Welcome to Gaia! ::

In her childhood, Safira would have been enthralled to learn she was in count's presence. She probably would fall over herself trying to impress him. But too many years had passed since then. She'd done business with lords of all sorts and her reaction was that he only gave his title, not his name. "Well your parents certainly had lofty expectations, didn't they?" She said with a smirk. She took another step closer. "For the record, it's not 'my ship'. It's just getting me from point A to point B." The small rational part of her brain pointed out that the ship she was on was going in the direction she'd just come from. She was going backward. But she wasn't terribly rational and any source of diversion had to be seized.

Safira was a bit taken aback by just how much the man shared about his past. "I asked for your name, not your life's story." Strange, that he was willing to admit so much when she'd admitted nothing. Not even her name. She couldn't exactly say why she was being so cryptic. Part of the game, maybe? She'd gotten used to working on instinct and impulse. Fortunately she had enough of the former to offset the serious effects of the latter.

He brought up a good point, mentioning her ship. She should jump back on and continue on her quest. Find a scholar and find out if there's a spell to rid you of emotions. She wished she'd spoken with Chris longer. He knew more than she did. But beyond that, there was something about her current situation. A man alone and battle-weary on a ship. He was heading somewhere and doing something. And while impulse had demanded that she come over for some stupid perceived insult, instinct told her this man was doing something important. And she was curious. "Changing her mind is a woman's prerogative." She said evenly. Whether or not this Count would admit it, he wasn't in a place to turn down help when it was offered....even if it didn't really appear to be help when first offered.

The man continued to say much more than was necessary. Safira listened with a frown on her face. He'd come from Tenzenokit? Maybe this wasn't a complete detour after all. Maybe she could get information from him. But not now. Not with a storm coming. She also wondered about the man behind the door. Sorrian? That name sounded familiar but she couldn't place it. "Can you steer this ship in a store all by your lonesome?" She asked dubiously. It seemed like more than he could do. Even if he'd done so much already to get himself to where he was. She looked over at the sea, watching the other ship sailing away. The captain was probably eager to get out of the storm.

Safira wanted to take offense at his comment, but she didn't know all that much about ships. She knew enough about pirates, sure. Dirty, perverted men that would tended to mentally undress everything female and punch anything male. Not the most glowing recommendation, but she understood them well enough. This man, though, was a new sort. She'd done some work with royalty, but they were always old blood. Men whose father's father's father has held the same position. They believed they held their position because they deserved it and it showed. But a man who'd fought his way to the top? Hm....he would take more observation. "Well then, where do you want me?" She asked. Her mood was lessened somewhat. The change was enough to make her seem mercurial, but truth was the hotter the fire the quicker it went out.

Safira looked at the door where the mysterious "Sorrian" lived. Her first thought was to head in there. But she didn't know enough about him, as she hadn't figured out why the name was so familiar. She took a long look at the Count and turned to go down below deck. She climbed into the hammock and closed her eyes, trying to think. It was a different turn of events, putting off her quest. But it was a decent distraction. And a noble one...or at least she was fairly certain. She took a deep breath, hoping to get some sleep before they hit land. It wasn't easy, as she was nervous that the man would let the ship sink. But there was nothing to be done about it now. It's on a different plane, Safe." Her father's voice drifted into her head, still so clear after so many years. Ya can't get to it, so no need to fret about it." She nodded, closing her eyes tighter.

Safira was woken up by the rocking of the boat. Things were turbulent enough without the added sound of the wind rushing by and the glimpses of lightning through the portholes. "Knox." Safira muttered, climbing out of the hammock. She made her way, taking some missteps as the ship tossed and turned, and headed up to the top deck. She was drench in mere minutes. Through the rain's torrential downpour she could see the Count falling to his knees. She made her way toward him as he forced himself back up. She put her hand on his shoulder as a sign she was there, as the rushing wind made talking impossible.

King
Lucheston
Sorrian

(Just a quick post to stir things up, you may still treat him as NPC)

As the ship began to rock, swaying in the ever changing waters, the fallen king turned over in his small bed wincing in the short spurt of pain.

He had known that the count had taken great effort in allowing him, the elder of the two a great sum of rest, and in truth it hurt Lucheston far more to allow such a noble man to do so for his sake than he could admit. Unfortunately even the short time that he had been able to assist his hospitable host was a great effort on his part. Each step drained him of his strength, and each moment upon his feet seemed to sap him of his former glory even further. Turning onto his back the Sorrian wondered if he'd be able to make it home to his family, to his kingdom, to ease the suffering of his people who must think him a traitor.

Upon his back, the king lifted his shirt ever so slightly, glimpsing at the wound he'd attained and believed to be the source of this pain. It had been a gift he'd recieved upon his lack of faith...for the count had indeed taken a decent amount of time, and such time's passage was not well met within the confines of a small wooden container. The silver king had removed himself from the barrel for just a moment to determine the wear abouts of his companion, discovering only a noble of Tenzonokit with an iron broadsword and dire intent. Though the battle was short lived, and his foe smitten by his own hand, the impudent noble had left him with a small gash.

Lucheston, the peasant who'd risen to king, now peered down upon this gash which had become blackened at the edges, and remained moist regardless of his time away from the waters. Sickly hues surrounded the wound and the scent of death and rot had already slipped from within it's confines to waft into the king's face as he lifted the poor rough shirt he'd worn this day.

"Oh Mamolla, your bickering over such small injuries has finally been proven the wiser." Sorrian chuckled lightly, though his heart sank at the sight.