Young Writers Society

Perched above tall waterfalls is the lost city of Evandor. For centuries, the city has been under a mysterious curse. Evandor and its secrets have lain dormant, hidden by the mists of the waterfalls and the sheer cliffs. But for no longer.

Rumor of it has finally reached the nearby country of Ilyria. Ancient texts have been discovered, along with a map. Now a team is assembling to investigate. The road ahead is dangerous, weather, bandits, and magic will plot against them. Only a combination of bravery, strength, and smarts will see the team of adventurers through.

Are you prepared?

• No god-modding.
• No Mary Sues.
• No killing off other’s characters without express permission first.
• Use the DT for OOC discussion.
• Griffinkeeper is the Storymaster. All this means is that if you want to talk about plot or concerns you have, then he’s the guy to talk to.

Character profiles should be posted in the DT.

• Septimus Ashenveil (ItalianIlluminist)
• Harold Gray (Griffinkeeper)
• Aquarius Draco (Redfang18)
• Pelleas "Pell" Lockenhart (Camulaeus)
• Astrid LeBeau (Rydia)
• John “Blackjack” Hag (Lothbrok)
• Sarah Grey (barefootrunner)

Harold and Pell emerged on horseback from the woods.

"There it is, the pastoral town of Myrtle's Grove. What do you think?"

"It's very pretty."

"Is that all?" Harold asked, narrowly.

"It has three access points, from the sea to the west, or by the road that runs North-South. It is remote enough to be discrete, but not so remote that information is difficult to come by, or that a rapid re-deployment couldn't be done. Defending it is out of the question, unless we have support for our flanks."

"Very good. Notice also that the forest is quite dense, which makes it good for disappearing into. There are also plenty of wide open areas, which are great for practice. Let's carry on."

"Will we be doing much in the way of practice?" Pell asked.

"We'll see. We don't want to attract too much attention to ourselves. Marlon is leading the Princesses' best men away from us; it would be a bad idea to draw their attention."

They walked on, past orchards and vineyards. Finally, perched on a cliff by the sea, was a small mansion. It was three stories tall, and overlooked a small farm.

"This is hardly discreet, sir."

"It may look that way to you, Mr. Lockenhart, but a rich person can buy all the discretion they need. And Ms. Grey is very rich indeed, she's also is the sister of Marlon Grey, so please don't track your muddy boots all over the carpet." The door opened, and Sarah appeared.

Aquarius swam around in the sea, cracking one oyster after the other to collect this season's batch of pearls. As a water dragon, he had quite the taste for pearls. There was no pride in this ritual. He's collected pearls every season as a ritual habit for as far as he could remember. Every pearl was sold for a large price to the higher class and small price for the poor. In his sales, he was a fair merchant. There was only one special pearl that he kept to himself, which is the one thing that he had since he couldn't remember when.
He stored this season's pearls in a secret place, then swum upriver to go about some other kind of business. Once he was close to reaching the dock, he lept out of the water and stood tall on the the dock. There are other people at the dock, but he didn't seem to mind. At the moment, he hid his special pearl inside his komono. He sighed a little. "Greetings. I am Aquarius Draco, but you can call me Aqua. Don't mind me being wet. I enjoy swimming from time to time, especially during pearl season." He walked towards the group without another word.

John Hag stood at the bow of the Princess, the newest addition to his trading fleet. He hated the name, he preferred the Sea-Wolf - his flagship. But his daughter had insisted. She wanted to name a ship, and any ways the Princess was much more discreet that his behemoth of a flagship and Hag wanted as few people as possible knowing where he was. From his position on the bow Hag stared at the town of Myrtle's Grove, this was the beginning, he thought, this town will give me what I need to control the market, I'll be Tai-Pan.
"Looks like a dump," Observed his bosun, Conn.
"Shut it." Hag snarled back, though there was no force to his words. He turned to face the bosun. "If I remember correctly this town has a rather reasonably priced whorehouse, is that enough for you?"
"That'll do, Blackjack." The bosun grinned back.
Princess drifted into the harbour and was docked with a speed and precision that only a seasoned crew could bring.
"Only let the men off in groups of ten, maximum." Hag ordered. "Anyone who starts a fight will answer to me." Conn grunted and moved off to give orders, with the typical language expected from his profession. Two sailors, Prawn and Moss - the best fighters by Conn's reckoning, shadowed their captain as he disembarked and dealt with the harbourmaster.
"Any orders, captain?" Prawn asked once Hag had paid the docking fees.
"Just follow me and keep shtum." The men nodded and followed their captain to the tavern. Hag ordered drinks for all of them and then found an empty booth. Then they sat and waited for the woman who would make him Tai-Pan.

