#captain r'khan

[limitsbroke]

(Current) Character Roster! The Shattered Spear - A motley crew of renegades, rogues, and would-be-heroes

Cassidy Kaine - A Dalmascan sky pirate piloting the prototype airship Jaeger

Ryusei Kazunari - The last survivor of a yakuza clan. A ronin wielding a cursed sword, he fights for what he thinks is right.

Violent - A berserker from Golmore, Violent lives up to her name; tearing into her foes with a pair of magitek gauntlets.

Laughing Kraken - A pirate captain with an interest in ancient and arcane artefacts. Some say he is cursed, or bargains with esoteric and strange powers.

X'khorra - A Sharlayan scholar with a penchant for adventure, and sharpshooting. She carves arcanima onto her ammunition.

Ghislain Sauvageau - An Ishgardian knight turned monster hunter, wielding powers gained through dark bargains.

Kasahr Dotharl - A fate dodging Dotharli thief and trickster. Gifted with the Echo, Kasahr remembers all his past lives.

R'khan Tia - A Fist of Rhalgr who grew up under Garlean occupation. Now he fights for freedom wherever it is needed.

[therunawayscamp]

Through Hell and High Water

R'khan did not take much convincing, that was the first surprise. When Ethysil presented his idea to the captain, with Vilayn sat numb and mute beside him like a corpse propped up in the chair, he watched R'khan frown, the same way it did when the officer of the watch presented him with news he didn't like, then settle his brow into a familiar line of determined resignation.

'You sure this'll work?'

'No, relkhan. Not in the slightest.'

'Very well. Give me time to think on it.'

Three days later, the permanent crew of the Runaway Scamp crammed themselves into Casethar's cornerclub atop the hill. The last of the daylight clung to the walls long after the rest of Blacklight fell into darkness and shone on the river until it burned. The name Firewater for the club had been well chosen. Before anyone could settle in with a glass of its other namesake, however, R'khan stood up on the bar. Although the wood was still gleaming, untouched since the day of Hazil's wake, Casethar didn't bat an eye at the boots scuffing across it. He had an arm around Vilayn's shoulders and seemed oblivious to anything else, least of all the sailors sneaking towards the bottles on the shelf.

'Hold yourselves, lads, I want you clear-headed for this.' R'khan paused, eyes settling on a cheerful, patient smile in the front row. 'Mr Braskan, what is Mistress Morinah doing here? I made it pretty damn clear that this'd be crew only.'

After a long silence, presumably spent hoping his captain would forget asking the direct question, a nudge from Morinah's elbow finally prompted Braskan to answer. He threw in a lazy salute as well, clearly hoping this would win him some favour from R'khan's stony face.

'Well, R'khan... there's this rumour, see, that ya's gonna ask us ta sail inta Oblivion, an' I might a' mentioned it ta Morinah. Only as a rumour, like, but she said if we was then mebbe she'd be useful, seein' as she works with all that Daedric shit.'

Everybody else in the room leaned forwards slightly while R’khan rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Gossip spread through the crew faster than ataxia. It took the wind out of his sails somewhat, but then again, they had heard the rumour and turned up to the meeting anyway, which at least meant they hadn't dismissed the idea out of hand. He cleared his throat.

'I don't know how you does it, but you ain't far off. Most of you knows Farel Hazil, our own Mister Vilayn's husband, and his recent passing.' He paused, expecting Vilayn to flinch, or close his eyes, anything to show he was still alive, but no. Only stillness. 'And you also knows we can't go fishing every lost soul out of Oblivion, or wherever they ends up. But for reasons I ain't telling you 'cause it don't bloody concern you, this is different. Mister Ethysil believes that although the Oblivion Crisis sealed off paths from Oblivion to, ah--'

'Mundus,' supplied Ethysil, in an undertone. R'khan swept on as if he'd said the name himself.

'--there's still gates as go in the other direction, like the one Lord Seht used in 2920. There's reports of one underwater, out in the Sea of Ghosts, but with Ethys's magic and a bit of help from our... mutual friends, he believes we may be able to access it.'

