PM to join On the High Sea

[Anchor]

Timestamp to be decided It was very much like any other day on the Flotilla, with Syna’s grace touching the boats below and the surface of the sea when it could be caught between the vessels. Her light brought warmth to the traders below, all bustling about like an aquatic anthill, some carrying their wares about and yelling for a special love charm or spiritual talisman and others perusing the huge variety of trinkets and baubles available. Not all were there for the shopping though, as evidenced by the sounds of sparring rolling across the water from one edge of the Flotilla where several Svefra ships were tied off in an external Anchorage, almost a mimic of the real thing. The Cuttlefish was tied off not far from this protrusion, having arrived well into the season not far from the other Svefra arrivals. Captain Tonio had made a pointed effort to avoid the spot when he got the message, having the foresight to realize what noise such a gathering would cause, but unfortunately he wasn’t as great a navigator as he liked to think and ended up a good deal closer than he would have preferred. Though the war gathering was distant enough that the music of combat was only barely audible during the day, the sounds of wood cracking on wood and metal ringing on metal were there for anyone aboard to listen to. Tonio and some other passengers found it annoying, but to the warriors aboard like Turak there was no sweeter melody. “Ahhh,” the giant Akalak sighed, stretching over the side of the Cuttlefish. “I wonder what kind of weapons they’re using. Doubtful it’d be anything as heavy as a broadsword, the Svefra are far too lean for that.” The comment earned him a couple glares from some of the tall bulky Svefra aboard, but Turak only shrugged in answer. Though the seafaring people were a good deal taller than the average human, they still were no match for the height of the warrior from Riverfall. Sitting on one of the barrels near the stern, Eranis delicately turned a page in one of his books. He went through them like a flame, and he reread the paper so often that it was nearly impossible to predict what he would be reading at any given time. “Cutlasses most likely,” he mused aloud, eyes still glued to the page. “I seem to recall that it’s a favored weapon on the sea. The length of the blade allows for a good deal of acrobatics and agility to be implemented, so it seems the logical choice.” Turak only grunted. “Would like to see one used to block a broadsword sweep. Those flimsy little daggers don’t look as if they can take much stress before giving way. Real warriors need real weapons.” “They don’t need to block something that won’t hit them,” Eranis countered, sighing. “Besides, cutlasses aren’t supposed to block an attack like that. They’re made to be cutting edges, quick attacks and then out of the way again, rather than take brutal beatings like a broadsword. Besides, they still have crossguards, which are just as effective on any kind of blade.” This time, Turak didn’t answer, looking off into the distance in the direction from which the sounds were coming from. None of the participants could be seen at this distance, but even so the Akalak’s purple fists clenched and unclenched in time with the strikes in the distance. His shoulders flexed and his neck rolled every once in a while, as if he were actually there himself and readying for a brawl with one of the Svefra preparing for war. He closed his eyes for a bit and hung his head, but soon after he snapped them open. “I can’t take this,” he announced. “I’m going over there.” Eranis, who still hadn’t looked up from his book, only sighed again. “I was wondering whether it would be you or the Myrian who broke first. Personally I was hoping that being raised an Akalak in Riverfall would have taught you some restraint, but it appears I was quite mistaken. No offense Myrian.” “Yes, yes, whatever,” Turak replied, removing his weight from the railing and walking towards the gangplank leading to the next boat over. “All this waiting around is absolute shyke. The captain’s taking part in this, this… whatever it is himself, so we may as well go get some exercise out of it while we’re here.” His hand went down to is broadsword strapped to his hip. “Besides, I want to test out that theory I mentioned earlier. There’s bound to be someone over there that knows how to fight against this.” “You presented a scenario,” Eranis explained, carefully marking his place within the book and closing it, “and wondered as to the result. You have not yet actually constructed a theory as to what might happen.” Uncurling himself from his perch, the slightly smaller Akalak – which wasn’t saying much – tucked his book into his sack and followed Turak toward the gangplank. “Whatever, I want to see what happens,” Turak replied shortly, turning before he left the Cuttlefish properly. “Do you want to come savage? Find another sparring partner? Don’t tell me you’ve been here all this time and haven’t had the slightest itch to go over there.” OOCAlright, first time actually controlling either of these two, so tell me how I did. It’ll be good practice for the quest, since I intend to borrow them a few times. Also, since you choose when this happens, I’m not sure what else you’ve got planned. I can guarantee though that whether you go or not you will get some training. It’s just makes more sense to follow.

