brazencoalitiondesk

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Pungarehu Puia

The island of the sleeping dragon; Tarakona Moe. An island, flourishing in fruits and trees, as they feed from the rich nutrients of the earth. Gift of the volcan, Tarakona the Snorer, as it rocks and fumes, roar to the sky. Tought, unnaturally, it never raged against the land.

It was the proper place, to claim as the religious center of the orcs. Where we would bury our deaths, burning thems and taking their asses to the land.

To the east of the island, in a hut of metal and wood, there was an old orc of grayish skin. As big as a horse, with limbs as thick as the wood, with hairs as white as the ashes. Pugarehu Puia was his name, the chieftains of all the tribes, the speaker of the volcan.

He was preparing, for another ritual, to speak with his ancestor. He took with care, the amphoras with their ashes. As he placed them, around the fire`s home. He needed thier guidance, their experience, for the reunion of today.

The discussion, about retaking their homeland, the Sens from Torrezon. Pungarehu had heard the news from the captain. Torrezon, alongside the Church and the Legion, was bleeding with heresy. Aclazotz, their progenitor, came back to reclaim their brood. The news about the existence of this god, about the true nature of vampirism, was of little suprise. These monsters, the vampires, were always beast waiting for an excuse to put their jaws over the flesh of nations and livings. Always seeking for war, for glory, violence, blood. They were facing, the demon that they feed with their blood.

Pungarehu, also saw an chance in this civil war of theirs. Their forces would be divided, it`s many heads busy battling against the snakes of their garden. Ignoring minor lands, such as Lunate, especially the sens. Island, with little wealth or meaning for thems. Except for the orcs, his people.

Soon, the captains whose loyalty is to their faith and people, rather than the coin, will arrive. Soon, he will seek the numbers of arms, blades, cannons and ships under thier command. Soon, they will reclaim the body of their ancestors.

As he lifted one of the vessel`s witht he ashes, an gentle thud sounded by four time, from his entrance. As he turned, he saw her. Her old flame. Aged by the salt and wind, wisdosm and intelect flowing from her eyes.

"Sussan..." He muttered, endeared by her sudden visit, yet offended by her interruption.

"Goodafternoon, Puia. Oh, speaker of the flame" She gretted him, with reverence, as she covered her mouth. Keeping her souls, inside her body. So was the meaning of that gesture.

"Finally free, from the duties with governess Brass? Of, do you seek out, for consultation with the young sparks under your care?" So long was her last visit, ever since Brass was named governess. So little were her visit nows, to the island of the tribes. Her share of her knowledge and skill to the young orcs, now an rarity.

"I am. I put one of my colleagues to check the papers of this day." She explained, as she walked into the cabin, keeping her distance from the flame. Regconizing the anphoras of the ancestors. "I see, that I interrupted your communion with your granparents..." She apologized, seeking permission to sit on Puia`s eyes.

The old chieftain, crossed his arms. "What is your purpose to seek me in my own home? And not demand my attention and persona, to the city on the waves?" He interrogated her. He may adore her as the fire adore the wood, yet he regconize that she have her own goals. Her own desires. An eternal calm waves, among the smokes, fires and storms of the Coalition.

"I heard it, from my students, Puia. You are planning for an war" She stated. She knew thanks to her ex-students, who now sails their own ships acroos the multiverse. Who desire an safe future for thier families.

"I am planning for the reclamation, of the legacy of my people. I am planning, to health the wounds, that long have scarred our spirits. To reunite old families, with their ashens ancestors. You are opposing me, for such noble work?" He defended himself. For he heard thems, the cries and wails of their dead. Far away across the seas, from the fumes of the sens. As the savages vampires drapped in gold and black, trappled over their graves.

"And that healing, will cost the blood of the torrezians?" She asked, steeping closer to the orc, who could easily break her back with an punch. Yet she didnt fear his strenght. She couldn`t fear, his closest friend among the coalition.

"I know, you worry for your kindreds. Those, blinded by the golden light of Elenda. Those, will be unharmed. Even more, I will welcome thems among my tribe. They must have recapacitated about their faith to the vampires, now that they can see, their true nature. From thier unleashed hunger, and wanton violence!" Puia knew, that Sussan saw all humans as equals, as thier siblings. Were they from the flock of the vampires, the dino-souled of the empire, or the strange people under the soil. All of thems, were dear to her.

He was prepared, to massacre any paladin or marshall who claimed the sens as theirs. To burn them to crisp, to choke them with death, to break their bones, to rip thier lying tongues. To pay in kind, their injustice, to their people, to his pupils.

"Indeed, if fear for the safety of the torrezian commoners. But I also fear, the reaction of the marshalls and the church. News have arrived, that the clergy have launched an inquisition, to cleanse the souls of their people" As she related, Puia spat with disdains.

"Pure, heretics, faithfull, traitor. Now the vampires, have blinded themself to the unediable truth? Now they are hunitng their own kind? What a joke. Very well, if they are divided. Then the sens are ready to be reclaimed" Proclaimed the orc, as the fire`s home reawakened to his will.

"Perhap. Perhap you could. But, why you should decide the fate of your people, only by yourself. You, why are you calling only the orcs, for this campaign?" Asked Sussan, with worry and fear.

"I know about the truce. If only my kind, are the one to commit the "insult" to Torrezon. Your truce will be unbroken" He answered. He was sure, that it was such the nature of the treaty.

"Safe? I am allagated for such noble feeling for our safety, Puia. But it wont work. I fear, that now they are more paranoid and explosive than ever, with the heretics, now walking among their streets. They are foolish enough. To put all the fleets under the Coalitions responsability, if your kind attack their holdings." She argued.

Puia, gave a few moment of silence. As he oversaw the coast. Three ships arrived, as three captains walked from the planks, toward his cabin.

"We will discuss this matter futher. With the presence of the captains." Puia closed the convesation, as he walked outisde. With his back to Sussana.

Sussan, only took an seat, as she sighed. She hoped, that the old chieftain, would find the true on her words.

The Brazen Coalition, didn`t need to be involved, in the war. Not yet.

[brazencoalitiondesk]

You also believed that debts and contracts was an universal concepts?

......Oh quit you laughs Livertaria.

Well, fortunatly the Brazen Coalition are no stranger to such abstract concepts.

Look out, if they were importante people back in their homeplane tought. Like the prince of some noble house, the priest of an powerfull god, the servants of a maniacal demon or etc.

By the Obzedat, these omenpaths are profitable. One just opened up in my precinct a few weeks ago, and with all this new manpower (er…ghostpower?) we can afford to plate the entire west church wing in gold! And improve the debtors sallaries ig, but gold!

[brazencoalitiondesk]

By the Obzedat, these omenpaths are profitable. One just opened up in my precinct a few weeks ago, and with all this new manpower (er…ghostpower?) we can afford to plate the entire west church wing in gold! And improve the debtors sallaries ig, but gold!

[brazencoalitiondesk]

excuse me. It wasn't an obvious fact?

We have expanded our trades to at least three planes

By the Obzedat, these omenpaths are profitable. One just opened up in my precinct a few weeks ago, and with all this new manpower (er…ghostpower?) we can afford to plate the entire west church wing in gold! And improve the debtors sallaries ig, but gold!

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Settling The Storm

“You gonna be okay in there, Lannery?”

Storm offered a smile to her first mate. “I’ll be fine, Avvie. It’s therapy, so it’ll probably just involve a lot of crying.”

Avarett Hamett was Storm’s best friend, hands down. The two had practically grown up together from the moment that Storm was old enough to start working on a ship. When Storm became a captain, it was Avarett who became her first mate, and when Storm needed someone to command the rest of the Storm Fleet because of what Sophrosyne had done to her, there was no question who she would ask to take the mantle for a while.

Avarett returned the smile and gently squeezed Storm’s hand. “Just lookin’ out for ya, as always. Lemme know when you’re out, we’ll go for drinks.”

“Of course,” Storm promised as Avarett stepped away. “See ya in a few hours.” With that, she headed into the small office.