He waited to see what effect his words would have. Perhaps he should have waited to make the announcement, let them get a good amount of the bar's contents down them before proposing such madness, but something had prevented him from doing so, in the knowledge that being tricked into an undertaking of this scale would kill their morale. Besides, he couldn't be alone. The years had been catching up to them recently, cold and relentless, and he knew no person could outrun them forever. Time and tide waited for no man.

So far the general attitude seemed cautiously positive. Most of the crew were talking amongst themselves, and there were heavy looks on all their faces, but only a few were glancing towards the door or outright scowling. One or two, most notably Braskan and Sham, were not excited, exactly, but already decided. They nodded unconsciously, settled, assured, eyes on their captain. Drasonval, sat beside them, seemed less certain, and as soon as the muttering died down he stuck a fist in the air.

‘What about getting back again?’ he asked. ‘Let’s say we find this gate, face whatever’s inside, and find what we’re looking for. How do we get home?’

R'khan stamped his foot on the counter until the whispers subsided.

‘You want the honest answer, Mister Drasonval? I don’t know. Could be a one-way trip to hell.’

‘Ya’s always sayin’ ya wants ta get away from th’wife,’ said Braskan. Somehow, faced with the prospect of his imminent doom, he still managed to maintain the lazy smirk. ‘Here ya go. Perfec’ chance.’

Before the exchange could develop into a scuffle or, even worse, a ruckus, R’khan kicked the counter again.

‘Some of you -- Mister Azareth, Mister Braskan -- you lived through the Oblivion Crisis, I’m guessing ‘cause even the Daedra couldn’t find a use for your worthless hides, so you knows what we’re up against. But you’ve also sailed with me and Mr Vilayn a damned long time, and not once have you turned your backs on a challenge.’ He lowered himself down so that he was sat on the bar. Although he spoke quietly, he had their attention now, even over the temptation of the bottles behind him. 'I don't think I need to tell you, my lads, that this ain't just about Mister Hazil. We've all felt it, and been feeling it for a while now. We been on the sea since the last era and that's a bloody long time. But if we're going to finish it, if it's got to end, I ain't retreating quietly into a comfy house where I can't feel the wind on me face. I'm going to die where I belongs, and that's on the deck of me brig, the sea beneath me feet, doing something outrageously bloody stupid just because people told me I couldn't. Now, I ain’t making of you do this. I’m telling you now it’s madness, so none of you is obliged to follow me, and there ain’t no hard feelings for those as stay behind. But by the Three, those who do, we’re going to leave you a damned good story to tell and you'd better bloody tell it. So -- who’s with me?’

[scampshoreleave]

I’m not saying there are similarities here but

[therunawayscamp]

[oh no bad news guys the fate of Thedas now rests in the hands of these idiots]

[therunawayscamp]

Between a Captain and an Officer [Drabble]

On days like this, when the weather folded in around the brig and both sea and sky were a uniform shade of slate, R'khan saw as much from inside his cabin as he could from standing on the quarterdeck. More, in some ways. He could observe without being seen, listen to every movement as it travelled through the boards to his ears. Right now he could hear Vilayn loping back and forth across the weather deck, swearing at the fog, and the Ald Varay following his orders to trim sail, while the sugary smell of skooma smoke told him Jo'Raya was leading the Khajiit in one of their rituals. An occasional scratch against the hull would be Xisthia on a swim, hopefully scouting ahead while visibility above water was poor, but probably oblivious to anything which wasn’t shiny rocks. A steady rustle and thump, Ethysil studying his holy books. Rosie sharpening her tools in the surgery. Azareth taking stock in the hold. The watch changeover finished not five minutes ago, too, so that meant any moment now--

'Captain?'

R'khan capped his inkwell, slotted the quill into its stand, and folded his hands on his desk, leaving the letter he was writing in full view. The ink shone in the lamplight.

'Enter.'

Tosti slipped through the narrow doorway, leaning to avoid hitting his head on the timber, and stood before the desk, bent at the shoulders, until he was waved into the seat opposite R'khan's. He lowered himself with a sigh.

'Thank you, captain. I'm here to report on the Vel Varay. Not that there's much to say.'

'Say it anyway, lad.'

'No incidents, and the weather was mostly calm. Wind's getting up from the south, which might blow some of the fog away.'