[Razkar]

"No taken."

Yes, like I haven't heard that word thrown at me a thousand and one times...

Razkar didn't open his eyes as he answered lazily from the shade. It was much more diverting for him to stare at the blank darkness behind his eyelids and just enjoy the sounds that painted the world for him instead. The hammering of wooden weapons. The calls and shouts, instructing in barks and yelping in pain. The debate flowing between the two Akalaks.

The Myrian happened to agree with Eranis, but that was to be expected. Turak was a fine and hardened warrior, but he depended far too much on brute strength and overwhelming force. Which was a fine thing, but against a nimble and skilled enemy, brute force was a giant in quicksand.

Fearsome, dangerous, but immobilized. He amused himself with a few quick fantasies of what those Svefra cutlasses would be like in battle before the deck noticeably shifted. His eyes opened, blinking against the sudden sun, and then Turak blocked it as easily as a door or curtain would.

“Do you want to come savage? Find another sparring partner? Don’t tell me you’ve been here all this time and haven’t had the slightest itch to go over there.”

Razkar smiled slowly and got lightly to his feet. Blunt, perhaps, but far from stupid. That was a good description of Turak. Before he'd fully settled on his feet his hands tapped and brushed against the iron hanging off him. Gladius... ax... kukri... dagger... lakan... all there.

He nodded, not even trying to hide his anticipation. The workout of the morning had been strenuous, but no sparring. Aside from the Akalaks he'd had few opponents, and Eranis had been more and more absorbed in his reading as they approached Syliras.

He peered over the decks and saw the crowd of figures on an almost-seperate atoll of ships. No trading or haggling went on there... not for goods or food, anyway. There, only martial business was conducted.

Razkar's heart matched the smile on his face, and he followed the Akalaks towards the training vessels.

"Not going to lie, Akalak," he said with his improving Common, "Could be very learning."

"I think you mean educational."

"Yes. Ed'cach'on-al."

Eranis didn't press it further.

[Anchor]

