evanderhilloway

[evanderhilloway]

Souls at Sunset

Chapter 8 ~ Bloodstained

Darkness faded into the shock of light as Evander pried his eyes open, staring blankly up at a white-washed stucco ceiling, the weight of crisp linen sheets and a knit wool blanket draped over his body, tucked lightly in at the sides. A soft down pillow cradled his head, a dull ache emanating from the crook of his neck. Quiet babbles and gurgles popped from the room’s far right corner. A hot water kettle began whistling softly. A small, framed window to the left granted a welcome spray of sunlight into the space, draping the soft glow of morning along the edges of the room’s contents. Evander sucked in a breath, hitching sharply as a sharp, searing pain pitched through his thoracic cavity, left ribs stinging from untold fractures. He smacked his cracked lips, tongue sticky and dry, blinking through welled tears. He shallowed his breaths, dampening the sting of his ribs to just this side of tolerable. 

“What in Whimsie—“ Evander eeked, attempting to pull himself steadily to a sit, the throbbing pain at the base of his neck swelled at the unwelcome movement. “Gods alive, how the hell…” he cursed incoherently, struggling to right himself despite his body’s severe complaints. 

Disoriented from the bodily torment, Evander cautiously surveyed the humble habitations in which he currently found himself sheltered. Soiled bandages littered a small pedestal sink in the left corner of the room, and neatly folded, fresh linen clothes sat upon a quaint wooden chair beside it - calling Evander’s attention inescapably to his own current state of undress. Or rather, hers. 

Evander cast their gaze downward, examining the loose, white linen gown sheathing their body. Their right palm wandered lower to confirm their chest unbound, though the unrestricted manner in which their diaphragm now expanded should have been confirmation enough. They reveled in the fullness of breathing, pouring oxygen into their lungs more freely than they had dared in years. They traced a second hand upward, lacing their fingers through the untangled sandy brown hair hanging loose around their shoulders. 

They closed their eyes again, dragging in a long, slow breath of remembrance. Memories of bygone years flooded their thoughts, memories they’d tucked away, almost forgotten entirely. Almost. A single tear traced a winding path down the curves of their cheekbone, wandering the path of time-worn laugh lines, to cascade gently off their chin, leaving a freshly damp dot just beneath the collar of their gown. They let go of the memories - and for a moment at least, the secret - all at once, in one cathartic exhale. 

It was the least of their worries now, anyway. 

What little may have remained of any inclination toward maintaining the eight-year-long charade, was hastily doused, as the hallways of Evander’s mind, having now been relieved of former anxieties, greeted a new and creeping unease, one spurred on by the alarming absence of familiarity with their current situation. Coupled with their wanting recollection of the events which had landed them here, in someone else’s home and someone else’s cot, Evander teetered, dangling on the fringe of undone. 

Where is everyone? Everything? What had become of the sunshot eyes and salt-leathered skin of Budge and Pea? Of Colin’s bright smile and rich tone, teeming with clever quips and infectious chortles? Where was Cap? Evander would have gambled anything for one more chance to puzzle at the divots engraved across the brow of the oft-bewildering shipmaster, to wonder at his permanently furrowed gaze, undoubtedly the consequence of countless years cherishing a commitment to uphold life and livelihood of even the most wayward sailor. 

They scanned the picturesque apartment once more. No satchel, no sword, nothing of their previous possessions revealed itself. It’s not as if it had anywhere to hide, either. The room housed minimal furniture and even scanter decor. If any of their belongings had, in fact, been there, they would have, well, been there.

Evander’s spirits sank, falling to a slouch. As hospitably situated as they now found themselves, it wasn’t The Changeling. It wasn’t the ship’s galley, steaming with the pungent odor of Pea’s gods-awful culinary concoctions. It wasn’t the dank, dark hold, creaking as the planks lining the ship’s hold gave a little against the rocking waves. It wasn’t their bunk, swaying synchronized with the rhythm of the lolling surf. 

It wasn’t their home. 

Evander would have ripped off their entire left ribcage and offered it in sacrifice to the gods if it’d grant them even a taste of the life they’d known a mere— Damn. Now that they’d the chance to ruminate on their wakefulness, and former wakelessness, Evander was forced to admit they had no idea how long it had actually been since their memory had failed them. 

Wincing at sharp pains prickling through their body, Evander grasped at ghostly grains of film-like memories, attempting to sketch in the blanks of what had occurred and how long ago. They could remember the monster, in all its fetid glory. They could vividly recall the sensation of tugging the Madness Maker’s threading will apart from within the beast’s blackened soul, that it had been working too, that they had been successfully unraveling the unfeeling god’s machinations, one splitting fiber at a time.

And then, they’d woken up here, in this strange, unfamiliar flat. 

Muffled, foreign voices sounding from an adjacent room distracted Evander’s reminiscence, yanking them back to the present. They shifted, longing to rid themselves of this bed readied for sickness, to be a part of the busy conversations taking place one wall away, to be near someone, anyone again. The harder Evander strove, however, toward any real progress in maneuvering themselves off the cot, the more taxing the endeavor proved to be. They fell back onto the soft pillowed mattress, releasing a huff of exasperation. 

What’s wrong with me?

Evander tucked their chin to their chest, glancing a minute at their own soul. The bright, glowing orange sphere that usually sat high and proud above their breast was very nearly depleted, hovering darkened and low. They recalled the strain they’d endured on the ship, pouring their own soul into those of their crewmates, all at once, in one rushing feat of sheer will. A feat quickly succeeded by their attempt to overpower a literal god. Quantum physics were hardly required to calculate the resulting outcome: they’d given too much of themself, in too short a time. They needed a sunset, a fire pit, a belly laugh, a hug - a morsel of timeless goodness to replenish their own soul now. 

They’d have to settle, as it were, for an obnoxious nasal splurt gurgling up from the cot’s foot, followed without warning by a loud clunk as some large mass jarred itself against the bed, the frame creaking with the jostle. 

Stifling their small shrieks of pain from the unanticipated shift, Evander folded themself over and crawled to the bed’s edge. They peered over cautiously, self-aware of their own shaky constitution as they clung to the metal frame, calling into view the mainspring of this newest disruption. 

And there, curled up on a well-worn, coiled rug, like a dog - drool pooling at the corners of his mouth and all - lay Vagor. His back faced Evander, shielding his own face from view. But Evander could see the oily residue slicking his black mop of hair, more disheveled than they had previously beheld. His attire was equally a mess, stains of varying hue littering folds of fabric throughout. He’d looked to have recovered from his recent lurching snore quite nicely, gurgling gently now with each inhalation, his own din harmonizing eclectically with the babbles of the steaming tea kettle atop the nearby stove. 

Correction, the screaming tea kettle. 

Vagor pitched upright as the small black cauldron wailed, announcing itself to life like a wriggling newborn - happy to be alive, and yet not happy. 

Vagor echoed the sentiment, “Gods fucking hell…” His hands clapped shut over his ears, as he climbed to his knees, placing one foot after another under himself to stand. He took one half-step toward the kettle, wholly intending to shut the damn thing up, when the hair on the back of his birthmarked neck stood stock straight. Tingling intuition overwhelmed his senses. He turned, palms boxed over ears still, to stare blankly, blinking in confusion and surprise at Evander’s orange gleaming eyes.. 

Their copper orbs were moist with the promise of forthcoming tears. “You look more sun burnt every time I see you.” Vagor chuckled, as Evander noticed he wasn’t just sunburnt to high heavens - or hells, depending on which way you looked at it. With Vagor’s face on full display, Evander could plainly discern the dark, puffy crescents beneath his friend’s sunken yellow orbs. Whatever sleep he had been enjoying seconds ago, it was surely the first he’d mustered in a good long while. The vermilion hue of his flesh betrayed he had been out all day. The disheveled indignity of his countenance confessed he had been up all night as well. 

Neither bothered to spare even a single second in addressing the awkward and cosmically proportioned elephant -  or elephants, plural - in the room, that was Evander’s current should-be alarming state of undress, and Vagor’s distinct lack of, well, alarm. 

Evander allowed their body to sink, resting gently atop the mattress on bent knees, hands folded, fingers churning nervously in their lap. They drew their eyes up, pleading between wayward strands of sandy brown hair, at the half-elf’s sunkissed face. 

“Vagor, what happened out there?” 

●●●

Vagor’s entire body was shaking, clutching Evander to himself like a toddler about to have their treasured bobble stolen away. He managed to overpower the locked muscles of his neck and drag his own gaze to the side, pivoting to meet Cap’s beleaguered glare head on as the unhinged shipmaster growled low, so as not to risk the disoriented crew overhearing, “WHATE’ER THE HELLS YER DOIN’, BOY, YE BEST KEEP IT UP! THAT’S AN ORDER!” Vagor hadn’t witnessed Taprick rushing toward him, but he knew it must have been lightning fast, with all the urgency of a lion pouncing on its unwitting prey. He was, after all, somewhat of an expert on lighting. 

The half-elf leered back, eyes crackling, the taste of metal and electricity dancing nauseatingly across his tongue, “I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING!” He sneered. 

That wasn’t entirely true. Vagor was undeniably the epicentral wellspring of whatever magnificent walled dome was now preventing himself and the rest of The Changeling’s bloody crew - some literally, having found themselves victim to the soaring shrapnel of splintered sloop - from the monster’s tempting offer of emulsifying every last person aboard into an elegant, pureed interpretation of fish gumbo. He could see, feel, taste, touch, even smell every static burst of electricity cracking through this improvised vault. He was connected to it, tangibly and viscerally. As far as Vagor, and the utter panic now clasping his literal heart in a chokehold of rapidly impending death, were concerned, it didn’t matter a rat’s ass. He couldn’t control it. He was barely holding it up - hell, he was barely holding himself and Evander up - thus the ungovernable quake wracking his whole being. If Cap hadn’t been more than wholly concerned with keeping his crew, and himself secondarily, alive, he would have noticed the faltering flicker of Vagor’s golden eyes, roaring to life one second and waning to ashes the next. To what would certainly be Cap’s vexation, and a direct violation of the desperate shipmaster’s explicit order, Vagor was not going to be able to keep this up much longer. 

Teeth chattering now, eyes sewn open and distant, Vagor frenzied a path of logic through the neurons now threatening to not only collapse, but thoroughly implode, inside the caverns of his mind. On all proverbial fours, like a blood-starved, frothing wolf, he foraged the crisp, forest floors of the few memories he’d collected over the past week, begging of himself an explanation for what he had, against all reason, just pulled off. 

If Evander had been awake, he would have riddled it out right away. Vagor had survived a miles-high plummet into the ocean. One such tumble that should have landed any ordinary being into a splatter of, well, again, fish stew. But obviously, or obviously now at least, something - say an invisible, protective rotunda of force - had dampened the impact, igniting at the trigger of imminent physical peril. But Evander was very much lost in unconscionable slumber, and Vagor was very much not Evander. It took an egregious number of precious seconds for his own fat cranium to reach the same conclusion. Enough time, in fact, for his eyes to roll back, whites fully exposed, and for his tongue to begin lolling distastefully from his gaping jaw. 

But knowledge wasn’t exactly power in this case. Vagor still couldn’t control it, and he didn’t have even a second to spare toward sussing out the how of it. The why would have to be good enough. If he could, he would have grit his teeth and steeled his form in determination, but on account of the incorrigible wrigglings and whatnot. It took three repetitions before Cap could make out Vagor’s words masked as slurring utterances from his now swelling lips. “I’m go’a dwop i’. The’ whe’ I gi’ the si’al, ye’ go’a ‘oo me.” He of course meant to say, “I’m gonna drop it. Then when I give the signal, you’re gonna shoot me.” He’d have gestured to the captain’s pistol, if only his vision was not currently chained elsewhere - specifically, glaring blankly into the black abyss of his own sphenoid bone. 

Cap slammed both palms down in a clawing grasp on the half-elf’s shoulders. “LIKE HELL YER GONNA DROP IT! I’LL SHOOT YA FIRST IF I ‘AVE TO! I’M THE BLOODY CAPTAIN HERE AND YE’LL DO AS I FUCKING SAY!”

In a fortuitous turn of events, the overwhelming and prickling irritation now flashing its way up Vagor’s spine granted him a brief moment of functioning speech, just long enough to scream at Cap, “I GET IT! IT’S YOUR SHIP, YOUR FUCKING COMMAND. BUT IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME FOR TWO GODSDAMN SECONDS, THERE WON’T BE A BLOODY FUCKING SHIP FOR YOU TO LORD YOUR DICTATORIAL EGO OVER ANY LONGER…EMPHASIS ON DICK!” He added, just before the loss of faculties wrecked his constitution all over again. “AAAAAAAAAARRRGH!!” Cap growled in angst, chest heaving angrily with every snorting breath as he continued to stare down the brazen half-elf. Without fully giving in, he retorted after a short pause, “Yer gonna ‘ave to give me more than that, sonny! Just what do ye ‘ave in mind here?” 

Again, more incoherent babblings, but after a solid ten seconds - which might as well have been a hundred years given current circumstances - Cap confirmed that Vagor intended to drop the shield, just as soon as every last crew member had wrapped themselves around the half-elf and Evander in the tightest, most intimate, sitcom-worthy embrace, manufacturing themselves into a fortified globule of human flesh. They would forfeit the ship itself to the monster’s cursed, maw, and resign themselves, as a collective human hairball, to be swallowed, granting a lower vantage, deeper into the beast’s thoracic cavity. Supposing they actually managed to survive that long, Vagor would then signal for Cap to shoot him, triggering a fresh expulsion of force, blowing the beastie to smithereens. Easy peasy. 

Not a single soul believed it would be that simple, but they were truly and utterly out of alternative options, not with Vagor’s current shield now cracking and folding under the weight of the beast's tendrilling maw. 

Cap hastily and not without a flash of rage, ripped his pistol out from the holster at his hip, before draping himself intimately over Vagor’s lumbering form. He whispered threateningly in the half-elf’s ear, “If this is gonna cost me a ship, it had better fuckin’ work.” He cocked the revolver’s hammer, ready for the signal. 

Every man in place, hot breath wafting through the dark creases of one body after another pressed scandalously close together, Vagor let out a gasping sigh, and dropped the wall in a rush of physical relief. Relief that was instantaneously eaten away, literally, by the crashing wave of wooden splinters swarming the group from every direction as the monster crushed The Changeling in one sweeping gulp of its colossal gullet. 

Muffled screams echoed from the amalgamation of sailors as they clung desperately to one another, sinking rapidly down as fortune faded the smashing blow into a steady, pressing swallow down a pitch-dark, sliming, squelching, putrescent tunnel of monstrous esophagus. The disquieting sensation of pulsing peristalsis prompted the wretched blob of seamen ever downward, sailors at the edge wincing and heaving as rancid bile oozed its way between each and every accessible crevice, declaring itself the inexorable and inevitable interstitial fluid of their little makeshift organism. 

The passageway tightened, maliciously. The walls began folding in on themselves, announcing the approach of an all too literal sphincter. Pops and squeals rang through the balled crew as sailors at the outer edges suffered broken bones under the escalating pressure. Further cracks rang out, as the insufferable snapping of ribs and sternums rolled its way inward through the fleshy sphere with every relentless press of the repulsively muscled lining. 

Now was as good a time as any. Better actually, as Vagor’s plans in no way involved plunging the ship’s crew into a vat of steaming hot stomach acid. He hadn’t dragged their sorry asses this far down a sea monster’s crop to be evaporated in one final splash of boiling proverbial sea. Gods’ willing they were low enough now, in reach of some major organ or another, for his ass-backwards, bonkers plan to work. Compressed lungs be damned, Vagor rasped out to Cap, “Now! Shoot me!” He felt the hot press of metal against his ass, of all places, before the deafening blast of hammer meeting primer, as an all-encompassing, sense-numbing pain plagued his entire being, physically and existentially. He felt his hold on Evander give out slightly, as he started with the bullet’s penetration, tears screaming and pleading their path up and out his own lacrimal ducts. 

Despite his anguish, the sphincter walls pressed inward, vengefully, unmet by the expected blast of force he’d intended to expel. 

He panicked, naturally, But in a flash of fortune, his unhinged desperation unraveled to clarity. 

This time he shrieked his command to Cap. “Shoot Evander!”

Suffering under the weight of the compacting tunnel around them, Cap barely scratched out his own response, “WHAT? LIKE HELL!” Trembling in anguish as the open wound of his ass prickled relentlessly, steadily sending every one of his own nerves into overdrive, Vagor wasn’t asking anymore. “DO IT!” He screamed, with a finality that shook even the thick fleshy walls encasing the disheartened crew. Vagor could feel the trembling of Cap’s hand as it strained against his side, wrapping around the half-elf’s torso, lowering to take aim at the top of Evander’s leg, just below the hip and as far lateral as he dared, to hopefully avoid nicking an artery.

It was now Cap’s turn to shake endlessly, every fiber of his own nerves screaming in dissension to Vagor’s order. 

“NOW!” Vagor’s voice strained, choking to find air. 

Cap closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as he gradually closed his finger around the trigger once more.

He never took the shot. He didn’t need to. 

At that exact moment, the shrieks of outlying crew members cut short with the splashing burst of their brains and bodies giving way, skin bursting at the seams in a bloody spray of flesh and plasma, as their existence buckled right out from under them beneath the sphincter’s impossibly undeterred compression. 

The flashing scent of ammonia from bursting bladders, the iron-tinged taste of misty blood splattering his lips, but most prominently the snap sounding and popping beneath Vagor’s hand, the unmistakable cracking of Evander’s left ribs, did the trick instead. 

Crackling sparks of static electricity filled what little space remained between sailors, igniting in one violent outward thrust in every direction. The sound of ripping flesh, this time belonging to the wretched monster itself, tore through the beast’s unlucky throat. For a fleeting half second, the remaining sailors felt the cool rushing gust of a salty sea wind bite through their damp forms, all too welcome. And then, the waves rushed in. 

●●●    

Vagor gasped, gulping and choking on saltwater and air, as he broached the sea’s surface, black, clouded skies and waves crashing all around him. He kicked vehemently, flailing his one free arm to hold himself and Evander, still clutched firmly beneath the half-elf’s forearm, afloat. 

Hauling Evander farther up his chest, Vagor scanned the tottering seas around them. A hundred yards to their left, the monster’s head, viciously separated from the rest of its body, disappeared, sinking in a bubbling pool of scarlet blood back to the shadowy abyss from whence it came. Maybe fifty yards to the right of that, and in front of Vagor and Evander, the remainder of its corporeal existence rocked and crashed, beginning its own downward climb to the lightless depths of the Ebony sea. 

That, unironically, was not appearing exceptionally ebony at that moment. Flaps of sea-rotten flesh littered the blood-rouged, pummeling swells. One by one, Vagor counted the bobbing heads of sailors splashing up amongst the waves, having battled their own treacherous climbs to the surface. It didn’t take long before he forced himself to give up the census, realizing with dismay that he didn’t know how many sailors had been aboard The Changeling. He was, however, dread certain the number he’d procured wasn’t near enough, and he could not let disparagement distract from the catastrophe continuing to unfold around him. They had ripped themselves from the clutches of one ferociously hungry monster, and right into the metaphorical maw of another. The previously crystalline clear waters now thrashed, the storm that had been held back by the Madness Maker’s maniacal machinations now raging in full force, sloshing Vagor and Evander and whatever mangled crew remained violently across the red, manic sea. 

