10 Years Ago, in Llomerryn (OPEN)

One's first kill reveals the body to be just a bag of meat and bone. After, one begins to see the shape of people's skulls in their heads, and how their guts must wind under their corset. Murder, death, dissection, and decay, betray the magical illusion that life is special. Jorah's first kill left him numb and confused. He thought he would see the soul rise up, or a ghost over his shoulder the following night, but there was no story to be told of it. There is only a story to be told when the kill is a challenge. And even then, these were never stories that he told his children, nor his wife, when she too once lived.

Ten years ago, one night in Llomerryn, Jorah Mesonero, swung his legs over a balcony and dropped like a coin into the sea.

When the sun rose, red tendrils casting yellow warmth on the docks, Jorah was but a disheveled rapscallion like every other scoundrel in this pirate's port. With a sack of his humblest belongings thrown over his shoulder, he stood in line to board a boat for passage back home to Antiva City. One day, he would tell the tales of his travels here and how grateful he was for the Eluvian Network, but at the present, his mind was aloof to danger. He had studied the port for a fortnight, and he knew the schedule of the sailors, dock-masters, cargo-hands, and merchants. He picked out the differences today. For one, the Rivain flag was not, as of yet, hoisted by the fort walls. Sprinklings of seafolk stood idle, huddled and looking about like he was. The pub was busier than usual for the morning, as if a party had lasted all through the night.

Last night, Jorah had slit the throat of Captain-Commodore Riviera, a Rivain-appointed naval officer, once pirate, who had united the sea's outlaws with enough clemency and mercilessness to make the big-thinkers of Antiva City sweat. Killing him was another story, too long and complicated and detailed to contemplate as Jorah couldn't help but yawn and be grateful the tasked was finished. He had yet to abscond the island, and soon, the body might be discovered and the murder announced. If and when that happened, getting his trousers off of an island would become another story as difficult and complicated as the one he'd just managed by the skin of his teeth.

The first mate of the ferry crew jumped off of the prow, and began accepting passengers onto the vessel. He was a grizzled man with gold messily pressed into some of his teeth, and a sun-bleached bandana covering his greasy hair. He smelled of bad breath, stale beer, and urine, as did the other miserable deckhands. Neither had Jorah rinsed his mouth out this morning, but their extreme lack of hygiene was too much for the crow to perfectly replicate. Nothing like Llomerryn cologne, he thought.

The first mate approved several other passengers before him and after him. There chat was brief, money the centerpiece of their roguish morning grunts and glares. Keeping an eye out for shocked expressions, Jorah leapt aboard, and found a place to idle about with a small, stale loaf of bread to eat. The vessel departed. All was quiet. The news had not broken, the era of Riviera's command trailing on as Jorah lived in its final ellipsis.

When the island was but a speck on the horizon, a great shout rose up, and many eyes suddenly looked towards the wheel and saw the first mate's blade had impaled the elderly scoundrel of a captain. [color=pink]"Did ya'll not hear? Riviera's dead,"[/color] the mutinous first mate announced with a baleful grin. [color=pink]"We ain't bound, no more. We ain't gotta follow no rules no more. Tie up the passengers, the slavers have them!"[/color] A boisterous whoop prevailed as sea hands grabbed Jorah's shoulders, as the other passengers by him were similarly approached.

Being awoken as she had threw Vi into a whole world she'd never known. Creatures and people she'd never seen in her lifetime now roamed the waters and the ports. While the familiar was nothing but memory. A world only being touched by her dreams.

Ages had passed and she'd not changed a bit. A selfish part of her had wished that she'd wake up one day as herself again. A vain part of herself that did not see whatever beauty Ghila'nain had.

The pirates that had found her seemed to think her beautiful, too, enough to not kill, at the very least. And for that fact, she was grateful. Though eluding them had proven troublesome at first, she'd eventually shook them and taken herself deep underwater.

But curiosity was a funny thing. One that didn't just disappear. And so she'd ventured back toward the surface again, trying to determine the best way to investigate this strange new world without putting herself in harm's way. Or in front of too many strangers. The pirates, alone, had seemed quite perplexed about her appearance and argued over what she was. Mermaid. Siren. Freak. All terms thrown out, none of which she'd understood. Barely discerning what words their lips even formed at the time.

Surfacing this time had brought into sight a vessel. Much like the one that had found her chamber and awoken her far too early. Curiosity pulled her to the sides and up a rope where she snuck a careful peak at what happened on deck.

It... looked bad. Ropes were out, people looking scared as the crew herded them about. Despite being rusty of years without flexing her abilities, Vi was able to shroud herself enough to creep onto the deck. Her target was one of the closer sailors to snag the cutlass off his belt.

Yet before she could make the grab for it, he'd unsheathed it, waving it around at one of the scared people. Huffing silently, she allowed her shroud to fall as she made a grab at him from behind. Arms wrapping around his chest, she yanked backward until she'd gotten him close to the edge of the ship. And as he hollered in both surprise and frustration, both plunged over the side into the sea.