Leading the way across the ships, Turak forged his own path among the milling folks of the Flotilla, Eranis and Razkar in tow. The two Akalaks’ giant alien appearance prompted several to look up at them in wonder, making way for his long strides out of instinct. There were, however, just as many people who ignored them, their heads remaining in their own business and transactions not bothering to pay the Akalaks much heed. While not common by far on the Flotilla, the people who moored here were from all over. Especially in the wake of the storm in the South Suvan, several of the southern Svefra whose skin was more tan and hair more bleached had been tying up to the large gathering. And to many of these people, an Akalak was not a rare sight. Regardless of whether he was looked at or not, Turak remained focused not on them but on the direction in which he was headed. Not stupid, but under most circumstances he would often not be leading people where to go, as Eranis was much better suited – in his opinion – to do things like that. This was a special case however, as the sounds of combat were a persistent warpoint that called to the three foreign warriors no matter where they were on the mass of boats. It also didn’t take a genius to realize that just following the edge would get them there. While Turak remained focused on his invisible goal, Eranis took the time to look around a bit. He avoided looking at the people though, not wishing to intimidate anyone by chance of passing them by. His eyes seemed more drawn to the wares sold, either tools or trinkets of varying value. Or fish. There was plenty of that too. Neither Akalak made particular effort to converse with Razkar, but in their current mindset there was little to talk about anyway. Besides, the terms of their passage dictated they remain unknowing of many things about the Myrian. As chimes passed the sounds grew stronger, the ring of metal now sharp in the ear and the thwack of wood leaving echoes of impact on the skin. Voices growling and huffing, the occasional barks of instruction that were much more audible now. What was only a soft background aboard the Cuttlefish was now a very solid wall of sound. Both Turak and Eranis now looked ahead, seeing through the sails in lines that cluttered the vision like the canopy of a jungle. Then the three crossed a gangplank onto another boat and it seemed as if they had entered a different world altogether. The hubbub of trade was replaced with the din of combat, the smells of exotic spices replaced with the scent of sweat, the broad general commotion replaced by precise and quick movements that fluidly coursed over the decks. There was that same familiarity that came with entering a place of sparring and training, knowing what to expect and how to react. Apparently the atmosphere was the same for places like this the world around, whether it be on the deck of a ship or in the heart of a jungle or on the face of a cliff. What set this training ground apart from all others was that the Svefra were not an army; they were a family. While there seemed to be decks allotted to sparring and resting, there were no lines of men and women repeating drills, nor were there clear instructors who barked commands consistently. Often in a spar both partakers would yell out advice to the other, often with grins on their faces. They’d shout encouragement, taunt and laugh and smile. Even though there was a very serious purpose behind this gathering, nothing could change the nature of the Svefra. Turak and Eranis scanned all that they could see, looking for the very instructors which the Svefra lacked. They had expected to be met and talked with by someone in charge, but there was no single leader that governed this training entity. There were people resting nearby, a few on the palivar that the land-dwellers had stepped onto, but none deemed it their responsibility or necessary to give the three a formal greeting. Looking left to a woman near the stern, Turak was about to ask something when he realized that she was wearing naught but a pair of tight breeches that clung to her legs and allowed for freedom of movement. A band of cloth was resting on a crate nearby, probably purposed to cover her chest but at the moment was not doing so. The day was warm and the sweat that was trickling down the side of her face suggested that she had been sparring until recently. Her blue eyes glanced to the Akalak and then glanced back over to the adjacent palivar where the practice was happening, not blushing or otherwise visibly embarrassed in the slightest by her nudity. “My my, these Svefra women are very shameless, aren’t they?” Turak asked with a grin, nudging Eranis with his elbow. “We should bring a few back with us when we return to Riverfall. They must be strong to be warriors, and they certainly don’t try to hide the fact that they’re women. Perhaps the council will consider striking something with the Svefra that pass through.” His scholarly companion looked around, examining things for himself. “They are much too dedicated to their god to ever abandon the ocean, of that I am certain. Becoming the bearer of an Akalak son is hardly an honor to them. Besides, if I recall from my conversations with captain Tonio correctly, I believe there is some tradition where their newborns are thrown into the sea if they lack Laviku’s gift of some sort. My memory fails as to what that gift is though, perhaps his gnosis.” “Still, it’s worth a try,” Turak insisted, eyeing a dark-haired lass who was jumping about on the deck opposite sparring with a male warrior. She held a flashing cutlass in her hand, the weapon that the Akalak was so interested in before, but now he was more focused on other things. All she wore from the hips up was a band wrapped tightly around her chest so as to not get in the way. “If they’re limber in battle, they must be limber in bed as well.” Eranis could only shake his head, failing to find any adequate response to Turak’s query. Then his eyes fell on Razkar. “If I ever leave you alone with him, do me a favor and kick him in the balls if he tries anything. There are few enough Akalaks being born as it is without fools like him giving us bad reputations. There are plenty of fertile men back home that are worth more than this degenerate.” “That’s harsh. What’s to say I can’t maybe charm a few to accompany us for a bit? Maybe my silver tongue will purchase us passage on a ship other than the Cuttlefish, with maybe something – or someone – to warm our bunks?” Turak’s eyes continued to scan the series of boats, taking note of the surprisingly large number of women fighting. The male to female ratio was about even, with possibly more women seen out and about. Whether this was trend or coincidence however was hard to tell. The other Akalak nearly threw his hands skywards, settling for a simple roll of the eyes towards the heavens. “This is precisely why Myrian,” he stated, as if proving a point. “Turak, you wanted to come here so we could spar with these Svefra, not gawk at them. If you are so inclined, perhaps we can see to it that your sparring partner is female, if only so she can shut you up.” “And here I was thinking that your girlfriend was the only one shameless enough to disrobe in front of company,” Turak teased, ignoring Eranis’ last comment. This was directed at Razkar, and the Akalak’s cocked eyebrow made it evident he was probing for a reaction. “Perhaps if we’re lucky she’ll decide to join us later, then maybe dress down to something that’s more comfortable in this heat. She wore so little when sliding into the cold sea after all.” “Wysar help you,” Eranis cursed. “That is quite enough. I am of the mind that we find someone to spar with before Turak here loses all the respect I have for him.” With that, he quickly went off towards the adjacent palivar, perhaps hoping to find someone willing to spar there. Turak followed close behind, a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