Septimus stumbled a bit when he set a foot on decent, solid land. Almost a full year since he'd last seen civilization, and almost six years since he'd been to Illyria.

Well, the port seemed unchanged, rickety, straw-roofed homes heaped in chaotic clumps, stronger, wooden buildings serving as warehouses or taverns. The smell of the sea and rotting fish was strong. Seagulls cawed in the air, and waves beat against the ships docked.

Septimus wondered if the inn he liked so much was still standing. Probably not, but who knew?

But recreation came later. He had to pay off some debts first. And ensure his magnificent ship, the 7th Seeker, was repaired quickly. She was in an appalling state.

"Septimus Ashenveil? Is it really you?"

Septimus turned and smiled broadly when he saw the uniformed figure striding towards him, hand extended. He shook it warmly.

"Dellon! It's been quite a while."

"Darn right it 'as," replied Harbormaster Dellon. "It's been what, six years? That's incredible! You're lookin' fairly beat up, my boy. Seems you have plenty of adventures to share!"

"That I have," Septimus replied, grinning. "But now I have some debts to pay off. Tell me, is Vincent Rimnisson still with us?"

"That ol' crab? Sure he is. You can usually find 'im at the Golden Arrow Inn."

Septimus beamed. "That's exactly where I was headed in the first place. Perfect. I'll see you around, Dellon."

"Where are you goin' next? If you need lodgings..." Dellon began.

"No worries," Septimus cut in. "I'll be headed to Sarah Grey's mansion. We have a lot of things to catch up on."

"In that case, you might find someone's beaten you to her, as rumors go," Dellon said, under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothin'. Go on now, Vincent usually retires at midday."

Something dark gnawing at his insides, but doing his best to shake it off, Septimus headed down the wooden jetty and to where he remembered the Golden Arrow to be.

He reached it soon enough. It was one of the larger buildings in the area, the roof shingled and the walls sturdy wooden planks. The exterior was different somehow, newer, although scorch marks could still be seen in the corners. Septimus assumed it had been 'remodeled'.

Once he entered, though, he saw it was exactly the same as how he'd left it, the rafters set in the roof still hoarding smoke, the windows and floors still dusty and cobwebbed. People sat at the antique and heavily scarred tables, mugs in their hand, the other on one of the assorted weapons the customers sported. The Arrow was only for 'hardcore' customers. You came, you drank, you left. Everyone was just waiting for an excuse to be at each other's throats.

Apparently, Septimus was that excuse.

"Ooh, lookie here, it's that son of a bitch wizard boy," a burly man slurred.

"Tired of cryin' to yer mommy?" another roared, to much laughter.

Septimus rolled his eyes. He'd been to many a oversea tavern, and these were certainly the most pathetic bunch of drunks he'd ever seen.

"You there, Septimus Ashenveil," a quiet and definitely crow-like voice rasped. "You owe me money. And it's been six goddamn years, you bastard! I'm tired of waitin'. Get 'im, lads!"

Ah, shit. Septimus ducked the first inaccurate punch, grabbed the man by the wrist and the stomach, and flung him bodily on the floor. He sidestepped a knife slash, gripped his assailant's wrist, and turned the blow around so the knife buried itself in the man's own leg, then followed that up with a roundhouse punch to the jaw. It made a satisfying crack as he dropped.

