18th Winter, 516 (Outer Oceans near Syliras)
"Heave away, me jollies, heave away~!"
The chorus swept through, intermingled with vibrant laughter as the atmosphere about The Wayward Tabernacle began to shift. Night crawled over the oceans of Mizahar, the waves of Laviku's domain splashing against the hull of the grand sloop as the sorrows of a recent loss spilled away. The sharks feasted on the corpse of a fallen Svefra brother this night, and while Azcan felt no sense of loss from his passing he certainly felt it in the faces of the Svefra throughout the proceedings beforehand. Once night fell and Leth presided over the skies of Mizahar there was a change in the air. Lanterns were positioned carefully along the walls of the hull and in a circle about the mast.
The beating drums resonated with the hearts of the Svefra, whose collective breath rose and fell with the movements of Azcan's fingertips on the fabric cover of the bongo drum he possessed. Pleasure coiled about his senses as he leaned his back into the warm flesh of a mourning daughter, his head rolled back so that with a beat of the drum lips pressed to the soft skin of her neck. Mourning was to be had, certainly, but the moment came and went. The night didn't belong to the dead. It belonged to the living and the music that erupted from the hearts of the Svefra and their human companion. Azcan didn't sing, instead letting his attentions drift along the flesh of his mourning friend as the heels of his hands beat against his drums, leading the sloop's crew through another chorus before their songs died out and they rose from the ground to dance.
Azcan scooted forward as he watched the pod erupt into dance and song, tears flowing freely from mourning cheeks before the drummer rose to join his friends. He wrapped the strap about his neck, adjusting it so that his legs could follow their stride, knees nearly hitting the base of the drums before stamping down on the ground in a rhythmic pace. He spun around, catching the gaze of lad and lass alike, until eventually his drums were set on the ground and passed about to a different player.
Azcan didn't pretend to be the best drummer aboard the Wayward Tabernacle, but damn it all if he wasn't the best liked. He carried himself over towards the woman he'd kissed earlier, taking her hands and pulling her into a spin. Hearts leaped from chests, sweat permeating across the brows of the Svefra pod as the human Azcan passed himself along the crew, taking kiss, embrace and joyously engaging in dance with whomever would have him. Slowly, the hours passed in a flurry of delight, and the young children were sent to their quarters as the elder sons and daughters of the Crestwidow pod produced another form of delight entirely. Pills, herbs and handrolled cigarillos were passed around en masse, with each brother and sister taking freely of their preference. Azcan himself, an oddity within the Pod, took a few tablets and crunched them between his teeth. The bitter taste of a substance he never learned by name was slowly dissolved away, absorbed by his saliva and sent coursing through his blood. When it flooded his brain, he fell to his side, resting his head in the lap of yet another sister, branching as he reached for the drum he left behind. He pressed it horizontally across his chest, beating against the surface with the heels of his hands as the drug carried him over to another place entirely.
The senses almost seemed to fuse together, the rocking of the ship coinciding with the collision of hand against drum. Shivers poured down Azcan's spine as his lips parted, a groan pouring into the night as his head tipped back, light brown eyes wide but unseeing as the full breadth of the drug's effects tore into Azcan. The beating drums persisted, his hands playing along them as he reveled in the shiver each sound he created tore into his form. When he felt the drug take full hold of his senses, he rose and the Svefra followed.
Azcan found a wide grin set upon his expression as he raised his drums up the length of his body, bringing the top surface to near chest level and tightening his strap before he let his play commence in earnest. The soft patter of his hands hitting the surface was overwhelmed by the echo of the music that burst forth from it. His instrument brought rise to others contributing to the music that stemmed from his soul. Song joined the beat, followed by the strumming of a lute.
The ship erupted again, the crazed musings of intoxication. There was no cohesion in the movements of the Svefra, and Azcan was content to watch, his body moving of its own accord, feet stamping on the ground as he let his heart fling from his chest and pour into his hands. He shouted out, head tipped back as laughter spilled from his lips. He'd maintain the beat of the drums with one hand as he pulled forward one of the shipsisters and enrolled them in a dance. He'd never seen this one before, but he didn't care, casting his drum aside as he wove fingertips into hers, a haphazard spin pulling laughter from collective lips. A dance ensued in earnest but quickly enough the drummer found himself pulled, his hands taken and wordlessly he was taken to the captain's deck.