[Razkar]

Unlike the Akalaks, Razkar was used to the concept of females fighting. In fact, it was almost more natural to him that males doing so, though every health member of his race was expected to know how to fight and kill. So when he saw the expanse of Svefra female-flesh on display, he wasn't gawking quite as hard as the perpetually-over-sexed Turak.

Oddly, it was the opposite. At least his females covered themselves.

The Myrian pursed his lips and tried to look nonchalant - while looking away - as he realized a few of the females around them were... in states of less than complete dress. After the incident with Edreina earlier, he didn't want to revisit the idea of half-naked Svefra, and so concentrated instead on Turak's lusty prattling and Eranis's doomed attempts to control his cousin.

“If I ever leave you alone with him, do me a favor and kick him in the balls if he tries anything. There are few enough Akalaks being born as it is without fools like him giving us bad reputations. There are plenty of fertile men back home that are worth more than this degenerate.”

Razkar was surprised at the vehemence of the words but still nodded. He knew men like Turak, and most of the time their lust braggadaccio was harmless, even entertaining. A certain kind of woman even found it irresistible... but all it would take would be one drink too many, one would to his pride, and that giant would turn savage.

He's an Akalak, after all, Razkar reminded himself as Turak cocked an eyebrow, their society revolves around fighting and breeding. How do you think that makes for their mental state?

Turak shot something back but Razkar was only half-listening. He watched everything with slow, neutral eyes, or tried to. The training area was as haphazard and patched together as the flotilla itself. No-one seemed to be in charge, just a constant swirl of friends and family teaching those who knew less than them, and that dynamic seemed to change by the chime.

But despite that, Razkar smiled at the skills on display.

Here a Svefra female with two long cutlasses, wielding them against three opponents.

There, another with her chest exposed to the world and yet unmarred, unscarred and unafraid as she instructed a pair of younger females in the proper grip for their daggers.

A male barking orders and advice at a line of archers, aiming at a target across a narrow moat of seawater. More and more arriving, leaving, swirling around...

And then he heard it.

“And here I was thinking that your girlfriend was the only one shameless enough to disrobe in front of company.”

Razkar bared his teeth without thinking and he felt the lion claw pendant around his neck almost vibrate with anticipation. He took one step but before he could take a second the form of Eranis slid adroitly between them.

"You do not talk about her so, barbarian."

Turak smirked even wider and continued.

“Perhaps if we’re lucky she’ll decide to join us later, then maybe dress down to something that’s more comfortable in this heat. She wore so little when sliding into the cold sea after all.”

The sight of his Edreina (and he really had to stop thinking of her as his) being leered at by the brutish Akalak almost snapped whatever self-control the Myrian had left into pieces. Razkar's muscles nearly exploded as his hand found his gladius and his eyes went wide as hand balls as he spat: "Fucking bas-"

“Wysar help you. That is quite enough. I am of the mind that we find someone to spar with before Turak here loses all the respect I have for him.”

Turak just grunted at his cousin's words, but then Razkar saw the smaller Akalak snap a glare that speared the giant where he was. All his focused erudition and bookish placidity became the indescribable scorn of the educated for the ignorant... and it was backed up by more than that, too.

"We shall find someway for you to make recompense for your crude insults and provocations later, cousin," he said, finger jutting up sharply when Turak opened his mouth, "And you shall not test my patience further. No wonder you have not found a nakivak."

He marched away after tipping Razkar a quick nod and Turak followed him, chastened but retaining enough bluster to still grin at Razkar. The Myrian controlled himself though his chest heaved. Red... He could see the red behind his eyes... the mist...

Razkar sighed deeply and closed his eyes, clutching the pendant briefly, expelling that rage from his soul so it could not harm those here. A useful little trinket for battle, but here? No.