Releasing her grip, she dove deeper and yanked on his feet to drag the man deeper and deeper. He flailed, bubbles erupting from his mouth as she dragged him down further, cutlass swinging wildly and just grazing her temple. Glaring, she summoned what mana she could to use the power of the water around her to push him further and further down than she could drag him. He'd not resurface in time, and Vi rushed the surface.

Clambering back up the side, she wasn't sure what she'd find this time. But as soon as she could catch eyes with the scared folk, she'd sign for them to follow her to safety - not even pausing to consider if any of them would understand.

When a flash of blue-green scales stole the captain off the deck and dragged him into the water, the cheers and yips that had accompanied his speech died on the lips of his crew. His scream, splash, and gurgle struck both crew and passengers with terror. As the more brave launched themselves to the rail to peer into the dark depths, others scurried up the rope rigging the masts or hurried below. Everyone with a blade had it drawn, looking around, as if more scaly claws might appear from a drift of mist, and clamp a moist hand over their face at any moment and drag them under.

Jorah had his own long dagger in hand, and he moved to stand with his back to the pillar of the main mast, so that nothing could sneak up behind him. He swallowed nervously, when the captain's threat had only made him sigh. His eyes peeled around in anticipation, which part of him savored, while another part felt poisoned. While many shouted and argued about what fantastic being had snatched the captain, he listened. Any shred of intelligence might save him.

When a tall, elegantly-curved splashed onto the deck and stepped forward and looked around importantly and expectantly, many all took several cautious steps back and held their breath. Especially the frightened passengers. Sashed in quilts of pattern from around the various islands, the pirates shared glances to each other and over their shoulders, before one more rugged mate leaned over the rail of the quarterdeck.

"You killed the captain!" he accused, pointing a cuirass at the mysterious figure from the deep, but then, he glanced around as if at a loss and looking for guidance.

Jorah stepped forwards between the pirate and the scaled creature, melodramatically sheathing his dagger. He tried his best to puff out his chest to fill the lack of confidence in the air the islanders all shared.

[color=orange]"Perhaps it is time for a new captain. One who does not rock the boat,"[/color] he fluttered his hand as he moved it to gesture towards the creature, before looking at her with an awkward question in his gaze. As he looked at her again, the poison of nervousness quite obviously darkened his face.

None on the deck seemed keen to follow. Perhaps she'd miscalculated. Or they merely didn't understand. Helvil tried signing again, more urgently. I will guide you to safety.

Only the flash of steel in the sunlight caught her attention to look at one of the angry men. She blinked up at him, not having caught the movement of his mouth to understand. Or realize he'd said anything. He merely stood, pointing a blade in her direction. Vi tilted her head.

No one seemed panicked now. At least not the same commotion as had initially lead her to this moment.

More movement. Large eyes flicked to the other man, water whipping off her fins as she moved her head to follow shortly after. She took a hesitant half step back, wary despite the sheathing of the dagger.

Vi frowned. I don't understand. Her hands and fingers moving delicately and deliberately as she made her confusion plain. More plain that was already on her face. She'd not yet learned the language of the land, guessing at the words his lips formed, though they held no meaning.

Jorah frowned back, mirroring the woman. As he stared at her, he realized now she was wearing no queer diving suit; The scales grew from her skin. He swallowed and looked around, but so far, everyone on board was remained silent and still with shock.

Jorah heard rumors of such creatures, once human or elvish, but somehow warped by magic. The chantry clergy he'd met on his travels denounced them, spilling tails of their greed for power and the loss of their humanity as they let the faucet of magic run. But Jorah met the cautious look in her eye.

He was indebted to her. All the passengers owed her their safety, so long as this awkward peace remained. After looking around to try and meeting the worried glances of the other passengers and sailors, Jorah knelt on one knee and bowed his head to the creature. One by one, everyone around lowered - recognizing the inheritance of the ship to a new captain.

As they stared at each other, it seemed neither knew what the other was attempting to communicate. A flush of frustration threatened to rise within Helvil. She'd just wanted to help. She'd just wanted to see these people brought to safety. And now... now she had no clue what was going on.

The one thing she could tell was it seemed none were keen to draw blade against her. Perhaps the man she'd pulled down was the charge of this whole ordeal. How simple it had been to pull him down and leave him to his fate. Yet these folk... did not attack her for it.

Jaw tightened when the man knelt. Vi took a step backward, unnerved by what was happening. Were they... trying to worship her?

I am no goddess. She signed, frowning. Would they even understand? Did she understand? Why do you not leave for safety? she queried, unable to grasp that her appearance alone gave everyone pause. Her attention turned toward the armed men. Why do you not attack?

This was all very... unorthodox.

Jorah looked up only to be awkwardly confused by the woman's chaotic gesticulating. Cautiously, he stood, trying to figure out her intent. His brow scrunched, unnerved as the crew's tension still felt delicate. She seemed to have no voice, but her hand-shapes were nothing he'd ever seen. They looked almost how one moved underwater.

He raised both his palms, patting the air in her direction, a gesture he hoped would calm her.

Then, he pointed to the dead captain, and looked back at her face, and pointed at her.