There was no one else there, with the crew all either in bed or dancing and singing right down the way it was relatively isolated. The woman pushed Azcan into a seated position, following him to the floor. Her gaze held a rainbow of colors within it, her features soft and framed with black hair that flowed and framed her face. Mesmerized by the intense coloration, the drummer's gaze didn't fall along her body as it normally might. He was consumed, lost in the eyes that for all he knew, the sight of which might have been a product of his intoxication. The touch of her hands upon his elicited shivers down his spine, a strange guidance, as a mother might have done to their child. She sat in front of him, and Azcan was quiet for a long moment, the confusion being... why? Her presence seemed almost ethereal, and his eyes remained glued to hers as she opened her mouth to speak.
"You're quite the lively one, aren't you? You try your best to keep smiles on everyone's faces, even in the wake of such tragedy!" she pointed out. Azcan knew she was talking about the mourning that was supposed to be taking place. He didn't mean to take the attention away from the dead, but... the Crestwidows seemed so happy at the diversion that he didn't regret it in the slightest. The drummer leaned back, his gaze moving to the woman's lips next. They were curved in a wide smile, one that seemed to have some sort of thought behind them. His answer was immediate,
"It's the least I can do, you know. I've not been with these folks too long, but they're treating me like family. I've seen a world with them I never thought I'd fall in love with before..." He seemed almost embarrassed at the admission. After all, the new world he referred to had nothing to do with the sea.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her eyebrows arched, a clear quizzical expression, though that smile of hers only seemed to widen.
"This feeling I'm experiencing right now... The shivers that flow with every breath I take, the surge of delight from every touch. The taste of the sea on my lips and the salt of flesh on my tongue... I never knew how different they could be... The high is a thing I've never known I could love so much..." he admitted. He didn't know why, but with this woman... this visage, he felt compelled to share everything. Her questions seemed to dig into him, his heart pulled at by her strange touch, fingers trailing along the back of his hands. The gesture was familiar, the caress of a parent, a guardian. His heart bled with such a touch, craving the chance to be known by someone so willing to ask.
"Oh? You're having fun with it. You know, Azcan..." His name spoken from her lips sent further chills coursing through him. He didn't know how she knew it, but he certainly could appreciate it if she said it again, "I can appreciate that. A generous heart, spilling with gratitude and wanting to give back? Even if you are somewhat sullied," the woman teased. Before him, her visage shifted. Her hair turned a vivid auburn, the shade receding from her eyes as her skin began to glow, a soft luminescence to it as she leaned forward.
"You're the kind of man I like. Here," she pulled at his hand, turning it so that his palm faced the sky. Slowly, the woman traced a shape into the center, a triangle turned on its point, the point ending at the connection of hand and wrist, the base nearly touching the ends of his fingers. "If you promise, Azcan, to use my gift the same way you use theirs, I'll give it to you. Spread the word of my name through your music and I'll show you a world that these drugs can scarcely compare to."
"Your name? Who... are you?"
"I'm the whisper in your ear, the shiver down your spine. Whenever your perceptions go awry, remember that I am with you... Ionu. Your friend. Your guide. Your..."
"Deity..." he completed. The Svefra within the Crestwidow pod told stories of the living Illusion, Ionu, and their playful games. A god with the mind of mischief and a lover of the things the Crestwidow loved most: drugs.
"Oh, you know, hm? Well, don't tell the Svefra. Test it on them. Explore it. And then when it's time to leave them and face the real world, do it with a dash of illusion to make it a little nicer for everyone."
Ionu seemed to speak his language. A grin cast upon his features as he leaned forward, brandishing that promise for only the Trickster to hear. "I promise," he breathed into Ionu's ear, the drummer's heart swelling with anticipation. Never in his wildest dreams had he hoped to acquire the intrigue of such a being.
"Use it well. And know... I'll be watching."
With that, the illusion faded and Azcan was left alone at the captain's deck. He fell back, staring at the starry sky as the inverted triangle formed along his palm, the present reminder of his night with a God and the weight It placed on his shoulders.