Others used the distraction as an excuse to settle past grudges, and a full-on brawl erupted.

Septimus snapped his fingers, and a cloud of dark smoke ballooned out, increasing the general confusion. He quietly slipped out of the tavern, freezing or changing direction as a blade flashed out in the inky gas.

Well that went... differently than he'd expected. So much for paying back debts. He'd better act quickly and get the hell away. As he was jogging away, Septimus remembered Vincent was a man who could afford hired muscle and hold grudges for all eternity. And it was quite a lot of money he owed him.

He sped up.

*** *** ***


Breathing heavily, Septimus pressed himself further in the shadows of the alley he was using as a temporary hiding place. He was sure the crabby old man hand't sent anyone out for him... yet, but one could never be too sure.

He tried to picture Sarah's mansion. A teleportation spell required a lot of concentration and focus.

There was a sudden sensation of moving, and a gut wrenching tug, and he felt a sea breeze, and there it was, the Grey mansion.

Sarah batted away an invasive Strangler Vine tendril and seated Harold in a large, intricately carved chair. He looked around him in wonder, and though she could see that he had certainly grown in stature, he was still her little brother Harry at heart.
"You've been busy," he murmured.
"So have you, I hear," Sarah answered primly. "An entire country after you this time?"
Harold grinned sheepishly and pointed. "Is that an Earwig Lily I see on the dresser?"
Sarah nodded.
"But that is one of the most efficacious cures for deafness in Ilyria!"
You can have that one if you like," she laughed. "But you won't have much time for rare plants once our journey has started. I'm on a quest with a group of others to rediscover the lost city of Evandor. We're meeting at midday today by the dock. You're coming with us."
Harold spluttered for a moment. "I am?"
"Yes, you are. I'd rather go with you than a thousand mercenaries."

They were both laughing heartily when there was a brilliant flash of magnesium light and a violent crash outside. Sarah crept over to the window and focussed with difficulty on a figure that could only be Septimus Ashenveil, striding from a cloud of settling dust towards her door, his wolfhound trotting by his side.
"Ah," she breathed. "We have an addition to our party. Harold, do be nice, will you? Just don't do anything silly."
Sarah waited for two seconds before opening the door. Septimus looked up in comic surprise, hand lifted to grasp the door knocker.
"Septimus?" Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Is that you? It's been a very long time... you look changed."
Septimus was staring straight past her at Harold. He entered with a grim expression, hand on his sword.
"Who are you?" he growled. "No, wait—I don't care. You should leave, now." A threatening spark played about his fingertip.
"Excuse me?" Harold stood up, mirroring Septimus' posture.
"Now, please—" Sarah tried to intervene, but Septimus pushed her out of the way.
"Oh, so you want to fight, do you? Draw!"

The men drew their swords and Septimus engaged violently. Harold parried, but his less aggressive nature led him to refrain from equal ferocity. Septimus drew a thin line of blood over Harold's arm. Sarah, backed up to the mantlepiece, grabbed her pickaxe, Hamar, and thrust it between the men's blades, jamming them in a flurry of sparks. The pickaxe complained loudly at the ill-treatment, eliciting astonished looks from Septimus and Harold. Before Septimus could regain his blade, Sarah grabbed his shirt.
"Septimus, allow me to introduce my little brother, Harold. Fighting in the house is strictly prohibited. Now get your hound away from that vase, before it bites him." She released his shirt, and turned to her brother. "You. Every time I see you, you've made yourself a new enemy. Now sheathe that silly piece of scrap you're holding before you take your own eye out."

Septimus slunk away, whistling to his dog to join him. Harold swallowed and returned his sword to its scabbard.
"Now," Sarah said smugly," if you have any personal disputes, I would be highly gratified if you could resolve them outside. In case you are not acquainted, Harold, this is my old friend, Septimus. He has just returned from a long voyage, and will be joining us on our quest."
The men shared a resentful look.
"Will you put me down now?" Hamar whined. Sarah slammed it down on the mantlepiece, and glanced around the room. Septimus was still petting his dog and looking offended, and Harold glared at him distrustfully.