While he listened to the finer details of the sounding and Drasonval's opinion on their location, R'khan reached across to the cabinet set into the bulkhead, where he stored a selection of bottles and glasses. He picked out a bottle of Hunding wine and poured it into two glasses, one of which he slid forwards across the table, hand firmly on the base until Tosti had lifted it to prevent it toppling off the table with the roll of the brig.

'Thank you. I'll write it in the log. Now, if I ain't much mistaken, you look as if you wouldn't mind sharing a glass. This damned fog is getting under everyone's skin.'

'That's kind of you, captain.'

'Just don't go talking politics on me. If we ever find that bleeding Company frigate again, I ain't holding back.'

Tosti only smiled and took the glass.

'Did you pick this up in Morrowind?'

'Me? Nah, lad. Straight from source. Markets'll gut you for a crumb of scuttle, let alone good wine. If you can't get it straight off the ship, go and fetch it yourself.'

He took a sip and nodded his approval. After a few moments of easy, companionable silence, Tosti patted a hand against the table, beside the letter.

'I see you're writing to the Admiral.'

'Reading me personal correspondence, eh?'

'I guess I am. But you wouldn't have left it there if you didn't want me to.'

The ink was almost dry now. R'khan tilted his glass from side to side and crossed one leg over the other, beneath the desk.

'Maybe I left it there to test you,' he said.

'Did I pass?'

Not a trace of worry showed itself on Tosti's face as he waited for his judgement. Every move was perfect, from the way he settled his elbow easily onto the side of his chair to the casual taste of wine. After a pause which went on for only a second too long, R'khan smiled.

'Sure you did, lad. Aye, I'm writing to the old anchor. Get it in the neck when I come home if I don't keep her informed of me movements. Worse than the guard for that, she is.'

It was Tosti's turn to stare across the table. He could have been savouring the wine, which was sweet and tingled with the spices infused throughout, but his eyes remained steadily on R'khan's, creased and just a little heavy. Footsteps pattered overhead, followed by Drasonval's voice, heavy in the fog, reporting the latest results from the sounding lead. Both men below listened, and relaxed at the same time when the numbers were safe and as expected.

'How did you meet her?' asked Tosti at last. R'khan rolled his eyes to the skylight.

'Can't you ask Vilayn?'

'I did. He said she was a rival pirate captain called the Butcher, who agreed to settle down, live up to her namesake and marry you after you bested her in a duel as punishment for stealing your treasure.' Tosti grinned. 'Took place in during the worst storm Tamriel had ever seen, if I remember right, but I could be mixing it up with one of his other stories. A lot of things seem to happen in the worst storm Tamriel has ever seen when Vilayn talks about them.'

'And that ain't that good enough for you? B'vehk, what else do you want me to add? That we was fighting with swords we'd stolen from the Daedra? That Lady Ayem presided over the ceremony?'

'If you don't mind, I thought maybe the truth. Between a captain and an officer.'

R'khan lowered his glass, fingers firmly around the stem, and slid the letter across the desk towards himself with his spare hand. The ink, now dry, covered most of the page, awaiting only his name to finish it off. He tucked the parchment into one of the desk's hidden drawers without adding anything more.

'The truth ain't that interesting,' he said. 'We met in the market back in Blacklight, I asked her to dinner at the cornerclub, and that's about it.' He shook his head. 'Sometimes the story is better.'

'And there's no truth to it at all?'

'About as much truth as there is to me hanging skeletons off of the masthead so they dances in the wind as we approach. Sorry, lad. Didn't know you had a romantic streak.'

Tosti's face did look thoughtful, but he pressed his lips together at the rim of the glass. The breath from his nostrils fogged up the crystal and rippled the surface of the wine.

'I don't. I just think it's strange.'

'What?'

'You meeting her in the market. You said you only buy straight off the ships or from the source.'

‘Taking a shortcut, wasn’t I?’

‘It’s never a shortcut through the market. You get stopped by fifty merchants trying to sell you fake jewellery before you've taken a step.’

A pithy retort, a neat excuse, some sort of comeback had to be coming. No doubt it would have been irrefutable. Whatever it was, however, it was lost as the boards outside the cabin creaked. The sound was too quiet and the tread too light to be Vilayn's. R'khan glanced across at Tosti, for the first time since the discrepancy had been pointed out, and barely had time to bid the visitor enter before Luca tumbled into the cabin.

