The Orm'del Sea is an ocean that separates Eastern and Western Idalos. It is said to have many horrors awaiting those that wish to travel through its waters.
The trip had perhaps been a slightly less traumatic ordeal then the group had feared. Since Graeslin was no longer considering their greatest value to be sold as slaves, they were given table scraps along with the swill. The man who'd been attired in the Black Guard armor had spoken enough to be clearly of Rhakrosian origins. The accent was unmistakably south-end-of-western. 
The members of the group residing in the hold had been called up individually from time to time get some air and be put to work. Jorsie had returned to the hold after his stint up top with a severely blackened eye. Yet he wore it with a air of triumph. Apparently whatever verbal chastisement he'd had time to administer to their hosts before being beaten for his obstinance had been worth it in his view.
Of course, it did not sit well with the children. Jorsie had not counted on that, and the obvious heightening of fear in the hold was a detail he could only regret. But he assured them as best he could, something for which he had a genuine talent as a diplomat, that it was his duty to resist, and that it did not in any way reflect the treatment the others should count on.
And to a large degree this was true, which might actually have come as a surprise to Zarik. An adult of any culture, regardless of whether that culture actually embraced slavery as a commercial viability, knew that often slaves were given far better treatment than prisoners. They needed to be kept in good condition for sales. But after a prolonged philosophical argument with Jorsie, Graeslin had decided it needed to be made clear that, as far as their time on board her ship was concerned, they were not slaves, but rather prisoners. It was during a follow-up to this debate that Jorsie earned his black eye.
That had been during just the first few trials of their internment below. Jorsie could only assume that Zarik had made himself as useful, as well as quiet, as was necessary to avoid a beating. The ambassador supposed that, as the guardian of the two children, he had to really be sure not to come below with another indication of the brutality that was just under the surface on deck.
He did not know if the noble had any talents that served well on board a sailing vessel, or if he'd come clean about any of them. The ambassador assumed Graeslin would be threatening the girls as a means of coercing cooperation from the man. He'd heard some grunted remarks about how a noble "...don't get ta where he is by havin' no special talents..." There followed a number of truly vile comments about what these particular crewmen would do to the girls to get him to talk. The laughter that followed only made it worse.
Zarik was a study in calm though, Jorsie had to admit. It had not been long after Zarik's individual trip up top that the crewmen had called for Oceta to step up. Jorsie protested with outrage, but Zarik actually stopped him. The noble had perhaps seen something in Graeslin's eyes that the ambassador had missed. Or maybe he knew what level of insight Oceta possessed.
When the young girl got to the top of the ladder, Graeslin enclosed her in a fine cloak, and escorted her slowly around the ship, plying her with a few sweet treats. They made their way to the prow of the vessel, the pirate reveling in the bashing of the vessel into the ocean waves, the spray invigorating her enthusiasm. "I know child, that you are a slave. And I know I have interrupted something that smacked of freedom for you." She said this as her eyes gazed with genuine affection across the tossing of the sea.
Now she turned to squat at eye level with her, "Your...father tells me that your name is Oceta." she said the word with a tone that gave understanding that this was not a biological parentage she meant. "I suppose you would assume I am trying to pull some trick to say that I find that to be a beautiful name." she turned away as if there was just a hint of hurt that she did not want to show. "I...guess I can't really blame you. Here, I've shown you only the dark side of myself. The side that it takes to keep these cutthroats in line."
She waved aft absently, encompassing the crew. "Jorsie is a brave man. He knows that he is the one that MUST be my target for the abuse that will keep these men from doing worse. Your father is smart. If he had made a scene and denied me this talk with you, I'd have had to punish him. This is not to say that I think him a coward. But I suspect he wants you to learn what you can about me. And if I'd have had to have him whipped, you would never have talked to me now."
She unfastened her jerkin to reveal a mark. She assumed that a young girl in Quacia would not know the difference between a naerikk tattoo and a slave brand. "I used to be slave too." She lied, her face not showing a sliver of dishonesty. "The life of a slave does not make one inclined to embrace gentleness as an attitude. I fought my way out of slavery, I killed my master, I stole this ship, and I rob the coasts at my leisure. But I will tell you one thing. I sincerely hope you will never experience such a life as to make such things necessary, because once you do them once, they only get easier."
 "I have done them all many times now. I can not go back. It is too late for me. But I promise you that I will not keep you when we get to Etzos. And they do not have slavery there. It is true that they have terms of servitude to pay off debts.  