Sussana Libertaria had recommended a therapist from her own fleet, Doctor Filomena Townsend. She had never served on a pirate ship, she had been born and raised on one of the few islands that the Coalition settled on after the first attack on the Free Cities way back when. Once High and Dry became the center of the Coalition’s operations, Doctor Townsend had moved there to help Sussana manage everything.

Doctor Townsend was an older woman, probably in her fifties, with kind features overall. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun, and her warm brown eyes peered at Storm through a pair of glasses. She smiled. “Captain Storm. Have a seat.” She gestured towards a piece of couch-like furniture that Storm figured would break apart the moment anything more than a twink sat down on it.

Despite her initial reservations, Storm sat down slowly. She took a deep breath. They already had a few sessions, but this was Storm’s first time coming in without Avarett or Tony with her. What they were going to do today meant that it needed to just be the two of them. Storm fidgeted with the cuffs of her jacket sleeves.

She had killed her biological father in a one-on-one duel to get vengeance for her mother and countless others. She could handle a therapy session.

Doctor Townsend sat down in the chair near the couch and held up something dangling from a thin chain. “Now, keep your eyes on the pendulum, Captain Storm.”

Hypnosis. It had been suggested during their last session as a way for Storm to more directly face the second person in her mind. Kalleis, Sophrosyne had renamed her.

Storm took a deep breath and watched the motions of the pendulum, allowing herself to slip into her own mind as Doctor Townsend spoke softly.

Where are you?

Lannery stood on the deck of the South Storm. It was intact again. The rain had come in like it did before Sophrosyne’s ambush, sudden and violent.

Are you alone?

Lannery thought she was, at first. No crew. No griffins. No Sophrosyne. But as she turned to look behind her, she saw a mirror of herself, with loose hair and a chiton. Kalleis. In her hand was a cutlass, and Lannery scrambled to grab her own as Kalleis approached. The storm and rain beat against them both.

Is she saying anything?

Not before steel met steel. Lannery was looking into her own eyes as the blades strained. Kalleis spoke first. “Why won’t you let me take control?” Her voice was a perfect echo of Lannery’s, strained and distressed, shouted to be heard over the wind.

Lannery’s voice was closer to a growl. “Because I won’t let you drag us back there! She forced you into my body to control me!”

“I wasn’t forced in!” Kalleis bit back as their blades disengaged. She struck, just like Lannery would, and Lannery blocked like she naturally would have done.

Where did you come from, then?

Lannery echoed Doctor Townsend’s question, trying to jab with her elbow but being blocked by the flat of Kalleis’s cutlass. She disengaged and dropped backwards to get space between them.

“I’m part of you! You never acknowledged me, but Sophrosyne did! She saw me, she named me, and she didn’t try to shove me away!”

“What part of me are you, then?” Lannery challenged her mirror, catching Kalleis’s fist and blocking the cutlass with her own.

“The part that doesn’t want to lead a Coalition fleet!” Kalleis spat back as she kicked Lannery’s knee out from under her. Lannery dropped and rolled clear to get back on her feet and block the next blow. “The part that is tired! The part that is lonely! The part that just wants someone else to take care of us for a while!”

Lannery had almost gone to strike, but she hesitated and shifted to defense. “What?”

Did you know about this part of yourself, Captain Storm?

“Of course I didn’t know!” Lannery snapped. “That’s not me!”

“Sophrosyne isn’t a powerful mind mage!” Kalleis countered. “She can’t insert things, she just works with what’s already there! It isn’t my fault that you ignored me!”

The rain beat against the deck and combatants alike. Lannery disengaged from the fight and took a few steps back. Instead of yelling back, she sat with that for a moment.

She remembered the nights with Aoidi, where she was able to let go and finally allow someone else to take control in bed. She remembered the far more recent help from Tony, who helped her keep track of the therapy sessions and mother henned over her to make sure she went to the sessions. She remembered Menea and Malkonia both helping patch her up when she was first rescued from Sophrosyne, checking on her to make sure she was recovering. She remembered Avarett hugging her tightly and promising her that she didn’t need to worry about the Storm Fleet for a while, that Avvie would handle everything so she could focus on healing. Her crew and the other captains in her fleet, glad to see her again.

“We have that,” Lannery whispered. “We already have that in so many people.”

Kalleis finally faltered. “What?”

“Aoidi. Tony. Menea. Malkonia. Avarett. Our crew. Captains Dardan, Demeer, Raye-” Lannery laid her cutlass down on the deck of the ship and approached the other part of her. “We’re... We’re not alone, Kalleis.”

Kalleis’s cutlass fell to the deck. She closed her eyes. If she said something, Lannery couldn’t yet hear her over the wind and the rain.

Lannery got within arm’s reach, then pulled Kalleis into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as the lonely part of herself trembled in her arms and clung to her rain-drenched jacket. “I’m sorry that I didn’t know you were here. I’m sorry that I’ve pushed you away. I’m sorry that you’ve been so lonely and scared.”

Storm took a deep breath once she was eased out of the hypnosis. She slowly opened her eyes to Doctor Townsend studying her silently. “How do you feel?” the older woman finally asked.

Storm’s mana thrummed in her veins, now with a new source of strength added to what already existed. Her mind felt calm, eased of the burden of fighting itself. Her emotions were soothed now that she had accepted the part of herself that she had pushed away and treated as separate.

How did she feel? Captain Storm smiled. Her response was a single word.

“Whole.”

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Than one of them adopted an pirate?

Weird, I han't heard news about that :\/

One of my coworkers is now a High Fae, one of them adopted a grown ass pirate, and a third is dealing with a transphobic father by spontaneously generating horses to stalk said father.

And me? I went to therapy.

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Here is Moena.

Livertaria abruptly intruded to my office. For the goal to make the next question.

"It`s pride month Moena. You know what that means?" Then she nochalantly abandoned my premise, with an flag of purple and blue.

What? Does she expect me to raise gay skeletons?

We are pirates!!!

[brazencoalitiondesk]

I managued to send the exchanges students of the Brazen Coalition to the Omenpath of Arcavios.

One of thems had a communicator, in order of giving me update of their journey to Strixhaven.

I Heard that Arcavios fauna Is relatively tame compares to other planes. I hoped that the locals can welcome them with kind and respect.

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Hymn To Vengeance

Captain Lannery Storm sat cross-legged on her newest ship, her back to the mast. All around her, the smaller crew – not the best among her fleet, yet not the worst, just in case this was all some kind of elaborate trap – scampered around to keep the ship going. Tony Fandango, the ever-helpful Dokuchi Reckoner, was clinging to the railing and making it clear that even avens got seasick. But Storm had that all tuned out.

Instead, her focus was directed inwards. It was fitting, in a way, that she had been brought to Skophos after Aoidi and Tony rescued her from Sophrosyne. Mogis’s words through the oracle Olakia – know that if you do not falter, vengeance will be yours – echoed quietly, keeping Kalleis quiet and hidden deep in the back of Storm’s mind. Storm had thought that applied to Sophrosyne, when she visited the oracle after being freed.

Storm’s cutlass was laying sheathed across her lap. It wasn’t quite meditation, though Tony had explained how the budoka of the Jukai Forest and the Dokuchi Reckoners used meditation before and after combat, but it was close.

Mogis is the God of Slaughter and Vengeance, Storm’s mind supplied as she pseudo-meditated. Hatred and rage are his matches, and blood is his gunpowder. Within his Chalice, if anyone kills a hated rival or enemy within the main room, they will be blessed by Mogis and none will interfere with such a battle. Storm understood why Mogis was worshiped, even before his refocusing on vengeance above slaughter. Anger, rage, violence – these were things that appealed to many. The desire to be strong.

But Storm hated senseless violence. She always had. The greatest appeal for her and her fleet was the sheer freedom of the waves. Everything else, including the treasure, came second to that. It was what scared her most about what Sophrosyne so easily did to her. Storm wasn’t cruel. She had tried not to be. It was what separated her fleet from the Dire Fleet.

