rubyrubyruby

Wynter seems to focus on the priestess captian and answers. "I am Wynter Chantris. Magi of Pathi and Custos as well. Friend to Captian Incarnate." She motions to Ruby, feelign very much on guard now that they've come across t othe other vessel.

"Sidonie, surgeon," she says evenly by way of introduction. Sidonie keeps her eyes steady on the two Captains as well, but who she really wants to look at are the prisoners.

RPG: Sidonie declares that she has the Observation (SKL-OB) gift.
RPG: Wynter declares that she has the Master Marksman (FGT-MM) gift

The two Captains regard Sidonie and Wynter with the looks of someone working on their second language skills. Not incomprehension, but translating in their heads and digesting that before continuing in their own rough Thari. They give both women a nod, though the male Captain asks for more information from his companion on the equivalents of a Surgeon, and she responds, "...Without the aid of the divine." She asks of Sidonie, "Is it true you take the risk in treating the injured without the light of a Martyr to aid you? With...your own hands and...~tools~?"
The male Captain clears his throat and is responding to Wynter, "We are Captain Theol, and Captain Grace. If you are of the Chantris, then we are pleased to meet you." He fixes his gaze on Ruby next and is less amicable. "We have no news for you. But we have news of you though." He snaps his fingers and three of the guards bark something and the prisoners rise from their knees and stand. "We have three penitents that say you are their sworn enemy, and ~our~ enemy. They come from beyond but have made all the proper submissions to speak with us. And they come with promises of gifts and rewards."

Ruby tightens her jaw and one can hear her teeth grinding. She restrains her tone but it's forced. "We 'ave a deal for safe passage. You gonna take tha word 'o strangers over a known...friend?"

Wherever Jondrim has gotten himself to, it's not visible from the deck of the ship. The vessels occasionally creak and shift, as ships will. It's rather quiet though, apart from that. No obvious noises from below. If there are others aboard, perhaps they're holding their breath or sworn to a vow of silence.

Wynter's brow rises and she nods slowly. "Adopted into the house but not of it." She clarrifies and then continues. "You think they need protecting from us? If this is a nuetral meetign then all will be well. We, however, have been harried by a group of ships as we made passage through the shadows. Are these crew of those ships then?"

Sidonie will probably hear about this deficiency until the last day she draws breath. The look on her face is pleasant enough, though. "Yes."
The barber-surgeon's hand reaches up to circle Ruby's wrist, should it be at her side, in what appears to be a calming gesture. Her forefinger remains braced against the front of the Captain's wrist, while her thumb, concealed, flicks against the inside of the wrist, as if unclasping something. Sidonie's hand then pats Ruby's affectionately and withdraws. She offers a soft smile, as if encouraging the Captain to hear them out.

The prisoners remain silent. Wynter's question draws the attention of their hosts and the prisoners, and Captain Grace moves behind each, reaching for their obscuring hoods. "The rite of silence has been upheld in good faith. A period of one month has elapsed after these envoys presented their truths." With the hoods tugged off, their sweaty disheveled features are revealed. They aren't faces that are well reknown or infamous, though they seem relieved to be revealed, reveling in the fresh air.
The guards piece enough together that they grok that Sidonie is a surgeon and not a god-touched healer. This generates both awe and disquiet.

Ruby frowns, getting more and more worked up. "Bog's balls..." The tell-tale signs of anger building are all there. The un-blinking and tense posture. Over-enunciating words. A muscle in her cheek flinches at the pointed touch at her wrist. A heart-beat of hesitation, and she freezes. A deep breath is taken and the let out. With effort, she adopts a hard smile. "Me companions also be true tah their word, an I vouch for them. An they clever sorts. Wyntah 'ere 'as an excellent question. We 'ad a bargain tha we could pass through 'ere, an maybe even restock fresh water an provisions at Port monastery. Whatever these three 'ave said, it be against your interests, in tha long run."

Captain Theol colours and speaks up. "They said they would welcome us into their Union. They promised weapons, ships and raw materials. They promised all this and underwent the removal of tongues to show their resolve. They say you are among those that would plunder us as they did their realm. And they promised us your ship to our gods."

The other brow rises as she hears of the strangers dedication. "Cutting out their tounges?" The extreme behavior is enough to actualyl shock her. The cutting out of a Pathian's tounge being the end of their days as a magi. She supresses a shiver and slowly shakes her head. "I will not slight their nerve and dedication but to my knowledge we haven't plundered any shadows that I know of."