They stood awhile longer, legs adjusting to the sway and roll of the waves. Graeslin sighed deeply, "Well, I expect you'd best be getting back. Run along now girl, before your daddy does something I have to react to." The pirate's eyes were all kindness and regrets as the girl started down from the bow. By the time Oceta had reached the hatch, Graelsin was again facing the waves with a sneer, her eyes cold and calculating. There, she had given him something to learn.
Zarik found himself in a situation he’d never been in before. While he had interacted with cut-throats before – his father being one of them, and in Lair as well as in the southern wilds – he had never done so with children under his care. Was this what his father had felt when he kept Zarik near during tenuous danger? It reminded him of the focus required when leaping between rooftops. He required absolute clarity – no room for distraction, confusion, or hesitation – even if it was only the mere sensation of it rather than the objective truth.
His priority was to keep the girls safe and calm. He did not know where the rupture portal had taken them – other than at sea - or why they were there. Graeslin, the captain – he assumed by everything the biqaj knew about ships – had a thing for Jorsie. Or… she was interested in the Etzori because of where his home was, perhaps. At first, he thought of Jorsie with suspicion but that dimmed after the Ambassador returned to their confines with a battered eye… though it didn’t disappear entirely. Yet even with distrust, there was little to be done about it.
…until it was his turn to go above board. Hazel cried terribly at this and clung to his legs, not wanting him to go. Zarik interrupted any immediate attempts to disentangle the child. He whispered a few words in her ear and then pinched her cheek. She quieted after that, her sobs becoming muffled and hiccuped instead. He told Oceta to watch after the younger girl and then he left the hold, to converse on his lonesome with Graeslin.
For a short while when separated from the children, he struggled to maintain composure. Not in the sense that he was fearful, but in the sense that he felt the power he wielded within his body. Along his spine, ether coiled like a spring as if in preparation to be released in what would likely prove a violent assault. Yet he had little information as to the nature of the ship’s crew and Graeslin herself. Unless she had a great deal of protection around her, he could attempt to execute her swiftly through a precise application of his magic. Even if she didn’t have adequate protection though, Zarik didn’t want to. He wasn’t a killer, for one. For another, everything that he observed during his time with Graeslin suggested to him that it would prove more beneficial to attempt peaceful resolution.
Thus, it was preferable for him – despite his various mutations of obvious effect – to act demure and formal. From what he gathered they were sailing somewhere and unless it was to the east, they were likely going north still. He tried to get information but found himself not in a position to negotiate properly – being a captive. By request, he offered some information about the children in hope that it might make them seem more like individuals rather than fodder to the crew.
Zarik, also, willingly inventoried potential ways in which he might aid Graeslin if she would only leave the girls in peace and good care for however long she kept them: that he was familiar with the resource of ether, thus the mutations that showed obviously in the form of his wings and halo, that he was a Transmuter of slight skill but not great. That he knew how to read and write, well and legibly, to take notes or research tomes. That he was familiar, from a time long ago, with climbing to help hoist sails and pull ropes.
And then he shared two more potential talents after he endured another barely veiled threat that defined a pirate's nature, though he remained calm while he spoke them: that he was a Becomer as well – and that of all things he’d shared so far, he was most practiced in the art (as he phrased it) of interrogative torture. It seemed after he shared that, the conversation was over and perhaps, it made more sense to Graeslin why he’d been so unshakeable in the face of vile threats and intimidation. Everything he had shared had been due to him wishing to find mutual understanding with the woman, after all, rather than being extracted from him due to fear or anxiety.
When Zarik returned to the hold and Oceta was called, he stopped Jorsie from protesting. He hadn’t kept the slave for long, but he felt assured that she would remain true to her role. She’d already proven to hold fast to her trained behavior, even in moments where he suggested that she might act less like a slave and more like a daughter – though he never used the actual word, he’d implied it during brief conversations. He didn’t want to overwhelm the Quacian girl, who’d been raised distinctly to be a slave, with such confusing thoughts. Not yet, anyway.
Zarik returned to Hazel, then, in wait for Oceta’s eventual return. He trusted that Graeslin wouldn’t hurt the slave girl, though he couldn’t be entirely certain that his trust was well-placed. The biqaj supposed he would learn. Quietly humming a melody, he combed his daughter’s hair with his fingers, then took to braiding the golden blond strands to distract her. Zarik glanced at Jorsie a few times but didn’t say anything to the other man.
When confronted with the matter of confronting the woman pirate captain that had seemed to have captured them and put them into a state of captivity as prisoners as opposed to slaves.  She always and always has been a slave. For that reasoning, she had already been a tame and docile soul. As she was told to rise and confront the woman by the summons, she had walked firmly, firmly wearing the rags befitting her status as opposed to the good clothes of the master, for she did not wish to wear them down as much as the clothes she was accustomed to. Stopping before the pirate woman, she had heard almost sympathetic words. She had sugared words and was given sweets, to which the girl slowly took in her hands, blinking as she took them at peace. However, there was one fatal miscalculation of the pirate in question as Oceta stood before her. One major...fatal miscalculation. Does a slave trust a murderer and raider that commonly lies and fills their pockets with the dreams of others? Depends apparently.