In the limited space, she had to push up against the back of Tosti's chair to make herself seen, although as a rule Luca's presence was hard to ignore. She passed off her version of a salute and leapt into an explanation of her arrival.

'Mister Vilayn's compliments, R'khan, an' he says the lookout seed the frigate to starboard.'

R'khan drained his glass and fixed it into its holder, his back to Tosti. When he turned again he was smiling.

'Looks like I'd best be off. Those skeletons ain't going to string up themselves, eh? You got five minutes to arm yourself and be up on deck, Mr Tosti. Don't waste 'em going through me desk 'cause you won't find anything interesting.' He strode to the door and paused. 'Only... stories.'

[therunawayscamp]

Stupid dream aside -- R’khan has being going by his title for so long now that in addition to relying on Vilayn to remind him of names whenever he’s talking to someone outside the crew or his family, he struggles to remember his own real name on the rare occasions when he is forced to use it. It comes back to him in the end, usually, but it’s a growing concern, and something he would be uncomfortable with anybody else realising or pointing out.

[therunawayscamp]

[I just realised that when Luca is old enough to have her own ship and crew, R’khan’s son is still going to be in the Morrowind Navy and could well be sent to hunt down the Imperial pirate.

That was entertaining, and then I realised that if R’khan was around he’d have to choose between the Boy and the person he not only saw more of than his own son, but essentially raised from childhood.]

[therunawayscamp]

Fear [Drabble]

There were many types of fear, R'khan had learned. The most obvious was the fear which occurred in an engagement at sea, or a fight on land, the sort of fear which came sharpest and fastest yet was the easiest to master. It could be harnessed, controlled, and redirected outwards, lashed against the enemy like a wild creature tamed and unleashed. Not everyone had that command, but anyone who survived life aboard the Runaway Scamp would soon learn it. Those who didn't now lay somewhere on the bottom of the Sea of Ghosts, shredded by axes and swords after their first boarding action.

There was the fear of the unknown, or rather, the almost unknown, the fear of that which couldn't be seen but was able filled in by the imagination. That was a fear which settled like the fog. A fear echoing in the voice of the leadsman sounding his way through an uncharted reef, throughout the temples begging the Three to be kind, in the wheels of a caravan at the beginning of its journey. That fear could be mastered, too, and turned into excitement, anticipation, speeding forwards.

Fear of the ridiculous. That was another. Take it out of context and it became a story. Embarrassment a source of fame, or infamy, depending upon how generous the bard's mood was at the time. A fear which laughed at itself and made itself companionable, if only it were embraced, with the power to make a failure a triumph.

Many types of fear, all of them controllable, all of them useful, except for the fear which R'khan had only experienced recently and felt no desire to experience again. Quieter, softer, colder was the fear he felt the one and only time he waited with Vilayn and Casethar on a bench outside a healer's hut. He forgot why. Needing to discuss business, perhaps, and finding them waiting for Hazil to finish an appointment. A beautiful day. Morrowind at its best, aglow and defined at the edges by stark, fractal vegetation, smoke in the air, sun spilling over the Veloth Mountains. A beautiful day, and they sat in silence, waiting. R'khan and Vilayn had faced down enemies across Tamriel together and yet this, this time, this beautiful day, was the first time R'khan felt a fear he could not master.

Hazil left the hut grumbling about his headache and the healer's cold hands, and Vilayn sprang into life. He was full of lies about their exploits during the wait, the lady who hadn't arrived nor attempted to sell them handfuls of dirt as a souvenir, the Argonian he hadn't ended up in a fistfight with, the argument he and Casethar hadn't been having about which was worse, dreughs or slaughterfish, and Hazil listened to them all with eyes which saw straight through them.

R'khan let them go. Whatever business he had been so impatient to discuss before was forgotten. He sat on the bench and let the beautiful day close in around him.