A sudden burst of movement and splashing in Vagor’s peripheral vision caught his attention. He shifted himself and Evander, watching as Cap swam - less gracefully, mind you, than expected for a man who’d spent well over half his life at sea - frantically toward a dark mass floating some thirty yards off. Vagor squinted his eyes, calling a clearer picture into view. The object in question, as it happened, was roughly three-quarters of a wooden door - one of a few that had found themselves hinged upon The Changeling’s now irreparably and comprehensively splintered frame. 

RIP. 

Straining against Evander’s added weight, which though slight was still enough after all this treading to weary the otherwise athletic half-elf, dragging himself and the lad along the captain’s own trajectory.  

It was painstaking, but little by little, he eased them toward the wooden slab and the weathered captain now hauling himself aboard the floating mass. Without his hat, Cap’s balding head and matted hair gave him the appearance of a man ten years his senior. Defeat had worn further lines across his forehead and the corners of his eyes. He lay flat on his back a moment, chest rising and falling with exasperated breaths. 

“Cap!” Vagor called above the blaring static of dashing surf. 

Taprick started, head thrusting upward as he  scanned the waters around him, eyes falling fixed on Vagor, Evander’s lifeless frame in tow, wrestling his way closer to the slab. 

Cap quickly rolled himself over onto hands and knees, extending one palm out and steadying himself with the other, “Over here, son! Bring ‘im over ‘ere!” 

The door dipped and rocked as Vagor clumsily walked himself and Evander around the doors edge to Cap’s side, accepting his assistance in hefting Evander aboard, rolling him over flat on his back. Vagor sighed, hoisting his own forearms over the slab’s splintered edge, allowing himself to float with its aid - a moment of rest at long last. He lifted his chin to Cap, eyes locked in a moment of stolid solidarity, a seed planted toward mutual respect. He nodded to Cap, wordlessly grateful for the trust granted him, a trust which had cost Taprick his ship, and not a modest portion of his crew. A credence which had landed all three men here - alive - despite the weighty price. 

Vagor opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short by the distraction of something small and white dancing through the blood-soaked waters nearby. Without warning, he pushed off the door, leaving Cap and Evander stranded a minute. His tired muscles stroked through the water, close enough to snatch it, He immediately recognized the thin, albeit waterlogged, grainy texture of paper. Awkwardly, he perched it above water, careening his way back to the floating plank before tediously unfurling the compromised parchment. 

The handwriting was unmistakable - it was the only handwriting Vagor had ever seen. The words, whatever they had been, were helplessly lost, faded from salt and water and blood. Vagor whirled his head round, glancing out over the tossing sea swells. He pivoted back to Cap, “Stay with him a bit, I’ll be back before long.” And with that, Vagor dove into the waves once more, collecting every last scrap of bloodstained parchment he could find. 

●●●

The imposing half-elf had dragged the small wooden chair to the cot’s edge, its legs creaking and straining beneath his weight as he took a seat. It held steady, in some unspoken pledge with Vagor’s own wavering countenance. He bent low, trembling slightly. He reached a hand just under the bed, near the foot, to pull out a small, still damp pile of sorry papers, resting them gently atop the knit blanket at Evander’s bent knees. The edges had dried, pink tinge turned brown, darker still at the corners where the water had inevitably pooled as it drew itself outward from the parchment’s more medial fibers. 

“I’m sorry,” Vagor muttered breathily, forcing himself to meet Evander’s gaze with his own tear-soaked orbs. 

Evander stared at the tattered parchment, lingering traces of their heart poured onto each page in stories and songs, tales of their time as a sailor and then some, now soaked beyond repair. They glanced up, just beyond the papers’ sea-torn edge, to the expectant yellow eyes shamefully fixed upon their face. 

“I’d hug you but it seems I’ve broken a few things.” The tears in Evanders eyes poured freely now as they continued, “You, my dear friend, have nothing to apologize for.” Scooping up the scraps of precious memories, Evander placed them gently on the empty bedside table. They took care to handle the notes tenderly, preserving the effort Vagor had spent in rescuing them, though even in their doing so, it was evident Evander’s thoughts were preoccupied with some other unspoken matter.

“There will be more stories worthy of writing, friend, though hopefully not for a while.” Evander let a small, lighthearted laugh interrupt their thought. “It’s thanks to you that any of us made it out at all. So, thank you, Vagor. I think we are even now.” Smirking and glimpsing about the room, they pinched their shoulders up toward their ears, as far as they dared without summoning a wince, and took a deep breath in through the nose, slow and cautious, again, as not to elicit too much discomfort. Evander tried to orient themselves. They could smell the sea, but it was buried among a smattering of unfamiliar scents, most of them unpleasant. “Where did we end up after all?”

Vagor pursed his lips in nervous discomfort, mulling on his response. He ran one hand through his black tangled mess of hair, brushing it back off his forehead. “Um, Queensbane.” It rolled off his tongue, sounding more question than fact. 

Laughing in reply, Evander wiped the remaining tears from their cheeks, “Guess we didn’t make it too far, huh?”

“Farther than you’d think…If it weren’t for a frigate of ratkin, of all creatures, we’d have spent the better part of the past two days plastered to that damn door before ever laying eyes on land…or anything ever again, for that matter.” A thousand yard stare glazed over the half-elf’s visage. 

Evander joined them with awestruck eyes, mind clearly elsewhere. “Two days adrift?!” They took a moment to let the news sink in before prying further, “How long have we been in Queensbane?” the unsettling confirmation that it had indeed been *days* since Evander had been conscious crept through a low growl in their stomach. 

Vagor stretched his arms up and out, mouth agape in a monstrous - too soon - yawn. “Eh, I’d wager 36 hours, give or take.” Mind you, the half-elf’s current state of sleepless exhaustion decidedly precluded him from accurately wagering anything. 

“Ok, so, correct me if I’m wrong - no ship, no crew, no Captain...” Resting back on their arms, drawing upright and inhaling sharply at the twinging pains in their body, Evander rubbed their neck, disheartened. 

“Gods, you’re quick.” Vagor shook his head in feigned dismay. He stood up, walking over to the small kitchenette and plucking an apple from a wooden bowl on the counter. “Really could’ve used that wit when we were about to become tenderized meat.” Vagor snapped his jaw, biting a crisp chunk off the squat, cherry red fruit. 

Daring a question they didn’t truthfully *want* the answer to, Evander glossed over their friend’s distasteful jest in search of valuable information, feverishly trying to grasp hold of their current trajectory. “Where's Cap and crew?” 

Vagor’s reply was slow and slanted, intentionally vague, “Stationed...elsewhere.” At last, the half-elf attempted a gesture, stumbling with his hands to adequately signify Evander’s rather enlightening state of attire - or lack thereof. His cheeks flushed red in horror as he fumbled about the delicate matter.

Confused at first, as Evander hadn’t been anything but Evander for years, they were suddenly equally and terrifyingly aware of their “situation” and hurled themself beneath the wool blanket as quickly as their storm-ridden body would allow. As if a child, hiding from shadows, Evander squeezed their eyes closed under the blankets' veil, desperately wishing away the awkwardness that had so quickly fumigated the close space.

“I can explain.” Evander, inexyricably flustered, spoke meekly, and a little muffled, from under their knit, safety net of a fort. Though, truth be told, they desperately did not want to explain. 

“Don’t have to.” Vagor answered, flatly.

Evander's irritatingly shapely form lay still beneath the covers. Perhaps, Evander thought, if they simply didn’t move, then Vagor would forget they were there entirely. He was prone to forgetfulness, after all. 

After a long pause, Evander finally spoke, in a voice that seemed more sincere, more genuine.

“Is… is that why Cap and the crew left me?” Evander was glad the blanket covered their face. Their cheeks were unmistakably blotchy and raw, sobs held precariously at bay to the sacrifice of their cracked rib cage. They struggled not to let the whimpers from physical and emotional pain echo beyond their soft, dark fortress - which, as is the case for all blankets, was most assuredly not soundproof. They had already lost their home, now the family they had made, had chosen, was gone too.

“Gods no," Vagor answered gently, "I may be an idiot, but I took care those fuckers stayed none the wiser.” Evander could hear Vagor‘s footfall as he sat back down, leaning the dwarfed chair back to balance on two legs. “I didn’t swear loyalty to Cap. I did swear it to you though.” He added, nonchalantly. Though the expectant pause that followed said otherwise, as Vagor awaited his companion’s response with hesitation.

A wet sniffle betrayed them as they cleared their complexion enough to speak, still hunched like a child beneath the soft covering. They could see the blanket-blurred form of their friend nearby. “I don’t get it. You knew?” Evander stole in a deep and wavering inhale, attempting to steady themself, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell." The half-elf hesitated again, "Only to protect.” Another intentionally flat response, as Vagor tried his hand at sincerity, not allowing the nuisance of thought to barricade him from honest reply. 

Lowering their blanketed shield to rest at their collarbone, a bed of frizzy and ruffled hair nested above their brow in its absence, Evander purposely avoided Vagor’s eyes as they slowly elaborated, “I’d been at sea for eight years. No one was ever the wiser. Then you come along and within days you find out?” Evander shook their head. “You’re not the idiot you think you are.” 

“Oh, I really, really am.” He scratched anxiously at his scalp. “Which reminds me, there’s…something else we need to talk about.” 

Eyebrows raised expectantly, Evander finally met Vagors gaze. “Are you also secretly a woman?” 

“Ha, you wish.” Vagor chuckled, leaning in toward the bed and propping his elbows atop his knees. “No, that’s not it.” 

Are you leaving too? Evander silently urged the thought into the abyss so they could give their friend the attention he deserved, no matter what it was he was grappling into words. 

The half-elf seemed embroiled in some internal battle. He chewed on his bottom lip, glancing down to his hands, drawing them to a fold on the mattress’s edge. He paused, staring blankly into the ether a moment longer, letting the silent war rage a minute more. 

Without warning, he started upright, shifting to face Evander again. His eyes teemed with worry and resolve, the outcome of his own inner turmoil bolting to the surface, rattling half-solicited out his vocal chords.

“It’s…Simon.”

[evanderhilloway]

Souls at Sunset

Chapter Seven - Madness Maker

Evander���s heart weighed heavy with worry over Moose. In hindsight, his staying ashore was inevitable and definitely for the best. Evander just hadn’t expected it, - or hadn’t imagined it - what life aboard The Changeling would be like without the comfort and familiarity of that lumbering hulk of a sailor. Fortunately, the unanticipated boon of Vagor’s return did manage to lift Evander’s spirits a little. He held tight to the hope that his landbound friend would recover, and in the meantime, he could entertain himself with the adventure of cracking open the enigma that was The Changeling’s other lumbering sailor - Vagor himself. 

In the few hours that followed their departure, Cap had grown just short of tyrannical  - well, that might be putting it dramatically, but compared to his ordinarily collected demeanor, his uncharacteristic irritability grated on the crew. The captain’s patience had waned severely following their foray to Queensbane, a detour which had cost The Changeling a full day’s travel. And while the vessel had roared to life with the refreshment afforded by their unforeseen disembarkment, Taprick’s incessant barking now made quick work of whittling away the crew’s morale once more. 

Cap’s listlessness, however, wasn't the only culprit unsettling the sailors. 

As The Changeling charted its course swiftly out to open ocean, its own relentless advancement away from shore was met with the peculiar juxtaposition of ship after ship after ship pulling into port. Too many ships, in fact. A nonsensical number of ships. While the black of night and endless waves stretched out ahead the bow, the bay behind glowed, an eerie, amber fog billowing up as the black void of sea poured lantern laden vessels back into the jagged bay. 

What's going on? Evander squinted at the shoreline. Queensbane was little more than a shadow beyond the tide now, its silhouette just barely discernible against the starless night sky. He surmised, unable even to properly convince himself of the idea’s merit, that perhaps the fleet of returning vessels had been called into port for some meeting or another other, a celebration perhaps. More optimistically still, they were perhaps Crown vessels, contracted to abide a curfew imposed by Queensbane port authorities. As he scanned the hoard of ships navigating to port, Evander ignored the pit of perturbation sinking its tendrils soundly in the lining of his stomach, knowing full well Queensbane had never boasted a fleet of that grandeur. 

But it was a nice thought, much nicer, in fact, than any number of other ideas threatening to shimmy through sulci cracks to the forefront of Evander’s mind. And thus, Evander instead entertained untroubled musings of frigates keeping bedtimes as he clambered up the mast to the crows nest, scanning the dark horizon before him. 

His pesky gut lolled again, the metallic tinge of paranoia clamoring through his veins, scurrying through every capillary. 

Something was off. Undeniably and viscerally. A sharp inhalation below and sternward from Evander’s vantage spelled out quite clearly that Cap felt it too, though he hadn’t, as yet, breathed an unsavory word to the unsuspecting crew. The young sailor shifted his attention to the sea anew and to the creeping darkness of the night sky hovering just above it. He probed the bleak horizon, it seemed endlessly - though in truth only a few seconds had passed - before his gaze met the seam between sea and sky, noting an anomaly that to untrained eyes would have been damn near imperceptible in the darkness now surrounding them. Where waves should have appeared, increasing in both volume and frequency, the sea stood still. Instead, The Changeling coursed through glass calm waters. 

Fuuuuuu–dge. 

The crystalline waters granted an all too diaphanous window of ill omen, as a baleful shadowy sphere flashed in the water, just ahead of the ship’s bow, from Evander’s angle situated almost directly beneath the ship’s hull. He had little time to cry out to Vagor, whom he had left situated atop a crate near the mast’s base, and to the other sailors in earshot, “BRAAAACE!!!” From his vantage, he watched, a hint of panic blossoming through his chest, as the crew collectively froze in confusion, processing Evander’s vehement and unforeseen request, before in a flare of chaos, each and every sailor darted to clutch hold of the nearest rope or rail their fingers could find. 

Evander himself clung desperately to the shaft protruding from the crow’s nest floor, cursing the disadvantage with which his current vantage had saddled him. He squinted his eyes, flexing and straining every muscle fiber on his body, bracing for impact. 

Nothing. 

The Changeling’s swift glide resumed, uninterrupted. The shadow Evander had spied beneath the water’s pellucid surface was gone. Am I seeing things? Relief would have been a welcome companion, but it too was nowhere to be found. If anything, the unease gripping Evander’s core sank its claws deeper. 

On the main deck below, sailor after sailor raised angry shaking fists at Evander, howling profanities at the young lad’s foolhardiness. Steadily, the sailors carried on with their nightly tasks, grumbles continuing to echo here and there across the ship’s length, skeptical sidelong glances landing on Evander every few seconds, wary of what nonsense he might next concoct. 

Without delay, Evander shimmied down the mast to the deck, foregoing the more prudent path of ropes and makeshift ladders, taking care and advantage to utilize the leather patches on his elbows and knees as the main points of contact as he slid himself swiftly down to the main deck, hitting hard on his feet and stumbling slightly. Disregarding his crewmates, Vagor included, Evander hurriedly gathered his sword and satchel, and dazed off, searching the faces of the small slew of sailors, until finally, his scrutiny led him into a locked stare with the ship’s captain. Taprick’s stern, determined gaze and clenched jaw were all the confirmation Evander needed. Cap knew exactly what was going on, had known, every bit as long as Evander, and some. And he’d said nothing. The searing hot pain of mistrust flashed through Evander’s nerves as he glared at Cap, tightening rigging lines and readying himself and the ship for the inevitable unknown. 

Vagor, who had up to this point been gawking at the erratic back and forths of his young friend, broke his stupefied silence, “What in the devil is going on, Evander?” He demanded.

Evander headed off in a fixed march right past the half-elf, chewing his lips as he mulled on a response, trying to form a proper explanation, seeking out the right words - if the right words even existed. He jolted to a stop, just beside Vagor, shoulders brushing. Evander’s hardened leer was fixed firmly on the black glass waters ahead. 

“Moon's mad.” Evander's tone was harrowingly empty. 

No sooner had the words escaped Evander's mouth than he commenced charging about the sloop in preparation. He closed his eyes, desperately willing himself to a calm, but despite the valiant effort, he opened his eyes to his own out-stretched arm, palm facing down, fingers splayed wide, and shaking beyond control. He reached his opposite hand to rest over his bicep, sliding it down the length of his arm in a motion of self-assurance, stopping to clutch his own forearm tightly, and forcing it to steady a moment instead. 

Vagor watched, first in perplexion and then in a fleeting suspension of helplessness, as his young friend devolved in front of him. Of all the things he had hated about this world so far, seeing Evander unravel like this topped them all. 

Vagor wagered himself into Evander's path, thrusting his hand out to barricade his friend's pacing. He grabbed hold of Evanders biceps, snugly pinning his small frame. It served doubly to ease Evander's shaking, and force him to meet the half-elf's golden eyes. 

"Evander, what the hells is that supposed to mean?!" Vagor queried in hushed tones, incredulously. "The moon's mad?"

Vagor's grip had left Evander's elbows unbound, free to flail about, and that’s exactly what they did now, as Evander flung his right hand straight up, pointed directly at the porcelain sphere floating above them, peaceful and still against the void of night. "Moon." It appeared Evander's ability to communicate had dwindled into an oozing pool of single syllables. 

He threw his hand down, pointing just off the ship's bow, conspicuously gesturing toward the crystal clear reflection of the moon in the smooth mirror sea. Except it wasn't mirrored, not exactly anyway. The reflection staring back at its skybound counterpart was dark and ominous - a shadow, pledged to the motionless tide, of an ancient, sunken moon of old. And it followed them, its visage engulfing the water beneath and all around The Changeling’s gliding hull. 

“Mad.” Yay, more monosyllabic pseudo-gibberish. 

“Diminutive” was far from what Evander was trying to achieve, but at present, adequate layman’s terms didn’t exist, nor the requisite minutes mind you, to explain the outlandish truth to his companion, or anyone, in any comprehensible fashion - the Madness Maker had angered the moon. Period. 

No, that doesn’t make sense, and it’s not supposed to - and it wouldn’t matter anyway, even if it were supposed to. All that mattered now was that The Changeling, in that present moment, found itself situated on the most treacherous set of coordinates this side of the whole bloody world. 

Evander’s eyes sparked like firecrackers in the flickering light of a nearby lantern. He was frenzied, yes, but Vagor could sense the depth of verity enshrouded in his friend’s illogical words. Evander believed what he was saying, and so, in unquestioning solidarity, did Vagor. 

“Alright.” the burly half-elf muttered, gathering his own racing thoughts. “Alright, what do we *do*?” He dropped his hold on Evander, solemnly awaiting further instruction, recognizing the time for questions had never come or gone, and never would. All any of them could do now was act, and pray to the gods that it might be enough. 

“Tie yourself off. It’ll be a miracle if we get out of this one.” Evander cursed, casting another burning glare to Captain Taprick, who had situated himself at the helm, his stalwart facade growing brittle with every second of silent inaction, or perhaps more fairly, insufficient action. Cap steadied the ship as the unseen currents of wind and wave dragged the vessel further and further out to the deep end of the Ebony Sea. 