The needless removal of the prisoners' tongues is revolting to Sidonie as someone who seeks to preserve the body. Generally speaking. She frowns, briefly, before schooling her expression into something more placid once more. Her hand goes to Ruby's once more. This time she grips her hand and, again concealed from the two opposing captains, digs her blunt nails sharply into her palm.
Releasing Ruby's hand and straightening up, she speaks up. "May I examine them, the prisoners? There may be more lasting damage I could prevent."

The supposed prisoner in the middle of the trio manages a smile. His eyes gleam like that of a zealot. One that feels they're on the verge of some sort of major victory. His companions, one fella and one femme, look a little more harried, but as they adjust their eyes to the brightness of being unhooded, they fix their gazes on Wynter, Sidonie and Ruby with glib hatred. Around their necks are ornamental circlets of three bands.
Captain Grace steps back and murmers to one of the guards. Captain Theol stands stoutly on deck. "The sins of the Eldar must be passed on to their ancestors if they are unable to make amends. Oberon is gone, yes? His sins, and his sons and daughters, they trickle down. They say the debt remains and grows with interest."
Captain Grace steps forward to address Sidonie, which will probably mean a slightly more open mind. She speaks, "I...don't see why not? I would not allow you to treat me with hands that are not holy, but they are not of our people..." She looks to the Prisoners, who seem to be...hesitant now. Grace continues, "You'll find the stubs of their tongues, and nothing more. They were cut and cauterized, sealing their promises in their donated tongues. The sacrifice is symbolic." Eyes turn towards the trio, whom are not a little tense now, and have their mouths very much shut.
Captain Theol steps forward, looking to protest, but a glance from Grace tells him to hold steady. He does glare at Sidonie though. The guards shuffle uneasily. They were prepared for a certain situation, or parameters of the meeting. This is catching them off guard.

Wynter watches the interactions with interest seeking to learn as she goes. "Please forgive us if we do not know your ways and give offense. I hear your words about Oberon and can niether despute them nor support them. The lands I come from continue on from what is rather then angers from the past, even though we dislike change." The last part said wryly. "What is it you seek now with their statments and offerings in place?"

Ruby hooks one hand on her hip, considering that latest touch upon her other free hand from Sidonie. An unspoken delivery of some information perhaps. Without a weapon at her side, she feels rather unprepared. Staring hard enough that her eyes are starting to hurt from being so dry, she grates, "If you ain't gonna 'onour our arrangement, in favour 'o these...wolves, we just say 'ello, g'bye an Bog take you. We certainly ain't gonna sacrifice our tongues."

"Thank you. It will take but a minute," Sidonie says, already sounding rather reassuringly clinical. If she has any feelings about whatever sins she has inherited from Oberon's lot, they are not apparent. For the first time in what seems like forever, she tilts her head to look up at the Captain, for reassurance maybe, or to provide it, then almost... was that a wink? She then turns and advances a few steps only, likely unwilling to stand too far away from her crewmates, and gestures with her hand for the guards to bring the prisoners forward.

Captain Grace reaches for her religious affectation. The rosary-like fetish passing between knuckles like a well-oiled gear. She turns to Wynter, lifting her chin. "Your ships. Their protection. The divinities that have helped us thrive and live worthwhile lives are sympathetic to their quest. What is ancient retribution can then become a proper holy crusade. It is not personal, Wynter Chantris. We would give you peace and safe passage unless you are of Oberon's blood." She smiles benevolently. There's a bit of a holy zeal coming to her as well. Literally.

The guards hesitate before obeying Sidonie's direction, but their leaders second it and the three reluctantly step forward. Muscles along their jaws flexing as no one appears to be stopping them from being inspected. There is a bit of a plantive look from the woman on the end though, and she casts an annoyed glance to Captain Theol.

Wynter offers a wry smile. "Thank goodness then? I am not of Oberon's blood. And if one is of that bloodline, what then?" the brow raises again as Wynter studies Captian Grace more intently then before. "What a unique form of magic you carry now, Captian Grace."

Cela might be spotted, standing on the foredeck, and observing with her parasol up and open, shading her features.
On the Beast, that is.