[therunawayscamp]

[Doodlin’. Relevant musical accompaniment: x]

YOU WENT AWAY UPON BOXING DAY NOW HOW THE HELL AM I GONNA MAKE IT INTO THE NEW YEAR ♫

[therunawayscamp]

Kylmia 'av Russawel Glathemath 'ye Varlaire-Admanenthar 'aba Alaxonfeld-Gaendral Adonire Heculius Lattalor-El, known as Lady Kylmia to her friends, enemies, and everybody in between who couldn't spare ten mintues out of their day to pronounce her surname, was a refugee from the Summerset Isles. So Sham had said. R'khan was inclined to believe her, although he had never before known a refugee who was not only in possession of a mansion, extensive gardens, and enough money to throw a soirée for all the nobility of High Rock, but who had also avoided being murdered by the Thalmor.

The circumstances of the Scamps receiving an invitation were somewhat suspect, too. Shamilia's family in the Isles were a mongrel assortment of half-bloods, whose only claim to fame was their merchant ties, and the upper echelons of Altmer society were unlikely to pay them any attention -- least of all their runaway daughter and her unsavoury associates. A party was a party, however, and if exiled nobility felt inclined to amuse themselves with the antics of sailors, the crew were glad to oblige, particularly when Sham threatened to bludgeon the fingers of anybody who denied her the chance to hear news about her family.

Impressively, they were being given a run for their money. Springwater wine flowed freely from a crystal fountain in the centre of the mansion's hall and trickled through the warm, golden candlelight. Servants were placed at strategic points around the room, each one holding a silver and glass ewers, cut to perfection, the silver shaped into vines and flowers, and glowing to the brim with metheglin. Somewhere there was the smoky smell of Crystal Tower Whiskey, although this was more discreet and Braskan had been spotted doing his utmost to deplete the supply.

Guests Lady Kylmia particularly approved of were eventually guided through the hall and into an adjoining lounge, hung on every wall with fine silk tapestries, all obscured by a fine pink mist and a general haze of debauchery. Naked golden bodies stretched out beside sweating grey skin, slick fur and sparkling scales, and that was only what was on display, what hadn't been hidden behind the drapes. A few of these remarkably friendly individuals pressed themselves against R'khan as he entered the room himself, but he slipped past them and aimed for a pair of double doors on the opposite wall, held open to the stars and the moonlit garden.

He had only been in the lounge for a minute, only the time it took to push through the pulsating, writhing crowd, but he breathed in the night like a drowning man. There was music somewhere distant. It became more distant still as R'khan strolled past the marble bowls full of living flowers, past the couples hidden in rose bowers, around a vast, dark pond, and down a corridor of shrubbery, until he reached an orchard. It was full of apple trees. They were still and quiet, undisturbed by winds or the music. And he was not alone.

The flare and hush of someone lighting a roll of hackle-lo gave him away. R'khan stopped beside a tree, then eased. Only one person would bump his head on a low-hanging branch and curse in such a distinctive Solstheim accent.

'All right, Vi?'

There was a thump as Vilayn turned his head and succeeded in knocking an apple to the ground. Like R'khan, he relaxed when he identified his companion, and ambled down the alley of trees to join him. When he drew level he held out the hackle-lo, which R'khan took, and produced a second for himself.

'Right enough,' he said, and sighed out his first drag on the hackle-lo. R'khan watched the embers light up the smoke.

'Didn't think you'd be out here. Where there's debauchery, you ain't usually far. Don't tell me you're shot away already.'

'No, but Lady Kylmia did invite me to snort moon sugar off a mirror while her admittedly rather handsome cousin sucked my--'

'Vi.'

'--and a very pretty Bosmer tied up my hands and--'

'Vi.'

'--me from behind, but when she suggested it I just felt... tired. Old. How long are we going to keep asking Vilveriah for more time? How long do we keep doing this?'

R'khan puffed on his hackle-lo a few times, then bent down to pick up the fallen apple. It came up wet with dew, which showered over his sleeve as he tossed it in the air a few times.

'Vilayn.'

'What?'

'You don't snort moon sugar.'

'That was the other reason I said no.'

Lady Kylmia wouldn't miss one fruit. R'khan pocketed the apple and chose to savour the rest of the hackle-lo rather than reply immediately. Vilayn did the same, and a companionable silence, broken only by an occasional rustle of leaves or sigh of smoke from between their lips, closed in around them.