Fortune, however misguided, had at least thrown the other sailors into action, as they mistook Cap’s demeanor for what it had hitherto, and without fail, signified - stormy seas ahead. Evander found small comfort in observing as his shipmates collectively took to fastening themselves in precaution to o-rings lining the ship’s rails. Colin and Pea had rigged a tow line of sorts down the deck’s middle that would allow a handful of the crew to maneuver the vessel without risk of being hurled overboard to their imminent deaths. Sea storms were, as it happened, not the most favorable circumstances in which to be attempting retrievals. Prevention is the best medicine, and all that.  

The motionless seas and deafening silence crafted this wicked calm into an unnerving ordeal. Sailors fastened knots and moved loose barrels and crates to the deck and hold below, without a single murmur. The captain stood steady at the wheel, helming the ship to its certain ruin, face void of emotion. Only Evander could see the failing of his soul, shaking and paralyzed in fear and doubt. 

Evander gulped. No medicine nor magic can save us now. He stole a glance at Vagor, catching the half-elf’s view long enough to betray his own terror, as the whites of his eyes glistened wet in the moonlight overhead. Vagor met Evander’s gaze, the same fear shuddering through his own fleshy carapace. Silence dangled between them. Vagor couldn’t know what Evander guessed, what horrors they would soon witness and endure - endure, and not survive. Words would never suffice in this, their final moments. And so, the half-elf resolved himself. He puffed his chest, drawing himself into steady composure, smiling at Evander, his brow furrowed in a mark of brave expectation of the inexorable peril that awaited them. He nodded his head to Evander, an unspoken pledge that if this should, and would, be their end, it would be just that - theirs. 

And with that simple gesture, the dam holding back the pools of tears welling in the basins of Evander’s vibrant orange eyes failed. With every gasping sob, his anxieties were wiped away, as if the soft hand of Vagor’s oath had brushed them into the black void of night, so that in their wake, there was a little more room for Evander - a little more room for hope. 

Hope. Evander started from his weeping, as an idea struck a chord within him. Maybe the boon Vagor had gifted him, was a blessing to be shared. He couldn’t bestow life, surely, but he could bestow hope, and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough. It had to be. 

Wasn’t that how the Madness Maker operated anyway? A treacherous, fickle god, who preyed on the fears of man, siphoning every ounce of sanity from the world and its creations, replacing reason with riotous lunacy, hope and valor with dread and impotence. 

Yet, if Evander could restore even a modicum of that hope to the crew now stranded in the epicenter of the Madness Maker’s damnation, perhaps he could tip the scales just enough to thwart whatever the despotic god had enacted. He could stop the Madness Maker turning the whole world on end, as if the threads of gravity tethering this world to the moon above had been menacingly snipped free. 

He braced his arms behind himself, wrapping them fast around the mast, clenching his eyes closed a second to clear his own mind. A moment later, he tore them open, the ochre of his eyes glowing, surveying at once every last glowing soul present aboard the ship. Maneuvering his own mind and soul from seeing to now sensing, Evander extended himself, reaching out to touch and tether his own soul to theirs. He strained, pouring every ounce of his own will into willing these souls onward, and upward. His head and heart throbbed. This endeavor far exceeded anything he’d previously attempted, more even than that which he had accomplished with Moose’s faltering soul. But godsdamnit, it was working, and that spurred him on. One by one, the light glimmering in his own eyes, shone in the eyes of his crewmates. They stood a little taller, braced a little harder, less fearful and more ready. Their souls hovered higher, radiating brighter. 

Evander breathed out a soft chuckle of disbelief, and relief. He paused a moment, taking in the courage of his friends - no, his family - his own mind swirling in wonder at how best to proceed. There was no signifying whether his efforts thus far had been enough. So he had to do more. He had to further cement their courage somehow…Gods be damned, he did the first thing that came to mind. 

The sonorous tones of a breathy contralto echoed out over the ship’s deck, ringing in the ears of every sailor thereon, as Evander wished his melodic intent into their midst, 

“Hold fast now lads, the winds are strong. 

Steady yourself, somethin's wrong. 

Look alert, as sea swells rise, 

Stand ye firm, side by side. 

Hold fast, lads. We’ve been through worse, 

We’ve angered storms, we’ll brave this curse.”

The final note lingered, sonorous still in the salty air, when Collin’s own rich tenor rang out, beginning the shanty anew. By the second line, a few more voices had chimed in, the others following quickly after, until the final bar boomed, not a single lip sealed in reservation. Reckless abandon had been their lives and now it would be their legacy. 

And again, at the final refrain of “brave this curse”, the crew carried the tune up once more, voices lilting in harmonious tandem.  

It was magnificent - bewitching yet bewildering, transcendent yet sublime. 

And it was too late.

●●● 

THRUM.

Midway through the fifth round of song, every fiber of reality, every somatic component of the sailor’s beings and realities shifted a staggering half inch. Their voices continued belting out Evander’s chorus, but rather than lifting above as it had a half second earlier, the sound hung low over the ship’s deck, distorted and tinny - grotesque and otherworldly. 

THRUM.

Through displaced vision, the sailors watched as a single rippling ring bulged from the water’s surface, tracing the moon’s angered reflection. Evander looked on through drunken eyes as what little store of hope he had doled out to his crew members drained with the sudden realization that stormy seas had never been a lesser evil. 

THRUM.

Because it wasn’t as if the Madness Maker had lifted a set of cosmic shears and slashed some proverbial ribbon fettering the world’s moon to the flowing tides of Whimsie…That’s exactly what happened. And as some sick side effect of the distortion in gravitational forces, it was all too clear from the pulsating ring of water, that the moon in it’s fury was now calling something - no, to call it something is to suggest that whatever was now rapidly levitating itself to the surface had any right to exist in the world it sought to terrorize, that it was anything less than a menacing and gross aberration of nature - up, thrashing silently toward the ocean’s fragile veneer. 

THRUM.

Cap was yelling something from behind the ship’s wheel, orders perhaps, or maybe some final prayer or sailor-branded last rites. The contorting atmosphere around the ship was too tangled now to discern words. Evander’s pulse throbbed in his temples. He blinked past the disorientation long enough to see a handful of crew mates scrambling to unfasten themselves from the ship, eyeing the rails with mad desperation. He closed his eyes again, focusing on his own rhythmic breathing and granting himself a moment reprieve from the sensory abomination unfolding around him. Fleeing was pointless, though he couldn’t blame his crewmates for trying. Maybe in another life he’d do the same - in another life he had. He winced, waiting for the tinge of regret that should have pierced his core at the thought of years past. But there was nothing, no pang of doubt, no flash of memories he wished he could relive or choices he could remake. He’d walked away from a life he couldn’t keep living, because no matter how well-intended, it hadn’t belonged to him. He was made for more. He was made for this. 

There was no more fleeing for Evander. He was right where he belonged. 

Whatever the now undulating sphere, rimmed with deadly sharp baleen spears calling itself into view from the depths beneath The Changeling, was, it looked very much alive - and as far as Evander was concerned that was paramount. Because if it was alive, that meant it had a soul - and that, Evander could work with. 

Vagor stood close enough to his young friend to avoid necessarily wading through the perceptive muck before taking up a front row seat to the whirring gears of Evander’s mind. The half-elf watched on silently - he couldn’t bring himself to contribute further to the rancid cacophony brewing endlessly around him…he swore he could *smell* the sound at this point - as Evander’s countenance stiffened determinedly, leaning out from the mast to which he was fastened, eyebrows furrowed, one cocked slightly in scheming anticipation of the lurking enemy. Vagor was actively swallowing globs of bile back into his stomach, and could have slapped Evander for looking so smug. 

THRUM.

One final warning before the beast pierced the surface, cresting in line with the single pulsing ripple outlining the black mirrored moon. It broke without a splash, the waters undisturbed, this surreal picture of teeth and flesh materializing from the illusory solid mass of an illogically frozen ocean. All at once, the twisting ether quelled, jolting the crew and vessel back to familiar reality, as the slick, whalebone-lined walls of the creature's gullet rose steadily upward, encasing the ship and the surrounding waters. The dripping flesh between the spindling bones undulated, expanding outward like fragments of a hot air balloon, before collapsing taught between spines once more, thrumming with every expansion. The makeshift cavern climbed higher and higher, reeking of rotting fish and sun-starved flesh. 

Evander didn’t bother to untangle his arms and hands from behind his back. He didn’t need them. He only needed his eyes to tell him the obvious. This creature did, in fact, possess a soul, and its visage was all too recently familiar. Now the beast was in full view, it’s soul apparent and hovering there in its throat, bearing striking resemblance to the black voided reflection of the moon still just barely visible from beyond the sea monster’s gaping circle of a mouth, the only thing withholding utter darkness from encapsulating the ship and its crew. 

The young sailor braced himself, steeling his own eyes into a tunneled focus on the monster’s bleak soul, swimming through the haze of darkness, searching for something, anything, tethering it to the Madness Maker’s villainous will. It was untraveled territory for Evander. He’d only ever added to a soul, or more recently, guided it, maneuvered it. He’d never dared to wade into it, never grasped it with the intent of taking something away. He hardly knew what to even look for. 

Until suddenly, he felt it. A hitch, the weight of a thin thread coiled within the monster’s soul, thick with destructive intent, bearing what Evander could only assume to be the Madness Maker’s signature - his seal of calamitous approval. In his mind’s eye, he grasped the thread and yanked with the full force and capacity of his ability, feeling it catch, unwaveringly tensile against his pull. Beads of sweat poured down his brow as he ground his jaw, pitching his own will against that of a literal god. The sensation was repulsive. The harder he sought to prise the thread from the creature’s soul, the harder it wrenched on his own. He could feel every cell in his body being wrested away from each other in a disgusting deviation of corporeal proportions. The gravitational disturbance of seconds past was dwarfed in comparison to the all too personal hell Evander was now enduring alone. 

His eyes watered from the repugnance of it all, every indiscernible hair on his body drawing to a stand from pebbled pores. It was electrifying in the most horrible sense of the word, and yet, he couldn’t back down. He ground in harder, offering himself up in sacrifice to the success of this impossible task. Where the Madness Maker had gambled mere intent, Evander would raise him his entire being. 

And maybe, just maybe, some nameless god somewhere unseen saw Evander’s offer and tipped the scales, because at the moment when he thought his own soul would snap clean in two, he felt the thread of destruction lose an inch of tension, whirling as it began unraveling on itself, fibers snapping loose in every direction. 

Vagor watched Evander’s eyes lighten once more, gleaming with triumph. He’d done something. Vagor couldn’t possibly know what that something was. But it was clear whatever his friend had been battling, he was winning now. 

An impossible smile lit Evander’s countenance as he turned to face Vagor, gaze still far off in some ethereal realm, mouth ready and breath sucked in, about to speak…when the finally sloshing waters beneath the ship dropped without warning, sending the vessel clamoring down farther into the monster’s throat before slamming into the sunken waters with an menacing crack ringing through The Changeling’s hull. 

But in Vagor’s ears, the crack was but a distant echo to the sharp “THWACK” of Evander’s head as it wracked forward and then back every bit as fiercely, battering into the mast behind him. Vagor’s yellow eyes ripped wide in horror as his friend’s body fell slack against the rope fastening his companion’s waist to the wooden pole. He’d had just enough time and presence to brace himself for the impact, clinging to a nearby rail and trusting his own tethering to dampen the fall. As the boat rocked violently, Vagor hurriedly freed his own bonds, and rushed carelessly to Evander’s limp frame. 

By the grace of the gods, Vagor reached him without losing his own balance too egregiously, and immediately noticed the stream of blood pouring from the base of Evander’s head, his thick sandy brown hair masking its exact source, but flow and locale betraying a likely superficial lesion near the juncture of spine and skull. 

Vagor did slap Evander now, attempting in desperation to call him back to the land of the conscious, when he was forced to abandon his efforts as a vengeful dread flooded his senses at the horror continuing to unfold around him…literally. Whatever Evander had been working at, and winning, it ended the moment the young sailor had lost consciousness. The monster's cavernous maw, now walled up a hundred putrid feet on all sides, split, unfurling slow motion into quill-lined petals flayed out across the sea beyond the moon’s spiteful circumference. 

For a moment, all was hideously still. 

And then, with ungodly force and supernatural momentum, the beast’s flapping jaws folded back in on themselves, threatening to crush anything and everything trapped in its center. Vagor screamed, gurgling as bile forced its path up and out the half-elf’s mouth. He wrapped his body around Evander, trussing his frame in one final act of dissent against their impending oblivion. 

Everything went dark as Vagor clenched his eyes shut, awaiting the deadly blow that never landed. He popped his eyes open to see the monster’s throbbing and muscular flesh straining against an invisible force, some twenty feet overhead, wrapping itself in a protective sphere around the vessel and her occupants. Well not the entire vessel, as a good ten feet of bow and stern, respectively, found themselves outside the invisible orb, pulverized into splinters against the weight and force of the monster’s crushing feat. 

And at the sphere’s epicenter, hunched over his slack-jawed snoozing companion, stood none other than the golden-orbed half-elf himself. Vagor. 

He didn’t have a single clue as to who the Madness Maker was. Had never even heard the name. But it didn’t matter. Vagor was about to make this madness his bitch.

[evanderhilloway]

Souls at Sunset

Chapter Six - Into The Storm

Extending a steady forearm to aid his crew mates back aboard the ship, Evander hooked his opposite elbow around the rail just above the rope ladder dangling to the rowboats below. He greeted each sailor with his signature smile and quick-witted humor. He had just landed a hearty pat Budge’s shoulder, when his gaze caught a rather frantic scene unraveling on the pier. As it turned out, he wouldn’t be the only one surprising himself today. 

He watched incredulously, as the burly tangled limbs of an all too familiar half-elf slid helplessly across the dock’s stone walk. Evander stifled a snort as Vagor grunted and yowled with every successive tumble. Even from this distance, he could see that exertion had tinged every inch of the half-elf’s visible skin an inelegant shade of red. If it weren’t positively hilarious to behold, it would have been embarrassingly painful. Evander chuckled in amusement at his being able to enjoy the former outlook, while his friend bore the burden of the latter. One man’s pain is another man’s pleasure…No, wait. That’s not quite right…Let’s pretend we never said that. 

Bystanders dodged and weaved to avoid Vagor’s path of recklessly hurtling self-destruction. Evander leaned his elbows on the freshly oiled railing, situating himself comfortably as he continued to watch the scene unfold in front of him. 

He caught his breath and winced, “Oooooooh,” drawing a clenched fist to the corner of his mouth, as Vagor lost his footing once again and pummeled his shoulder into unyielding rock. But his pointy-eared companion sucked in a sharp breath of his own, shakily righting himself to a stand and diving back into his sprint with unrivaled determination. Evander could've sworn he saw flames licking in the black pupils of Vagor’s eyes. If it were even possible, he seemed to barrel down the pier with greater fury than before. 

Distracted by the stupidly hysterical spectacle, Evander only just now realized, with a tangible confusion, that he wasn’t certain what exactly Vagor was flying toward. The Changeling was a good 80 yards off the dock, and had already raised anchor, beginning its pull away from port.

What’s your plan, wanderer? He thought to himself, eyes widening as Vagor reached the pier’s end, coiling midstep and thrusting both arms back behind his body, clearly readying himself for the leap.

 Oh, this oughta be good. Evander’s smile stretched from ear to ear as he leaned farther over the rail in anticipation. Vagor didn’t disappoint. 

It took every last ounce of strength in Vagor’s body, but he hurled himself violently off the broken rock of the dock’s edge, momentarily suspending himself above the tumbling waves beyond. Evander imagined it happening in slow motion. His friend’s arms outstretched like a toddler reaching fervently for its mother, mouth slung stupidly agape, and the comically desperate cry echoing therefrom, “EVANDERRRR! WAAAAAAIT!”

For the second time, in less than a week mind you, Evander watched with bated breath, orange eyes sparkling in anticipatory excitation, as Vagor went splat. Now there’s a kickass children’s book title.

In the aftermath of witnessing his friend fall face first, with a discernible slap, into the salty sea, Evander couldn’t stifle his giggles any longer. A laugh from deep within his chest bubbled up and out, welling his eyes to tears and rouging his fair cheeks. He wiped his weepy eyes on the rolled cuff of his sleeve, and scanned the waves near Vagor’s landing - if you could really call it that. Genuine fear held him captive for a moment, as Evander realized he had never actually determined whether Vagor could swim or not. Was it even scientifically possible for someone that large to float? Come to think of it, the only other person of comparable stature on The Changeling had been Moose, and Evander had never seen him swim either.

The young sailor shaded his eyes with one hand, still gripping the rail with the other to steady himself in his vantage. Relief washed over him like the toppling waves below, as Vagor surfaced, unscathed, and swam - not necessarily strong, but steady at least - toward the rope ladder still hanging to Evander's left. He rushed from his station, alerting the crew and begging a halt on any further progression to deport the ship. "WAIT! MAN OVERBOARD," he roared between cupped hands to Captain Taprick.

“Evander," Cap answered gruffly, keeping his back turned from Evander. "Not now. You’ll swim at sea like a proper sailor. Leave the damn port be.” Captain Taprick grumbled as he went about his business, charting his own course up the stairs to the quarter deck, barking orders to the crew as he went. As the captain situated himself behind the ship's wheel, Colin tugged on the rigging of the mainmast, sending the crisp ivory sail into place. The Changeling was ripe and ready to make sail for the open ocean. 

But Evander wasn't.

"UUUUUUUUUUUGH!" Evander yelled, before taking matters into his own hands, quite literally. He dashed along the starboard rail to the ship's bow, dodging around his fellow crewmates. He hurled himself over a barrel, and honest to gods, it was rather an impressive maneuver, insubordination aside and whatnot. 

He skidded to a halt before one of the ship's anchors, only just recently retrieved from the ocean floor, and squatted down to clasp both hands firmly around its shank, just beneath the stock. He braced his weight under himself, careful to adhere to the age-old advice of lifting with one's knees. Evander strained as he slowly but surely lifted the anchor off the wooden deck, pausing for half a moment to resituate the damned thing at his waist, and then hurled it disgracefully over the rail, its chain whirring right behind. It crashed through the waves and danced its way quickly to the sea floor. The Changeling jolted to a sudden halt, its bow firmly fixed by the anchor's weight. 

Evander didn't need to turn around and meet Captain's glare to know it was there. What he'd just done would be considered an act of treason, or, if he was lucky, maybe just a thorough crack through the trust and rapport he'd built with Cap over all these years sailing together.

But he didn't have time to wade through the ashes of that burned bridge, and at this very moment, didn't care. He had to stop the ship, and so he did.

Budge and one other sailor were heaving the last rowboat back onto the ship, pulling its small hull up and over the deck's edge. Evander rushed over to give it a hard kick out of their hands, however, and sent the dingy cascading back into the water below as Budge bellowed angrily at him. Lucky for Evander, the rowboat had yet to be unfastened from the rail. It stayed close, drifting some 20 yards out from the ship, and sparing Vagor that much further to swim and Evander that much more time to either convince or distract Captain into letting the half-elf aboard. He hadn't decided which tactic would prove more successful. He supposed he’d just have to hope for the first, but settle for the latter. 