Alright, then, he told himself lightly, determined not to have one lumbering barbarian with the manners of a rutting Tskanna upset his mood today, time to find a challenge...

Smiling and heart beating faster with anticipation, Razkar marched towards the cutlass-swingers, men and women with pale skin and braided hair down past their shoulders, talking earnestly as they displayed moves and compared tactics. When he got close, they turned to him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Razkar gave a short, respectful bow and let them take in the sight of him. When he straightened, he was as to-the-point as always.

"I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls. I wish to train."

[Edreina]

Where there was action, there would undoubtedly be Edreina. The clashing of arms could be heard all across the Flotilla, as could the rumors of a multitude of arrivals, including a fair number of other pods and even a smattering of foreigners. Fastening her whip about her waist - hoping to gain more skill in the underestimated art - she had taken off across the Anchorage, kicking her horribly hung over brother awake as she nearly tripped over him. But, she was far away already when his curses met her ears. Upon approaching the War Party, Edreina's face was split by a wide smile. So many new people and things! The Flotilla had seemingly come alive during the days that ships had trickled in. All at once, the ships were covered in bodies, clusters of people performing various tasks from unarmed combat to archery. With a sigh, Edreina undid the linen about her chest - for it had been lose and comfortable - and made her way through the crowd, hoping to find someone she knew, someone that she could observe. Preparing to wrap her chest once more, Edreina spotted the two Akalaks with whom she had seen Razkar associating on many occasions. Smiling brightly, she wound her way through the blossoms of people until she came up beside them. It was disconcerting, to her, to be outsized in such a vast way by the foreigners. Unfortunately, her friend was not with them. Clearing her throat, Edreina managed to catch the larger one's attention, getting him to look down to where she stood, near his side. Nonchalantly beginning the process of binding her chest a bit tighter, so that there was no chance of it being freed in the sparring in which she hoped to participate, she posed the question: "Where is Razkar?" Over the din, Edreina had to slightly raise her usually gentle voice. Smiling up at the Akalak, she did not really catch the odd look that passed over his face before he answered, too preoccupied with the flurry of activity around her.

[Anchor]