"Look, you two, you are not skulking about all day because of a little spat. Washing rooms are down the corridor on your left, breakfast is on your right. Mind the mirror, it tends to be rather impolite around this time, and Septimus, don't touch anything in a green bottle—it's poisoned. As for me, I'll be down to the stables. I'd like to chat to your apprentice, Harold, for a moment, if you don't mind, and we'll set off for the meeting place just before midday. You must both appear back here, properly clothed and washed before that time."

Sarah picked up Hamar again, brandished him threateningly and slammed the door behind her. Perhaps Septimus would be curious enough to ask Harold what the quest was about. After taking a deep breath, she strode off to the stables at a brisk pace, twirling her axe until it was too dizzy to complain. The Pelleas boy was almost certainly unaware of the Giant Snapper in the stall next-door, not even to mention the Sledgehammer-headed shark in the pond...

Having grown up with a mother deeply affiliated with the arcane, Pelleas had developed a certain immunity towards being surprised by creatures of magic. Then again, having the tongue of a Giant Snapper investigate the inner depths of one's ear would be a surprising experience for any being.

"Pelleas?" The feminine voice came from outside of the stable, the only entrance to which was now being occupied by the furry behind of a Giant Snapper. The beast had been lured out of it's stall by the commotion that was Pelleas settling in the horses and was now probing the three newest additions to it's quarters and possible menu.

Pelleas' hand shot up to his head, gripping the creature's coarse, purple tongue whilst shouting in surprise. He whipped around and took in the monster. The tongue was the largest of three, all of which lazily hung out of his gummy mouth. It's face was almost canine, yet it's skull seemed to lack a jaw. It's body was like a hideously enlarged squirrel, except it leant on it's knuckles as a gorilla would. After Pelleas released it's tongue, all three shot back up it's mouth, so that it's grotesque maw could slap together. This made a hideous sound, which must account for it's name.

Pelleas' own jaw hung open as the Snapper uttered a threatening growl and moved into a pouncing position. In the background, a women's voice could be heard shouting. In the split second it took for the Snapper to pounce, something inside Pelleas clicked. Like an unusually large piece of food and finally dislodged from his lower throat and sat happily in his stomach. Pelleas' hand shot out and touched something invisible. With a crack like thunder, a translucent white sphere formed around the boy. The Snapper hit this construct with a howl of rage and pain.

"Huh" muttered Sarah as she ran into the stable and took in the scene. She hefted her axe and slapped the flat end against the Snapper's rump. It howled and slumped back into's corner.

Pelleas hardly noticed this, as he stood transfixed by the magic he had wrought. He gingerly touched the inside of his shining construct, and found that upon this contact the entire sphere melted away.

"Well there little one, Harold neglected to mention he had a wizard as his apprentice" Sarah said with a smile. Pelleas was too stunned to give an immediate response, so Sarah just smiled some more and took him by the shoulder. "Now there, let's get you inside"

John cracked his knuckles and scowled at anyone who so much as glanced at him. His size along with the cutlasses at Prawn and Moss' hips were enough to make even the drunkest tough in the tavern find somewhere else to stare.

"How long we goin' to be waiting for, Captain?" Prawn leaned across the table to ask quietly. Hag turned his scowl on the sailor who settled back into his seat, abashed. John pulled the crumpled note from his pocket. He'd been exchanging letters with this Sarah Grey for weeks now, discussing the possible existence of Evandor and her expedition to find it.

Though the details still needed to be ironed out he had agreed fund and supply her group. Personally John did not care in the slightest about the archaeological value of the city, he had heard it was full of magical artefacts, and magic was always profitable as well as helpful if applied correctly.

Hag stared at the last letter for a few moments. They had agreed to meet in the town after he docked but it had been two hours now and still no sign of her. Surely she must have seen the Princess by now. John cracked his knuckles once more, he was tired of waiting.