Oceta would have believed every word from her mouth until she admitted that she was a slave that killed her own master, had slaughtered him and turned to a life of violence and murder without indignation. It was not honest work, and it was there that she knew she was not an honest woman, this Graeslin character. Oceta was a girl who had accepted her position as a slave, and she knew that it was her place, her status to always remain a slave. Whether she was a useless, or useful, or abused, or well treated? It didn’t matter. So, she remained silent until the woman finished her speech, and the girl said nothing for a few moments before nodding her head, unsure of how to entirely act, her mouth opening once briefly for a simple sentence. For there was no niceties among slaves. Only absolutes and simpleties. It was the way of the slave. It was the only way she had ever known, and she refused to know more.
“Thank you mama.” Referring to her with politeness, and perhaps even a hint of endearment, she smiled with her eyes closed, a brightness upon her face as she closed her eyes, avoiding the peer into the windows to the soul, for the woman would otherwise know there was no true adoration upon her face. With it, she slowly returned to the hatch. People did not do what they didn’t want to at leisure. They did things out of obligation and responsibility if at all. Oceta was indeed a pretty name for a pretty girl, and a pretty obedient slave to her master. She would serve him dutifully, and she had vowed she would protect his daughter with her life. That she would. It was her duty. So, as she slowly went down, she would search for the man silently, not looking upon any man, simply focusing on not being spotted. She did not look for trouble, and hopefully trouble would not find her.
The promises of the crew to beat, rape, and otherwise had left Oceta numb, for she had feared these things her whole life from a master, for she would be powerless. However, she feared no free man, for she would fight, scratch, scream, and die at her leisure. Dying was not something disliked. It was the only form of freedom she would ever get from her bondage, at least one that she’d acknowledge. Searching for the man Zarik in question, the girl figured even if he was not of much use, she would be of use for all of them. Including his daughter. She had the skills of an artisan, could cook fairly well, and could perform basic housekeeping chores as was expected of a domestic slave of her status. So then, the real question would be if she would be able to work and coordinate a fine workmanship with her master. Would she be able to be of good use to him now. “Master. I have arrived." The Quacian had much to report to her master based off her perceptions, and she would have to remain in well etiquette and politeness to escape trouble. Really, that was a universal truth, but slaves had to exercise it ever more, for they were met with people that would beat you for little reason and often depending on how they felt like it, sometimes on a daily basis. So then, the question was important to note. What was the plan?
Over the next several trials, it became fairly obvious that Graeslin was not looking for reasons to torment the newcomers aboard her vessel. They were given tasks to occupy their time, many allowing them to learn some fundamental seafaring skills. Other being of a more domestic nature, particularly those assigned to Oceta. She made it clear that they were "Hands off" to the rest of the crew.
Even Jorsie was given fair treatment provided he give what information was asked of him. Initially, of course, he swore he would die before giving such aid to a criminal of her sort. Such assertive challenges to her ability to break him were not answered as he expected. Where he expected torture, he more often received thin laughter and a mocking counter question; like asking what "sort" of criminal he would NOT die before aiding, with the suppositions of it being various members of the Tower or the Hall.
Zarik was able to discern from other comments that these were references to some of the governmental levels in Etzos. The name "Oberan" was bandied about, with a sneer that held no amusement whatsoever, not even the type that went with the wistful anticipation of eventual vengeance. For the most part, Jorsie was forthcoming with any information connected to the names that Zarik asked him about. They were going to Etzos supposedly; it would be best for them all to know what they could.
But Jorsie did not know who this Oberan was.  He could only assume that she expected to find this Oberan in Etzos, and needed the cover of the ambassador's status to have the freedom she desired to locate him. She was no fool, either. She knew that the powers-that-be in Etzos already knew some misfortune had befallen him. She did not prevent Jorsie from expounding fully on the situation though his scroll.
Assuming there would be codes within the conversations anyway, she allowed Jorsie to explain the presence of the noble. It was not until the additional presence of children was announced that the "Advisor Vuda" at the other end showed any consternation. He quickly beat Graeslin to the punch, stating before she could make the threat, that he assumed they were to be hostages to ensure the cooperation promised. He offered no additional knowledge regarding "Oberan" than that which Ambassador Jorsie had already revealed, but admitted that the name a vague familiarity to it.