But her mother, Sylvia Storm, had been merely nineteen when she died in childbirth. She had been a teenager. And there was one person clearly to blame for that, the one who both fathered her and drove her family from Torrezon and into the ocean. The vampire known as Camilo Guerra, now stripped of the rank and title of Marshal thanks to High Marshal Celino Guitirre.

“Mogis, insatiable fighter, he who rallies and slaughters men,” Storm quietly began, remembering some of the hymns she had heard, “twin of Iroas and champion of war. Hear me, helper of the vengeful, bronze-adorned and fleet-hoofed. May my sword find its mark so that I may avenge my family and all of those whom Camilo Guerra has wronged. Steady my heart and my hand as I spill the blood of the one who would see me destroyed.”

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Fragments: IX

"Brothers and sisters in faith and solidarity," rang a voice laden with authority and surety. "The brink of destruction looms ever large over us all. The shadow cast by the Betrayer grows longer with each passing day, and we fight a war on three fronts; the war of the body, the war of the mind, and the war of the soul."

Cardinal Theodors was resplendent in his full regalia, a long and elaborate cape trailing over his shoulders, embroidered with gilded filigree and finery. A rose was pinning it in place, as well as the layered vestments beneath. He wore the black that most of the Order of Condemnation wore, though he also wore a stole with motifs of figures kneeling in supplication on either end. A prayer was written across its length, a singular line taken from the penitent's prayer; "Should my faith falter, then let me be damned."

The flowing robes beneath were echoed among the nineteen others that were gathered beneath the high, painted ceilings of the Cathedral of Dusk. Twenty cardinals, selected by the Saint herself, met to discuss and direct of the faith of Torrezon while the pontifex remained in absentia. A conclave. Some wore the white more closely associated with the Order of Glory, while others belonging to neither wore a blend of black, white, and gold. The two cardinals who led the Order of Condemnation were present, while three represented the Order of Glory.

Theodors had established himself as a foremost voice among this conclave ever since their first meeting just a few short weeks ago. He had a commanding presence both in his own personal sermons and when it came to discussing even the smallest minutia of faith. Even now, he knew he had the full attention of his fellow cardinals as he spoke.

"We fight hard the war of the body with our brave and storied Legion. The war of the mind is one myself and the rest of my order have taken to with much care. And so that leaves us with the war that we may not win unless we act decisively and quickly; the war of the soul." He walked slowly, deliberately. He made eye contact with each of his fellows, and he saw some of them recoil.

Good, he thought. It means they may be more pliable.

"For many long hours have I -- have we all -- agonized over the solution. For years even before the Betrayer, Torrezon had slowly been suffering from a lack of true faith and belief. How, then, can we remedy this?" Theodors continued. He paused for a moment, stopping before the pulpit. His steely eyes looked over the rest of his assembly.

"As I see it, there are few avenues left unexplored. And fewer that have any chance of success," he said, lips forming a line. "My proposal tonight is not made lightly. I have taken the pains to consider it well, which is why I present this to you now. I believe it is time for an inquisition. One on a scale that has not been seen since the Apostacine Wars." A number of gasps and muttering went up at that. Theodors raised his hands, nodding in understanding. "A terrible thought, that we have fallen so far."

"Surely you cannot mean launching an inquisition against all of Torrezon?" asked one cardinal draped in gold. Cardinal Socorro, famed for being one of the more compassionate souls within the clergy. Theodors always was surprised she never was a glorifier.

"No soul can be left unquestioned in times such as these."

"Not even your own?" The question came from a stuffy, stout man who Theodors might liken to a mastiff. Gonzalo had been a strong ally within this conclave, and he knew this question was meant to placate the others rather than actually attack him.

Theodors put on his best approximation of a disarming smile. He looked directly at the one who had asked. "Not even my own, should my faith require questioning."

"And who is prosecuting this? Your order?" questioned a third. Now there was some animosity. It's what he expected from Macario; the cardinal representing the glorifiers had occasionally butt heads with Theodors in the past.

Theodors felt his smile become just a little more genuine. Yes. My order.

He spread his hands. "Who else but the order built for such a purpose?" he asked. "We would still draw upon clergy from outside the condemners, as inquisitorial tradition dictates, but it would be mostly directed by us."

"Do we even have the means of doing this?" Macario asked again. "An inquisition this wide would practically require a crusade."

"The High Marshals-"

"-do not consent to being used in a crusade," a voice answered as the doors to the cathedral were pushed open. Two figures walked in, both dressed as though they were going to take to the fields themselves. Theodors put on his friendly smile.

"High Marshal Vazante," he said, inclining his head. "You do understand that this conclave is supposed to be meeting in private, yes?"

"We knew we would have to intervene, Theo," said the other warrior who had walked in with her. Guitirre met Theodors' gaze unflinchingly as he strode shoulder to shoulder with Caterina. "I had thought our talk would be enough, but something told me it was not."

"What is the meaning of this?" asked another cardinal. Prudencia. She was almost as old as Theodors was, and usually acted to try and check him when it came to matters of theology. "They already spoke with you?"

"A short conversation where they made their concerns known," Theodors answered, the smile becoming forced. "I was just going to inform all of you that they have some disagreements."

"Namely because a crusade against our own people when we are still rebuilding from the invasion, nevermind the schism, is madness," Caterina stated.

"Which is why I am not calling for a crusade," Theodors said calmly. "I am still requesting the ability to invoke an inquisition. The Legion need not be involved."

"At the scale you speak of?" Caterina scoffed. "You would need us."

"I can calmly and safely assure, I would not," Theodors answered. "Is that all you wished to interrupt us for?"

The High Marshals exchanged glances. Guitirre shrugged and made a vague gesture with his hand. Caterina cleared her throat and spoke again.

"How, exactly, do you intend to do this, then?" she asked.

"That is something meant to be discussed among clergy," Theodors told her. "Precisely why I have brought it to the conclave tonight."

"I would like to hear it," Prudencia said. "I think we all would." She looked around to her fellow cardinals, who were nodding at her words and all looked at Theodors expectantly. Theodors put on a diplomat's smile.

"Slowly, at first. All within the order would make it voluntary. Any who fear that they may be lacking in faith may be evaluated," Theodors said, bringing his hands together. "Then, it would expand as any inquisition would, and others would be able to report suspicions. They would be handled either by the order or the other designated clergy for the task."

"And what happens to those who are found to be 'lacking in faith'?" Caterina asked.

"So long as they are willing, we shall do what we must and what we can to determine how we may restore their faith. By examining and getting to the root cause, a solution shall present itself," he explained.

"And those that are unwilling?"

"Will be quarantined," Theodors said. Caterina's brows drew together. Guitirre raised one.

"What does this 'quarantine' entail? Is it a condemnation?"

"No. Depending on whether they admit a sort of heresy to us, all it will entail is a removal and observational period," Theodors answered. "If we have the people for it, a condemner may be assigned to them, similarly to if they were on a penitent mission. If we notice that the Betrayer has gotten to them, then we shall treat it as a full condemnation and have them seized."

The cardinals were nodding along. This sounded reasonable to them. Over the past few meetings, the question of faith and faithlessness had been hanging over all of them like a shroud. While this was not an immediate fix, it was a solution to begin tackling the problem. One that Theodors had made seem appealing enough.

He could see that it did not convince the High Marshals, but this was precisely why he adapted. They did not wish to be used, so be it. They would not be. Simple as.

"Anything else? Or may we continue to hold our sacred conclave in peace?" he asked. The two High Marshals looked at one another again. Guitirre's face was set while Caterina had a look of concern.

"We'll be watching you, Theo," she said. "If you step too far out of line, we will be invoking the Saint."

"That will not be necessary, I can assure," Theodors said, raising a hand. "You may think I did not heed your words and think over what you have said, but I have, and I have adjusted accordingly. The issue of belief among our flock is a tough one to tangle with. I am merely proposing a solution that we can try for now, and should it fail, we may try a new one."

Again, more cardinals nodded and murmured their assents. Theodors felt the edges of his mouth pull upwards. Guitirre eyed him for a moment, then gave a salute.