Content enough with the quick work of his improvised machinations, Evander pivoted sternward to face the consequences of his actions head on. Captain bawled in rage and stomped his way down the stairs, straight toward him. Cap stopped just shy of Evander, his own nose inches from the young sailor’s, fists balled at his sides and spitting with fury, "WHAT IN THE SEA WITCH'S SANCTUM DO YE THINK YER DOIN' BOY! HAVE I NOT MADE M'SELF CLEAR?! THIS IS MY BLOODY SHIP AND YE'LL DO AS I BLOODY TELL YA!"

Evander was out of breath, and more than a little shaken by Cap's response. He attempted to mask his fear and rebrand the heaving breaths as confidence, pulling his shoulders back and bracing his own arms firmly at his sides, “Man. Overboard. I’m not leaving him to drown. I didn’t last time, and I won’t this time either.” Was it beads of sweat from his impromptu marathon around the deck, or tiny and determined tears escaping his sunset eyes that now tracked their way down to Evander’s chin. Of course, there was always the third option - spittle from Captain's outrage. Blegh. You decide. 

He didn’t know how long it would take Vagor to reach the rowboat, and he'd lost sight of him during his standoff with Captain, but he knew he couldn’t back down now - a line he’d never crossed with Cap before. Evander silently cursed Vagor for his ass-hattery toward Captain before. Maybe if he had been more respectful, or just less…Vagor, then Captain Taprick would have been more willing to let him back on the ship. But it didn’t matter, Evander couldn’t go back in time, and knowing Vagor, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. All Evander could do now was fight his uphill-battle-of-a-cause. 

“I repeat. There’s a man in the water. I request you let ‘em board.”

“We’re in a port, Evander. There’s men in the water every which way ya gander.” Captain broke eye contact to peer haughtily beyond the rail, spotting Vagor plowing through the water, one exhausted stroke at a time. He responded flatly, "Besides, looks more idiot than man to me. And not one I'm keen to 'ave lurking about my boat. He’s had his fair share of hospitality on my account." 

“Then put him to work! We’re already down a crew member and could use the extra hands.” Evander softened his tone, pleading in earnest, “Let him on the rowboat. Hear him out. If you don’t like what he has to say, cut the line and let ‘em float away.” Evander offered a compromise, hopeful that Vagor’s intentions for pursuing them were, in fact, more than just wanting to flip Cap off one more time. He stole a sideways glance at the captain, trying not to draw attention as he attempted to glean whether the captain’s pistol was safely tucked in its drawer in the captain’s cabin, or more dangerously accessible at his hip. To Evander’s dismay, the polished ivory handle peeked out from beneath Cap’s coats.

You’d better not pull anything stupid, Icarus. Evander tried not to let his growing concern break through the confident facade he was currently still pulling off. 

Cap wasn’t accustomed to this kind of bold and blatant pushback from Evander. He’d put up with plenty of guff from damn near every other member of his crew, but never the young, ochre-eyed lad. In fact, in all their years together, Evander had proven himself wholly disparate from the other sailors in Cap’s employ. Where the homesick, seabound gents grumbled and complained endlessly on their voyages, Evander made it his mission to find every silver lining atop every crashing surge and swell of even the stormiest seas. He’d always been the first to come to a crew mate’s aid, giving his all and taking nothing in return at every juncture. The lad had always asked what he could do, not what could be done for him. Yet here he stood, taller than Cap had ever witnessed, and he wasn’t really asking, period. 

He couldn’t imagine what it was about this lumbering half-elf - who none of them had known for even a second more than five days - that had affected Evander so, but glimpsing this new spark of unyielding grit in the young man’s gaze, Cap didn’t hate it. In fact, he had to actively push down the swelling pride threatening to spew right out of him. It didn't change the fact that Evander had broken orders and broken trust, and Cap still had an argument to win. He hardened his countenance, leaning into Evander's spirit, and drawing his eyes into slits, pitting his own will against the young sailor's. 

“I said no. My word is final. Fix yer mess.” 

Raising his voice, Evander pleaded. “I’ve never accepted payment from you. Pay him with my share. What would have been mine.” Knowing gold motivated all men, Evander targeted that same driving force in his Captain, a man whom he had loyally served for near eight years now. And a man whom he was now wholly defying. 

Evander heard the kerplunk of the rowboat in the water, shifting with Vagor’s weight as he heaved himself to safety and a brief rest. He moved to peer over the rail’s edge when Captain’s strong arm barricaded him. 

“I’ll handle this.” Captain’s ominous figure sneered over the railing at the sad, sopping heap plopped in the rowboat beneath them. “Did ya hate land that much?” He jeered at the unwelcome refugee below. 

Vagor tilted his chin upward, meeting the Captain's eyes with the flash of fire in his own, before shifting his gaze to Evander, steadying himself with the familiarity. He responded, out of breath but resolute, "I forgot something."

“Ha! Didn’t think you had anything more to forget. Whatever it is, ye won’t find it here.”

"Actually, Cap, as fortune would have it, this is the only place I'll find it."

Raising his brow only slightly, as he didn’t really care what it was, Cap acknowledged gruffly “Don’t much like you.”

"The feeling's mutual. Oh look, we've got something in common after all," Vagor replied, thick with sarcasm.

Evander, held firm just behind Captain as he actively fought against the arm currently blocking him, let out an exasperated groan at Vagor's snide comment.

Cap eyed Vagor up and down, skeptical “I ‘spose I’ve made sailors out of less.” Cap glanced at Evander, then back to Vagor “I’ll make ye a deal. If ye step foot on The Changeling, you’ll be swearing fealty to her and her crew. You’ll serve under my command and you’ll sail when and where I say. Aye?”

Vagor withheld his reply, considering Captain Taprick's loaded proposition. It took only a few seconds however, before he angled his attention back to Evander, and Evander alone. Neither his gaze nor tone wavered as he stared into those pleading orange eyes. His voice was slow and determined. "Aye, I'll swear fealty to you. I'll serve under your command. I'll sail when and where you say."

Vagor let out a deep sigh. He grit his teeth and jutted his chin before shifting toward Cap once more, "Anything else?"

Cap scrunched his face in further deliberation, before brushing back the tails of his coat, resting his hands firm on his own hips as he straightened himself in satisfaction. Verbal exchange aside, this was how every captain ought to acquire a new crew - straight from the sea herself. With a smug grin, Captain Taprick regarded Vagor with a short, “Aye, that’ll do,” gesturing abruptly for the small audience of sailors that had crowded around to begin hauling the rowboat aboard. He turned heel, belittling the interaction to hardly more than a day’s work, and resumed his peremptory turn about the ship. 

Evander flew to the ropes before Cap could even finish the order, tugging on the pulley with a twinkle in his eye as he assisted in hauling Vagor up. He dropped the rope just as swiftly the moment Vagor climbed out of the dingy, feet and limbs spilling out onto The Changeling’s main deck, cementing his recent oath of allegiance. He struggled to his feet, standing tall now. No longer just a friend, but a crewmate to boot. 

A winded crewmate at that, as Evander crashed into Vagor’s torso, wrapping his arms around the big luggard in a giddy embrace. Vagor had to catch himself on the rail, lest his young friend hurl the both of them right back into the sea, something he’d been hoping to avoid for the foreseeable future. Evander pulled away, but the dazzle of his saffron gaze held firm, fixated, as it were, by the radiating glow of Vagor's soul, sitting noticeably higher than last Evander saw it. The young sailor cocked his brow in playful intrigue, “What was it you forgot?”

Vagor’s mouth bent into a crooked smirk, but behind it was a tinge of something unspoken. Joy, to be sure, but something else - something wobbling toward worry or concern. He puffed out a sigh, the teasing clear in his voice - as clear as the implication that he wouldn’t be speaking more on the matter - as he patted Evander’s head. His answer was most dissatisfying. “Can’t remember.” 

Now Evander’s eyes were the ones to draw themselves into inquisitive slits at Vagor’s contradiction. He searched the half-elf’s own gaze, seeking to interpret the enigmatic thoughts veiled behind it, but quickly decided his searching to be in vain. He’d let it go…for now. 

“Well,” he dropped the probing demeanor, “You’ll NEVER guess what I did today!” Evander’s inner Ellie showed a little too much at that, a slight squeal escaping in taunt of his incredible day - one he was certain would go unrivaled for many days to come. Heh.

Vagor laughed at Evander’s momentary flash of girlishness, “How ‘bout you tell me all about it while we make ourselves useful? This ship isn’t going to sail itself.” Evander nodded at the welcome suggestion. The commencement of duties would serve a neat distraction to the looming chasm now lingering between himself and the captain in the wake of his insubordination. 

The two crewmates worked in tandem to ease out the mainsail, Vagor holding the rigging fast so as to prevent the sail from luffing, while Evander took the position of spotter, ensuring the boom didn’t jibe out further than needed to catch the current angle of the wind now catching in the sail’s canvas, slowly and surely carrying the vessel further and further from the Queensbane harbor.

“I met one of your cousins! He flew onto the ship and we honored you by flying off the bow of the ship!” Evander quieted himself shortly into his retelling, ensuring Captain wouldn’t catch ear of the port authority that had visited, nor of their impromptu joyride with The Changeling. “I’ve never seen an eagle aarakocra smile before, but it was amazing and unnerving and I cannot WAIT to write it all down.” His eyes shone, mind dancing with anticipation around the idea of recounting the wondrous day from the cozy warmth of his bunk later that evening.

Vagor looked on wistfully, letting the muscle memory of his hands - the only memory he seemed to possess of another life long forgotten - take over as he listened attentively to Evander’s regalings. A smile crept thoughtlessly across his face, doused in the illuminating joy of Evander’s nature. If he didn’t know better, he would have believed the warmth slowly housing itself throughout his person - which had been shivering moments before from his foray into the brisk ocean waters - was none other than the result of whatever supernatural effect Evander seemed to have on the world around him. Around her. 

Vagor couldn’t stop the words spilling their way out of his mouth, interrupting Evander, “I know what I forgot.” He flushed a little at his indiscretion, but it was too late. The words were out there now. 

“What’s that?” Evander responded kindly, unimposed at the disruption to his own tale, ready to continue whenever Vagor was. 

Hesitating, looking for any answer that wasn’t the truth - because that would be too shameful for him to admit just yet - Vagor finally landed on the only halfway sufficient reply he could find, “I still owe you a sunset.” 

Evander smirked, knowingly, but unwilling to push his still exhausted friend for more, “Hmmm…Aye, that you do.” 

A pregnant pause nestled its way into every crevice of the salty sea air, waves crashing gently about The Changeling’s hull as the vessel sliced its way ever onward. When it seemed fitting, Evander dove right back into the finer details of his exchange with Reo, and Vagor tuned his ears more attentively still, this time uneager to be the cause of any more untimely interruptions. 

Vagor knew, of course, exactly what he had forgotten. He had forgotten what it meant to be a part of something more than himself - to be a part of a family. To love, and to be loved. To protect, and be protected in kind. And while he’d never remember if he’d ever had any of those things before, it didn’t matter. He had them now. He had them here, with Evander, of all people. 

And it was here, basking in that distorted form of remembrance, and the respective gleam of both their souls, that Vagor and Evander basked in the present goodness surrounding them, paying no mind or eye to the ship’s path as The Changeling and its crew sailed right into the storm. 

[evanderhilloway]

Souls at Sunset

Chapter Five - Learning to Fly

Meanwhile back on The Changeling...

The inevitability of a full day alone on the ship overwhelmed Evander, teetering toward anxious incomprehension. In this slightly dazed state, he carefully weighed his options, made a tidy list, and got quickly to work. 

The private -and public for that matter - hygiene of the sloop's crew was wanting, to say the least. The only reason the entire collective of sailors didn’t leave visibly green, noxious fumes in its wake was Evander’s steadfast sanitation routine at port stops. To most, his methods seemed boring and nonessential. History had proven his efforts thankless and oft ridiculed, but after weeks at sea with nary a bath in sight, the crew undoubtedly harbored a silent gratitude for his faithful service. 

Pinning the clean, damp clothes on a makeshift clothesline, as he had done a hundred times before at a hundred different harbors, Evander's mind wandered back to Vagor’s crackling descent from the heavens. “Where did ya come from, Cotton Eye Joe?” he wondered quietly, posing himself as the only captive audience for hundreds of yards. He hesitated before pinning Pea's petticoat to the line, glimpsing a looming shadow far off in the sparsely clouded sky. 

“Another one?!” Evander muttered to himself, grasping the railing and leaning over the port side, ready to jump. But the shape didn't appear to be falling as Vagor had. It was expanding gradually with its approach, aiming its path clearly toward the ship and Evander himself.

Dashing to the opposite railing, Evander recovered his sheathed saber from atop a nearby crate, holding it firm at his hip. He watched as the shadow's faint outline grew more distinct as it drew closer. An impressive pair of dark, feathered wings blocked out the sun, a temporary and welcome reprieve from the heat, despite their ominous aesthetic.

“Wasn’t expecting company!” Evander called from his lower vantage, careful not to move closer, but assuming the best intentions of this unexpected guest, as only he could. 

The aarakocra landed with an audible thud, its talons claiming the ship's railing for a perch as it darted its gaze about the ship. Its eyes landed squarely on the small framed single occupant with a jolty tilt of its head. Target acquired. 

��Any more of ye? I’ll put the kettle on!” Evander offered in good humor, assessing the situation every bit as keenly as the eagle man set a mere sixty feet in front of him. 

“Permission to dock.” The stranger squawked the last word a bit, it’s avian nature peeking through. 

“Aye, see, you’ve already done that though.” Evander quipped, gauging the intent of - you guessed it - his new friend.

“Docking papers, now, or I’ll fine ya to the Crown and back.” The intruder fixed its shining black beady eyes fast on Evander, the sea breeze lightly ruffling the sheened brown feathers veiling every inch of its ample body and grandiose wings. 

Having never beheld an aarakocra prior to this present moment, Evander was having a hell of a time interpreting the creature's emotions or intent. It had a soul at least, which was comforting - albeit not surprising and therefore unenlightening.

Evander whisked a shining smile across his face and replied politely, “Oh yes, yes.” He reached for the satchel dangling at his side, noting the bird's mannerisms as it observed his every move intently. Evander paused, “Y'know, I would. In fact, I'd be happy to share every last shred of requisite permitting and licensure. But the thing is, ye’ve yet to identify yerself, friend.” 

“Reo. Port Marshal of Queensbane.” Reo responded flatly, with the crisp even cadence you'd expect from a bird, clearly displeased with both his occupation in general and more specifically his current interaction with Evander. He shifted his shirt collar slightly to reveal the badge hung loosely around his neck, the face of which clearly portrayed the symbol of Queensbane's jagged fortress with all the official silver shininess. 

That's the real deal, alright.

Noting Reo’s soul, bold and bright but waning and certainly not sitting as proud as it should be for a creature of his majestic stature, Evander saw a glimmering opportunity and seized it. He leaned forward playfully, “Hey Reo, you open to suggestions by chance?” 

If a bird could roll its eyes, that’s what Reo would have done. But instead, his eyes just rolled in on themselves with an exaggerated blink, and rather than appearing nonplussed, as he intended, he just looked like an ordinary bird doing ordinary bird things. 

Hopping off the rail to stand on the main deck along with Evander, Reo's talons clacked and scraped against its slick wooden slabs. He stretched his wings, boasting a strength and size far exceeding Evander's, both of which he seemed perfectly capable and willing to exploit to the benefit of his own objective.

“How about this?" Evander held up his hands in a truce, "You hear me out, and I’ll show ya some papers. Deal?” Sly as ever and entirely too eager to shake hands with a real life eagle-man, Evander approached, hand extended in hopeful agreement toward the aarakocra.

Unamused, but in no hurry to return to land just yet, Reo lifted a wingtip with grave indifference, granting the lad his coveted handshake. With palpable annoyance, he braced himself for the assuredly malinformed criticism promised by this speck of a sailor.

A little to his chagrin and much to his surprise, it never came. 

For the next few minutes, Reo did more watching than listening, as Evander took to whirling about the deck, adjusting the sails and rudder, and pulling anchor just enough to allow for a slow unimpeded float through the bay. Evander stationed Reo at the bow, the ship easing gently further from the dock and its fellow vessels. He chattered away incoherently as he fastened a rope around his own torso, pausing thoughtfully as he added that extra loop. An imperceptible smirk blossomed from his lips. Vagor.

Orange eyes wide and gleaming, Evander was the picture of madness.

“Let's teach you how to fly!” 

Sparing no time to witness Reo's sputtering laugh in response to his nonsensical suggestion, and with absolutely no warning, Evander was already midair, having launched himself off the front of the ship, arms splayed in his own set of imaginary wings. 

Reo’s talons cemented themselves against the hard wood deck as the initial shock washed over him. He quickly spotted the rope quickly vanishing over the rail after Evander. Avian instincts kicking into high gear, the aarakocra sprung off the ship, diving just in time to sink his sharp talons into the flailing rope, saving Evander from a most unfortunate splash landing not unlike the half-elf's just days before. 

“WHAT KINDA SAILOR FORGETS TO TIE OFF THE LINE!?” Reo squawked above the crashing waves. A gentle breeze billowed through the bay, and set the ship's course in a wide circle, picking up speed just as Evander intended with the adjusted sails and rudder.

You could barely hear Evander’s laugh, cackling with glee as the eagle's own trajectory of flight suspended him out in front of the sloop, the two of them soaring overhead of the oncoming waves and squinting their eyes through the salty air. 

It was magnificent. And a gamble. A magnificent gamble. But much to his own surprise, Evander was pulling it off seamlessly. He called out to the aarakocra guiding his flight over the tumbling waters, but the crashing waves against The Changeling's hull drowned out any chance of comprehension on Reo's part. He strained his ears to make out the giddy cries echoing from Evander's sea-soaked smile, “DIVE! DIVE! DIVE!"

Appalled and a little concerned with the mental faculties of this lone and reckless sailor, Reo hesitated to meet the request. That is, until Evander yanked violently on the rope tethering himself to Reo, his only lifeline, with both hands. “Maybe a dunk will do him good after all” the birdman thought as he sharply tucked his wings into his sides and dove headfirst into the nearest wave like a bullet. 

Bursting out from behind the silver-laced sea's kiss, soaked and smiling, Evander whistled, “FEEL ALIVE YET!?”

Reo, who hadn't felt unalive prior to this moment per se, found himself letting instincts crack through the official exterior of business. He scanned the horizon hungrily for yet another worthy crest to dive into, growing less and less aware of the tied-off, sopping wet sailor beneath him. 

The bow of the ship creaked as it met the anchor's slack, and eased its way back around the wide circle once again. Reo and Evander traced the whirling current the hull was crafting in its wake. 

The two spent a likely hour flying, sailing, and crashing about the port wherever the breeze carried Reo’s outstretched wings, and subsequently, Evander in tow.

Evander, more than a little waterlogged, was grateful and relieved that Reo called it quits when he did, as he would have rather carelessly given hours of his life to the noble and, to him at least, unmatched cause of lifting another creature's spirit. 