Graeslin tried to be demanding about her belief that he was lying and that he best be giving her all he knew, or the kids would suffer. The return stated simply that he had no way of knowing that they were not already dead, and that all he knew was that Oberan was not an official, or a merchant, or an officer in the army, and was most likely a criminal, which made it likely that she knew more than he did. He advised her that no message she could send via the scroll could possibly confirm anything about the existence or status of the hostages, so her best course was to be patient and get to Etzos as soon as possible.
He did not go on to say that there would be any increased levels of retribution if anything was to befall the children. In fact, he never stated any intent of inflicting any punishment of any sort over the whole ordeal. Graeslin gnashed her teeth in frustration over her inability to intimidate the man remotely, but saw that he was right. There was no point in going through with any threats over his position in the affair. But she took Zarik aside.
"He knows what 'vague familiarity' it is, I'll wager. Oberan was part of a crew that ransacked their worst detention facility and freed a number of pirates. It's how I got that armor that prompted that fool Jorsie to spill the beans that he was from Etzos. he never tried to say Oberan was gone though either." She didn't come right out and say that the crew had been her doing, but if not, one could only wonder how she had gained armor from it? She let slip an additional degree of her own awareness of things, by asking Zarik how Jorsie, a man stationed in Augiery, had come to be in Quacia with him.
"I admit it gives me pause just what to make of you. Why would this guy 'Vuda' suffer my threats unless you were important to him? It's not Jorsie he's trying to save, that's for sure. I'm frankly wondering if you'd have higher ransom value back in Quacia, rather than up in Etzos. You were sneaking out of town back there, weren't you? My...methods...would not have worked on the more regulated Rupturing fixtures, so you have to have used one of the...underground locations, eh?"
She shrugged it off though, "Well, it doesn't matter now anyway. When we get to Etzos, and I find Oberan, my...mm...well never mind, it's none of your worry. But please, be so kind as to explain just what this Vuda wants with you. It can't be this modest magic skill you claim. Etzos is well known to embrace such things, I've faced them toe-to-toe myself in fact..." The slowly souring look on her face suggested that Oberan was somehow involved in whatever incident was currently occupying her recollections of magic in Etzos.
The thought of ransom was no empty threat either. So whatever this 'Oberan' had done, it was clearly of tremendous value to her, and her 'methods'.
Time spent on the seafaring vessel reminded Zarik of certain things he’d learned in his early arcs. The memories were blurry but connected to his sisters in a way that he felt nostalgia while he watched Graeslin’s crew go about their responsibilities. He helped if requested, though any memory that could have remained in his actual muscles had long been forgotten.
The others – Oceta, Hazel, and Jorsie – seemed to be faring relatively well. Hazel had been sleeping better, thankfully, once he’d walked into her dreams in recent trials and made them peaceful for her.
Oceta had been the model of a well-behaved slave, proving the investment of her worth. Not only that, but she was starting to prove herself as having smart wits about her. She handled herself with composure around the crew, something that Zarik found himself grateful for. She offered a decent role model for Hazel to mimic.
As for Oceta’s instructions, Zarik made clear to her that she was to consider her safety as equal to Hazel’s. To follow along with anything requested of her from Graeslin, but not of the crew in the politest manner possible and barring any requests that might cause injury to her or the other girl. In the meantime, Zarik also mentioned to the slave that she might listen to conversations, take observation of the ship when she could, and tell him of anything that seemed off, interesting, or potentially useful.
Meanwhile, Jorsie had a great deal more anxiety to deal with, from what Zarik could catch between what was said about towers and halls and this or that. In their conversations in the moments where they had little else to do but talk with one another, Zarik had obtained a better understanding for the structure of Etzos itself. There were many names, and he tried to keep track of what he could, learn whatever the other man was willing to share… all except Oberan, if there was anything to share about the name at all.
It seemed, however, Oberan wasn’t a mere thorn but an outright briar patch that Graeslin wanted to find.
When she took him aside, after the echo communication with Vuda had fallen lackluster to her aims, Zarik listened while watching with his eyes of light blue. She shared her relation to the man attached to the name Oberan, though found it short of an actual explanation. As he listened, the witchmark in his eyes gradually led the pale color to glow around his lashes. It was a frequent display that the captain would’ve gotten used to in any discussions with the biqaj that lasted longer than a few bits.
Her keen attention swiveled as it seemed she had something else on her mind, and it landed on him. His dark brows raised when she made mention that Vuda wouldn’t have interest in saving Jorsie. Was it true? Perhaps. He didn’t know. But when he heard her say ransom, the faintest of laughs escaped him. Would he have higher value back in Quacia?