"We wanted our concerns to be known to the conclave," he said, "and we shall now be taking our leave. Blessed tidings to you all." He and Caterina turned to leave the cardinals to their discussion. Theodors felt his small prickle of annoyance slowly fade along with the sound of their footsteps and the door closing behind them.

"Does anyone else have any further questions, now that we are alone?" Theodors asked.

And they did. Questions on who would and would not be considered worthy enough to be an inquisitor, who would determine what 'faithfulness' even looked like, how to deal with the suspicions phase and when that phase should even begin, among many, many others. They were exhaustive and took several hours of arguing to answer satisfactorily. But by the end of the night, Theodors had won them over. Some had even added in their own ideas that he had not considered, and he was welcome for the input. Holes he had not seen, avenues he had not thought about, ideas for refinement.

The bells began to sing. It was nearly dawn by the time the details of this inquisition were hammered out.

"I believe it is time for a vote," Theodors said at last. "All in favor?"

Out of twenty cardinals, he had the votes of 18. Just enough to allow for it to happen. The only two opposed were Prudencia -- he was hardly surprised -- and Macario. The Order of Glory would be counted among the worthy inquisitors, as would any who were holding the rank of bishop and higher, it was decided. The Order of Condemnation would be the primary directors and prosecutors, with Theodors and Porfirio being the main executives as the two highest ranking members of the order.

He smiled and thanked his fellow clergy, and the conclave was adjourned soon after. They would meet again in a week's time to discuss the first few days of progress as well as the state of the rest of Torrezon. As they were dispersing, a few of the cardinals came to him.

"If not for the Saint choosing Pontifex Fein, I think you would make a fine pontifex," one said on the way out. "You obviously deeply care for the state of faith within our people."

"If not for Blessed Elenda asking for a conclave, I think I would offer to be a regent for him," Theodors had said back with a small laugh.

"Perhaps you should," said another. "I'd support it. It'd be better than arguing until the crack of dawn."

Theodors smiled and put a hand to his heart. "You are too kind to me, Sabas. As are you, Vidal." He bowed his head to them. "I shall consider it. Perhaps it can be something brought before the conclave next week if all goes well."

"I don't mind being the one to suggest it, Theo," Sabas said. "I think some of the others would rather put the responsibilities on another anyhow."

His smile grew just a little wider. "Something to consider over the next week. Blessed tidings to you both," he said with a wave as he left for his own personal study. He had to give a sermon for the morning prayer. Something to uplift the beaten hearts of his people. Something to stir passion within them once more.

Something rousing to start his inquisition, led by his order to his flock now.

And perhaps, in just one week's time... he'd be able to give his first sermon as pontifex.

Their idea. Not his.

A smile stayed on his face until well after the morning.

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Bees, from the desk of Atticus Colette.

The music in the meadow is playing soft and slow

The bees in the meadow know exactly where to go

And what to do, and how to act, they know whats right and wrong

If a single note was sung out of tune, it’d ruin the whole song

I can’t say that its nice, I can’t say that its fun

To know that you’re a star when everyone else is the sun

The music in the meadow, is the music in my head

The truth was all a memory, the truth is the bees are dead

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Raging Storms Bring the Rain

Rain pounded on the roofs and cobbles of Alta Torrezon. The sky was dark and threatening, a complete contrast to the light and warmth of the tavern within. A lively bout of jaunty music greeted the newcomer as he walked inside and doffed his pinned hat, hanging it on a rack by the door. The tables were crowded, and people of all stripes were sharing tales and laughing. A few brave souls -- more accurately ones who had drank a little too much already, despite how young the night was -- were making an attempt at dancing.

The countenance of the one who entered was well known to plenty of the patrons and staff alike, and a few raised drinks in greeting to him. He gave them an occasional nod here and there, spotting the ones he had come for and weaving his way over to them.

A group of paladins, though they were out of their armor, were clustered around a table. They were playing a game of cards, a number of chips scattered about, alongside a few tankards. They were attracting a bit of a crowd who parted easily as he approached.

One of the paladins looked up. He was a scruffy looking sort, but very obviously young.

"High Marshal," he greeted with a smile. "A surprise seeing you here." The others immediately straightened, one smacking her knee against the table and nearly sending the drinks tumbling as she did so.

"Marciano," Guitirre greeted back. His eyes went to the paladin who was next to him "Camilo, I need to speak with you. Come join me."

Camilo's brows rose. One of them was scarred from a Coalition's blade from a more recent engagement.

"Is this about that... Narfi engagement?" he asked as he stood and stepped way from the table. He handed his cards to the paladin who was acting as the dealer for their game. "Deal me in for the next hand."

"I don't think you'll have the time for that, lad," Guitirre said. There was no smile on his face. He saw the way his Marshal was beginning to sober up, and he saw uncertainty flash in his eyes. "The rest of you, enjoy your evening." He beckoned for Camilo to follow, then he turned on his heel, careful not to hit anyone with his sheathed rapier, and walked from the tavern. Camilo's careful steps were not too far behind.

"Has something happened?" he asked, matching pace with Guitirre by the time they got to the door.

"Several things," he answered, opening the door and letting Camilo out first. The rain had not let up. "Do you have a weapon with you?"

"A weapon?" Camilo echoed. "Why? Am I going to the walls?"

"Do you have one or not, Guerra?"

"Not on me, no. What's happening?"

"I want to test you," Guitirre answered. Camilo tensed. Good, Guitirre thought. The High Marshal whistled -- one loud, shrill, sweeping note. Soon enough, a mastiff appeared with a sword strapped to the vest it wore. It was an older dog. Guitirre took the weapon and threw it to the cobbles in front of Camilo.

"Pick it up," he ordered, drawing his own rapier. Camilo did so slowly, hesitantly. The rain continued to pour around them. Guitirre felt an ache in his shoulder, a dull one that accompanied every storm, and one that brought him back to a time long before the upstart Marshal he now stared down was in the Legion.

"Should we not do this-"

"if you are about to complain about a bit of rain, Guerra, then perhaps I should have reconsidered your promotion decades ago," the High Marshal said, flourishing his weapon.

Camilo matched him, and Guitirre saw the hesitancy and suspicion written in every aspect of his body language. The slowness at which he moved, the way his eyes were constantly twitching about, expecting some sort of trick. He wanted an explanation for this.

He would get one. But he needed to learn a very good lesson first.

One that, a lifetime ago, he sought to teach to the growing Grim Fleet.

---

An infinite darkness had swallowed the sky, only occasionally broken by a crash of lightning and thunder so loud it sounded like distant cannon fire. Rain slashed at the decks of the ship, and a number of sailors had begun making bail chains. The ship creaked as it rode upon the high waves. Orders were being called out and carried over the sound of high wind and thunder.

A pair of eager eyes was stuck on the waves. One hand rested on the hilt of an elegantly crafted sword, the other holding a parrying dagger. An occasional flash from the heavens above illuminated his prey; there was an enemy ship just barely out of reach.

The winds were proving favorable. They would be able to catch them soon.

More orders were shouted as a larger wave crashed over the ship, bringing with it a few flopping fish that were either kicked overboard or skewered. Food was food for the human crew. But the paladins needed to eat, too.

And their High Marshal would more than happily provide.

Closer and closer and closer. The rains would prove it difficult or outright impossible to use cannons, which he thought to put them at an advantage. He had climbed some of the rigging to get a better vantage point. Even without the flashes from the raging skies above, he could see the dark form of the enemy vessel growing closer.

"Skymarchers!" he bellowed above the howling winds. "Prepare to board! To arms!"

There was a resounding cry as the Legionnaires grabbed weapons and readied themselves. He couldn't help but grin in anticipation. They had been tailing this ship for weeks now, having survived a few brief skirmishes with one another, but now? Oh, now was the fun part.

He trusted the humans would know what to do while the Legion went to work. The other ships in the fleet were not too far off, just in case things turned nasty. They had successfully cut this one from its own escorts, but for Guitirre, he wanted to make this honorable. Only one hundred of some of the faithful warriors of Torrezon versus the hundred or so unwashed exiles that dared to defy him. Surely that was fair.