"You two, go look for a woman by the name of Sarah Grey." He told the sailors, startling Moss, who had nearly drifted off.

"What does she look like?" Prawn asked after downing what remained of his drink.

"Don't know." Hag did not look up from the letter as he answered.

"What do we do if we can't find her?" Prawn said as he climbed from his seat.

"Then find where she lives." Hag was growing tired of the conversation.

"Yes, Captain." The Sailors checked their sword belts before stomping from the tavern.

Astrid LeBeau

This had never happened before and it made Astrid feel uneasy. They'd been invited. It wasn't that Astrid and her father didn't have a reputation, but they'd never been invited before. Every port, every town and every village they'd been in, they had to bargain and fight their way into the next job.

Sometimes they didn't want father because he was too old but, more often than not, it was her who was unwanted. Many a captain had told her with a scornful tone that women only stirred up trouble with the men.

But not this one. This captain wanted her, though it might have helped that this 'Sarah' was clearly a woman herself. That still didn't explain their invitation though.

Astrid brushed her fingers against the hilt of her sword and looked out toward the meeting place. There were a lot of ships docking and from some of them came more men to join the others, men of all walks and appearances. The latest was an ordinary looking fellow: brown hair, average build. But he was also sopping wet and looked like he'd jumped over-board and swum.

After a moment, Astrid's eyes passed over him and turned back to a huddle of familiar faces amongst the hoard, a group of mercenaries they'd previously fought against.

"Someone taught you to be over-cautious, daughter of mine." Her father was crouched beside her, a teasing smile on his face.

"Yes, and I am grateful," Astrid agreed. Her voice was tense.

"Tell me the details again." Like many mercenaries, Sylas LeBeau did not read. His daughter was not much better, but she had just about managed to decipher the letter.

"There is little to tell, father. We quest for Evandor."

Sylas snorted. "Fairytales and nonsense. I hope their gold is more real than this farce of a quest."

Astrid waited and watched.

Septimus sulked in the corner, running his hand through Cain's soft fur absent-minded. He glowered up at Harold, sitting on the couch, who did his best to look unconcerned. He really could do with a drink now...

"So, what's all this talk about Evandor?" he asked, as casually as he could.

Harold shrugged. "My sister's reasons are often her own. I'm tagging along because I'm in deeper trouble than I can handle." He made a face.

Septimus bit back a retort and instead raised his eyebrows, motioning for Harold to go on.

"I refused the hand of the princess in marriage," Harold explained, slowly, frowning. "Now she's after me."

"Why would you go an do that?" Septimus spluttered. He would have jumped at the chance... were it not for Sarah, of course.

"None of your business," Harold spat back. "Now, we'd best get washed. Sarah's fairly strict about that sort of thing."

They both made their way to the left simultaneously, then stopped. Harold held Septimus's gaze smugly.

Muttering, the sorcerer changed direction and made his way forward, past another carpeted hall, decorated by odd paintings that seemed to move under his eyes, and not just because of the painter's expertise.

He turned left and up a winding staircase, running his hand along the smooth wooden banister, lost in thought.

Evandor.


If he had deciphered the symbol correctly... if the books he had read all those years ago were correct, then Evandor could be his only answer.

"What the -- ?!"

He stumbled as his foot sank into a stair otherwise identical to all others. Great, a booby-trapped stair. How fun.

Cursing and struggling, he managed to pull his foot out of the stair with a flash of light. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the flow of magic around and inside him. When he opened again, he saw in shades of white. Notable other sources of magic were highlighted in red. This was a convenient little trick his fourth annum magus had taught him, and had been very convenient indeed when escaping the prison fortress of an illusionist mage.

The rest of the stairs were clean, although he didn't like the look of some of those paintings at the end. There was also a suspicious-looking cabinet at the end of the hallway. The washrooms and nearby guest rooms seemed to have some magical traces, but that was inevitable, in a house like Sarah's.

Blinking again, Septimus's vision returned to normal. He opened the washroom door and stopped.