The time spent mattered very little to him, especially if it was spent suspended in makeshift flight by a literal eagle, dipping and diving on the wind between docked ships and stoney protrusions. Which would have absolutely topped Evander's list of incredible tasks he had accomplished that week, if he hadn't beheld the uniquely gratifying experience of rescuing a man who had fallen from the sky, and not in a metaphorical sense. Gods-willing, he wouldn't be topping that achievement anytime soon. 

Back on deck and his own two feet, Evander attempted to unfasten the cord around his waist. “Damn that extra loop, Vagor.” He cursed the half-elf as he continued, emblazoned in battle against his self-made restraint. Reo watched on, his eyes gazing blankly at Evander's needless struggle. He hopped forward, extending one razor sharp talon and hooking it effortlessly over the rope. He sliced it clean through with one swift tug, careful not to knick Evanders torso in the process. 

“Thanks!” Evander leaned his head out over the rail to wring his hair over the side of the ship, drips of seawater returning to whence they came. 

“You too.” Reo paused, shaking off the excess water from his feathers, appearing both larger and fluffier than before The effect it created was rather paradoxical. His enlarged stature should have made him appear more intimidating, and yet the soft downy texture of his drying feathers made him decidedly, and rather comically, less so. “Though I feel I’ve missed something - you said you had suggestions for me?” 

“Ah, right! I just wanted to remind you how to properly fly. You are fortunate enough to have the opportunity to fly as a part of your vocation, and in such a place as Queensbane too. It should be a crime not to take a few extra turns every now and again, yeah?” Evander motioned to the port, the sea, the sky - every last inch of inescapable beauty all around them. “Dunno if it’s even physically possible for you to get tunnel vision, but that’s all I’d caution against.” 

“That’s rather presumptuous of you.” Reo stiffened somewhat. He had expected something approximating a professional critique of his work, not a personal evaluation. 

“Was I wrong? When was the last time you flew like that?” Taking in a deep breath Evander added confidently, as if echoing a mantra that he himself held near and dear, “Don’t deny your nature.” 

There was no reply from his feathered friend. He simply moved in closer to assist the struggling sap in front of him. The unlikely duo, labored alongside one another to raise anchor and shift the sails to ease the ship back near the dock, knowing two people alone wouldn’t be able to situate it as cleanly as Captain Taprick had. Evander hoped Cap wouldn’t notice. Or perhaps even better, that he simply wouldn’t mind. 

“Right then! As promised. Papers! It's high time you handed them over.” Evander excused himself before disappearing through the doorway of the cabin just beneath the ship's helm. Rifling through various drawers to no avail, Evander contemplated gifting Reo a sketch or a poem of his in place of the promised “papers”, but he knew it wouldn't suffice. Captain had to have stored them here somewhere. Dozens of port papers lined the thickly mapped walls, not a single one containing mention of Queensbane. 

After a few minutes of waiting, and watching Evander fly about the room in a frantic fury of papers and mumbles, Reo quietly declared to his young acquaintance from the doorway, lifting his wings and turning to take his leave, “Well then, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Wait, don’t you need-“ slamming one drawer shut and hurriedly ripping another open, Evander pressed on. 

“Seeing as you’re not technically docked, I suppose I won’t be needing anything from you after all.” Reo gestured out the door to the shotty job the two of them had managed in their attempt to return the ship nearere to the Queensbane pier. 

Evander joined his friend outside the captain's quarters, careful to leave it just as messy as he had found it, He patted Reo on the back. “Aye, a fair trade.” His bright orange irises glistened as he spotted his new friend's soul sitting higher, brighter, and much more fitting for a bird of his stature. He looked on as Reo leapt off the ship's rail, in much the same manner as he had landed earlier that day. This time however, the eagle rolled and swooped toward shore, putting his natural prowess on proud display for Evander and anyone else lucky enough to behold it for themselves. 

This particular endeavor was, of course, not remotely on his list of orders and tasks to accomplish today, and Evander noted the fact with immense satisfaction. He'd surprised even himself, and that would always be more than he could ever ask of any given moment. He smiled broadly at the success of it all, knowing that none of his crewmates would believe a single word of it when he'd regale them of his adventures later on. Which he most assuredly would, and many times over.

●●●

Evander cast a glance upward, raking in the orange and purple hues spreading ever deeper and darker across the evening sky. He'd been too busy below deck - hurrying to complete the Captain's orders - to watch the day's sunset. A tinge of regret welled in his chest, as he remembered Vagor's unfulfilled promise. But it was too late now, and Evander supposed that in the grand scheme of things it was perhaps more than a little inconsequential. It'd eat at him all the same, but he knew with time, and as with all things, the feeling of remorse would find itself forgotten. 

He hadn't realized until then just how much of his day had been consumed in his frivolities with Reo, but dusk was well on its way and Evander eagerly set about readying The Changeling for its crew's return. 

Satisfied with the state of things, namely the freshly cleaned linens that would stave off the inevitably brewing stench of bath-starved sailors, Evander wracked his brain, making certain he had accomplished his due tasks.

"Ah! That's right, isn't it?" He muttered, in part to himself and in part to the ship itself, "time to light the lanterns."

[evanderhilloway]

Souls at Sunset

Chapter Four - A New Heading

Queensbane looked daunting and inhospitable from the sea. Jagged, rocky, teeth-like projections protected its base and formed speared points to keep unwanted visitors at bay. The stone fortress glistened, smooth and eternally damp from the thousands of waves polishing it day in and day out. It certainly looked the part of Evander’s fanciful elaborations, though Vagor would soon find that not all of Evander’s tales rang entirely true.

The pier itself was also constructed from sleek, slick sea stone, mortared and stacked to reach far past the protective spikes and offering a well-managed port for trade and asylum. 

Captain Taprick appointed three men to carry Moose to the infirmary. The unlucky sailors grumbled for a moment, but let it lie. Cap was in a mood and they weren’t willing to push it, though the lack of pay during this stop was at the forefront of everyone’s thirsty gullet, and tensions, though they wouldn't grow into anything more than that, were palpable.

Not the first time this captain's approval ratings have dropped, he recognized the discord and gathered his men. 

“One for each of ya. Don’t much care what ya do as long as ya do it before sundown. If ya ain’t at the boat by dusk, yer not at the ship.” Captain warned as he popped the intricate buttons off his jacket and cuffs. The carved silver nuggets shimmered like gems and satisfied the disgruntled crew, for now.

He didn’t offer one to Vagor, hardly acknowledging his presence at all as the crew convened here on the dock. 

Vagor traced his way through the small crowd of sailors to the Captain, assuming his own due trinket of pay, but when it wasn't readily offered, he cleared his throat, proffering a quick "Ahem," to Cap, eyebrows raised and holding out his hand expectantly.

Eyeing the empty palm, Cap slapped it with his own, leaving nothing more than some thread from the silver buttons in Vagors grasp. 

“Nice try.” Cap scoffed as he turned to leave it at that. 

"Good fuckin' gods, can you at least give me the lay of the land here, then? I've earned at least that much," Vagor spouted in frustration, willing and eager to take his leave of Cap once and for all.

Captain Tapia snorted before acquiescing. “Queensbane's about as neutral a place as you’ll find. We’re in the country of Kepkot. Avoid Chillwhim to the north if ya know what’s good fer ya. Makir, to the west, ain’t so bad if yer willin’ to work, lotta stuff there. Most of Kepkot can be tolerated too.” Cap handed Vagor a compass. “There’s a place for everyone.” He paused, “‘Vander taught me that.” 

Vagor growled at Captain Taprick’s overly personal and uninvited words of advice, "You may know Evander, but don't act like you care about me. You don't know me. You won't even fuckin' pay me." He ripped the compass from Cap's hand, clutching it firmly in his grasp as he donned the hood of his cloak and stormed down the pier and toward the city proper. 

Cap yelled out after him, “I ain’t paying ya for free passage on my ship. Ye should be thanking me fer not letting ya drown.” Captain roared.

Refusing to glance back, Vagor shouted, "You didn't save shit. Evander's the only one I have to thank for that!" And he bid the captain a final unsavory, single-fingered gesture in farewell. 

Shaking his head, nonplussed, Captain bellowed to himself, “Aye. And just whose ship do ya think he pulled your sorry ass onto?” Captains' earlier esteem for Evander's dissolved with his words, referring to him as just another lousy crew member. 

Urchins and starfish clung to the smooth stone walkway Vagor now traversed - a reminder that nature didn’t intend for this to be here. Queensbane was bustling with trade and networking - a conglomerate of customs and creatures, the likes of which Vagor had never seen. Which wasn’t saying much, but he knew enough to recognize it for the impressive social and structural feat that it was. 

Vagor's path led him right into the heart of the city. Tavern doors swung on their hinges as patrons began pouring in, despite the fact that the morning's light still hung low on the horizon. The tables and benches of merchant's stalls lined the walkways, and at every turn, a cacophony of deals and arrangements echoed through the streets. Keener eyes than Vagor's could catch gold satchels being swapped and unguarded goods changing hands. This was not the place to get too comfortable. 

Vagor fumbled Evander's silver coin in his pocket, acutely aware of his own lack of valuable possessions. While his fingers itched for more, he found himself morally disinclined to join the thieving masses after all. So I do have a moral compass. How inconvenient. He grumbled to himself.

Perplexed and a little disheartened at his prospects, people milling past him without a shadow of consideration for his presence, Vagor decided there was truly only one thing to do - drink his problems away. 

He took the coin from his pocket, flicking it high above his head. It shimmered as it flipped head over end, cascading its way back down toward Vagor's outstretched hand. Though he hadn't expected it, this seemingly simple action inspired something in him - a light akin to hope, to the prospect of good fortune. 

That is, until the nimble fingers of an impossibly quick and dexterous street urchin of a child snatched the coin midair, and carried it away, maniacal laughter disappearing into the crowds huddling the fareway. 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Vagor shrieked after the long-gone street rat, fists waving angrily.

He squatted down in desperation, resting his elbows on the bend of his knees, hands dangling limp between his shins. He let out a long sigh. 

Fuck…water it is. 

He picked himself up and waltzed right into the nearest tavern - a rickety wooden sign hanging from a wrought iron post out front read Gadwen's Alehouse - only to be informed that a pint of water would cost him every bit as much as a pint of ale. One silver coin, inconveniently.

Shit. 

A different approach was now a blaring necessity. 

Sticking to a trajectory of taverns, pubs, and ale houses, Vagor continued to try his luck at inquiring for refreshment on-the-house, but when that inevitably failed - and it did so, unironically, without fail - he changed tactics and offered labor in exchange for food and drink. 

That also failed miserably. 

At long last - in truth, it had been just shy of two hours - an elderly barkeep by the name of Bivens, hardly smaller than Vagor himself, and every bit as capable despite his years, took pity on the golden-eyed half-elf and handed him an apron from across the bar top, albeit reluctantly. 

"If I catch you skimming the coin, I'll throw your ass on the street faster than you can scratch it." 

Vagor gave a curt nod in agreement, before hastily throwing on the apron, readying himself to get straight to work. He rounded the counter to position himself behind the bar, but was met by Bivens' hand firmly planted in his chest.

"Just where do ya think yer goin' son? I wouldn't let ya within six inches of my ales, boy. Nah, if yer gonna earn yer keep, best ye start at the bottom."

Turns out Bivens meant "bottom" rather literally, as he handed Vagor a broom and mop and sent him swiftly off to clean the privy. 

Shit…No, I mean…not shit. No more shit. Enough shit already. 

Vagor’s cheekbones flared in annoyance at his situation, feeling utterly and unfairly trapped. Sure, he didn't know a lick when it came to who he was or where he came from. And he got it, that didn't exactly leave him with a budding resumè of vocational experience to otherwise grant him the privilege of picking and choosing between high-salaried job opportunities… But even so, he was fairly certain cleaning toilets wasn't something he wanted in his repertoire. 

Unfortunately for Vagor, it didn't much matter what he wanted, as his grumbling stomach so aptly reminded him. 

He cleaned the literal shit out of those toilets. 

A couple hours later, he emerged from the privy, a little damper than before. Beads of sweat had blossomed across his brow, and the cuffs of his rolled sleeves were darkened, wet with soapy water. His chest heaved, a little out of breath from the fury of effort he had thrown into scrubbing the bathroom spotless. Or more precisely, shitless.

Bivens shook his head and laughed quietly and bemusedly at Vagor, a young buck in comparison to himself. "Alright lad, have yerself a seat. Ye've earned yerself a morsel at least." 

Within a few minutes, Bivens carried a warm plate - steaming with an elegantly simple arrangement of thin-sliced meats, a hearty chunk of sharp, hardened cheese, and fresh-buttered, soda-leavened bread - to rest on the dark-stained hardwood table before Vagor. 

He didn't even bother lifting a utensil. Vagor's bare hands shoveled every last bite ravenously into his mouth.

●●●

With a full belly and a surprisingly chipper attitude, Vagor clutched the broom, whistling discordant tunes as he swept its bristles thoughtlessly across the tavern’s dining floor. It took little effort on Vagor’s part to eavesdrop on the day’s chatterings. Patrons were littered about each table, bubbling with muted whispers and musings. “I saw it with me own two eyes, honest to Prism! The whole sky was on fire! Well, maybe not fire, but I ain’t ever seen lightnin' like that before! It was bloody everywhere!” The weathered gentleman, admittedly tipsy, spewed to his two aged companions. “Sumptin’s afoot, and with t'e gods I’d wager.” He took a hearty gulp from the pint of ale clasped firmly in his grip, “Mark my words. This canna bode well for any o’ us.” 

Vagor chuckled quietly. Seems Evander isn’t the only one prone to superstitions. 

That blasted lad had wriggled his way into Vagor’s thoughts all too easily. And while Vagor continued brushing dust and dirt into small piles around the room, it wasn’t without a tinge of remorse. He tried to brush the regret away with each subsequent broom stroke. 

Rather fortuitously, an ample distraction walked right into Vagor’s view. The tavern door opened, as a young man, perhaps slightly older than Evander, stepped over the threshold, turning his back to Vagor as he gently closed the doors behind him. His head hung low, avoiding eye contact with any of the tavern dwellers in his path, the man somberly yet swiftly traveled his way to the staircase just right of the bartop, climbing up to the rented rooms of the second floor. 

The young man was just shorter than Vagor, and small of frame, though not near as slight as Evander. An olive complexion draped itself on round cheeks that angled softly into a sharp jaw and squared chin. His face was clean-shaven, his shoulder-length black hair drawn neatly into a small pony tail at the nape of his neck. Though shorter, somewhat unkempt strands framed his temples, drawing attention to his delicate features and elegant blue almond eyes. 

He was inescapably handsome. His attire was well-kept and well-bred. A tailored, tweed gray coat framed his torso flatteringly, paired over a deep blue vest beneath. A well-worn set of dark brown leather shoes peeked out from beneath the hems of matching blue trousers. 

But what truly struck Vagor wasn’t the lad’s appearance. It was his gait - the way he walked and held himself as he did. Soft steps, yet purposeful. Poised. He knew it wasn’t an exact likeness, but it reminded him of the way Evander moved, as if the two were cut from the same cloth, the same life. 

He thought to shake it off, but fate, it seemed, decided otherwise. 

A handful of patrons seated near the entry began murmuring amongst themselves, “Looks like it was another unfruitful morning. Simon, that poor lad. He’s been out looking, what? Three days now? And still no sign of ol’ Orange Eyes.” 

This more than prickled the hairs at the base of Vagor’s own neck. He didn’t know if he believed in coincidence - he didn’t know if he believed in anything at all - but he knew with unexplained certainty that this couldn’t be one. 

●●●

“Have you seen this woman?!” A young man dressed in a fitted blue vest and matching trousers called from the crowd, his unimposing yet deep, smokey, and accented voice quickly drowned out by the dozens of unrelated conversations, no one paying him any mind. He held a neat stack of posters tight to his chest, as if each single layer of parchment was more precious to him than the purest gold. Taking advantage of a lull in the din of the crowd, the lad continued his woeful tale, “… missing eight years ago!” 

A wooden stool nearby caught his eye, and he scrambled atop it, hoping the slight elevation would grant him a more attentive audience. The crowd shifted with the influx of foot traffic.  Someone tossed a copper at him, mistakenly believing him in need of funds for some sorrowful cause or another. The heat of anger reddened his cheekbones, as he yelled out in anger, “I don’t want your money!!” Shaken by this mild bout of rage, he lost balance as the stool wobbled out from under him. He crashed against the travel-hardened dirt, crushing through the stool itself as he did. He nursed the bruises that began blossoming almost immediately, as the papers he had held tight against his person now switch-backed the air all around him. As they landed gently on the roadway, most found themselves trampled and swept away before the young man could gather even himself. 

Disheartened by this set back, he dusted off his trousers and slowly righted himself to a stand. “Please! They have orange eyes and the brightest smile...” But with every disinterested glance from passersby traveling the road on their respective errands and adventures, his resolve waned. His words echoed in the chambers of his own mind, drawing deeply etched memories to the forefront of his thoughts. He closed his eyes, vividly recalling the way her soft, slender hands had fit so perfectly in his own, the thin ringed sliver of gold on her own finger cool to his touch. The way the sun danced in tandem with the mischief of those bright orange eyes, the slit of her soft pink lips blossoming into a maniacal grin as she released his hand from her own before pivoting into a run across the grassy field in which they stood, beckoning him to give chase. Begging him to love life with her. Now, as he stood on this boisterously busy road, how he wished he had. 

Lost entirely in the dark crevices of his own memory, the young man almost failed to notice the earnest approach of an aged gentleman walking by. It seemed he had piqued someone’s interest at last. “Orange eyes you say? How peculiar…” The man’s voice was pitched, and a little croaked from old age. As if by some strange magic, the old man’s inquiry drew the attention of yet another traveler, a woman of little note at first, who eyed the papers in the young man’s arms with an uncomfortable intensity. 

Slightly defensive, as he suddenly realized the very personal nature of his task, he cautiously handed her a poster, and responded to the old man's question, though he had since meandered away, “Yes, like the sunset. I have reason to believe they may be lost at sea.” 

An unsavory fellow tattooed to the nines, and donning a lady and a lad on each arm, must have overheard, as he yelled out to the young fellow in passing, “Aye, we call that drowning laddie! Ha, ha!” The lady on his right arm slapped his chest half-heartedly, and squealed in mocked reproach, “Buuuudge!” The small group snorted in laughter at Budge’s crass quip. 

Glaring at the unhelpful jest, the young man continued his discussion with the woman beside him, “Do you… know them?” 

“Oh, no. Sorry. But I know other people with orange eyes.” The woman insinuated as she added, rather unnecessarily, “Strange, ain’t it, how they don’t care to be found.” 

He furrowed his brow, “That’s unhelpful. And most assuredly untrue.” 

“Apologies, that’s just my experience. Did she disappear from this port? Lotta ships in and out of here. Sad to say your chances are slim. Queensbane services every continent.” 

“No. They went missing from Bhule.” 

“Bhule’s not a port, boy.” 

“I’m aware.” He issued between gritted teeth, growing weary of this particular line of intrigue. 