A priest went about giving benedictions to each of the paladins as the ship crept closer and closer to its quarry. Guitirre leapt from the rigging to allow himself to be granted a blessing.

"For the Saint, Legion, and Crown!" Guitirre said, drawing his weapon. "Let them pay for their infidelity with their blood! Legion of Dusk," he pointed his sword at the enemy vessel, grinning. "Kill them all!"

He turned and led the charge, a stream of Legionnaires following in a loose formation behind him as they landed on the other ship. Chaos broke out. Sailors were cut down before they could properly draw weapons, and all manor of shouting and clamoring consumed the ship. Guitirre had a wicked smile on his face as he dove and cut. He landed on the deck and deftly dodged a wild swing from a harpoon, skewering the one who swung with one swift stab.

The tossing of the ship upon the waves made the fighting turn from any sort of true martial enagement to more of a brawl. Well-armored knights clashed with roughshod pirates. The scent of blood was thick in the air. Legion and pirate alike were falling, some overboard into the steely depths below.

Guitirre continued to cut and slash and kill. None of those unfortunate enough to cross him were fed upon. No, he was saving his hunger for his true target.

He spotted him emerging from the lower decks, dressed in a mockery of true Legion attire and flanked by a dozen other sailors. Guitirre work a shark's smile as he fought his way over to him. He was too fast for any of the pirates to land a good enough blow. He suffered a cut here or there, but nothing too devastating. The orcs were too slow and large, the humans too clumsy. The heretical abominations that made up the rest of the crew were far too unthinking.

What a sorry sight they were.

"Captain!" Guitirre shouted over the fighting and the storm. "I'm coming for you! You die tonight!" He laughed as he kicked a pirate away from him, sending him into a few of his own paladins.

"High Marshal!" the enemy captain called. "If that is so, then let me die in honorable combat!"

---

"Have I done something to displease you?"

Camilo's question was met with the crash of steel on steel. Guitirre's rapier rested under his chin.

"I think you know exactly what this is about, boy." He removed his weapon, took a few paces away, his eyes never leaving the other's. He could see the pages turning in his head.

He didn't give him the time to think. He dashed forward in the blink of an eye.

---

A pause in the fighting occurred toward the center of the ship. There were still pirates fighting vampires, but a ring had been cleared to allow the captain and the High Marshal to duel.

Guitirre looked at his opponent and found him lacking. Easy prey. There was a casual arrogance in which he carried himself, and he smelled the fetid stench of necromancy hanging on his body.

"You die by the hand of Celino Guitirre," he said.

"We shall see, High Marshal," the captain said. "You fight aboard the ship of Captain Aurum Moena."

The two took up their stances. It was Guitirre who struck first.

---

Camilo's weapon clattered onto the cobbles. The Marshal was left panting.

"Pick it up," Guitirre demanded. Their clash had drawn eyes from the tavern windows, as well as onlookers from nearby inns. He didn't care. Let them watch. It would make the work afterward easier.

Camilo retrieved his blade, holding it up in a guarding position. He had accepted that he would be defending. There was no hope at striking back.

With a stern look on his face, Guitirre came after him again.

---

Their boots slid on blood and rain. One would slash low, the other would parry, then counter, then the other would parry, then counter, then strike high, counter, parry, over and over and over again.

To most onlookers, the match would seem even. But to any who had known Guitirre, they knew he was just playing with his food. He was one of the premier duelists of the Legion, after all. There was hardly any to call his equal.

And Aurum Moena knew that.

Guitirre got a strike right down the side of the other captain's face. He had been scoring a number of swift strikes and blows on the other, exploiting each compromised point in his armor that he could find.

But that was when he felt something was wrong. There was too much confidence in Aurum's eyes, and there was a smile on his face. He needed to end this sooner rather than later.

He lashed out to catch a blow in the crossguard of his parrying dagger, not seeing -- or feeling -- the building of power around him. The moment the dagger made contact, blackened tendrils caught a hold of his arm, and quicker than he could react, they pulled, tearing his arm free in a spray of shattering bone and muscle. Guitirre let out a howl of pain as blood sprayed from the wound, quickly applying what little sangromancy he knew to sealing it as well as he could. He heard laughter. Booming, mocking laughter.

The High Marshal swayed on his feet, dizzy from blood loss. He saw Moena bring up his sword, and he battered it away with his remaining arm, growling and launching himself at the other.

"You think your dread sorcery will win you the day?" he asked, battering him back again and again and again. Anger and hunger flared within him. But his discipline had left fled. He struck again and again, stabbing and swiping, nearly slipping as he advanced. Moena fought him back long enough to conjure up some of the recent dead to form a wall between himself and the maddened vampire. Guitirre roared and moved to keep fighting until he felt a strong arm grab him.

"We need to go! You're too wounded!" shouted a Legionnaire. He looked to the opened wound at Guitirre's shoulder, still bleeding despite his attempts at closing it. Guitirre looked at it, then at Moena, who was still laughing as he backed off.

"We are not done," he shouted. "Do you hear me, Moena? I'll have your skull as a trophy upon my hearth!"

"Oh, I'm sure you will!" Moena said with a mocking wave. Guitirre growled and moved to recall the Legion, but then he felt his body lurch, and the world slowly faded into black.

---

Steel on steel. One weapon caught the guttering lights of the street lamps around them and reflected it brilliantly, the other only reflecting the dullness of the clouds above.

The Marshal was tiring. The High Marshal was not. Not even close.

Again, the sword went clattering to the street. Again, Guitirre told him to pick it up. Camilo would be kicked onto the cobbles. Guitirre told him to get back on his feet.

Again. And again. And again. Until Camilo was brought to his knees in exhaustion, holding up both of his hands in surrender.

"Wait... sir... please," he said. "Mercy..."

"Mercy," Guitirre spat. He put the tip of his blade under Camilo's chin, forcing him to look up. "Is that what you granted to the Storm Fleet? Mercy? Is that what you brought to your own bastard daughter?"

Camilo's eyes went wide. "The Storm Fleet is full of heretics and miscreants. They've been our enemies for as long as they have existed, they're pirates, they-"

Guitirre smacked him with the back of his sword hand, making sure not to actually hit him with the metal of the guard. Camilo fell to the street. Guitirre rested his boot on his chest.

"The world is changing, Guerra," he said, his voice a low growl. "None know more keenly and clearly than I do the pains that those damned pirates have caused for us." His shoulder ached at the memory. "Now is not the time to be causing more strife and fighting. We are trying to build alliances in a time of near-unparalleled upheaval. And despite everything we have done to them and they have done to us, they are still willing to try treating with us kindly, and begin mending some of the sins of our past. But there are some that are too unforgivable." He increased the pressure upon the pinned vampire's chest, leaning in close. "I know about your little merry time along the coasts, Camilo. I know all about your long streak of depraved and disgusting infidelity. I wonder how many sires you have running about that you all but abandoned because you couldn't stay faithful to your wife. You are nothing but a shameful stain upon this Legion. Do you hear me?"

Camilo was stunned. "Sir, may I-"

"Do you hear me?" Guitirre demanded.

"Yes, sir," Camilo said, his voice subdued. Guitirre removed his boot from his chest.

"Get up," he ordered. "Now."

Camilo complied, but slowly. Guitirre's gaze was as brutal as any condemner's.

"I am holding you under arrest. You will be given to Captain Lannery Storm for proper judgement, as a show of trust and goodwill. I will be handing you over personally to assure you do not run off. You are stripped of all effective command. Your family has already been notified."

That made the other's face turn pale from shock. "B-but she is Coalition, surely I should be tried-"

"She has a claim by blood. You know why," Guitirre said with a sneer. "If it were up to me, I'd have you put before the condemners at dawn. But I now need to mend your mess. We need allies, Guerra, not enemies. Go say goodbye to your son. He's been watching everything." Camilo looked into the tavern and saw his son's face pressed to the window, tears in his eyes. He walked passed the High Marshal and his son ran to the door.