It was oddly... normal. A tin bathtub occupied one corner, and there were a series of washbasins on the opposite wall. Another corner was probably the toilet, smelling much less foul than the poorer accommodations would normally.

The most striking feature, however, was the impressively large mirror set above the washbasins. He could detect magic around it.

Hoping another nasty surprise wasn't in store, Septimus splashed cold water on his face, the freezing shock snapping him alert and shaking off some of the drowsiness that came from the long, long sea voyage.

Deciding to cheat a bit, he snapped his fingers again, and a freshening aura of pine needles blossomed around him. Another snap and a invisible ripple straightened his clothes out and got rid of the more conspicuous stains and spots.

Septimus was an extremely powerful and experienced magician, a sorcerer, in fact, but the spells wore even him out a bit.

"You there, boy, you look like you've walked all nine hells."

Septimus jumped and glanced around. Then he realized the mirror itself was talking.

"Wh-what?"

"You look worn down," the mirror explained, in the patient voice of a teacher explaining something to a particularly dense pupil. "Like you've had more adventures than your fair share."

"You have no idea."

Turning abruptly, Septimus made his way down as he heard Sarah's voice calling.

Harold went out, grabbed his gear, made his way to the washroom, and closed the door.

"Good morning," Harold said, pulling up his sleeve. The cut was shallow and the shirt would need to be replaced.

"What's good about it," the mirror responded grumpily. "Nice cut. How'd you get it?"

"Some moron thought I was trying to steal my sister from him. Can you give me a moment? This takes some concentration," Harold said, turning on the water. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He located all his anger, focused that energy, and discharged it harmlessly. The cool water rose a few degrees as the energy discharged. Now that Harold was calm, he focused on the cut. He focused the magical currents into the cut and healed the cut. This process took only a few seconds. After it was done, he splashed himself with water and finished washing up.

He brought out his clothes and changed into a plain white shirt, and put a simple gray vest over it. He wore brown trousers and a leather belt. He checked himself in the mirror.

"Well, at least you clean up good," the mirror said.

"It's time to go!" Sarah called. Harold grabbed his things, and shoved it into his bag.

"Take care," he said to the mirror.

"Good luck," it responded.

Harold went outside, to find that Pell was newly washed and dressed, if a little frazzled.

"Master, I don't understand what's going on," he said.

"It looks like my sister has a job for us. It looks like the nice vacation in Myrtle's Grove is going to have to wait," Harold replied. Septimus came out of the house.

"What's his deal?" Pell asked.

"He's a nut case with a sword. Stay away from him and don't let him catch you looking at my sister or he'll run you through," Harold snarled.

"Follow me," Sarah called. They began walking down toward the coast.

The docks of Myrtle's Grove stretched out below them, and even further, the shimmering expanse of the sea basked in the sunlight, dotted with small, colourful fishing boats. Sarah pointed. "We're meeting down there. I've reserved a private room at the Fool's Head. Are you acquainted with it?"
Harold shook his head, but Septimus grinned.
"So you have had the privilege of hearing the beheaded jester?" Sarah asked. Septimus' grin widened. "Don't tell me—your magic is the reason for his current talkative state. I should have known."
"I get around," Septimus answered.

"Do you smell something... vaguely cod-like?" Pelleas asked as they proceeded.
"It's the sea. You should know what the sea smells like," Harold answered.
"No, there's something—"
Sarah sniffed. "There's nothing," she said pointedly. They continued in silence for a few steps, then Sarah dived into the bushes beside the road. There was a scuffle, and she reappeared with a large head locked firmly under each arm and a cutlass in each hand. Nothing could account for the large men's cooperation, except perhaps the intricate wooden pegs clamped over their noses.
"Septimus—if you could be so kind—"
"Of course." He pinned the men down with magic in a leisurely manner. His dog licked one of the sailors' faces as Sarah removed the strange pegs and pocketed them.
"Well, well, well," Sarah smiled, tapping the sword blades together. "What do we have here? Some errant shadows? My, my, those pegs are rather effective. They use them in the windswept Si!elo region to keep their washing from blowing away. Never tried them before."
"We're here with Blackjack!" one of the men spluttered.
"Oh, of course! I should have expected no less. Come along, then. Septimus, please allow these gentlemen to regain their footing." Septimus reluctantly lifted the spell, and the burly men got to their feet, rubbing bruised chins and constricted necks. Sarah stuck the swords into her own belt.