When the hackle-lo was finished and everything was dark, when his face was hidden, R'khan said,

'Your answer is forever. There ain't no fate worse than death.'

'Not even carrying on after everyone else is gone? The Admiral. Your boy. Casethar and-- and Hazil.'

R'khan would have answered. Definitely. The words were on the tip of his tongue, of course they were, about to be spoken at any second, when the sound of somebody else crunching through the grass distracted him and forced them out of his mind, saving him the trouble.

Both his head and Vilayn's turned towards the noise. A few seconds later, Sham stepped into the moonlight. She was dressed for a party, sailor slops discarded in favour of a silver gown, carpentry tools swapped for an equally lethal array of hairpins, boots for silk slippers. The latter sank into the earth when she came to a stop.

'What are you doing out here?'

Even her voice had changed to suit the occasion. She had returned to her old accent, the haughty tones of an Altmer to whom the mightiest of the Daedra were considered part of the great unwashed rabble, and it was hard to drop it at short notice.

'Smoking,' said Vilayn.

'Mebbe I could ask you the same question,' said R'khan. Sham paused, then leaned against a tree, kicking off the slippers and digging her toes into the dirt.

'If you must know, captain, I asked Lady Kylmia about my family.' She turned her face upwards to look at the sky. The moonlight brought out more of the grey in her skin than the gold. 'They're gone. Nobody knows whether they escaped in the night or whether they were rounded up by the Thalmor. They just... disappeared, not long after I left, and nobody's heard anything about them since.'

'I'm sorry, lass.'

It was rare for the captain to offer sincere sympathy, and its emergence now was spoiled by a crash from the direction of the house and the sound of somebody stomping through the rose bowers, throwing something in the pond, and approaching the orchard. Vilayn lowered his hackle-lo and looked up sharply. Sham ignored the sound.

'Does it matter, though?' she asked, her lip curled and sour. 'Really? Even if they made it out, they would have been killed somewhere else. You heard about the Night of Green Fire, right? All the refugees in Sentinel, dead. And I've known it all the fucking time, haven't I? I just didn't want to believe it, so I didn't fucking think about it. They're dead. All of them.'

If it was rare for the captain to offer sympathy, it was even rarer for Sham to admit any weakness or sentimentality. She stood, shoeless, trembling, with her hands knotted into tight, angry fists. After decades of cramming these thoughts away into the depths of her psyche, they were all trying to erupt at once, and the only thing stopping them was deciding which to start with. She looked as if a single touch would cause her to explode, or shatter, or fold onto the ground and sob.

And then Braskan arrived. He walked into a tree, bellowed an incoherent insult at it, and stank so strongly of whiskey the apples withered on the branch. It was wonderfully, gloriously normal.

'Ah, wha's ya fuckin' s'wits doin' out in th'fuckin' dark, ya fuckin', fuckin'... s'wits? I's lookin' fer me shipmates and all a' ya's gone an' fucked off!'

The change in Sham was instant. Braskan's total ignorance of the scene playing out before him did what no amount of words and consolation could have. She grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him a shake, leaving her arm slung around his neck.

'You're the fucking s'wit, you s'wit! Came all the way out here and you ain't got any booze for us?'

'Nah, they’s all on th’skooma, isn’ they? I ain’t inta tha’ shit. I’s got fuckin’ class.’

He paused to belch, which gave Sham an opportunity to jump in again. Although she addressed Braskan, she stared at R’khan and Vilayn, daring them to mention her momentary failure.

‘Never used to bother you in Oblivion’s Gate.’

‘Aye, but tha’ don’ figure now Hlen’s gone, do it? Things jus’ ain’t the same these days. They jus’ ain’t the same.’

Before a third person could join the melancholy, Sham punched his shoulder, then kicked him in the leg for good measure. The last of her  stamped down the last of her worries and fears were stamped down out of sight.

‘Then go find the kitchens while they ain’t looking.’

‘They ain’ got no more booze, anyway. Finished it, din’ I?’

'Guarshit, you just don't want to share it. Bet you I can get a drink soon's I'm in the door.'

'Not if I gets there firs'!'