"You cheated?" he asked.

"Marci-"

"You cheated on mom!" he shouted. "She trusted you! You- you're disgusting!"

"Marci, please, you don't understand-"

"What is there to understand?" the paladin screamed. "How many bastard siblings do I have? How many? Do you even know?"

"I-" Camilo looked stunned. His son spat at his feet.

"I'm glad you're getting taken away. You disgust me. If it weren't for mom, I'd renounce this name entirely." He turned and marched back into the tavern, breaking down into tears on the way. Camilo stared dumbly after him. Guitirre sheathed his rapier and walked over, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder.

"Your fate is in the hands of Captain Storm now," he said. "Pray that she grants you mercy." He started escorting him to the holding cells, where he would be kept until he was ready to return to the coasts in the morning.

He returned to his office to grab his communicator.

"Captain Storm," he said. "I have your man."

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Purpose: On Learning.

This is my personal journal. That means, that no one, except those that I deem worthy of trust, can read it. Lady Albertina, told me that this help me, to give an proper order to the eternal tornado that my mind has become, ever since I foolishly tought of me, capable of capturing my waywards equal, Kilik, in a unknow world.

My name was Bumbum. For some odd reason, the younger creatures of this "Brazen Coalition", laugh and smile, incapable of controling that involutare movement. Lady Albertine, the teacher of this island, assure me that is good. An innocent joy for these creatures. It does endear me.

Allow to recall that tragic day......

I went to the continent of Torrezon, trought an omenpaths, alongside a few of my equals. We were the distraction. Sadly, our opponents used an weapon, called "prismatic-bomb", wich altered our beings for eternity. Or in the words of that nuisance obscura, it pushed us to our true selfs.

I can hardly believe those words, when I see how my brother and siblings suffer with these changes. Brother Saxsax, was sadly infested with black mana, wich lead him to be more selfish and self-serving, wich provoked many fights among us. My sibling Dudu, became enraged with red mana. Preferring to solve any conflict with "punches" rather than words. They even refuse to smite the troublemakers.

As for I.... I began to ponder and question my own purpose, about the why of our strictness and unforgiveness, against all that was different from us, under the laws and diretive of the archangels.

Soon, we escaped from Torrezon, searching any form of refuge, wich could hide us from the harrasment of these vampires. As we were contaminated, we were forsaken to return to our home.

In the end, that refuge was in the Stormwreck seas and its inhabitants, the sailors who call their nation "The Brazen Coalition".

I found many humans, orcs and sirens, called teachers, scientist and philosophers. Who seem to be afflicted with the same kind of illment that beffel to me: Questions.

I must admit, that their company and guidance, have been an great relief in this new state of being.

This, is where I conclude this entry.

Of Bumbum, "philoshopher" of the Brazen Coalition.

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Fragments: VI

"Come in."

The door to the densely packed office swung open with a creak of its hinges. The sound of boots upon the wood soon followed, and when the cardinal turned around, there was a High Marshal staring him down, his eyes as cold as flint.

"High Marshal Guitirre," Cardinal Theodors greeted. "I was not expecting you to return so soon. Has everything-"

"What is this I have been told about a crusade, Theo?" Guitirre asked. His usually jovial nature and the small smile that accompanied his words was gone. His words were as hard as the steel of the blade belted at his side.

Theodors looked unbothered. He set aside the tome he had retrieved from a shelf behind him.

"The people of Torrezon are lacking in faith," he answered, as though it were obvious. "A lack of faith leads to a weakness of the spirit which can be exploited by the Betrayer."

"Who gave you the authority to try and decide what my paladins are doing?" Guitirre demanded. "You are supposed to be in a conclave. And for an action such as this, you need all of the High Marshals to be unanimous and of one mind. And I will tell you, I am not of that mind you want me to be."

"I would hardly expect you to understand, Celino," Theodors said with narrowed eyes. "Our people are afraid and cannot be told to pray everything away. What should they have hope in? That there is one more night before the Antifex falls upon us?"

Guitirre bared his teeth at the cardinal. "We have barely enough soldiers as-is. I am not allowing you to use us as a cudgel for what you will believe will mend this 'crisis of faith' among our people. You are not acting as the pontifex, Theo, and I think it is time you accept that."

There was a silence that grew between the two, with Guitirre's words hanging in the air. The cardinal took two steps closer, getting eye to eye with the High Marshal.

"I have been faithfully serving and guiding this church for longer than you have held a sword, Celino," he growled. "I know what our people need."

"The Saint would never allow for this," Guitirre snapped. "Nor would Pontifex Fein. We don't have the time nor the manpower to prosecute this crusade, and we definitely will not even after the Antifex is killed and the Betrayer has been deposed. Bloodshed will not bring us salvation like you desire it."

"So then go to her," the cardinal challenged, throwing out his arms. "You and Caterina both seem so dead-set on saying the Saint would not approve or allow this to happen, and yet..."

"Saint Elenda trusts us to govern ourselves." Guitirre placed a hand on the blade at his side. "She has enough to deal with. I will go to her, but only if I cannot talk you out of this madness."

"Madness?" Theodors laughed. "Madness? I speak of the salvation of our people and our faith, and you call it madness?"

"You are calling for a purge and a butchering," Guitirre sneered. "It will only turn our people against each other. Our people are plenty faithful. This newest generation of greenhorns are the most dedicated that I have seen in decades."

"But therein lies the problem," the cardinal argued. "This newer generation may be of steady faith, but the others are not."

"They should not die for it."

"I never said they should," Theodors said cooly. "This crusade would just be a more proactive approach to what we have already been doing. Finding all who have been tainted by the Betrayer and ensuring they cannot be used against us."

"Such words might go over well with the rest of your non-combative clergymen," Guitirre said, "but I know better. I have witnessed what sort of crusades and inquisitions you helm, Theo. I was there for the massacre at Atladena, I was there for the purges in Vemezia, I know precisely what it is you do when the time calls for either an inquisition and a crusade. That is precisely why I cannot and will not allow for it to happen."

"You say this as though I am planning to launch the crusade tomorrow," Theodors said casually. He walked back over to the shelf he had been picking tomes from when Guitirre had come in.

"I am trying to get you to back away from the idea altogether. Torrezon is in a fragile state right now. Compassion has been going far further than faith and fury," Guitirre reasoned. "The people are scared and yes, they want results, but they want security. They want surety. This crusade would not bring any of that, it would only set them on each other's throats and cause even more divide than we are seeing already."

"Compassion." The way the cardinal said the word brought to mind the hungry growl of a lion.

"I know, a new word for your vocabulary," Guitirre said with a scoff. "But I know it is true. I have seen it. I have traveled halfway across the continent -- twice now, mind you -- to the south and back. I have seen all manner of preachers, and I know that those who have spoken much like Pontifex Fein are the ones seeing greater results."

"You have nothing to fear, High Marshal," the cardinal said with a long sigh. "I do not even have the proper votes for the crusade, and it is incredibly obvious that neither you nor Vazante wish for me to prosecute it."

"I will be speaking with Sarria soon, before I return to my proper theater," Guitirre said. "I know you are a good and faithful man, Theo. That is why I came to you directly. I know you have been struggling hard with all of this, especially with all the more pressure on you and the rest of the condemners to do something. But I also know you are an intelligent man. You're better than this."

Theodors paused. The look in his grey eyes was impassive, but Guitirre thought he saw the dimmest flicker of emotion within them. Pain. The cardinal's lips twitched, and he turned away again.

"I have other plans in mind," he said at last. "Plans to improve the condemners so that a crusade or inquisition would no longer be necessary."

"When will we be informed of those plans?" Guitirre asked, lifting his chin.

"When I am more assured in their success." The cardinal picked another book from the shelf. "I am conducting some experimentation."

"You've received more moonsilver?"

"I have enough samples from the last batch we received," Theodors said. "Given a few weeks time, hopefully I can see whether or not everything has worked. In the meantime, however, I have been directing the order to be a bit more strict. Porifirio has agreed that we have allowed for a little too much laxity as of late."