Perhaps if she knew who to speak with and the right things to say… or she could have, several trials ago. Such opportunity had supposedly gone away, if his own echo scroll had been any indication. It seemed mere luck that his scroll had been considered blank parchment like the other scrolls he’d kept with it, rather than being recognized for what it was, like Jorsie’s had. He hadn’t written in it, not once since before they’d even left Quacia, but a message had come through shortly after their capture. It was a message he had no intention of responding to and had gotten rid of as soon as he'd read it.
When a slave was confronted with duties, they simply did them. Did as they were told. Oceta was no different. Whether she worked for one master or another didn’t really matter to Oceta, for all men were slaves to something. So, as she was instructed to simply do what Graeslin asked of her but also to listen around, ignoring to the politest ability the asks of other crew members, she did so. As a slave, she was low, but under her Master’s view, she was a guest on this ship as any. However, what better place to go for gossip than the essential kitchen? She was a decent cook, and she had many people to cook for. So day by day, she would cook and clean the ship as was instructed, clean the captain’s quarters as well as Hazel’s and her own master’s, perhaps providing rare idle talk for the younger child. However, in the early morn of this trial as her master spoke, she rest in the cooking quarters, quickly accustomed to her surroundings and working with what there was, deciding to work with fish today.
The tuna were large and would spoil quickly if not smoked or salted or dried. For that reason, she took to work, lifting a fish upwards along her tabletop. A thing that drove people happy with pleasures was the joys of texture. Lifting the small piece under the gill flap, a simple kitchen knife would press downwards along the creature’s flesh diagonally and would cut downward until feeling the base of it’s bones near the spine. Slowly she twisted the blade and cut downward along the bone and the fish’s body until she reached the base of the tail and out one end. Sliding the knife along the bones, she cut through and moved one large chunk slab of meat. That was one fillet. She would proceed to do the same with the other side for the second. Tuna Steak was what she’d make for the crew, one fillet cut into six stunning portions for every man. That would serve as protein.
Each Tuna fillet would be grilled over a brazier, cooking the meat as fat dripped off every piece with salt and some pepper to spice it. She had also began the preparations of bread made from flour with the mixing of warm water and kneading it, making it long, doughy, folding it over several times before setting it to bake in an improvised kiln clay pottery from one of the pirate’s probable raids. Finally, the girl had taken potatoes from the ship’s stockpile and had peeled them. The potatoes would not be used now, but for lunch. Their skins however? Those were the most nutritious parts and would serve well with a minor spice. It tasted lightly tangy and yet spicy at the same time. Perhaps raided from some poor merchant fool [Paprika]. Mixing the cut skins with the spice, she mixed it in a large pot. However, she was not done. The salad could rest as she added sliced onions. There was but one final secret she wished to do.
Meatballs. People didn’t often know that the guts and head of a tuna when diced and pulverized could be made into a meatball when mixed with breadcrumbs and light oil. However, Oceta certainly did for slaves were often left with the most unusable parts of a fish to survive. She would make the same here for this pirate lot, for it was nutritious and hearty when the bones were ground to add texture that many wouldn’t recognize. By the end, Oceta the lone slave would come up on deck and ring a cow bell, signalling to every member of the crew that it was time for meal. Oceta would cook like this every trial, three times a trial, and would listen to their chatter as the crew idled in lines, and at times would come up on deck to listen as they lingered on the deck. For now though, it was time for everyone to eat. So, as she walked with lightly aching arms from her work, her heart even heavier, she prepared to announce.
Each person would receive along their plate a steak of Tuna fillet, a portion of onion and potato skin salad with “meatballs”, and a slice of primitive baked bread. Whether men helped themselves to the store’s ale, or water, or wine was up to the captain of course. However, Oceta soon came along to the conversation of the captain, master Zarik, Hazel, and Jorsie with her plates carefully in a long tray used as a platter, simple utensils on every plate. “Master, this one returns to you with your morning meal. My mama.” Standing back when each figure was presented, she would head to Jorsie and Hazel shortly. She was simply doing her simple duties, and making sure that both her master and the captain of this ship especially were pleased with her efforts. Lest she end up whipped, or her intestines ripped and tied around the front of the ship's mast. There was nothing else more she could do than her best. Now...once she was done cleaning the kitchen, it was time to return to her duties of cleaning again she supposed. How drab.
 "That will be enough. I know this tactic, sir. All conversation is a means to extract information. You would invite me to comment, would you? Suppose I were to tell you that I already knew Jorsie had been shipwrecked. From that you might glean that I am in communication with the Naerikk Pirate Command, perhaps even a member? It is only because I would already assume such to be true if I were you that I say it. But you're not going back that way anytime soon anyway now, are you?"
