d dismissed the sickness out of mind.

She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want it. Hadn’t asked for it.

She was Captain of the Stormchaser, and she knew the others respected her. Feared her, even, for the daring raids she led. Some had even begun to refer to her as “The Pirate Queen.”

You didn’t stay Captain for very long if you couldn’t fight, couldn’t lead from the very thick of combat. She was a skilled navigator, yes, but there were many other skilled navigators in the crew, many of whom were brave and bold to the degree demanded. She thought, for other reasons, of Karch. The quartermaster was often elevated, when a Captain was deposed.

In another life, this would be her, now. She knew that; knew that if she hadn’t run away, she would’ve found herself in a betrothal contract to some other House, and then married off and bearing heirs. Continuing the noble bloodlines; no thought of the sea or the rough hilt of a cutlass in her grasp.

She would never have inherited, not as Lord Kyrus’s youngest. House Heron inherited by strict primogeniture, after all.

The water was like obsidian; like the darkest volcanic glass. She imagined it slipping over her head; imagined what it was like to suffocate and drown. It was how she felt, staring at the consequences of her actions, with no way out she could see.

A dark shape, out of the corner of her eye. She whirled about, startled. A callused hand caught her, stopping her short before she lost her balance.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I’ve had a good deal on my mind.”

“Mm. Wonder why.”

“Oh?”

She could make out his shrug, even in the darkness. And she knew his smile; more a cheeky flash of teeth than anything more lasting, more solid. “He who is quartermaster must be nursemaid to a ship of fools,” Karch said, dryly. “He may persuade, he may threaten, but drunk pirates are scarcely more manageable than cats. Imagine what the Captain must contend with.”

“You’ve had cats?”

“A few. They died. Or they might’ve run away. I forget.”

“You forget,” she mocked, lightly. “How old are you, then?”

“I remember the important things,” Karch replied. “I forget the unimportant ones. Things like reefing sails, knots, lashing cargo--important to remember. Things like the taste of a freshly-baked baywrap, less important.”

“So cats are like baywraps?”

“Why not?”

She had to laugh at the absurdity of their conversation.

“So, then,” Karch said. “What are you really doing, Cap? Still chasing the Bennet?”

“No,” Thalia said. “Not tonight.”

It was hard to think about it, to talk as though nothing had ever passed between them. There was no reason it had to be nothing, she thought, except for the knowledge that involvement between Captain and quartermaster could complicate matters. The quartermaster was the voice of the crew, and stood, by necessity, apart from the Captain.

What they were doing, then, was something dangerous: not forbidden, but a venture into unexplored waters.

But then, that was their creed, wasn’t it?

Take what you can. Give nothing back.

Deliberately, she covered his hand with hers.

N/B: The last part of this has been censored due to it not being PG-9. Thank you for your understanding.