"So long as you are not calling inquisitions for no reason," Guitirre said. "Again, grace is what our people need, not an iron fist."

"I will take your words into account." The cardinal looked over his shoulder. "Is there anything else you need of me?"

"No. I have some business to conduct in my office if you find need of me," Guitirre replied. "I am sorry for being a little aggressive."

"I know well where you are coming from, Guitirre," Theodors said, holding up a hand. "You also have a good heart. Perhaps you are right. I shall take your words into account." He offered a smile. Guitirre did his best not to feel unnerved by it.

"Thank you. I bid you good evening." Guitirre gave a salute before he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. The cardinal waited a few moments, then went and locked the door to his study, lighting a few candles.

He grabbed the two books he had plucked from the shelf. One was on anatomy, the other on psychology. Theodors unlocked a safe that was hidden behind one of the shelves, retrieving a leatherbound book and seating himself at his desk. A book was already opened, one of the many books covering the various rites and rituals of the church, as well as an inkwell and pen waiting for him. He opened the leatherbound tome, flipped to the newest page, and began to write.

Year 152, Night 295

After decades of nothing, I take up this experiment once more. If an inquisition will not save us, then it shall be through my own blood.

Meum voluntatem ventura.

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Sins Of The Father

Storm was woken up early in the morning by Tony dropping on the floor of her room in High and Dry. She sat up in bed immediately, keeping the blanket around her to both cover herself and as some mild form of protection. “Tony? What the hell, dude?”

Tony didn’t get up just yet, he just laid face-down on the floorboards. “I got mauled by five rocs, three bears, a pack of wolves, and a very aggressive mountain goat,” they muttered as she held up some kind of book, “but I got the evidence of your bio father being a shitstain.”

Storm had so many questions. It had only been a day, how had Tony found something already? What did he mean about a very aggressive mountain goat? But the biggest question worked its way out of her mouth. “Torrezones keep diaries?”

“They’re obsessed with written records,” Tony deadpanned as they offered the book to Storm. “It makes blackmailing them so easy.”

Storm accepted the book and held it in her hands for a moment. Mentally, she didn’t know what to expect. Finally, she opened the cover and flipped to the first page with writing.

I, Marshal Camilo Guerra, am writing this to confess my sins. Under no circumstance can I share this with anyone without bringing shame to my family, but I cannot bear the weight alone. Perhaps this will be found after I am dead and shame my descendants, but that will leave me untouched.

“Oh, boo hoo, cry me a typhoon you blood-sucking asswipe,” Storm cursed under her breath as she began to flip through the pages. It dated back to just before the fall of the Free Cities. Storm finally stopped flipping when she found something that made her heart sink.

One of the best things about claiming these territories is that all of the brothels have not been destroyed yet. Saint forgive me, but some of these barbarians are more beautiful than even my wife. One of my favorites is a pretty young thing by the name of Sylvia. I intend to visit her many times before we finish running them from their homes.

“Ew,” was all that Storm could say. “This was... Mom was nineteen when she gave birth to me. When she died. She was...she was in her late teens at this time.” Storm felt bile in her throat and suppressed it. “I’m going to kill him just for this.”

“It gets worse,” Tony warned. She had gotten up off of the floor and stretched a few times by now. He sat down next to Storm, their wings pulled tightly against her back so that he didn’t accidentally smack Storm. “Some of the things he did to nameless others are so much worse.”

Storm flipped through more of the book. Year after year, sin after sin, she read it all. By the time she was done, she just sat there in silence for a few minutes. When she did speak, all she could get out was an incredibly strained “What the fuck.”

Tony nodded, their disgust evident as well. “Yeah.”

“At this point I think the Legion of Dusk might beat us to killing him.”

“I’ll speak with his commanding officer and ensure that this kill is yours if you desire it, Captain Storm. Then I’ll make sure this information gets out, one way or another.”

Storm sighed and leaned against Tony’s torso, resting her head on the aven’s shoulder. “Thank you, Tony. This has all been...a lot.”

“Of course, Captain Storm. I’m more than happy to help.”

“You’ve been doing a lot to help. Just...a lot. I know your boss and Captain Moena have some kind of deal, but I didn’t think babysitting me was involved in that deal.”

“It’s not babysitting,” Tony corrected. “I’m just happy to help.”

Storm considered the book in her hands. “...Should I tell the other captains on the network about...this?” she asked, looking for advice. She had already told Sussana, but Moena, Pelt, and undoubtedly Bliss would also find out. If not the other Coalition pirates there as well.

“That is your call, Captain Storm. You know them better than I do.”

Storm took a deep breath. “Please bring me my communicator from the table.”

[brazencoalitiondesk]

Sins Of The Father

Storm was woken up early in the morning by Tony dropping on the floor of her room in High and Dry. She sat up in bed immediately, keeping the blanket around her to both cover herself and as some mild form of protection. “Tony? What the hell, dude?”

Tony didn’t get up just yet, he just laid face-down on the floorboards. “I got mauled by five rocs, three bears, a pack of wolves, and a very aggressive mountain goat,” they muttered as she held up some kind of book, “but I got the evidence of your bio father being a shitstain.”

Storm had so many questions. It had only been a day, how had Tony found something already? What did he mean about a very aggressive mountain goat? But the biggest question worked its way out of her mouth. “Torrezones keep diaries?”

“They’re obsessed with written records,” Tony deadpanned as they offered the book to Storm. “It makes blackmailing them so easy.”

Storm accepted the book and held it in her hands for a moment. Mentally, she didn’t know what to expect. Finally, she opened the cover and flipped to the first page with writing.

I, Marshal Camilo Guerra, am writing this to confess my sins. Under no circumstance can I share this with anyone without bringing shame to my family, but I cannot bear the weight alone. Perhaps this will be found after I am dead and shame my descendants, but that will leave me untouched.

“Oh, boo hoo, cry me a typhoon you blood-sucking asswipe,” Storm cursed under her breath as she began to flip through the pages. It dated back to just before the fall of the Free Cities. Storm finally stopped flipping when she found something that made her heart sink.

One of the best things about claiming these territories is that all of the brothels have not been destroyed yet. Saint forgive me, but some of these barbarians are more beautiful than even my wife. One of my favorites is a pretty young thing by the name of Sylvia. I intend to visit her many times before we finish running them from their homes.

“Ew,” was all that Storm could say. “This was... Mom was nineteen when she gave birth to me. When she died. She was...she was in her late teens at this time.” Storm felt bile in her throat and suppressed it. “I’m going to kill him just for this.”

“It gets worse,” Tony warned. She had gotten up off of the floor and stretched a few times by now. He sat down next to Storm, their wings pulled tightly against her back so that he didn’t accidentally smack Storm. “Some of the things he did to nameless others are so much worse.”

Storm flipped through more of the book. Year after year, sin after sin, she read it all. By the time she was done, she just sat there in silence for a few minutes. When she did speak, all she could get out was an incredibly strained “What the fuck.”

Tony nodded, their disgust evident as well. “Yeah.”

“At this point I think the Legion of Dusk might beat us to killing him.”

“I’ll speak with his commanding officer and ensure that this kill is yours if you desire it, Captain Storm. Then I’ll make sure this information gets out, one way or another.”

Storm sighed and leaned against Tony’s torso, resting her head on the aven’s shoulder. “Thank you, Tony. This has all been...a lot.”

“Of course, Captain Storm. I’m more than happy to help.”

“You’ve been doing a lot to help. Just...a lot. I know your boss and Captain Moena have some kind of deal, but I didn’t think babysitting me was involved in that deal.”

“It’s not babysitting,” Tony corrected. “I’m just happy to help.”

Storm considered the book in her hands. “...Should I tell the other captains on the network about...this?” she asked, looking for advice. She had already told Sussana, but Moena, Pelt, and undoubtedly Bliss would also find out. If not the other Coalition pirates there as well.

“That is your call, Captain Storm. You know them better than I do.”