There was a short pause that only lasted a tick when Edreina spoke, catching the attention of both Akalak. The bigger one had a huge grin on his face, looking down at the Svefra’s currently bared chest and moved to say something about it. Before anything left his mouth however, the other raised a hand and shot him a steely glare. “No, Turak,” he warned gently in something that was very much akin to an order. His voice was not the same soft scholarly tone it was usually; it was harsh and much more judgmental. “You’ve said enough for today. Any more here, and you had better pray to Wysar that the Myrian doesn’t rip your balls off himself.” Whatever that meant, it seemed to shut up the large purple man. Turning back to Edreina, the smaller and slighter Akalak – who still towered over most of the Svefra – nodded respectfully. “If by Razkar you are referring to the Myrian who usually accompanies us, he is back that way.” He turned and gestured to a couple palivars near the Anchorage proper, one of which had warriors resting and the other which had warriors sparring. “He may have gone to look for a sparring partner though. I thought it best to put some distance between us and him after some foolish remarks on my companion’s part.” The explanation was hardly adequate by far, but if pressed Eranis would offer no more details or specifics on what had transpired. Though by the way the larger Akalak was grinning at her, or more accurately her chest, it wouldn’t take much smarts to realize it had something to do with Edreina and her habits. The one who had met with Edreina nodded again curtly and began to walk away, then turned and spoke almost as an afterthought. “For future encounters, I believe it best we introduce ourselves. My name is Eranis, and this here is Turak. I have no doubt we will see more of you later.” After Edreina mentioned her own name, the two Akalaks would nod in respect once more and walk off. The larger one would turn back briefly after a bit then lean in towards the shorter one – Eranis – who reached up and offhandedly smacked Turak on the side of the head. The impact could be heard from where Edreina stood. Over where Razkar had sought training, the sparring bouts slowed down for a bit upon them noticing him but quickly returned to their natural pace, as if the Myrian had never arrived. The bow was directed at two combatants, a male and a female both armed with cutlasses, who had stopped momentarily and were panting heavily, shoulder rising and falling. Both were bare from the waist up, and neither returned the respectful gesture. Perhaps they were too tired, or perhaps it was something else. When he rose and introduced himself, he would be met with only a glare from the female, whose blue eyes spoke only of disregard and detestation. “We do not train barbarians here, Myrian,” she spat frostily. “There is a reason we did not go with our weak cousins who sought help from the land-dwellers near Syliras.” “Calm down Vasala,” said the male between breaths, turning to face his sparring partner. “The man only asked to train, he meant no insult by it. Surely there is no dishonor in at the least sparring with a land-dweller, testing the mettle of both.” “He is here, yet he chooses to live outside of the Sea Father’s brilliance,” she countered. “He is worth less than the fish we feed on, for they at the very least have their lives touched by the grace of Laviku. We owe him no more respect than Braten whose life we hunt for.” Buffeted into silence, the man only stepped back a bit and offered no further input. The woman kept after Razkar though. “Only those who call the god of the sea their father are welcome here. It is why we are gathering as Svefra on the edge rather than in the Flotilla. Go find someone else to bother for your training.” Turning back to the man and making a sharp motion with her neck, she walked a bit of distance away and turned back to spar again, purposefully moving away from the Myrian. The male looked at Razkar apologetically and shrugged before hurrying after, ending his trip with a leaping jump that brought his cutlass down hard on that of the female’s. This was all the reaction was all that Razkar would get, as everyone else on the ship was seemingly too focused on their spar to receive him. In the end the only option left for him would be to follow the gangplank onto the next ship and hope for better luck, which was heading in the direction of where the Akalaks had gone to, with Edreina following Eranis’ direction towards Razkar. OOCAlright, it might seem that I’ve left you in a dead end, but stick with me there’s more to it. Post your reactions, interact with each other, then I’ll step in with an NPC to get you two your training. Oh yes, Edreina, the Deepseekers as a pod are gathering on the north shore of Syliras, as Lia Crucina is the de facto leader there. There are plenty of other warrior pods though, so feel free to throw in a random name.

[Razkar]

“We do not train barbarians here, Myria. There is a reason we did not go with our weak cousins who sought help from the land-dwellers near Syliras.”

If Razkar had been a little distracted on the fierce woman's curves before, that vanished the second he heard her scornful tone. Appreciation for her form and the smooth way she swung her weapons vanished as well. His eyes hardened and he adopted that carefully neutral mask that he had learned well when dealing with those barbarians who spat and growled so at him.

“Calm down Vasala,” the male Svefra said as Razkar opened his mouth to reply, instantly gaining him a smidgen of gratitude from the Myrian, "The man only asked to train, he meant no insult by it. Surely there is no dishonor in at the least sparring with a land-dweller, testing the mettle of both?”

"The male speaks truth," Razkar said placidly, fingers drumming a soft and rapid tattoo on the hilt of his gladius. "I want to learn, and to teach, if I can."

“He is here, yet he chooses to live outside of the Sea Father’s brilliance. He is worth less than the fish we feed on, for they at the very least have their lives touched by the grace of Laviku. We owe him no more respect than Braten whose life we hunt for.”

Razkar shook his head and decided a different tack was in order. Peace and tolerance only extended to those who were amenable to it; the female was one who respected on strength, by the looks of her. Well, fine by him...

"You know not of what you speak," he said quietly, subdued and restrained anger bubbling just under the surface of his words. Fierce and strong though she looked, the lifelong warrior was already picking apart her stance and form, running attacks and counters through a mind honed to a killing edge by the brutality of the Taloba Training Yards. "You do not know me. Not know what I can do. Mayhap you should find out? Be learning for us both..."

“Only those who call the god of the sea their father are welcome here. It is why we are gathering as Svefra on the edge rather than in the Flotilla. Go find someone else to bother for your training.”

Razkar's face coiled and contorted in disappointed anger, but before he had the chance to unsheath his weapon he was directed elsewhere and the woman turned her back on him. The male gave him a look and a shrug that he knew well, and he found himself half-smiling at him.