After half a league of walking, the group reached the docks.
"Who exactly are we meeting?" Harold asked.
"Just a few people," Sarah answered airily. "Those two over there, for a start."
A few paces away, a woman and an old man sat amongst some crates, the woman watching them intently, cradling a sword.
"Astrid and Sylas LeBeau. Very valuable members of our team." She waved cheerfully. Astrid and her father stood.
"Sarah Grey, pleased to meet you," she smiled. The pair's eyes drifted to the assembly behind her.
"Oh, don't mind them, they're just part of the team. Come and join us."

Like a highly selective snowball rolling along the dock, Sarah acquired her team. Aqua was the next to join them, clothes still dripping slightly. The cometary tail lengthened. Finally, they entered the Fool's Head, where Septimus' smirk returned when the famous talking head greeted them with a flood of curses. Sarah returned the greeting in similar form. She nodded at the host, who hollered an answer over the busy tavern and pointed to a door. Sarah tapped a man hunched over his table on the shoulder.
"I believe these are yours," she said, pushing the two sailor forward and tossing them their cutlasses. Hag's face registered anger, then astonishment, but Sarah had already turned away, beckoning them into the private room at the back of the inn.

When the bolt was firmly in place, Astrid immediately turned upon Sarah.
"What is all this about?" she snapped. "Evandor? That seems a bit farfetched to me. What are you really after?"
"Let's all sit down, then I can explain," Sarah smiled genially. "You assume wrong, Miss LeBeau. This is indeed an expedition to rediscover the lost city of Evandor. Mister Hag has kindly agreed to supply our means of transport, and I have the map and directions. The rest of you are here because you are gifted in some area or other. Draco, for his skill with water and the sea. My friend Septimus will join us and assist us with his knowledge of sailing and impressive command of magic. My brother and his apprentice for their healing capabilities. You, Miss LeBeau, are here with your father for your fighting prowess. I have heard that there is no surer bowman—or I should say bowwoman—in all of Ilyria. We will face pirates, sea monsters and many other threats on our journey. Some of us will probably die."

"What do we have to gain from this dangerous quest?" It was Aqua who spoke up.
"A fair share of the spoils, along with five hundred gold pieces each."
"Five hundred?" Harold gaped.
"Oh, except you, of course," Sarah answered.
"What?"
"You're my brother. I don't pay siblings. And in any case, you ought to be paying me. Who would dream of looking for you in Evandor?"
"Enough." It was Hag. "Who no longer wishes to come on this quest?"
Nobody spoke.
"Well, that's settled, then." Sarah pulled out a map and pushed it over to Hag.
"This is unreadable," he stated.
"Not to me," Sarah grinned. "It is written in the ancient !kung tongue, which not above ten people in all of Ilyria can read, and only I fluently. This is Evandor. The South Sea runs to the east, the Drovan Isles are seven hundred leagues to the west. Do you see this line here? It is impossible to approach from the southeast, so we will need to loop around, but this is pirate waters..."

The discussion lasted until almost sunset.
"We must leave at dawn to catch the tide," said Septimus. Hag gave him a predatory look.
"I was just about to say so myself," he said slowly. "At dawn."
"Good," Sarah smiled. "Are we in agreement? The meeting is hereby concluded."