There was no particular hurry to try and beat Braskan, who, with no outside interference, looped around a few of the trees several times before stumbling towards the exit of the orchard. Sham took a few steps barefoot, stopped as if she was going to say something, but never turned around and never spoke a word. R'khan watched her shoulders lift as she took a deep breath, and then she was running, laughing at Braskan, hauling him forwards by the scruff of his coat.

The air had changed. It was hot and humid outside, despite the sea breeze and the darkness. Vilayn stamped his hackle-lo into the ground and picked up Sham's slippers.

'We'd better go back too. Make sure they don't break anything too expensive.'

After a pause, R'khan nodded. They walked through the gardens in silence, leaving the orchard, the pond, and the things they couldn't say behind.

[therunawayscamp]

“Duty. Yes, I’ve heard it well spoken of.”

R’khan beamed his approval and leaned forwards to refill Amon’s tankard.

‘Spoken like a man after me own heart. So you’ll be understanding why, having promised to fulfil that selfsame duty, I instead sailed clean away to the other side a’ Tamriel until the fires had gone out an’ the guar had stopped stampeding and that, muthsera, is why we ain’t allowed in Port Telvannis no more.’ He settled back into his chair and crossed his hands over his stomach, face warm and mellow. ‘Got any stories like that yourself?’

[therunawayscamp]

“Name a shrub after me. Something prickly and hard to eradicate.”

‘Lad, I ain’t telling you again, I’m looking for birds, not shrubbery, and I’d be appreciating a bit of silence.’ R’khan rose out of the ferns and looked Asher over a few times. ‘But if it’ll make you go away then I promise you, when I finds one, I’ll name it after you. Something loud and annoying, mebbe. Now go and follow Braskan around, there’s a good lad.’

[therunawayscamp]

“Which would you choose?”

R’khan had been watching his crew unload a series of crates onto the docks from his perch atop a barrel, making conversation with Tortulja as a passer-by, something to fill in the time while Azareth counted off their goods. Now he shifted his legs and chewed the stem of his pipe, as his head turned to study Tortulja properly for the first time.

‘Now, why’d a pretty young lass like you want advice from a salty old dog like me?’ he asked. He removed the pipe and gave her a cheerful smile. ‘Is it because mebbe you already knows what you wants, and you just needs to hear someone else say it?’

[therunawayscamp]

Playful squabbles and teasing about a crew member’s House are common on the Scamp. Since she’s based in Blacklight, a lot of the ordinary seamen are Redoran, but they’ll usually pick up a few Dunmer from other Houses along the way, and R’khan can always find room for a Hlaalu who has been struggling since the House’s downfall. Braskan and Turithys, from Dres and Indoril respectively, consider it their duty to stoke up the rivalry among the lower-ranking crew, even if in Braskan’s case his House loyalty is non-existent.

Since R’khan was Hlaalu himself, mocking the House and its fall from grace is tacitly understood to be a Bad Idea when the captain is within earshot. The only person who can get away with it is Braskan -- partly because R’khan knows him well enough to understand that he secretly thinks more of the Hlaalu than his own Dres, and partly due to their shared level of authority as (former) captains. Even so, Braskan doesn’t do it very often. R’khan’s barbed retorts about House Dres are too sharp to be worth it.

(Generally speaking, R’khan’s relationship with Braskan is an unusual one. He considers Vilayn to be his closest friend, but Braskan, with his similar experiences, probably has a better understanding of him, whether he likes it or not.)

[therunawayscamp]

I will tell you now that it is impossible to fluster, ruffle, or otherwise disturb the captain. Try whatever you like, nothing gets under his skin. I imagine on the day he was born he calmed his mother down with a few stern and well-chosen words before getting on with the business of arranging his future education and first appointment in the navy, where he of course advanced to the rank of commander within minutes...

R'khan's fingers rested on top of Vilayn's manuscript. The first mate had strictly forbidden any of the crew from reading it, especially the captain, which of course meant it had been passed around everyone at least twice and ended up in R'khan's own private quarters, laid out in full sight on the desk where he was unable to miss it. It left him with the decision of which would provide more entertainment: drawing attention to it when Vilayn arrived with the watch report, or simply leaving it there without comment and watching his officer's discomfort as he tried to work out whether or not he would be punished. Or, of course, he could move it back into Vilayn's bunk, as if it had never been touched, and keep the secrets of his omniscience to himself. All options had their advantages, and while most of Vilayn's descriptions employed an amount of artistic license which would have made Rythe Lythandas blush, it was true that R'khan was a swift decision-maker.