It doesn't matter what the original reasoning was, Sidonie is going to genuinely look these folks over, because that's what she said she would do. The first two prisoners withstand the examination easily enough. For both she taps on the cheek and, rather gently lets the chin rest on her hand as she peers into the mouth. She frowns unhappily at the sliced, cauterized tongue, but does not comment. After that there is a brief palpation of a few spots on the neck. One she examines a bit longer, holding his chin firmly a bit longer to look at his eyes, presses her hand to his forehead as if to check his temperature.
Ah, but the third prisoner. She shakes her head once Sidonie places a hand on her cheek, jaw clenched shut. "I am sorry," the barber-surgeon says, truly meaning it, as she grips the envoy's chin with one hand and firmly holds the back of her neck with the other. There is resistance, but whatever points Sidonie presses at the envoy's neck or chin finally makes her open her mouth to reveal a perfectly healthy tongue.

Grace beams with pleasure. Every breath seems to inflate her balloon a bit more. "It is not mine. Our Lady's martyrdom allows me a portion of her to protect this vessel and the congregation upon it. Yes, thank goodness indeed. I have no personal objections to Oberon's bloodline, though if my people are to benefit from the nascent pact, all of his descendants are to be handed over. And..." She arrests further talk and pales.

During all this, Ruby twitches and resists the urge to look behind her, towards the safety of the Beast. What she's absolutely not cool with is some new deal getting in the way of what should have been a simple task. She says in a low tone, "You 'ave no idea tha kind 'o debt you rackin up with me, right now. What be in your favour be these two femmes with me. They logical an clever an stuff. I tend tah act first, an talk later. An it be sending me ideas for a 'oly crusade 'o me own. Bu-" Ruby cuts off as Sidonie reveals a very intact tongue.

It's very, very quiet now. The deck creaks. The masts groan. The rigging hangs limp. There's a lot of folk looking at one person's mouth. Like an Orthodontics convention with a spectacular presentation.

The two de-tongued ones look to their female stand-out, and she looks back at them. Something passes between their expressions that has the gravitas of granite. The two Captains are now exchanging glances, and while they may be on the same boat, they aren't on the same page. They're taking a step back.
Theol shakes his head, in warning. "No," Grace simmers and bobs her head, "We've already agreed."
The guards, poor devoted souls that they are, try and follow their Captain's wishes and they're ambivalent. And in the middle, the three envoys and Sidonie.
Under everyone's feet the ship moves. There's a firm little tug downwards of the whole vessel. Not enough to make anyone fall. The chain of the anchor clinks and groans under pressure, and then eases off after a rather pointed display of ~something~.

Sidonie's eyes first brighten with the self-indulgent satisfaction of having her suspicions confirmed. Now is not the time to gloat, however, but rather it would be a good time to retreat back to her crewmates. A smart woman would maybe run behind the giant Captain, but Sidonie does not want to make any sudden moves. She takes a step back, still looking at the envoy without the missing tongue, and is about to take another when the vessel seems to tilt and she stumbles just a bit.

"Just who has decided what?" Wynter asks and bounces along wit hteh rest of the ship as it bobs like a large cork. "And what exactly are you linked with down there?" She asks more calmly then she has any right to be. Silently she hops Jondrim is ok down there.

Ruby would pale if she could, and flinches when the ship feels like something nudges it. Her eyes widen and she hisses, "We better get back tah tha fleet. This sounds like a bloody deal tha's already been shook on. An now it gone wobbly." She's not moving though. She's rooted in place while an honest to Gods schism starts. She raises her voice, "We leavin." A murderous glance is sent to the envoys. She takes a step towards them, and halts again. "Bog's barnacles...If they knew we was comin...they probably 'ave eyes on tha fleet."

On the Beast, Cela appears to startle over the bounce of the other ship. She goes up on her toes, eyeing the water line on the hull, measuring perhaps, or perhaps on the lookout for angry tentacles. Tentacles can happen, she has learned. Tripping down to the main deck, she goes to make sure the gangplank is still affixed, and entreats a couple of deckhands to resecure it, if not.

The tension is getting immense. Hands are gripping weapons tightly. Eyes are shifting to mark priority threats. Lines being drawn. The envoys are trying to gauge which way to jump. Both ships get tugged now, and it's not a synchronized movement. The two ships of Captain Theol and Grace actually get dragged together, like some blundering hip-check. Harder and forceful.