Ah, forever beholden to fiery women, are we not, brother? Tis not the hardship we always make it to be. They make us stronger still...

The spar went on and Razkar sighed. Still, he had got a fair direction, at lease, and marched across the gangplank, spying the blue and purple blobs two ships distant that could only be Eranis and... the other one.

The Myrian's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched unbidden. The giant lout's words still burned and stoked fires that he would rather not entertain with so many people about. It was almost as if Turak was trying to goad him into a fight... and perhaps that was right. Maybe the big sellsword wanted to show off his skills to the Sea People, to prove he was the best by defeating that most savage example of Mizahar's races: a Myrian.

Razkar did not care if it was true or not. If he dirtied Edreina's name a second time, he would give the Akalak a lesson that he would remember for many years.

All he'd have to do would be look in a mirror.

He marched and hopped onwards, alternating between the two as he slunk over the decks. Clacking and hammering figures surrounded him as he approached the clutch of Sefra gathering around the Akalaks, studying them and their weapons.

Razkar took another breath, hope blossoming. There were always those willing to learn, to train... and test themselves.

He just had to find them.

[Edreina]

“No, Turak... You’ve said enough for today. Any more here, and you had better pray to Wysar that the Myrian doesn’t rip your balls off himself.” Edreina's thin, red brow leapt at the scolding, unable to make sense of it. What was this one - Turak - about to say that would have strengthened Razkar's resolve to... un-man... him. “If by Razkar you are referring to the Myrian who usually accompanies us, he is back that way. He may have gone to look for a sparring partner though. I thought it best to put some distance between us and him after some foolish remarks on my companion’s part.” That way was far from an adequate description of where her friend had ventured off; there were so many places that way he could have gone. But, the fact that he was seeking a sparring partner was some clue. Those dedicated to specific arts tended to gather together, to improve and gain bragging rights as they tested their mettle. By her logic, he would likely be heading to those practicing sword-play or brawling and since hand to hand combat was being practiced nearer the edge, in the opposite direction, she had a good idea of where to find him. “For future encounters, I believe it best we introduce ourselves. My name is Eranis, and this here is Turak. I have no doubt we will see more of you later.” Edreina liked Eranis, he seemed to be the sort of person with whom she could hold engaging conversation. Smiling brightly, she finished off her chest wrapping, wriggling to adjust it slightly, then introduced herself, not bothering with the podname as they had not given their surnames... if they had any? Hm... After the exchange in introductions, Turak and Eranis nodded in sync and then turned to leave. They had nod made it a few paces before Turak glanced back and then leaned in to make a comment to his kin, only to receive a smack in response. The sound of the blow made Edreina wince, but did not seem to affect the big Akalak in the slightest. Wonder what that was all about... shaking her head, Edreina began to pick her way over to the sound of metal on metal or wood or flesh. As she walked, in no hurry, many unfamiliar faces greeted her kindly and invited her over for a spar. Sometimes, Edreina really and truly loved her people. All around, Svefra of different pods gathered together to train and talk and generally enjoy one another's company. There was no malice, despite their different names and backgrounds, as she had heard arose between different "clans" and "families" of other races. For the most part, her people thrived together atop the endless azure plain. Stepping up onto a large crate and preparing to leap over to another ship, Edreina spotted the tell-tale darkness of her friend. Grinning, she made the leap, only stumbling a little - to the amusement of the two men that were setting on its deck, smoking some spicy herb - as she mentally picked a course to reach him before he was lost again. Feet away, Edreina decided it would be better to call out his name opposed to surprising him with touch. "Razkar!" When the Myrian turned to her, Edreina beamed, slowing her clip so that she was walking once more with her quick, light steps. "I can't say that I am surprised to see you here!" Looking around, she was surprised that she had not found him already engaged with a partner. Why had no one seized the opportunity to pit themselves against him? There was so much to be learned... "Having trouble finding a foe worthy of your prowess?" She joked, hoping that his lack of involvement was purely his own decision. Deep down, she knew that, while banding together and accepting one another, her people tended to be a bit cautious and sometimes even a bit offputting when it came to land-striders. A people could only take so many generations of being treated as second-class citizens before prejudices of their own developed.