“What makes you think they’re here? You some kind of tracker?” Adding under hre breath, equally rude and irrelevant, “Though surely not a very good one…”

“Look. I appreciate the concern but these questions solve nothing. If you don’t know who she is then please, move along.” He pressed the posters to his chest protectively. 

“Dunno who she is, sure, but I know her kind. You’ll need a lot more than luck to find anyone left with orange eyes.” The woman grinned, turning to leave. The woman's leering gaze sent a swift shudder down the young man's spine. 

Glad to be rid of the pretentious woman, the young man swiveled around to meet the crowd once again, hoping to find kinder ears and eyes from here on. And yet, the woman's parting words ate at him. He sighed, whispering breathily to himself, "But I'm not trying to find just anyone."

His vision blurred as he fought back the tears that threatened to dampen the papers cradled to his chest. He brushed them away quickly with his free hand, releasing another deep albeit sputtering sigh. Pulling himself together, he tugged at his vest and painted a friendly smile over his own sorrows, and resumed his announcements into the crowd of passersby once more, "Excuse me, the name's Simon, and if I could only trouble you for a moment of your time. Have you seen this woman?..."

●●●

Vagor shuffled hesitantly toward the small party of men seated by the tavern door, clearing his throat a few times before they took notice of him. 

"Ummm…" Vagor paused, suddenly uncertain of himself as four pairs of nondescript eyeballs stared back at him more expectantly than he had, well, expected, "Forgive the interruption, but…Who was that man?" He nodded his head in the direction of the staircase where the young man had just ascended moments earlier.

"Ah the sad lad? That's just poor Simon. He's becomin' the talk of the town in these parts. Been 'ere the better part of a week now on some rescue mission o' his."

"What do you mean rescue mission?" It struck Vagor that the man he had just seen climbing the stairs looked decidely more the part of the damsel than the knight in shining armor. 

"Oh, it's not all it sounds, I 'spose. He's got this lady he's lookin' for, though to no avail it seems. We've taken to callin' 'er 'Ol Orange Eyes' but that's hardly the only thing to catch the eye when it comes to 'er, right lads?" He took a swig of ale, joining in a hearty laugh with his companions. "Simon's plastered posters o' 'er on every street corner from 'ere to the dock, for gods' sakes." The man sobered a moment, "She's a fair-lookin' lass. Kind-lookin'. I hope the young lad finds 'er." He lifted his pint, a gesture of well wishes for the young man's search, before taking another sip, mumbles of stoic agreement rising from his companions. 

"Hey busboy!" Vagor was wrenched from his listening stupor by Bivens' bellowing from behind the bar. "Quit harassing the customers and make yerself useful." He dried his hands on a towel before walking out from behind the counter, pulling something from his pocket as he trudged over to Vagor. He held out a slip of paper, "Head on down to the marketplace and pick up this order will ya? And tell Midge to put it on my tab. Don't let her hound ya too much, neither. Ungrateful wench…" Bivens grumbled his way back to the floor-to-ceiling shelves of liquor littering the wall behind the bar top. 

Vagor was out the door without even a word. 

Perfect timing.

Bivens' request was well met by Vagor's own piqued curiosity. He didn't have the slightest idea where he might find the marketplace, but he didn't need to. He could find the nearest street corner easily enough. 

Vagor hitched to a halt, devolving into a stupefied heap of flesh as his gaze lit upon the item in question. How in the nine hells could he have missed this on his earlier journeys through the city? There, on Simon's poster, was a portrait, drawn not just in the likeness of Evander. No, Vagor would never forget the first face he had laid eyes on upon waking in this strange world - for all intents and purposes, it was the first face he had seen ever.

It was Evander. 

Or more accurately, as the poster so poignantly enlightened, Ellie Holloway.

Sheeeee-iiiiiit.

●●●

The burly half-elf opted neither to return to the tavern just yet, nor to make any advances toward actually finding the merchant's stall belonging to this Midge person. Vastly more salient thoughts swirled around his brain, muddling his mind of anything even remotely tangential to the present conundrum that is - or was, rather - Ellie Holloway. Evander.

Vagor acknowledged he possessed next to nothing in the way of pertinent information. Or information, period. While that should have perhaps unsettled him, the fact of the matter was that the last few days of his life, being the only life he remembered at all, had worn the novelty right off of that particular sensation. It wasn't the unknowing that gnawed at him. It was what to do with it. 

He'd be lying if the hefty gold-addled reward listed in bold on the poster hadn't caught his yellowed eyes. It could go a long way toward easing the ever present financial tensions that inevitably follow an amnesiac's thousand-foot tumble from the clouds onto a piss-poor sorry excuse of a sailing vessel. That reward money would go a long way toward relieving the handicap that had so cruelly landed on his lap. 

He stood there in the middle of the road, paused in thought - a little too long, honestly. Travelers were beginning to stare. It was getting downright awkward. 

Vagor didn’t care. He turned around and crashed right back in the direction he came from - mercifully a straight path, on account of his having absolutely no bearing of the city itself - ripping down every last poster on every last street corner he encountered. 

Because Vagor couldn’t escape the truth any longer. His truth, Evander’s truth - it didn’t much matter. It was the only truth he had yet learned to believe in. Here he was, this half-elf without a past, and for some reason, he couldn’t be bothered to care - not really. He couldn’t see the point in looking behind, only ahead. And perhaps he was privileged in that, given he didn’t have anything to look back to anyway, but even if he did, it was inconsequential to him. He had decided to fix his eyes forward, even if he hadn’t truly put that into words or even thoughts. He knew now, as he raged through the streets on his way back to Bivens’ tavern - masses of hopelessly crumpled posters growing more substantial in his hands at every corner - that had been his intent all along. It had been his choice.

Without knowing all the details about Simon or Ellie, or Evander, Vagor knew from the way Evander’s smile and quips pirouetted across his own memory - however brief it had been - that it had been Evander’s choice as well. 

And if ever Vagor had sought a purpose in this short-lived life of his, he had found it.

Oh my fucking gods, the MOOOORAAAALS!!! Vagor bellowed silently in the caverns of his own mind, gritting his teeth in resolution as he steamrolled his way through Queensbane.  

Spotting the swinging tavern sign that read in scripted font, “Bivens’ Place”, Vagor stomped through the door, beelining straight to the just lit fireplace, into which he swiftly thrust his collection of papers. The fire roared violently to life in Vagor’s golden eyes. 

He turned to face Bivens’, still situated behind the bar just as Vagor had left him. The old barkeep was the very picture of befuddlement, frozen in time, drying an empty glass stein. He popped his mouth open, presumably to ask where in the devil his order of supplies might be hiding, but Vagor beat him to the punch. 

"I'm sorry to do this to ya, but I've gotta put in my two minute's notice."

Bivens halted in surprise, blinking at his new hire, now ex-hire he supposed. He looked on silently, his eyes staring blankly at Vagor, careful not to betray any thoughts that churned behind, if there were any to betray. He shook his head, half in annoyance and half in honest amusement and perplexion. Bivens ran his fingers through his short peppered mop of hair, a bumbling gruff laugh bouncing out of his lungs, "Yer an odd fella aren't ye?"

Vagor chuckled in relief, "I really wouldn't know."

Vagor and Bivens looked on at one another, a detectable hint of mutual respect and appreciation for their short acquaintance brewing between them, before Vagor caught a glimpse of the skyline from a nearby window, peeking just over the adjacent building. 

“Godsdamnit, it’s nearly dusk…” Vagor hurriedly unfastened his apron, tossing it carelessly on the counter before rushing for the door. 

“One more thing…” Bivens snatched Vagor’s attention back for one last moment. “For your troubles, lad.” With a flick of his thumb and a slight whisk of his wrist, Bivens sent two small coins hurtling toward Vagor. It took both hands to catch them, and even then just barely so. He peeled back one hand to reveal the two coins nestled in the fold of his palm - one silver and one gold. He hadn’t earned that gold. Hell, he’d barely earned the silver. 

He nodded at Bivens with gratitude, beaming with a soft, crooked smile. He turned, gently opening the door to make his exit. As soon as his feet crossed the threshold into the streets of Queensbane one last time, Vagor pocketed the coins dropped into a dead sprint. 

●●●

Vagor braced himself against the nearest building, letting the cool, clay siding against his hands offer a slight relief to his overheated muscles and racing heart. His chest heaved from the exertion, but resting for too long wasn’t an option. He had watched the sky grow darker, little by little, as he raced through the streets, puzzling his way back to the harbor. The soft cadence of squawking seagulls and cresting waves told him he was close. 

Now isn’t the time to get soft, Vagor. He urged himself onward. 

As he rounded one final corner, the outstretched pier and the dusk-kissed waves filled every corner of his vision. Just left of the dock itself, seated and leaned against a wooden barrel and chewing on what looked to be a bit of straw, Vagor spotted the very same filthy, street rat from earlier that morning. He tipped his head into his chest, shaking it back and forth with levity. Fate is a fickle and funny thing… Vagor mulled on his thoughts a moment. 

Eh, who doesn't love a petty bitch.

And he pulled the silver coin from his pocket, drawing just near enough to flick it up and over to land squarely at the boy’s feet. He swiveled his head around in time to meet the urchin’s eyes with a mischievous wink, before returning his focus to the task at hand. 

Vagor surveyed the stone-piered dock sprawled out before him, The Changeling bobbing peacefully in the rippling tides just beyond. His vision detailed the ship’s crew, hoisting anchors over the ship’s rail, readying the vessel for departure. 

Vagor's eyes danced across the ship's hulls, letting the growing sparkle of lanterns being lit, one after another, fill the echoey chambers of his own nonexistent memories. He'd craft new ones, just as he was doing now, taking in this growing constellation of makeshift stars. Amidst the ship's bustle, he spotted the familiar list of Evander's slight frame leaning over the rail, undoubtedly issuing gentle orders to the surrounding crew. He didn't notice Vagor on the dock yet. He wouldn't have, the distance still too far between them. But Vagor saw him, and even if just for a fleeting moment, he could've sworn Evander himself was glowing alongside the lamplight.

He eyed the distance between the end of the dock and the sloop itself, calculating his chances for success. 

He didn’t like them. 

And it didn’t matter. He hunkered down, coiled and ready to barrel forward to the only thing that did. He had his new heading.

[evanderhilloway]

Souls at Sunset

Chapter Three ~ Emergency Stop

Early the next morning, the moon still high in the black sky, a call came from beneath the mast. 

“Evander. You’re needed below.” Collin called to the crow's nest. 

A bright face appeared and called back “Cap?”

“Moose.” Collin replied flatly. 

Concerned, Evander slid haphazardly down the mast, only taking steps when absolutely necessary. As soon as his feet found their footing on the deck, Evander sprinted to the hatch, hurling himself downward to the dark hold once again. 

He was met by Cap who stood hulking over a bloody and wheezing Moose. 

“You have ten minutes. I’ll leave you alone, you won’t be disturbed and I won’t ask questions.” 

“I don’t understand…” Riddled with concern and surprise, Evander couldn’t peel his eyes away from the failing body of his beloved crewmate. His friend.

“‘Vander, don’t insult me. Just do whatever you can for him.” Cap's eyes were desperate with a hint of fear - fear of Evander and whatever he was asking him to do.

“Cap, I’m no healer…” 

No use. Captain was already halfway up the ladder. 

In the dark of the hold, Evander struggled to see Moose’s waning soul. 

“Fuck. Ok. Ok. Get it together E, it’s just a little blood…” Evander moves to Moose’s side, blood covering his shirt from his numerous coughing fits. Small dried pockets of blood littered the corners of his mouth, his blood stained teeth peeking out from between the slight part of Moose's lips as he labored to breathe. He was resting now. 

Good, Evander thought before he placed his hands, overlapping, over the small and flickering soul he could see in the pit of Moose’s stomach. 

It was a bit like praying and a lot like swimming when you’ve never even seen the sea. It was willing, and hoping, and aching, and pouring himself into something with absolutely no idea what the next second would, or could, bring. 

Slowly clasping his hands, in the most gentle manor, Evander began to ease Moose’s soul upward towards his chest. Not unlike the gentle flutter of butterfly wings, Evander had to lead without touching and guide without actually grasping this dull and pulsing orb - pouring his own light, his own resolve into his dying shipmate. Sweat from Evander’s brow beaded, dripping down to mix with the blood soaked blouse beneath him, his hands wrinkling the stains as he slowly and methodically eased the soul back into place. 

He whispered, “The love I have shown you is yours to keep. Please stay.” He let go, watching the soul waver, unsure if any of this would work, expecting it to drop right back to where it was. But it stayed and steadied with Evanders words, as if it could hear him. As if it too, wanted to stay. 

Exhausted and taking a moment to recover himself, Evander rested in his cot until the sun finally broke the morning horizon. 

●●●

Alighting above deck, Evander found Vagor in much the same circumstance as he had left him the previous eve. Well, not exactly. Truth be told, Vagor was hunched over on the deck of the ship, disgracefully leaned against the ship rail, snoring obnoxiously, and puffing sleep breath that could absolutely and resolutely kill a dragon.

Evander approached the slumbering hulk with curiosity and playfulness. Drawing close to Vagor's awkwardly tilted head, strings of drool dangling from the corner of his companion's mouth, Evander poked a finger into Vagor's shoulder, hard enough that it would invariably wake most beings. 

Nothing. 

Well, not nothing. There was a slight hitch in the grumbling of snores as Vagor's body jostled from the disruption, but it was fleeting and the snoring quickly commenced as if no interruption had occurred. If anything, the gurgle had actually grown louder following Evander's prod. 

Leaning into Vagor's already contorted position, and opting to let gravity do most of the work, Evander gave him a hard push, sending Vagor’s torso in a sidelong hurdle to the deck with a thud that finally wrested him from his dozing. 

Peeping one yellow eye open and groaning in dismay, Vagor managed a hurriedn groggy mumble, "Is it sunset already?"

“Far from it. While you were catching up on beauty sleep, Moose spiked a fever so hot he burned through his clothes.” The playful fluctuations in Evanders' voice were abnormally absent. 

“My good looks and incomparable charm do tend to have that effect,” Vagor yawned and stretched his arms up, embracing the brilliant blue of the morning sky. 

"I 'spose they also tend to cause bouts of bloody spewing coughs then." Surprise and horror danced its way across Vagor's face, paling slightly. 

Evander continued, unfazed, as if Vagor hadn’t said a word, “Cap changed course. We’ll port in a few hours.” His signature smile was amiss. Dark bags accompanied beads of sweat under his orange eyes - he clearly hadn’t slept. “Sure you’ll be glad to be rid of this ship weeks earlier than expected,” he added, searching for the answer to the unspoken question of whether or not Vagor would ask to stay on with the crew. 

Plopping a hand on Evander’s shoulder, Vagor’s reply was expectedly sarcastic. “Don’t take it too hard, bud. I’ll be sure to write every other weekend.” He winked and let his hand return to hanging slack at his side, setting aside the teasing for a brief moment. “Don’t worry. You’ll forget me before long.” 

After a short pause, and as if in sudden realization that it was perhaps the right thing to say, Vagor quickly added, “Sorry about your friend. Moose was it? The big fellow right?” 

Deflating slightly, Evander let the silence hang for a moment longer than usual before he continued, trying to fill it with anything he could. “Yeah. We dunno his real name, but that’s not abnormal on any crew. For such a large mass he’s prone to sickness. Cap's aware of the inconvenience, but he’s never asked Moose to leave because of it. Though we’ve never seen him like this before. Crew's on edge. Turf will do them all well.” Skipping over the implication that Evander will stay behind with the ship, he called out to the nearest sailor, “'Ey Budge, bring back some skipping rocks will ya?”

Budge, a heavily tattooed convict from Effingate who was serving time by working sailboats, was nearly finished sealing a hole from a recent storm when Evander's cheery tone had interrupted him. 

“Get 'em yerself. Touch land fer once, ya lily-livered guppie.” 

Ignoring Budge’s insults, Evander cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his reply, “The real smooth ones work best.” 

“I ain’t gettin yer damn rocks. Quit askin’”

“Ease yer biscuits. Only need three or four.” 

Budge squared up, his hulking figure blocking out the sun over Evander  “Ask me one more damn time about yer fucking rocks and I’ll throw ya and yer foresaken lady books overboard.” 

Privy to this exchange, Vagor immediately cast an inquiring eye at Evander, “Lady books? Sounds scandalous.” Vagor chuckled, exceedingly amused, “You’ve surprised me, Pipsqueak.”

Putting his hands up in sudden surrender, Evander backed away, grumbling to himself how everyone’s in a mood and how he just wanted some fucking rocks (of which the port of Queensbane had millions). “Never heard poetry called scandalous. Considering most of these sea-soaked lads can’t read, it’s hardly condemning literature.” 

“Depends on the poetry,” Vagor popped back, “But hang on a minute. What the hell do you mean? You’re not land bound with the rest of the crew? You’re staying behind?” He tried a little too hard to mask the disappointment in his tone. 

Piping up slightly at the change of subject Evander happily responded “Aye, someone’s got to make sure the lanterns stay lit 'til the drunkards return.” 

With his back turned, Budge grumbled something incomprehensible and incomplete as he walked away from the now sealed floorboards and unwelcome conversations. 

Admitting the logic and good sense behind Evander’s explanation, but disheartened all the same at his impending departure from the ship and more precisely, Evander with all his quirks and spirit, Vagor angled for a response dripping in dull-witted bravado, “Well shit. I was gonna buy you a drink as a parting gift. But you’re loss, I guess, Light Boy.” 

Garnering a genuine smile at the newest nickname, Evander commented “A drink? With what gold? I’ll take my universe juice over your port rum any day.”  

“Please never use the words ‘universe juice’ ever again.” Vagor mocked a gag. “And what do you mean ‘With what gold?’ I’mma hand Cap a real pretty bill as soon as we make port.” 

“That’s not going to do you much good. Cap told the crew he doesn’t have a store at this port, since we weren’t planning on stopping here.” Evander glanced around the sad excuse of a crew before him, “Makes sense why everyone’s in such a foul mood. Gold is a terrible thing. Besides, you’ve had two hands on this ship, what, a whole day? He’ll likely toss half a drink yer way and call it even.”

"UGGGGHHH!" Vagor pivoted and kicked the nearest barrel, promptly wishing he hadn't as his toes throbbed from the harsh impact of his own stupidity crashing against solid wood. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" He hopped one-legged, doubled over and clutching his thankfully-not-broken foot. 

After a proper minute of whinging, Vagor gently placed his boot back on the ground, wincing a little as he tested his own weight. "Fucking hell. There goes my foot-portrait, money-making scheme…Guess I'm just gonna have to get creative. Gold might be terrible, but it's terribly necessary all the same." 

Giggling at the clumsiness before him Evander turned to reply as the call of “LAND HO!” echoed from the crows nest. All heads turned to the east as the jagged rocks and stark cliff sides rose from the sea to paint the incredible picture of Queensbane. The port was formed in stone, easy enough to dock.

Vagor gulped audibly, too quick to even attempt to obscure the flash of anxiety that wafted its way to his core. Watching the port fall into view was an all too real reminder of how wholly unfamiliar he was with this world - and literally everything in it. He didn't attempt to stop his haze from calling Evander into his peripheral view, eager to establish whether the young lad had noticed his momentary falter.