"Likewise I would adjust your interpretation of another detail. We are going in the direction I've been intending to go. Jorsie's presence simply makes it relevant to do so now.  What value it is to me has yet to be determined. I do not need to ask you to aid me in any way that I request. You will do so for the sake of your two brats!"
A cold smile grew like an icicle as she dared him to fall to rancor. "Oh yes, you are certainly a man of some rank to have learned to maintain such composure. I suspect, however, that you've fallen from grace in some way. You should know that when you tell me you can not reveal some information because is of too "sensitive" a nature, you only make it all the more intriguing to me. But I think I will not ask for more at this time. You undoubtedly have a story already in place. And that lead-in is by design to make me believe it. I will wait and read between your comments as we sail."
She indicated a crate for him to seat himself upon, "Since we feel like a story, let me tell you one." she said as her focus returned to the helm, a sudden look of satisfaction worming through the bitterness. "Some time ago, the city to which we sail had a policy of amnesty to those of my calling. They wished to build themselves a navy, and sought expertise from those who'd spent a lifetime at sea. In a move of classic treachery, to which I will acknowledge a job well done, they took nearly my entire crew prisoner, to torture for information about a treasure beyond a king's ransom."
Shaking her head at the semantics involved, "I have such a treasure, but it is not of the conventional...what's the word...liquid variety. It is not onyx and gold, gems and scrolls of arcane riches, wells of yester-arc, possessing spell charges from lost domains of Immortal power..." her hands flourished dramatically, along with her voice as it soared into fictional intensity.
The flourishes settled back to a scowl of bitter memories. "I did not care for the thought of my crew being tortured so. Nor did I have any intention of giving my treasure up. So I raised a crew of volunteers and stormed the detention center. They call it the Hall of Rule and Reprimand there, and it required inside treachery, from one of their own, to match their own."
She turned away from the bounding main to look him in the eye, "As you probably surmise, my "volunteers" needed some coercion to agree. And yes, I made promises that I had no way of knowing that I could keepto the letter. But there was loot enough for all, and I felt that I had done alright by them. But no, I was betrayed, and a major operating implement of my treasure was stolen in the escape..."
 And the one who stole part of my treasure...Oberan. Some trickery was worked that made all combatants look alike. But the fight went my way to a lucky degree, allowing the acquisition of several fittings of their armor."
The conversation went on for some time, breaks being had as complications arose and were dealt with. Little more was said that clarified anything regarding the prisoners' standing. Graeslin did not ever truly defy Zarik's wishful statements about hopeful, smooth cooperation. But she made it clear they were not to be confused with anything other than prisoners. It was the reason why they were never allowed to leave the hold all at the same time.
The pirate did not ever explain anything else about Zipper, her power as a Transmuter, the fact of her only being held in magical check by the fact of Graeslin's holding her little brother Finn hostage. Graeslin knew of some crews wiped out by the woman, and feared an eventual reprisal. It was what led to certain safeguards Graeslin had taken with her vessel.
Early that evening, the bell sounded for the meal, and both Graeslin and her crew were genuinely pleased and surprised to find a feast of no small savor provided through the capability of Oceta's skill and prompting of the otherwise dull galley crew. A new value began to take root in the pirate's mind regarding the young girl.
"I will tell you what, master Zarik. You tell your girl to serve me as she does you, leave her aboard when we get to Etzos, and I will promise you no further threat of...well.....anything. You will be free to come and go as you please. I will take no further measures in any "hostage" capacity.I will even give you back your signet ring. I'll give you a few trials to think it over."
At the scowl on the pirate queen’s face, Zarik raised an eyebrow. His lips pressed together. He shrugged at her insistence to clarify that she didn’t need to ask favors or seek aid from him, but that she could simply hold the safety of the two girls over his head. Whether she expected him to protest, he couldn’t tell from her cold smile. He merely listened, his brows settling to neutral, and his gentle blue eyes slowly blinking while he observed her – while he listened to her theorize aloud about his rank in society.
Though when she caught him, with ease, about having a story in place if pressed for the sensitive information, he couldn’t help the slight wry smile that turned a corner of his lips up. So the set-up had been obvious to her. He didn’t mind for now he suspected anything he said on the matter of Vuda would have to be regarded with suspicion, truth or not.
He sat on the indicated crate without pause. Zarik’s posture straightened and he even crossed his legs, in wait to hear her story. As he listened, however, the biqaj wanted to stop her from talking. He wanted to tell her that he had no interest in knowing that she had a treasure of any kind. He did not want that information in his head. Yet it was too late. She flourished her hands, and eagerly placed in his mind an understanding of a treasure and of a story for how the Hall of Rule and Reprimand got infiltrated. Information that he considered some inquiring minds would likely be happy to twist a screw so as to get it out of him.
