Fated Meeting
As they entered the captain’s quarters, Crow stopped to peer at the martial, spartanesque ornateness of the room. Expanding the full width of the frigate and as large as the quarter deck above, the captain’s quarters of the Iron Wraith was every bit as classy and dignified as it’s captain and flourished her militaristic practicality and rationalism. Immediately upon entering the room, he was staring out of the back wall that held a large, black iron lattice frame and thick, heavy, lead paned glass window. Just beyond that window the railings of a balcony. Under that window was a long bench that stretched from a small door that went to the balcony on the back wall to midway under the window. The bench bore a velvet cushion of deep red that folded to make the backrest cushion as well. In a pinch, that bench could be folded over to make a bed with the cushion as padding between the body and the wood.
A large desk dominated the rest of the back wall. It was heavy and solid, made of the same stained redwood as the rest of the room and looked like it belonged in a governor’s office, it probably did, at one time. However presently, it was bolted to the floor of a privateer’s ship to keep it from being tossed about in rough seas, as well as being taken by another. The desk was surrounded by a trio of matching chairs. Stuffed to bulging, the black leather padded seating was riveted with bronze tacks, creating a pattern of diamonds from the tightly pulled leather between the rivets. Solid and comfortable, the chairs were also lightweight and easy to move. The wall opposite the desk bore shelves. Books, files, an odd trinket or bauble was kept in neat, tidy order, a library of logs, works of fiction and accountings of battles from all manner of military command as well as a few books on political thought and espionage. All of which were kept behind a glass paned cabinet, secured by a lock, not just for the need of security, the broker knew, but like the desk, to keep the items from spilling out in case of rough seas.
The wall opposite the window bore a small cabinet that held the captain’s favorite libations, complete with decanter and glasses resting on top, one such glass half empty, interrupted, no doubt, by the brokers sudden arrival. Beside that cabinet was an armor rack. It held the captain’s set of azure colored half-plate armor, complete with its skull embossments and matching pair of swords draped across it’s back. A set that had seen so much war and battle, a piece that was as tough and experienced as the woman that wore it. Crow had a hard time keeping his gaze on that set of armor. It brought to his own memory the many battles he himself had been a part of, watching the terrible fury of war and violence that armor bore, the dark, horrible suffering it wrought on its enemies. The same things he himself had to do when he called the woman that wore it, ‘commander’. He found himself quickly looking away from the armor to the last notable piece on the wall, a bed. It was a simple thing, large enough for one comfortably, two if the pair were willing to get close. It was no bigger than any other bed in the quarters of the officers. A simple wooden platform that folded down from the wall, held up by a pair of chains with a thin padding over the wood, blankets and pillows atop that. The bed was designed to be folded up and secured to the wall when not in use but again, it looked like it was in the process of being made ready. A process that was interrupted. Lastly, in the middle of the room, between the bed and the window, was a simple table with chairs enough for six. The captain’s table. A multipurpose surface that presently had maps and charts scattered about with only the space of one cleared away.
The captain had made her way back to her glass, letting the masked man scan her quarters. “My my, commander, this is quite the room. It fits you to a T.” His distorted voice drawled before a soft chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Oh?” She asked and looked around, “Well, I admit, I do appreciate it’s simplistic design… Only the necessities.” She stated with a fond smile as she looked around. “My dear,” The broker said, “You are HARDLY simple… Though, if the room were to fit its owner more adequately, I would think you had a torturer’s kit, some whips, maybe a chain or three tucked away somewhere.” He teased as he made his way to the bench under the window, grunting as he sat down. Opalarie chuckled, “Lazharus dear, not ALL of my secrets are out in the open, I assure you.” She purred, though a jest or not, the man could not say, exactly. Yet, the soft laugh was genuine mirth as he tugged his mask free and lowered his hood. “True… True, my dear.” He said with a sigh. His voice no longer distorted, spoke with a deepness of manhood, educated, and a tone that one could easily suspect to be nobility.
The man under the mask was as effeminate as he appeared with it on. His features were a perfect blend of masculine presence and womanly prettiness. He possessed a strong jaw, but elongated bone structure with high cheeks. His eyes were big and brightly green, an effect of his affinity with fel magics, but possessed a hard, strong wildness to them. His hair, long and well kempt, was as dark as the raven feathers he adorned himself with. From behind, if standing, it would be hard to say if he was a man or woman. Some might say that there was a bit of elf in his blood, for a man to be so pretty and masculine at the same time, but not even the broker knew how such appearances and traits had been given to him. However, he found his looks to be a boon in the air of mystery and unsettlement his presence brought to those entrenched into stereotypes, especially of the strict roles of gender that various levels of society had placed on those that operated within it.
“Care for a drink, Lazharus?” The captain asked. The man nodded and looked over at Opalarie. She was dressed in a crimson jacket with casual shirt underneath, untucked and the jacket open. The ensemble a Kul Tiran design, tailored to fit her more athletic frame, complimented her nicely. It was clear the woman was in the process of settling in for the night as the jacket looked to be hastily pulled on and she was still barefoot, her boots resting near the bed where they had been removed. “I apologize about my abrupt arrival. The matter is urgent, and I needed to speak with you in a place that we could be candid and discrete.” Lazharus said, his gaze drifting to the back of her head as she poured him a glass of her personal selection. She then turned around, smiling. A radiant, welcoming expression complimented with a shrug. “Lazharus, you are a friend. You will always be welcome and of course…” Her expression became serious as she neared, extending the glass, “If the matter is important, I am here to help.” She affirmed before sitting on the padded bench next to him, sliding into it to sit side saddle on the outside of her hips.
She took a drink from her glass, her single eye, the dark color of a moonless night, resting on him. Evidence of her being active in Darkshore at the time of the Night Warrior ritual being done. Lazharus sipped from his glass and looked down, frowning, briefly shoving his personal questions aside, for now. “We have so much we need to catch up on… But first, the reason I came.” He started, a bit ashamed now that he had not inquired on his friend sooner and was not able to be more informal. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I… cannot reveal my clients, but… Well, a certain client DID request that I find a crew that was capable and willing to take dangerous risks, for the right price, of course.” He began, trying to use the right words as his friend and commander of the Iscariot Legion, Opalarie D’ath, arched the brow over her good eye, giving him her full attention. “And… Offer that crew a substantial sum in exchange for them to collect certain items they say had been taken from them.” Crow took a drink from his glass as he let Opalarie mull on her response. “What sort of items?” She asked. The man frowned. There was always a risk, even with friends, that they would betray you. But as quickly as the thought occurred, the man dismissed it. Opalarie may be a brutal killer and capable of great, total violence, might even have whisperings of war crimes about her in some circles, but she was loyal. He could trust her. She had proven that to him, many times.
~iscariotlegion.enjin.com
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