And yet, and yet...

He read the paragraph again and found his mind drifting. Days long lost in Morrowind. A newly-commissioned brig, decked out in the colours of House Hlaalu, transporting fresh mages to reinforce Tear against the Argonians. The paint on her stern. It was fresh, barely dry, sharpened the air with its smell, and spelled out the words Gah Ruhn. The set of scales embroidered on the pendant stood out against the gold background, as it fluttered back and forth on a breeze. R'khan remembered that well. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off it, not when the alternative was looking at the crew waiting for him on deck. The entire complement was present and arranged in a line. The mages were balancing flames on their hands. An honour guard for the arrival of the new captain. Bols Faulen, first mate, bawled,

'Relkhan on deck!'

And R'khan's feet, the captain's feet, thudded onto the deck, into the expectations of a hundred mer. How strange the words had sounded. Relkhan on deck. Relkhan, a title which wasn’t his, yet would be his name to the crew for the duration of his command. On deck, in charge. Suddenly all the responsibility, every life on board, rested in his hands.

He had never felt that way before. Up until then he had always been one of many, just another face in the crew, doing his part along with everyone else to keep the ship running. His stomach twisted like the knots holding the sails in place and his head swam. It had felt as if the eyes on either side of him were stripping him to the bone, from the lieutenants' stares down to a certain bosun's wide-eyed, scruffy-haired gaze of awe. All of them were wondering the same thing, and R'khan had wondered it, too, in countless sleepless nights before that day. In the thick of battle, when lives hung in the balance, when the waters rose and the blood ran and they were all alone on the open seas, and all eyes turned to him -- what sort of a captain would he be?

There were footsteps on the deck. R'khan recognised them instantly. A long stride, but quick, and avoiding the creaky plank without giving it a thought. Before the door moved he called,

'Yes, Vilayn?'

'Ald Varay report, R'khan. All running smoothly, except for Braskan getting at the plushers again and between you and me, sir, I already know it was Jo'Raya's fault, and also a personal item of mine has gone missing...'

R'khan glanced at the manuscript, then brushed his hand against it, nudging it beneath the rest of his paperwork. He would return it to Vilayn's bunk later, without comment.

[therunawayscamp]

Reading is not a popular hobby among the crew. Many of them can’t read, period, and those who can aren’t the type to do so for pleasure. Books on a ship take up valuable space in one’s personal possessions. If they were going to bring any aboard, they would much rather have a book full of naughty illustrations to flip through (and indeed, many such a volume has been passed around below decks until the pages were too worn and crumpled to see properly).

The main exception is Oran. He endures the teasing of his shipmates to plough through the hefty tomes he carries aboard, although there is a fifty-fifty chance that if somebody were to look over his shoulder, they would find a copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid tucked between the pages.

Ethysil, of course, has his religious texts. He is exempt from ridicule -- none of the Dunmer would dare mock the Word of the Tribunal. Ashore, he might pick up other books to read for pleasure, but his duties aboard ship don’t leave much time for them.

Vilayn has an on-off relationship with books. During his early days in the Morrowind Navy, when he first had access to mainland libraries and was struggling, as an Outlander, to fit in with his peers, he became an avid reader, only for the constant mockery from his shipmates to put him off. He much prefers the spoken word anyway, and although he does read often enough to have been inspired to write his “manuscript”, he’s almost forgotten how to relax with a book. Being unable to sit still for more than five minutes at a time doesn’t help, either.

R’khan, Tosti, and Drasonval all read when ashore, but less so aboard the Scamp. Surprisingly, the same is true for Sham, who is one of the most notorious when it comes to teasing others for the pastime. She spent a lot of time reading when she lived with her family on the Summerset Isles -- there was precious little else for a noble lady to occupy herself with when business had been attended to -- and it’s a difficult habit to give up when she doesn’t have her daily duties to keep her busy.

Braskan does not read for pleasure at all, but he always keeps the copy of Pirate King of the Abecean given to him by Morinah in his pack.