His irises had returned to their bounded blue when she looked him in the eye. He didn’t say anything, nor did he seem altogether pleased by her story. Soon enough he had another name – Zipper – to go along with the name of Oberan.
Their conversation moved on, though he allowed Graeslin to lead it after that. He made a point to try and not be a complete wall of only-listening but he also proved cautious about what he did say or didn’t say. He tried once to ask more about the woman known as Zipper, of which every time he thought of the name, his skin prickled around his shoulder then faded. He rubbed at the spot, uncertain as to why. He had not the slightest clue that his Miss Humming was the very same woman.
In the evening, he found himself approached again for an exchange of words with the captain. This time it was about Oceta. Though Graeslin didn’t say it, he assumed it had something to do with the warm and filling meals that the girl kept putting together. He folded his hands in front of him, fingers interlaced, and stared directly at the woman from where he sat. Though she tried to end the conversation to give him time to consider the offer...
It seemed on that evening, after many trials at sea interspersed with questioning and conversation between the dank discomfort of the hold and life on a ship he had no control over, his patience had worn too thin. The youthful biqaj stood, a graceful roll of his spine, up to his tall height. His irises were no longer blue. A vivid orange hue had rippled out from the pupils to consume the orbs and glow around his lashes. His halo darkened, no longer vivid white but a pitch black in shade.
Behind him, his gossamer wings fluttered and spread out. He had let his indignant tongue get away from him, but he also found himself beyond frustrated in the moment. His reaction had less to do with Graeslin, or even her offer, and more to do with his circumstances. For many trials, he remained calm for the sake of the children in his care and the young mage had only the ephemeral moments in Emea to manage his own state of mind. Without his usual outlets for relief, however, his repressed emotions finally swelled and hit a point like steam from a kettle.
Oceta was not a treasure. She was a slave. As she handed her master and her "mama", Oceta's eyes narrowed as she gazed ahead with her cold blue eyes, empty tray in hand as she stepped away from the dark, listening to the remnants of their conversation. As the man spoke, called her a treasure, called her something worth far more than what anyone told her previously? Her eyes widened slowly, but with no emotion other than the feeling of confusion? As she listened, she slowly felt her eyes closed as she continued walking. 'You're wrong.' She would think this to herself as she walked upward with a heavy heart and a burdened body as she went to the makeshift room that was to act as her kitchen. She was no treasure. She would never be a treasure, for the immortals had decided this was to be her destiny. Her fate. Trial by trial, she would swear her identity to the service of a master until she died. That was the way the world worked. That was the way she would continue her menial existence until it ended. If she served well? Perhaps sometrial, she would be awarded by the immortals for obeying their will. May she be born as a child with the comfort of a warm bed, with parents to love her, and with no fear of serving monstrous masters that would whip and flog to oblivion. May she be able to be at peace forevermore.
As she head upwards, the slave would have much more to do.  She ate quickly, not for the enjoyment of taste, but instead for the nourishment and energy it would give her. Shoveling the food into her gaping maw, she swiftly stood before a basin filled with seawater. One would never waste proper drinking water for such a paltry task as doing dishes. She used her sponge and would clean dish, after dish, after dish. Her hands moved swiftly and cleanly without interruption as she cleaned fleck after fleck of the waste into the water. By the time she was finished, her hands were lightly wrinkled, her arms and fingers aching, and yet, she had a small smile along her face. It was the solitude and silence where she could think in peace. Where despite the pain, she could think for herself as opposed to think for her master. Gazing ahead in the distance as the dishes were completed, she could only proceed to dump the filthy sea water back into the depths where it belonged. This one had far more to do. Duty after duty. Job after job.
With a bucket of water and mop, she worked. She cleaned. She rubbed the impurities of the men's feet and boots along the deck as she did every day. It was hard labor for a single child to do, but she would do it. She would serve her master to bring him comfort. Her guaranteed service was his safety, and with that further said, there was nothing more she could ask for than the purpose he gave her. To watch over his young one. To take care of the few she was to see as her superiors, she stopped herself as she felt a small prick, before then momentarily continuing her labor. Her eyes were dull as her hand bled, the pain nothing more than perhaps some distant memory as she felt the wood soak her essence of life, her hands calloused and used to such work. Whether it be burning, or splinters, or any other sort of pain, Oceta had suffered through it all. She would many more times in her lifetime. It was the sweet prospect of death that kept her going, for it was the only reward a slave would normally get. Yet...not with her Master Zarik. The grandest of men. Was he not kind to her?