Finally, to emphasis his point, he went to the crumpled body, pulled off the foul-smelling tricorn from it's head, sniffed it, second-guessed if handing it to her would convey the right meaning - but this was no time for indecision - abruptly, he held it out to her. 

[color=orange]"Captain,"[/color] he said.

The more Helvil signed, the more frustrated she felt that not a single present individual understood her. Still, though, none moved but the one. He was gesturing and pointing, but did not seem to be speaking. She did not see lips move as she watched, confusion still plain across her scaled features.

A hat was soon held out to her and he was forming a word. Her brow furrowed. That is a hat. Was he confused? Did they call that something different in this strange new language? H. A. T. This time she spelled it out, then pointed at her head as if to gesture this was where one wore it. Thus: hat.

Desperately she looked around them at the others, yet none seemed to be as confused as she as to what was happening. No elf among them to explain, to speak a language she'd know.

You wear that. It is a hat, she tried again to explain as she signed at the stranger.

With a slight huff, she stepped forward and took it from his grasp. She held it over her head, though it was clear it would not fit for the fin atop her head. Hat, she signed with her free hand as best she could. Then, stepping forward, she placed it on his head. This is a hat, you wear it. As if explaining to a child that did not understand.

Even if she was, perhaps, the child that did not understand.

Realization dawned on Jorah's face, his eyes widening, and then a jolly, dramatic laugh boomed from his lips. He took the hat back and twirled a dagger out.

She says it does not fit, so I will make some adjustments, he announced to the crew, to calm whatever tensions remained. With a quick swipe, he slashed a gash through the back half of the hat to accommodate their savior's head fin. Then he stowed his dagger with a charming flourish he often used to make young Jaqueline smile when she was but a child. 

He offered the hat again, a coaxing gentle expression on his face, the lion of the crowd what he wanted to tame, the confusion of this... fish, yet another difficult lion indeed. He nudged it at her, hoping she would take it and and complete the gesture of crowning herself, as she had begun to before. Suspense hung thick in the air as the crowd leaned in with curiosity. 

For if she didn't take it, Jorah would have to be quick and place it atop her head before all hell broke loose.

Helvil couldn't help but be taken aback by the dramatic action as he took the hat. Experience dictated he was laughing, even if she could not hear it. But either way, she found it startling in the moment. Was this a matter worth laughing over? These people had been in danger, and now one was feeling so... merry? Jolly? Odd.

She blinked at him, watching his lips move, but not understanding his words. She resisted the urge to give a foot stamp in frustration. Helvil had not yet learned this language of the shemlen. The words formed were foreign and alien to her, too unlike elvhen. Even the handful of elves she'd met had a few words she'd understood. But this was miserable.

What are you doing? The hat, now with a hole, held out for her. She stared at him, still bewildered. I don't know what you want. She barely finished signing before it was thrust upon her head, water droplets sent loose before what remained being soaked into the old hat. For a moment, she looked like a cat displeased with being in water. The hat still stunk, too, and suddenly she wished that sense could get removed.

Why?

@Jorah Mesonero

Jorah saw the pained questions in her face, and returned it with a bright smile. Vigorously, he took her hand in both of his and shook it. Then, he dragged her hand up into the air, and the whole boat cheered, yipped, and whistled in a doubly loud hurrah. Through the ruckus and celebration, several kegs splashing their innards amid hats tossed in the air and trampled, Jorah pulled the quizical creature into the captains quarters. The stink of more distilled spirits pervaded the cluttered, ramshackle bunk, which had far too many trinkets, junk, and garbage piled about. Rummaging about, Jorah found a bottle of whiskey with a crown printed on then label, a dragon chess set, and a shark tooth the side of his fist. With all of these in his arms, he returned to her.

First, he showed her the whiskey bottle, and tapped on the crown. He plucked out the 'Leader' figure of the dragon chess set, and pluncked it beside the bottle. Lastly, he palmed the tooth, but felt at a loss at how to gesticulate the large shark token as a symbol for being the boss. So he just offered it to her, hoping for the meaning to dawn.

In the moment he took her head and shook it, Helvil could almost feel her entire body jittering. She blinked at him, having gone almost limp as he dragged her hand and arm about for show - presumably - for the gathered people. Another set of confused blinking as she stared at him, wondering what was happening.

She ended up following along, half tripping on the deck as he pulled her to the just as dank smelling quarters off the deck. Helvil blanched slightly, curling lip and nose at the smell. Standing awkwardly, she finally too the free moment she had to whip off the hat. Tossing it aside, she watched as the stranger went about hunting for things.

Soon enough, he was coming back with an odd selection of items. A bottle of what she assumed to be a liquor of some kind, a set of pieces she did not recognize, and something else she couldn't quite see in the moment.

As he tapped on the crown, she leaned in and peered at it. Crude by ancient elvhen standards, but similar enough she got the idea. As he plopped an unknown, but obviously larger figure next to the bottle, she signed: Important? A questioning look drawn across her face.

The thing she couldn't initially make out turned out to be a large tooth. That she recognized. Excitedly she signed at him, repeating it a couple times. Shark! With luck, he might form the words himself, hopefully granting her the first shemlen word she could understand.