He had. 

Hoping to ease his travel companions anxieties, and selfishly some of his own, Evander took to familiar storytelling. “Quite the sight, eh? Queensbane. Formed from the sea floor itself.” Making hand gestures to match his tale, Evander continued as if he was raising the city himself “Mad mages from long ago defied the king and erected their own city, their own mountain of a fortress. Since it was made from the sea, and no one owns the wild waters that be, the mages were allowed to stay, much to the king's chagrin.” Pausing to see if the tale was helping ease any worries, Evander glanced at his friend through gleaming eyes.

Avoiding Evander's gaze, Vagor listened quietly, chewing nervously at his bottom lip while fixing his eyes hard ahead to the land which Evander detailed. 

Mad and wild - I oughta fit right in. Vagor mused to himself. 

Uncrossing his arms, the brawny half-elf ambled forward to rest his elbows against the rail, letting out a deep exhale. His posture relaxed ever so slightly at Evander's tellings of Queensbane. Maybe there's something here for me after all. Somewhere for me. It would be a long time, too long perhaps, before Vagor would dare to entertain the idea of someone. 

Continuing with less flare, but still just as intently, Evander's anecdote dove into modern day. “With mad mages and corrupt rulers nothing more than tales from the past, the new Queensbane offers one of Kepkots largest ports. It boasts neutrality, you’ll find all kinds of cargo, none off limits. Main reason Cap doesn’t dock there. Too few rules and too much gold doesn't mix well. Heavy pockets don’t last long there.” 

Vagor's eyes sparked. Gold may be necessary, but maybe not here. He considered how a preferably brief stint in petty theft might benefit one such as himself, but even that served only to thrust him headlong into worry and uncertainty once more. I don't even fucking know if I'm any good at thieving and I certainly can't fuckin' afford to land myself in a jail cell…though two hots and a cot doesn't sound too shabby…but what if it's only one hot and no cot? I don't fuckin' know anything about this place. Shit, I don't fuckin' know anything about anything.

Vagor shook his head, wishing the worry away, and positively failing. He lifted himself from his lean against the rail, grasping it firmly with both hands now, rocking from heel to toe. He'd hoped the movement would distract his mind from the utter lack of survival strategy rattling proverbially around up there. It didn't, but he supposed it was worth the try. His complexion grew paler by the second, deep breaths growing more and more shallow with every draw of salted air. 

Seeing the uncertainty washing through his friend like seasickness, Evander put his hand on Vagor's shoulder briefly, his mind working faster than his mouth as he quickly blurted “Be right back,” and jogged below deck, disappearing from sight. 

After a minute or so, his shoulder-length sandy brown hair flounced as he emerged, his pale hands clutching a small leather pouch. 

“A parting gift, from yer first friend in Whimsie.” Evander held the satchel out to his companion, gleaming with pride and anticipation - clearly whatever was in the purse was of great value to him. 

Vagor cocked an inquiring brow. His yellow eyes glistened and a sardonic grin lifted the corners of his mouth, "I don't suppose there's tiny little 'lady books' stashed in there?" He reached out to grab the pouch and see for himself.

He loosened the small drawstring securing the pouch, and wiggled his digits to open the seam. Vagor began to peer inside, and then in a moment of childish abandon, lifted his head once more, squinting his eyes shut as he tipped the pouch on its head. A small trove of treasures tumbled into his palm. 

Keeping his eyes closed a minute longer, Vagor turned the objects in his fingers, playing a guessing game of sorts with himself. He felt two flat objects, similar in size, both round. One was cool and completely smoothed over. The other perfectly flat, with the unmistakable sharpness of metal. He smiled to himself - a skipping stone, and a silver coin. Looks like I'll have entertainment and a drink waiting for me on land, after all.

The last object was easy enough to discern the what of what it was. It was feather light, neatly folded, and it crinkled and crackled with every turn in Vagor's hand. Paper, surely. A note, perhaps?

He peeked his eyes open, pocketing the stone and coin before unfolding Evander's third and final gift. 

A poem.

“To the man whose home is nowhere,

What I’d give to see Whimsie for the first time, 

With eyes wide to drink it in. 

What I’d spare to witness the Flaming Forest and Fates Grin. 

What gifts you have been given, to see this land anew. 

Curious as ever to see what adventures you brew. 

Never forget the sky from which you flew.

E.H.”

The playful smile previously gracing Vagor's countenance softened into sincerity. He paused, momentarily speechless. 

"Thank you, Evander. I really mean it." 

He waved the note in an appreciative gesture, adding after a short pause, "Did you really have to add that last line though?" Vagor prodded jestfully. 

“Wouldn’t have been a poem for you without it.” A bright smile spread from cheeks to fiery eyes as Evander received Vagor's praise. Soon after, a twinge of sadness washed over him alongside the realization that he may never see him again. But in true Evander fashion, he replaced it with unfounded hope and let the melancholy fade blissfully away. 

“Drop anchor! Bring out the row boats!” Cap called as he descended from the bridge, a modest satchel in hand clearly packed to go ashore. Crew members hauled Moose up from the hold as others thrust anchors over the rail with a thunk and a splash. 

"Well, that's my cue," Vagor's words were veiled in a falsely positive tone, "Take care of yourself, kid."

Before making his way aboard the closest dingy, Vagor's gaze landed on the boat in which Moose was being carefully loaded by his crewmates. The small size of the craft was exacerbated by Moose's own brawniness. But even so, the large sailor appeared visibly diminished. 

He pointed to the ill-stricken sailor before assuring Evander, "I'll keep an eye on that one for ya. Make sure he makes it to land without keeling over on ya." With one last smile and a quick nod, Vagor turned his back to Evander and disappeared over the ship's edge. 

The entire crew, save Evander, loaded themselves into the rowboats, while Cap instructed Evander that they would return by nightfall, and to “follow orders” though he didn’t preface which orders to follow - all of them, presumably. Evander waved enthusiastically, taking a long look at Moose as they shoved off. 

Similar to the anchor holding the sloop fast amidst the low rocking waves a short distance from the dock, Evander had lead in his feet that wouldn’t let him go ashore. He told himself he wouldn’t let it be a tearful goodbye, but the combination of unknowns surrounding Moose, as well as the genuine goodbye from Vagor, gave way to a slow trickle of tears that slowly soaked the young lad's sleeves as he went about his duties.

[evanderhilloway]

Souls at Sunset

Chapter Two ~ The Ropes

Moose, who had been absent-mindedly and rather inharmoniously humming sea shanties into the night, noticed a slender middle finger poke through a knot in the hatch. Announcing boisterously, “‘Vander's back!” He unlocked the small wooden door. 

Evander climbed out, closing the hatch behind him, careful not to lock it this time. “He’s gonna need a minute, mate.” 

Collin turned to the rest of the crew to jab,  “Few hours with ‘Vander was torturous. Anyone would need to recover after that therapy session.” Evander rolled his eyes and clasped a hand on Moose’s wide shoulder “His name’s Vagor. Count to 200 then tell Cap he’s up.” 

“What happened down there? Heard ‘em knocking.” Moose inquired with a deep chuckle.

Evander smiled wide, letting his eyes sparkle a bit by the moonlight. “We’ve got a fighter on our hands.” 

Moose tried to match Evander's wide smile, but due to scars and sheer lack of practice, it only went about halfway on one side. He sat by the hatch and proudly started counting:

“One… two…. three… six…” effectively giving Vagor roughly a minute before finishing his error-riddled task and gathering himself to fetch Cap, something he likely couldn’t mess up. Emphasis on likely.

“Don’t think anyone’s slept this long since Moose knocked out ‘Vander last year.” Cap said gruffly as he approached the hatch. “C’mon out ya freeloader!” 

Moose glanced at Evander and mouthed “Sorry” to which Evander merely shrugged and softly said “It’s in the past," absentmindedly rubbing his temple.

The hatch opened slowly as a very large and discombobulated figure muscled his broad shoulders awkwardly through, appearing rather disheveled.

Vagor took a moment to scan the small audience now surrounding him, a fact with which he found himself wholly unamused. He threw a hopeful glance Evander’s way, looking to him for reassurance that it would be okay to speak, to act - to be here.

Smiling in gleeful amusement at this absolute brute of a half-elf, both twice his size and twice his age, looking to him - all of twenty-four years of age - for advice and wisdom and comfort, Evander uncrossed one arm to gesture encouragingly for his new friend to speak up…

I’m gonna hate this kid, I can tell, thought Vagor, in a begrudging attempt to deny that he didn in fact, find himself every bit as reassured as he had hoped to be by that bright little pipsqueak of a man.

Vagor turned himself to face Captain, a charade of confidence backed by the knowledge that he had at least one turdish sailor looking out for him here. He clenched his fists at his sides, “I ain’t no fucking freeloader. I didn’t ask to be here. But here I fucking am.”

“So is everyone else here. Ye ain’t special. I don’t care much for how ye fell from the heavens, or for any sorry sob story 'bout yer dead mother. We make port in two weeks. Ye can sail, or ye can swim. Yer choice.” Captain Taprick wasn’t a busy man, but he had an urgency about him that encouraged fellow men not to waste his time with idle conversation. 

A low growl of frustration echoed from Vagor’s throat as he leveled his gaze to meet that of Captain’s in a silent battle of will. 

“Sail.” 

He turned his back to the Captain and the rest of the crew, decisively maneuvering around the ship’s deck, taking it upon himself to check every bit of knotwork like he owned the place. 

He tilted his yellow eyes up to catch sight of the stars that had only just begun to grace themselves upon the black canvas of night sky, assessing the ship’s heading for himself. He angled himself toward the quarter deck, grabbing the stair rail as if to make for the helm. He stopped short, however, shaking his head before casting an annoyed and purposefully condescending glare at the ship’s actual captain, and silently resumed his work amidst the ship’s rigging on the main deck.

“Vander, check his work. I won’t have my ship failing on his account. See that he has a bunk and let ‘em eat with the crew.” Captain Taprick turned to the crew before him, awaiting instruction while the stranger wandered nearby. “Back to yer posts, enough rubber neckin’ the newbie. Ain’t nothing special to see here!” 

Evander rocked back and forth from heel to toes. “Aye,” he resounded with the crew as they scattered to their respective corners of the vessel. 

Leaning against the mast, arms crossed with one foot resting on the beam, Evander watched Vagor inspecting the ropes, the ties, and equipment on deck. 

“What kinda ship is this anyways?” 

“Retired war sloop, think we still have some dusty canons in the hold. It hauls cargo now, Makir to Kepkot mostly. Sometimes Cap takes on private work and we get to go north to Chillwhim,” seeing Evanders words fall on deaf ears he added with a hopeful smile, “All places you’ll come to know and love.” 

“Hasn’t anyone ever told ya what happens when you assume stuff?" Vagor huffed, faking disinterest, before caving and inquiring further, "What kind of cargo?” 

“All kinds. Supplies and food. Nothing valuable beyond flour and cloth. Cap has some agreement with The Waters that he won’t carry gold.” Evander shrugged.

"Pity," Vagor replied, "Of all the ships I coulda landed on, I just had to find myself on this sorry excuse for a boat." He patted a hand on the ship's rail, adding apologetically to the vessel itself, "Apologies lass, it's not your fault." 

"Technically, you didn't land on this ship, you landed right…over there." Evander squinted one eye, extending his right arm straight in front of him to point to the exact location where mere hours earlier, Vagor went splat.

"Shut up, smartass."

Knowing from many past experiences that nicknames, however unpleasant, were a sign of breaking ice, Evander let that one fall to the wayside. 

Patient as ever, Evander didn't shut up per his acquaintance's request, and continued to elaborate in fanciful detail bits and pieces about the world of Whimsie to his crew mate. 

“The Waters is a myth to most. A bit of shallow bedrock that stretches a few miles. Cap says sirens target gold-bearing ships, and only those without a speck of gold can pass. The siren pod calls themselves The Waters, controlling the lynch point for any sea vessel wishing to pass through.” Carefully watching Vagor's reactions he adds “I think it’s a bit of bullshit, but sirens leave us alone so, maybe the old bat’s onto something. All the same, it’s a good thing I found you when I did,” Evander added with a jesting wink. 

“You spout this dung heap to every newcomer you meet?” Vagor replied, playfully. 

“You’d be the first, we don’t meet too many new people at sea.” 

Vagor’s response dripped with sarcasm, “I suppose the 'sirens' are to blame for that too, then.” 

“Among many other terrible beasties. Careful your skepticism doesn’t get you on the wrong side of the railing.” Evander's tone flattened, conveying his warning with a more serious note.

“The right side, depending on how you look at it.” Vagor replied, seemingly nonplussed by the supposed lingering dangers of the dark waters tossing carelessly around them. 

“He also says the seawater has enabled him to see in the dark” Collin added, eavesdropping on Evander grand tales. “I think he needs to get laid. Lad's not thinking straight. We’re all a bit starved.” Collin pauses, his eyes landing on Evander, “‘Cept maybe that one. Feeds on the ‘energy of the universe’ or some shit.” 

“You should try it sometime.” Evander let his eyes go slack and threw his hand back as if downing an invisible drink.

Collin grunted in reply, busying himself away from the conversation that had failed to hold his interest.

Vagor, eyebrows raised at Collin’s words regarding Evander's 'uniqueness', scoffed in disbelief. “Wait, really? That’s not just more bullshit?” Adding under his breath, “Where the fuck am I…” 

Once again reminded of his own vulnerability, his absent memory, and his utterly miniscule knowledge of his current surroundings, a slight shutter danced it’s way from Vagor’s head to his toes, shaking the walls of guarded resolution he had thrown up quicker than the flash of lightning that landed him aboard this strange and unsightly vessel in the first place. 

“Nothing quite as magical as 'universe siphoning', as Collin here suggested.” Evander closed his eyes, carefully choosing his explanation “I made a choice, a long time ago, to see the bright side of every situation, every person. I don’t believe in bad luck, in hopelessness, it all seems a waste of energy.” Evander opened his eyes, careful not to look at Vagor “There’s too much cruelty in the world, therefore I won’t be. I expect nothing, and appreciate everything.” Evander gestured to the crew, “You can see how this lot thinks it’s witchcraft to have hope,” laughing at himself and letting some light back into the unexpectedly heavy subject. 

“Well you can count me in with the ‘lot’ then. Sounds like a load of sunflower hocus-pocus to me. It rolls off the tongue all rosy-cozy, but there’s danger in expecting nothing. ‘No expectations’ can become a whole lot of assumptions real fuckin’ quick…Hold on, you can’t manifest shit can you? Like frickin’ self-fulfilling prophecy crap? I’m not about to let some young, dumb, and restless baby sailor start writing my life story for me…”

Evander’s bright eyes flashed to meet Vagors “Look who’s making assumptions now! I’m an open book, Vagor, if you want to judge how young and dumb I am… you can just ask, but for the record I can’t ‘manifest shit’, I just have a knack for navigating.” 

“How conveniently ambiguous and poetically metaphorical…” Vagor huffed, before giving in to Evander’s offer to answer any questions. His hands mindlessly refastened the nearest brace line holding one of the sloop’s booms steady, “So, Whimsie? That’s what you call this place? This ‘world’?”

“You’ll find out poems are kinda my thing.” Taking a deep breath and hoisting himself onto the railing to perch “And yeah, Whimsie.”

“I hate it.” 

“I’ll get ya a map. If yer planning on sticking around ya might as well learn the layout.”

“It pains me greatly to say, but I don’t exactly have anywhere else to be. So sure. And thanks, I guess.”

Evander’s gaze cast a spirited and glistening threat Vagor’s way, cautioning more poems and fanciful epigrams ahead. Vagor rolled his eyes, but silently promised to be the one to shut up and listen now. 

“There’s less war than there used to be. Riches and fools can be found in the same place. Plenty of monsters, ventures, and titles to be had. It’s quite a beautiful sight, despite the locals. You won’t have to look far to find soul-feeding sights.” Evander clasped his hands together dramatically as he realized what was happening “Ah, it’s like teaching a baby bird to fly. I’m gonna enjoy this.” Glancing above them Evander pointed to a set of stars “Look here.” 

“Stars, I see stars. What about them?” Vagor responded, before quickly quieting as he remembered his promise to keep a lid on it. 

“Keep watching.” Evander stayed still, the bustle of the crew slowing as they buckled down the hatches for the night and the ship glided onward through the glassy sea. The immediate area teemed with silent wonder, save for the soft echoes of the waves crashing rhythmically against the sloop as it continued its cut through the deep blue waters.

Keeping his lips pursed in this temporary vow of silence, Vagor mumbled annoyedly at Evander, hands waving wildly, as a full and awkward two minutes had come and gone with little to see. 

Comedically timed, as Evander had previously mentioned his ability to navigate events, a dark, gargantuan mass thrust itself into view overhead, blocking out the twinkling starlight behind it, as a massive and powerful whale head breached the night sky, heading straight for them. Its body was armored in enormous plate scales with multiple fins and tendrils flowing outward from its body, undulating as if the creature were swimming underwater and not, as it happened, through the distinctly waterless sky. It was pure magic. And massive - did we mention massive? Not a creature on Whimsie could compare to its size and presence. At what appeared to be the very last second, startling Vagor as he instinctively and rather childishly hit the deck in fear of a collision, the anomaly turned, taking effort to slowly - painfully slow, from Vagor’s vantage - change trajectory and glide back in and out of the atmosphere. 

Evander let out a gleeful laugh to break the silence. “Ha! These guys also make it a habit to fly through clouds.” Following the whale's pattern with his hand. “Maybe you’re related.”

“I reiterate. I hate it.” Vagor scoffed, as he gathered himself back to a shaky stand. 

“Oh, come on. You gotta admit this is incredible. Few people in Whimsie get to witness these beasts in action. Count yourself blessed!” Evander pointed as a few more sky whales breached, albeit less magnificently than the first. 

“It’s the stuff of dreams, I’ll give you that…Or maybe nightmares,” Vagor added with an increasingly relaxed chuckle, “Fuck me, that was pretty frickin’ incredible.” He dared to step closer to the rail, taking in the dancing whales before him, and for the first time since waking up, granting himself a deep, refreshing breath of salty sea air. He wouldn’t admit it to Evander any time soon, but he also certainly couldn’t deny it to himself anymore either. That was at least a little soul-lifting. Alright, more than a little. “I guess being a Wanderer might have its privileges after all.” 

Evander watched as Vagor’s chest rose and fell as he continued inhaling the ocean breeze. Vagor closed his eyes, before turning to Evander, “Okay, enough gawking. Show me your knotwork.” Vagor settled on the nearest rigging line, unfastening it himself before throwing it to Evander.

Letting out another hearty laugh, Evander replied “My knotwork, old man? You’re the freshie here-“ gesturing to the rope “-be my guest.” He crossed his arms, getting comfortable.

“You’ve been watching me redo your crew’s sad-ass knots for the better part of the last two hours. I’ve had my turn. Quit stallin’. You’re up.” He tossed the rope to Evander once more. 