She lay in thought as she worked. Did he not feed her good food? Did he not buy medicine and clothes for her to wear? The gloves...she had nearly forgotten. The gloves she had asked for, she had not worn...because they were so precious. The finest thing her master had bestowed upon her. She would likely never see another pair again, and so, she had remained hesitant to even put them on. They were worth more than her. Far more. So, as she bled, she went along the dock until she firmly cleaned the length of the ship, an obedient slave to the will of her master, but even more so her own code. She never desired to be free. She never desired for the impossible prospect of being loved or cared for by another. She only prayed for one thing her entire life. A chance that the next life would be better than the one now. As she slowly looked at her hand, she firmly bit the splinter of wood before sucking inwards, spitting outwards towards the ocean as she savored the silty taste of her existence. Her duties thus far were done. It was time to report to Master Zarik for a new task.
Graeslin rose in ire, her intent plain, but the degree to which she would take it still in doubt. "Oh, I think I am not the one pushing their luck here, sir! You say it yourself, 'why not just take her?' Perhaps I will just take everything you own and leave your bodies for the sharks!" She was on her feet as if the angry tension forced her there. She continued speaking as she slowly stalked around the galley table to confront him more directly.
"It is only out of the consideration that you may have as-yet-unspoken connections in Etzos that you still draw breath. That and the fact that even having a signet ring - pretty trinket or not - supports this supposition." Several crew members were now on their feet as well, forming an obvious cordon to prevent any hindrance to their Captain's indulgence of her fury.
"Did you not notice that I employed no taste tester before I took part in this fare? Is that not a sign of trust, SIR? I know the slave trade pretty well, and I can see an indoctrinated slave-from-birth example when it's in front o' me. The tortures she would have endured during that ordeal are designed to make slaves used to pain. Even though her loyalties are available for purchase, she would not abandon your current lordship over her until you gave her the okay. Until then, she would still consider herself your property and would be destructively honor bound to resist. I would rather not have to buck that indoctrination, thank you. I honestly thought th-.... "
Her tirade was interrupted by a bell from the nest and a shout indicating the port bow. The magnifying spyglass was in the pirate queen's hands before she finished her second step toward the railing. Her tone was a growl of nuisance at first; probably of the sort suggesting impatience at the thought of prey coming into range right when she was just warming up to a good ass-chewing. She may have even let it go unraided if it looked to be something of just mundane cargo.
But a sudden hitch in her step and a hard swallow gave advance warning of the cry to come. "SEA DRAGON! Man the Ballistas! Charge the Transmu-....." her gaze took on a decidedly calculating look as she assessed her 'guest'. Her eyes narrowed with a gambler's appraisal. "Belay that last order!" She took just a moment to assure herself that her ballista order was still being followed, and then sidled up to Zarik.
"So, you cite yourself a modest transmuter, do you. Well, if you are unfamiliar with this approaching creature, let me fill you in. It's full name is the Keel-Saw sea dragon. That big fin on its back is like a saw blade, like sharpened steel. No, it doesn't spin, but the damned thing will still dive and come up from beneath to hack away at the hull of a ship. It doesn't take long to get one sinking.  This one appears to have targeted us."
Zarik would be uncertain whether her relative calm was due to trust in his stated abilities, trust in some other contingency, or simple death-wish fatalism. "So, let's just see a timely demonstration o' your powers. You may recall you offered them when we first spoke face-to-face. Why don'cha turn the hull to metal? I've seen such things before, you don't have to worry about the weight sinkin' us. I admit, I don't know the physics involved, but I know we'll stay afloat."
A bit later the ship shook with a sound like wood being scraped and scored. Some men started to shout down to their leader, but she made a full circle wave over her head to supersede their cries and then drew her fingers across her mouth in a "Zip it" fashion. Then motioned to a man at the hatchway that led below and flashed a single pointer finger to him, as he dropped out of sight.  Or the other one, whom I assume to be your daughter. Then let's see what you've got."
The game was on. Graeslin stood her ground calmly as the beast beneath them chopped its way a little further into fresh wood with each pass. A few ballista bolts were fired, even those few that hit mostly were not at sufficient angle to penetrate beyond the removal of a few external scales. The men tried to hit these exposed spots, but the creature was rarely visible or stationary long enough to even draw bead on it. One hit did leave a shaft extending out from a flank, but all it did was anger the thing further.
"What''ll it be, nobleman? I suppose you'll feel good about ridding the sea of a single ship, out of thousands, that ply my trade. And it will only cost you two innocent lives. You'll notice I don't count yourself or your diplomat among them."