Aqua took his pearl from his komono and played with the pearl for a while. Seveal times he was asked where did he get the pearl, but he didn't answer. He really had no idea how or where did he get the pearl, but he knew that this was the most special of pearls he's ever seen. He put the pearl back in his komono and kept quiet until Miss Grey was finished with the discussion. As he stood up, he made his way to the door.
Someone asked, "What do you plan on doing with five hundred gold pieces, Draco?"
Aqua thought it over a bit and came to a conclusion. "I would use most of it to rebuild my parents' farm house and give the rest to the poor. I grew up on a farm close to the river, which is why I'm always near the water."

Astrid LeBeau

Concluded. Astrid wasn't sure what had been concluded, but it didn't matter because she was being paid five hundred gold to defend a ship from pirates. It didn't even matter if that was five hundred between them or five hundred a piece. That was more gold than she'd ever been offered before.

"Too much money," Sylas LeBeau mused as they left the room and made their way out of the tavern.

"I was thinking the same." They walked in silence for a moment as they followed along the docks and made their way toward another drinking hole. They'd been in town for a couple of days now and the rooms at The Grey Wind were good, if a little cold.

The sky was growing dark as they walked and father and daughter kept their eyes sharp and talked in low, controlled voices that disappeared with the wind.

"They must be expecting trouble and she didn't confirm the length of the voyage." Astrid had asked about that during the discussion and Sarah had explained that it was difficult to estimate how long they'd be at sea, and harder still to know what would happen in Evandor.

Her father nodded and said: "We'll ask for part payment, once we're out to sea. They can't say fairer than that."

Astrid agreed with him. Afterall, some of us will probably die. That was always a risk in this line of work, but the words had never sent a stronger chill across her back. They could say no. They could just not turn up and go up to the North gates and hire on with a caravan instead. Cheap, thankless work protecting fat merchants from bandits, but safer than this.

But they wouldn't. Even as Astrid wrapped herself in her blanket that night, still half armoured, her dagger sheathe rubbing against her thigh, she knew. The ship would leave at dawn and she'd be standing on it.

_______________________________

The sky was grim with a heavy morning fog and the light of dawn hadn't yet reached the docks. Astrid and her father made their way over with a clink of armour and this time they were carrying everything they owned across their backs.

Astrid had her bow and a full quiver of arrows, some barbed and others poison tipped, those ones seperated by a thin sheet of leather. Both had swords at their belts and various other weapons tucked about their persons. They also had silver and copper coins, a compass, flint and kindling and various other supplies in a rucksack on Sylas' back. Astrid led two horses behind her, one a dapple grey and the other a roan brown. Both big and strong and mean.

"It looks like everyone kept their word," Astrid said as she looked around at the other faces gathered close in the near dark.

Blackjack stood on the poop deck, a mug of water in hand. He enjoyed the air and the smell of the ship before it once again was graced with the perfume of eighty men in cramped conditions for a prolonged period of time.
"Was the night quiet?" he asked Conn, who dosed by the railings. The bosun lazily lifted an eyelid.
"You lied." He accused his captain. "The whorehouse was bloody expensive." Hag chuckled. "Everyone managed to get drunk without a fight happening, well Cross smacked a dockworker but I ended before anything could happen."
"Good." Was Hag's only response as he took a drink from the mug. "Are the toys safe and sound?"
"There dry and there's not a scratch upon them." Conn said happily as he undid his leggings and urinated over the railing. "They'll be ready for use when the time comes." John finished his drink and threw the mug to Conn once he himself is finished.
"Go get yourself a drink." Conn wandered off to find a jug of water. Hag himself leaned on tiller and watched as the sailors began to wake. The sky was still dark but they were used to waking at odd hours. As they emerged Hag spotted the sailors he was looking for. "Prawn! Moss! Get up here!" The sailors sheepishly made their way up.
"Like to explain how two of this ship's best fighters were taken down by an archaeologist?" Hag asked as he glared at them.
"Its not our fault sir." Prawn tried to make excuses. "She had pegs." Hag almost did a double take.
"Pegs?"
"Pegs." Prawn confirmed. Hag sighed and waved them away.
"Try not to disappoint me again boys." He growled before turning his gaze to the docks. As the sun began to peak over the horizon the group began to gather.