“Aye, your mistrust is crystal clear.” Evander took the rope, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at this unwelcome test of his sailing skill. “Just ‘cause it ain’t your way, don't make it wrong” Evander tied the rope, as he had a hundred times prior, letting second nature guide his slender hands. 

Vagor eyed the quick work of Evander’s hands. So not sea-green, then. Vagor mused to himself, doubting his previous assertions. He shook his head in slight exasperation at Evander’s words, before offering reply. “It’s not mistrust. Just makin’ myself useful. You’re good, don’t doubt that. It’s just…if you add a loop here,” Vagor’s voice strained a little as he tightened the knot, “It holds every bit as fast, but it’ll untie a hell of a lot quicker,” taking this moment to demonstrate just that, and hand the rigging back to Evander again. “Here, try for yourself.” 

Holding the rope, Evander shook his head “Ya sure ya didn’t get sucked up in a water spout from some fancy ship and plopped back down? You sure know a lot for someone not knowing a lot.” Evander began to do it again, his second nature kicking in before he felt Vagor’s critical gaze and slowed, adding in the deliberate second loop. 

“Maybe I got a touch of witchcraft in me too.” Vagor teased, wiggling spooky fingers cheekily in Evander’s direction.

“Don’t let Cap catch you claiming that.” Evander's eyebrows raised in feigned warning. 

“You think I give a rat’s ass what that jaundice-laden Banana Man thinks? Heh.” Vagor snorted in retort. “Mark my words, you’ll be calling me ‘Cap’ before long.” The mischief in Vagor’s speech was unmistakable.

“Big talk, fish boy. Those are dangerous words for someone miles from dry land. I’ve no doubt you can be a "Cap" someday, but a different vessel may be in order.” 

“First of all," Vagor replied, holding his index finger up, "I’m a dangerous man with literally nothing to lose - dangerous words are my forte. Second, I can fuckin’ swim, ya know? And lastly, how the hell am I supposed to acquire a different vessel, WHEN THERE AIN’T NO FRICKIN’ GOLD ON THIS BOAT? What do they pay you with anyway? Which reminds me, I gotta make it loud and clear to Cap, that my services,” gesturing to the myriad of restrung knots and rigging now neatly organized about the ship’s deck, “won’t come cheap.”

Rubbing his hands over his face with a slight groan, “I’m gonna enjoy witnessing that conversation. Regarding pay, Cap stores his gold on land in different caches, and he pays when we port. Some men prefer payment in other ways, some work for free… I don’t think Cap was planning on shorting you, but you’d do well to remember you’re a guest… however unwitting.” Evander stretched, the conversation of potential future conflict making him tense. 

“And you’d do well to respect your fuckin’ elders,” the forty-something-year-old man-child quipped back, huffing immaturely under his breath, “This kid, telling me what to do…” He shook his head in amusement at Evander’s audacity.

Evander offered a sarcastic “Aye, well, time for yer nap grandpa. Crew's bedding down for the night, grab a spare bunk and rise when the sun does. Ship doesn’t need much from us tonight.” Evander grabbed a nearby satchel and started to clamber up the mast to the crows nest. He turned back, gazing down at Vagor to add, “Understandable if ya ain’t tired, given all your rest. Also understandable if you’re exhausted, given your attempt to break the sound barrier. Just remember ya can’t jump ship 'til you’ve paid me back.” With a wink, Evander climbed the mast with such speed and grace, it was as if he weighed nothing more than the feather in his pocket. 

Godsdammit, I kinda like that kid. 

Vagor meandered his way to the ship's bough. Taking a relaxed wide stance, he crossed his arms over his chest, letting the soft, cool gusts of wind brush over his face. He wouldn't be closing his eyes tonight. He'd spend every last second of darkness, well into the morning hours, mesmerized by the impossible twirling pods of whales crashing through the stars, secretly eager to feel his soul lift even a little more.

[evanderhilloway]

Souls at Sunset

Chapter One ~ Raining Men

“Damn, betcha he wishes he had wings.”

“It just shat ‘em out!”

“Moose, ya idiot, clouds don’t shat people.”

“Quiet the lot of ya. Evander, what did ya see?” Captain Taprick cut through the racket of the small but growing crowd pressed eagerly against the port-side rail, his demanding voice aimed at the clean-cut sailor gasping in front of them. A rather large, rather sea-soaked stranger lay unconscious on the main deck beside him.

Dripping wet and out of breath, Evander's small frame cradled the man twice his size. Captain was impressed Evander managed to retrieve such a mass, but his question still lingered in the salty air.

A question, oddly enough, that would never be answered.

Evander raised his head, his sandy brown hair dripping saltwater down his soft, bare face, a pair of striking orange eyes meeting the captain's own. He grinned.

“Does that really matter right now? Did you see that?! Lightning struck this lad AS HE FELL!” Evander glanced back to the bulky heap of a half-elf in his lap. “I’m gonna name you Lucky!”

“He’s not a pet ‘Vander!” Cap howled as he turned, shaking his head. “Take him to the hold. Soon as he wakes, I want to know.” He spoke over his shoulder, eyes low. “As for the rest of ya, back to work. Acting like the sky be shittin' men. Have I got a crew of men or vultures?!”

Most of the crew dispersed and echoed back a firm “men!”, though truth be told, there were more than a few “vultures” quietly uttered in there. The sailors resumed their duties - albeit begrudgingly - trying to forget that the clouds did in fact just expel a real, live man. A half-elf to be precise. And probably live, anyway.

The stranger was undeniably a good-looking fellow, though considerably larger in stature than a typical half-elf. His fair skin made for an elegant contrast against the nearly black mop of hair atop his head, shaved sides giving him a somewhat hardened look to match his otherwise striking features. A strong jaw served as a foundation to a grecian nose, angular cheekbones, and a strong brow. Plain clothes and awkward tan lines about his neck and chest, and a strange tree-like birthmark at the base of his neck added to the mystery of “Sky Man” or “Icarus” as Evander had started calling him.

“Welp, ye scared him to death.” A large half-orc named Pea took a gruff inhale over [Dewdrop], a silver-toothed grin teeming with satisfaction at his assessment.

“If the lightning didn’t kill him, Vander’s breath would've.” Moose called from the bunk adjacent the stairs.

“Or his high-pitch lady voice.” Collin added, trying to mimic the unusually soft voice Evander possessed.

“He’s not dead, Pea… I think he’s trying to decide if he wants to stay.” Evander said matter of factly.

“Ever the poet.” Captain lingered on the stairs from the main deck to the quarter deck, warily eyeing his crew and the unwelcome and unhelpful extra body. “At least he’s not eating any rations. Moose, move 'em below. No sense in letting ‘em be comfortable if he ain’t conscious.”

Moose, true to his name, grunted in agreement and easily heaved [Shark Boy] over his massive shoulder. Evander opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. Noting that the glow and position of [Failed Flyer’s] soul remained unchanged.

“Come on. This world ain’t so bad.” Evander thought as he willed his newest friend to stay.

Evander kept a watchful eye on Moose as he disappeared below deck with [Mr. Freefall] in tow, hauling the invalid down to a bunk in the hold. Evander then brushed himself off, and took to his normal jaunt of cheery jabs and belly laughs, working diligently to usher the crew back to normal in no time.

Before long, and finding himself on break, Evander hurriedly descended the ladders between decks before dropping softly on the wooden floor of the ship's hold, eager to check on his new friend.

Below deck Evander's orange eyes dimmed, the darkness softening their appearance to a resemblance of peaches, both shape and hue. His eyebrows relaxed as he took a good look at the recovering adrenaline junkie in front of him. The stranger's body swayed as the boat crashed gently against the ocean's waves.

“Unfortunate entry, but I think you’ll like it here.” Evander spoke as he eyed the dimly lit orb in the center of [Skydiver’s] chest.

●●●

Since the day he was born, Evander could see souls. Not apparitions or ghouls, but the glowing orb of life in everyone’s chest. He could see how high it sat, how much it glowed, and the effects that different actions had on it. Since childhood, Evander vowed to be the reason souls glowed around him. He would never speak in a way that would break a spirit, lower a soul, or darken the glow. He loved life. He loved love. He was the brightest, most spontaneous, giving person you’d ever meet.

And he was going to save [Mr. Flying High].

“Welcome aboard The Changeling, Cloud Rider.” Evander uttered softly, as he hopped down from his barrel perch on and hoisted himself up the ladder once again to continue his duties above, leaving the gently swaying half-elf to rest.

●●●

“Betcha wish we had a healer now, eh Cap?!” Collin jeered, as he gathered a nearby rope, coiling it around his elbow and the crook of his thumb.

“Not one bit. Y’know their kind is nothing but witchcraft. Bad luck is all it brings. No place for it here.” Captain shot back, eager to finish the conversation.

Evander entered the conversation as he emerged from below deck, chewing on dried fish. “No such thing as bad luck, cap.”

“Maybe not to you, Sunshine. You’ve been on water, what, six years? Ya greenie.” Evander turned to the sea so he didn’t catch him mouth the following in mocking cadence with the captain “until you’ve sailed for 22 years I’ll hear nothing from your baby face.”

Captain Tapia was of course referring to the fact Evander hadn’t a hair on his face or chest. Not a single sprig of manly prowess to be seen. It didn’t bother him. Truth be told, he preferred it this way. He told the men it was common in his family. They named him Baby Face and were done with it.

Moose, who had a grand beard, offered multiple times to share his trimmings with ‘Vander, granting him a roar of laughs from the crew.

After a few days of waiting, watching, regular checkups, and plenty of one-sided chats from Evander, [Sparky Sparky Boom Man ™] opened his eyes at last. He wasn’t awake, by anyone’s standard, but his yellow eyes blinked, drinking in his dank surroundings. The black gave way to a dimly lit hold, where shelves lined with haphazardly strewn parchments could be made out, alongside a particularly excitable, though not particularly discernible, form perched nearby. On what, the stranger couldn't quite say just yet, his vision still blurred and foggy in his half-asleep stupor. A wide smile and bright eyes met the barely conscious stranger's before he slipped back into darkness once again.

●●●

Waking to a pair of dimly lit orange eyes startled [Meteor], sending him into a panicked scramble, sitting himself just upright enough to reach a burly arm across his person and draw a seemingly imaginary sword from his hip. A mixture of confusion and disappointment spread across [Engine Failure’s] countenance as with the flooding realization that whatever he expected to be there, was in fact, not. A half a second’s thought later, and he was cracking his knuckles, fists held at the ready for what he perceived would be a little casual hand-to-hand combat instead.

“Woah there. I’m no threat. Take it easy…” Evander raised his hands as his friend stumbled in the dark, on edge and confused.

Teeming with rage and uncertain whether he had found himself on the defensive or offensive side of this whole situation, and unsure of what this whole situation even was period, [Dead Weight], still a little sleepy and dazed, stammered back, “I- if you’re not a threat, g-give me your sword then.” Keeping one fist clenched and held close to his jaw in a readied block, [Dragon Rider Sans Dragon] extended a hand out to Evander, waiting for him to relinquish his own weapon in truce.

“Mm ya know, dunno if you’re a threat yet.” Evander placed his palm on the hilt of his blade, only slightly cautious.

Not willing to lay all of his cards on the table, or any of them for that matter, and also acutely aware of the fact that the emptiness of his mind, devoid of any memory as to who he was or where he came from, indicated very strongly that he had no cards to lay down anyways, [Free Fall] opted for the most honest yet intimidating response his muddled brain could muster, “Of course I’m a threat. But there’s no need to find that out the hard way. Just give me the damn blade, boy.” He managed to keep his voice collected and even.

“Sure ya are.” Evander slowed, watching the heap in front of him glance hastily about the room, casing his immediate surroundings, before resigning himself warily back to the blanket Evander had left on him. He kept both eyes fixed firmly on Evander, gears turning about his mind behind them.

“Welcome to The Changeling! What should we call you?”

Silence.

Clearly [Divebomb] wasn't in the mood to chit chat, a mood Evander didn’t empathize with though he was quite familiar with it in others. He was, however, in the mood to relax his posture a moment, feigning surrender to his predicament long enough to distract his overly optimistic and trusting “companion” into letting his own guard down…or in the very least, he hoped, leaving him the hell alone.

“Right then. I’ll leave ya to it, Cap’s gonna wanna know you’re up though. Expect company, Birdman.” Evander climbed up the ladder as he had a thousand times, eager to uncover the mystery that grumbled from the depths. But the grumbling in Evander’s own mind came to a swift halt with a hardy knock to the back of his head. As he tumbled from the ladder with a groan and succumbed to the now inevitable state of unconsciousness, Evander’s last thought wriggled through. That was a lantern. Definitely a lantern.

This segued nicely into [Shooting Star’s] following thought, Where the fuck is the key?, as he rifled through Evander’s pockets, turning up nothing more than a feather, some skipping stones, and a copper piece broken in two. Contemplating a more thorough search, [Sky Captive] opted not to be too invasive with his pokings and proddings. He wanted out, sure, but he wasn’t a monster. He paused for a moment, looking down at the hands that he didn’t recognize. Or maybe I am?

Shaking off the intrusion, he continued his search into the hold itself, once again finding little of use - a stray barrel stopper and what looked to be a brittle old peg leg. Ugggggghhhh, fuck…gonna have to try the hard way I guess. Gonna lose all my fucking dignity before I even have any…

[Ripped Parachute] clambered up the ladder - wincing to himself at the egregious embarrassment that would ensue from what he was about to do next - clenched his fist, scrunched his eyelids in despair, and knocked a positively ridiculous diddy on the hatch above - Knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock. Knock, knock. He peeked one eye open in anticipation.

“That ain’t it, Star Lord ™ “, was the gruff and jeering response he got, followed by an echo of rolling laughter about the deck above.

This time, he pounded the hatch with both fists, screaming in anger. The chortling only grew louder among the crewmates guarding the hatch above, as they took immense pleasure in the futile escape efforts of the stranger below.

Where ya gonna go, anyway? [Penguin Pretending to Be A Fucking Goose] asked himself, much to his own chagrin. Sliding back down, he crumpled into a cross-legged heap at the base of the ladder. Taking note of the irony that now he was the one awake and forced to watch his sickeningly cheery captor slumber, [Satellite Reentering the Atmosphere] tossed an exasperated gesture toward Evander and grumbled to himself, “Fuck, I guess I really gotta make nice with Sleeping Beauty here.”

●●●

Opening one eye to a pounding headache, and stifling a groan, Evander squinted at his surroundings, spotting his perpetrator sitting criss-cross applesauce at the bottom of the only escape route. He let a sleepy smirk pan across his face, in recognition of his companion's failed attempt at an exit.

“What’s the plan, Icarus?” Crossing his arms behind his head as he kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, Evander inhaled sharply as he felt the sore spot on his head. “Hold me hostage for all I’m worth? Start a mutiny? Take over the ship with my wee dagger? Kill everyone and take The Changeling for yourself? I’m guessing by now you’ve alerted Moose and Collin that you’re up. Curious how you thought this was going to end for you.”

[TIMBEEEEERRR!!!] chuckled a little at the small man’s quips. He was, however, a little unsettled at his inability to find that dagger Evander just mentioned. But hell would have to freeze over before he'd let on to this puny excuse of a sailor before him.

Crossing his arms atop his barrel of a chest, his yellow eyes gleamed as he smirked, “Turns out I don’t really have a plan. Don’t suppose it’s too late for a truce?” He held out his hand to Evander, somewhat less a threat than before.

“All ya had to do was ask.” Evander reached to clasp the extended hand but pulled back at the last second “I’m gonna need something in return…”

The yellow-eyed stranger pulled at the seams of his loose-fitting, white linen, “Look man, I don’t know what ya want, but I clearly don’t have much. Whatever you’re asking for, I can almost guarantee I can't give it to ya. ”

Evander stepped around his captor and climbed the ladder “if you’ve got two eyes, you can oblige. You owe me a sunset, Icarus.”

Shit. [Not Icarus] released an audible sigh, “Fine, but you’re gonna have to call me anything but that. I ain’t no damn Icarus.”

Considering for a moment, and noting the unique traits of this half-elf, stranger in a strange land, Evander landed on an elvish name for his unlucky traveling companion “How about Vagor?”

An awkward pause filled the silence. “Why Vagor?”

“Damn you really don’t know? It’s Elven for ‘Wanderer’, which seems fitting enough for ya.”

Reaching up instinctually to take in the slight point of his ears, the half-elf uttered in response, half to himself, “Huh, how ‘bout that?...I guess I can get behind ‘Vaaaagoor’", as if testing the name out for himself. "Just as long as that’s really what it means and you aren’t just pulling some stupid-ass prank on me.”

Understanding the mistrust but eager to prove himself, Evander happily added “You’ll find out pretty quickly that’s not really my style.”

As Evander heaved himself back up the ladder, to finally exit the hold - this time hopefully uninhibited - Vagor exhaled sharply, catching his once benevolent captor’s attention one more time, “Look, kid. You seem like a decent human being. So I’ll be straight with ya. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I came from. I don’t know why I’m here or what I’m capable of. And you would do well to continue to see me as a threat, not a friend." He flung both arms out in exasperation, "Heck, you’d probably do best to throw me fucking overboard.”

The boyish sailor let out a laugh to break the remaining tension, “Everyone’s a friend unless proven otherwise, and even then, walking the plank isn’t up to me, you’ve gotta convince Cap on that one.” Evander paused, eyeing the sad state of a soul in front of him “You can call me Evander.”

Vagor paused too. “Well, Evander, when’s sunset?”

“Gonna be a few, stars are out.” Rubbing the back of his head he adds “thanks to your batting practice, we’ve missed it today.”

“Hey, don’t blame that shit on me. You coulda just left me for dead in the middle of this godforsaken sea and then you’da been able to watch your damn sunset none the wiser. So it’s thanks to your damn diving practice, actually.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Evander seated himself on the slightly slanted ladder, a perch he has taken many times now.

Vagor snorted, “Presumptuous of you to assume there was a ‘thank you’ on the way.”

Evander smirked and shook his head in reply.

An awkward pause filled the silence a moment longer than necessary, before Vagor quickly added, “Goodnight then, I guess, Evander,” himself clearly not planning to fall asleep any time soon.

“No way you’re sleeping now. The whole ship knows you’re up, and Cap’s gonna have questions.”

“Wasn’t aware I owed anyone answers,” Vagor replied, a renewed tinge of hesitancy tainting his voice.

“Plenty of us have secrets. Ya don’t owe anyone anything, but until we make port, yer gonna have to pull yer own ass. Cap just wants to know yer willing, and if not, the plank at night is a gorgeous sight.”

Vagor chuckles, “Don’t tempt me.” Before he even realized he’d done it, Vagor let his countenance fall into an unexpected sheepishness, his gaze quickly falling into his own lap. He hesitated a moment, unsure if he could find or even knew the words that were to follow, “I- I’d just like a few minutes alone down here. The dark. I like it. It- It feels familiar.” He returned his gaze upward to meet the shimmering orange eyes of the closest thing he now had to a friend, which was, in his mind, still not close at all.

“Sure thing.” Evander was familiar with the comfort of darkness.

Vagor nodded in appreciation of Evander’s understanding, at last releasing his peculiar new companion to take his final leave of the dark, dank hold.