Storm took a deep breath. “Please bring me my communicator from the table.”

[brazencoalitiondesk]

The Reading

Captain Lannery Storm was tired.

She had spent days now wrestling with what had been done to her. What had been introduced into her mind. What Sophrosyne had wanted to do to her.

She had taken to getting lost in the labyrinthine city of Skophos on purpose, just to have something to do. Walking let her focus on the dirt and cobble under her boots rather than the storm of madness clouding her thoughts. This was what brought her to an open area within the towering walls, where someone in particular caught her eye.

Sticking out among the chiton-wearing non-minotaurs and the minotaurs who only ever covered their lower half (not that Storm was complaining), there sat a planeswalker at a stone table on a stone bench. They wore a red and white flannel shirt and denim pants like those from Thunder Junction. Their hair was split brown and grey, as though they had dyed half of it. Their unnerving lavender-colored eyes didn’t have visible pupils. In their hands was a deck of cards that they continued shuffling as they spoke. Storm didn’t think they had ever spoken to this planeswalker directly, but she recognized them as Rune from the communication network they were both part of.

They waved farewell to a minotaur that had been speaking to them. Their gaze drifted until they caught Storm, and they offered a warm smile. Before Storm even fully realized she was doing it, she walked over and sat down at the table with them. “Rune, right? And Crow?”

“That’s right,” Rune confirmed. “Nice to see ya, Storm. Sorry about all that’s happenin’ to you.”

Storm forced herself to shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Not like you had anything to do with it. What are you doing here?”

“I go where I’m needed.” Their hands didn’t still as they shuffled the deck. Was it just Storm’s imagination, or was the deck also moving on its own? Maybe it was a sleight of hand. “We give advice too, we don’t just tell stories.”

“...I could use some advice,” Storm admitted, rubbing her left arm. “I...don’t know all of what Sophrosyne did to me. It feels like she’s still pulling my strings.”

“Well, let’s trace all of those influences, shall we?” Rune shuffled Crow a few more times, then set it down on the table. Eight cards shot out of the deck, separated into pairs in a row. “Most immediate influences to most distant ones, along with what influenced them. Where would you like to start?”

Storm pointed at the leftmost pair. “Left to right, please.”

Rune reached out and flipped over the two leftmost cards. The one on the bottom, mostly obscured by the top one, seemed to show some sort of simplified depiction of the sun, with arrows pointing downwards representing its rays. On top of it was a card depicting a woman from the chest upwards, standing in a yellow background with plants behind her. Her eyes were obscurred by a headress with horns that served as a blindfold as well. As Storm watched, the image rippled a little, and suddenly the woman looked more like...

“Sophrosyne.” Storm’s mouth felt dry. “Priestess of Heliod.”

“She was,” Rune confirmed. “The High Priestess card is divine knowledge given flesh, tied to the esoteric at her core. She believes herself to understand the secret knowledge and strange truths that make up the world, but she has blinded herself to their true meanings by thinking she is always right.”

Storm understood why this was the most influential. What Sophrosyne did clung to her. She pointed at the inner left stack. “What about these?”

Rune reached forward and flipped them over. The bottom card was simple, depicting a black-and-white drawing of a crown with flowers growing from it on a featureless black background. The one above it, also in black and white but with a white background instead, pictured two people sitting together in a quiet moment of intimacy. As Storm watched, the top card’s artwork shifted to resemble herself and Aoidi.

“The King of Wands and the Lovers,” Rune supplied. “Usually, nobility rests in the crown on the head of the asshole in the biggest chair.” That got a snort of agreement from Storm. “More rarely, kings are full of goodness, not merely power and authority. People follow this king for good reason.”

“Kruphix.” The god of travels and horizons, Aoidi’s patron god.

“Correct. And the Lovers is one of the most refreshingly straightforward cards in the deck. Companionship. Not becoming whole as in being reliant on the other, but becoming whole as a compromise and acceptance of the wholeness of each other on their own. Knowing that the person with you does not need you to keep living, but together you form something even greater than your respective totalities.” Rune folded their hands together as they thought. “Usually this card isn’t this kind in my readings. But you and Aoidi... You support each other.”

“...I want to help her,” Storm whispered. Aoidi, Menea, and even Mavren at this point. Aoidi had rescued her, Menea had helped to heal her, and...well, Mavren was dealing with his own shit, but the offer to keep her in his prayers was one of the highest compliments that she could get from the Pontifex.

“And you will, in time. But for now... If you love her, allow her to let you go.”

Storm sat with that for a few minutes. They didn’t rush her.

For so many years, she had prided herself on escaping, on being free, on traveling the waves. Treasure had little to do with it, even though it was nice. Even the fights with the Legion of Dusk, the Sun Empire, and the River Heralds had always been second to that feeling of freedom. In a single attack, Sophrosyne had stripped that freedom from her. Now, Storm was terrified, and she was clinging to Aoidi for safety.

Storm licked her lips. “What about the next ones?” The inner right stack.

Rune flipped them over. The one on the bottom had a smiling, dark-skinned woman in front of a table with plenty of food, with children sitting at it. She was the vision of community. Above that was a woman with Storm’s same skin tone standing hip-deep in water, wearing a dress that looked like it was made of shells, in front of a spiraling vision of space with fish flying around her. Both cards shifted a little until Storm recognized them both.

“Grandma, Mom...” Storm whispered. Carmen Toledano and Sylvia Storm.

“The Queen of Coins and the Queen of Cups. The Queen of Pentacles holds the fullness and understands the point of coins – for the benefit of community and to share with those that she loves. She cares for others and converts the coins to actual worth in the forms of good food with friends, mutual aid and support, and love. The Queen of Cups, meanwhile, is often the ideal mother. Supportive, kind, warm, welcoming. She is a brilliant healer and problem-solver.”

Storm teared up. She closed her eyes and tried to center herself. “That does sound like them,” she quietly admitted. “Grandma was a wise woman before the fall of the Free Cities. Mom was the one that got us to the boats, and I was born on a ship after her escape. I miss them.”

“Have they...passed on?” Rune inquired, clearly trying to be gentle despite their curiosity.

“Grandma is still alive, but Mom isn’t,” Storm whispered. “She died giving birth to me.”

Rune’s hand found Storm’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Storm wiped her tears away with her free hand. “I’ve learned a lot of magic from Grandma and from stories about Mom. It’s why my sea legs are so strong, and I don’t struggle on land any either. Earth and water. It’s what I know best.”

“You carry echoes of their lives in you, Storm.”

“Thank you, Rune.” Storm blinked away the rest of her tears. “Okay. Okay. I see what’s going on here. But what’s the deal with the last bit?”

Rune let go of Storm’s hand and flipped over the last pair of cards on the far right. The cards didn’t let Storm study them before the artwork shifted. The bottom card depicted a coastal Torrezone manor, with the embellishment of roses that the vampires adored so damn much. The front card depicted a vampire Legionnaire holding a blade and either admiring or pondering it.

And Storm recognized him.

“The Tower and the King of Swords,” Rune explained, shifting the cards slightly to get a better look at the first one. “This version of the Tower represents a mind changed drastically and cataclysmically by...well, a faith, simply put. But you don’t need me to tell you that much. The King of Swords is a man who thinks about his tool’s perfection. He is as much a weapon as the sword itself is, and when you’re a blade, you can’t help but cut things. Scathing remarks, pointed jabs, anything that proves the blade’s edge. This is a person who acts like the most cruel of royalty.”

“Why is he here?” Storm whispered, her brow furrowing. “That’s... That’s Camilo Guerra. He’s been trying to hunt my crews. We can always outrun him, but... Why is he here? He’s not that big of an influence. There are plenty of Legionnaires that are worse or have more power.”

“Well, his placement is the least influencing part of your life at the moment,” Rune remarked, studying the spread as a whole. “After your recent tormentor, your lover, and your mother and grandmother. Did you know your father, Captain Storm?”

Storm’s blood felt like ice as she realized what they meant. “I guess I do now.”