Expedition Open The Urk Expedition: A Sendoff For Sailors

[Talinn Ryalor]

(This happens after the events of How to Save A Fox, and will be the funeral thread for the beasts who died on the expedition, and for more somber thoughts on it.)

The Captain’s quarters were dark, illuminated only by the first rays of sunlight in the morning and a small, carefully maintained lamp on the desk which had seen little use in the days since the crew of the ship had left Urk. Upon the bed, wrapped up in bandages, splints, and in so much constant agony even with the maximum dosage of the painkilling medication given to him by Barrett that sleep only came in fitful moments, was Talinn Ryalor, Duke of Westisle, Minister of Innovation, and, for a little while longer, Captain of the Golden Hide. His breathing was low, rough, and pained, and thoughts longer than a few words were maintained only by the beast’s prodigious willpower. Some even suggested, in hushed whispers, that perhaps it would have been better for him to die than to live in such a sorry state.

But that could not happpen, for he still had duties to attend to.

His tired, bloodshot blue eyes opened, and he looked across the short, yet to him, impossibly long distance between his right paw and lever that would ring the silver bell situated outside his cabin that would summon Silvertongue to him. In small fits and starts, his arm and paw feeling like they were being both dragged across broken glass and stabbed repeatedly at the same time, he forced by singular will his barely working limb to reach the handle. Grasping ahold of it, tugged it thrice, three loud, lyrical chimes that echoes across the room and for a brief distance outside of the door.

@Silvertongue Songfox @Gyles F. Stowett @FinnianBrightfur​

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue had been standing outside of Talinn's door, day in and day out. He refused to move unless he needed to relieve himself. He would have food and drink brought to him, and he slept on the deck next to the door, with only a blanket to keep his clothes from getting wrinkled. He did still care about his appearance after all. The bell hadn't even rang once before the door was opened, and Silvertongue swiftly walked in, closing the door behind him as he approached the bed. Taking his hat from his head, he held it to his chest as he looked at Talinn. Unable to look the mangled living corpse in its eyes, Silvertongue opted to let his gaze wander to the floor.

"Captain." He said simply, awaiting to hear whatever request Talinn had.

 

[Talinn Ryalor]

Talinn let go of the lever as his dutiful aide arrived, his arm flopping back to its rest on the bed as he did so. He had much to say to the Songfox, given his experiences in the afterlife, but duty came first. Truth be told, he was proud of the young beast-he had kept his word and had fulfilled all his duties without complaint. He had also held together the beasts of the landing party long enough for Gyles to arrive, and although he had some comments to make on that to him based on what had been reported to him, he had done well considering he was thrown into that position with only minimal training. Being an aide was the first step on a long journey of leadership, and Silvertongue had been thrust into a situation where even many experienced beasts would have cracked.

And, in many ways, the fault lies with me, thinking that the best option was a fast in and out once we brought some shock and awe upon them with the cannonade. After all, there were not many reports to go on from survivors, and Morgan assured me that these beasts were not in any way open to diplomacy. To think there were so many, so organized, and that they had a direwolf as their god...well..now the Imperium knows, though we paid a high price for that knowledge and that idol, in blood. It should be wor...no, it -has- to be worth it. I will see to that.

“Silvertongue…” he rasped, using the beast’s first name to signal his approval “good lad...summon Stowett...and...bring me my clothes...I...even as...I am…respect must…” he struggled to finish the last two words, but through sheer willpower did so “...be paid.”

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue. Silvertongue. The Captain had actually addressed him by his first name. He felt his tail wagging a bit behind him and he grabbed it to make it stop. "Y-Yes sir." He replied. "Right away, sir." He nodded and he turned, approaching the closet and perusing the many outfits Talinn owned, picking out on he deemed appropriate for a eulogy, before walking over and placing them on the bed. He would have to help the Captain get dressed as well. After that, he bowed his head to Talinn, and he left the cabin to find Stowett, knocking on the door to his room.

 

[Gyles F. Stowett]

Feels like an age, don't it? Since you sat in the in the demmed thing, anyway. He unbuckled his sword and leaned it against the wall. It was terribly intimate here, alone in the cabin before the Captain's chair that had been the object of his ambition for so long. He looked down at his paws, still covered in streaks of Talinn Ryalor's dried claret. The battle to save Talinn's life was won. The war would be longer.

You'll have to speak to them soon.

Them. The crew. Those who were left needed answers.

He stood up and walked to the washing basin, dipped his open palms twice, scrubbed the blood off and flicked his wrists as many times to banish the wet from them. He looked up.

A ghost looked back at him in the mirror. Its eyes wept crimson.
Gyles jumped back, paw racing for a swordhilt that was no longer by his side.
His paw found the desk behind him and threw the first thing it closed on. Ink spattered the crystal plane the spirit had occupied moments before. The inkwell lay on its side on the floor timbers, bleeding lampblack.
"You're dead! You're not real."

Nothing. He was alone again.

"Jove's immaculate flippin' robes."

Gyles knelt and picked up the inkwell.

Two knocks broke the silence. He hastily returned the well to the desk as he called, "Enter!"

 

[Talinn Ryalor]

Pain arced through every nerve in his body as Talinn, with the assistance of Silvertongue, slowly and agonizingly changed from his nightclothes into his formal captain’s attire. He had been brought back by the precious serum, but as the Kitsune said, every debt must be paid, and the cost for this, among many other things, was agony few beasts every experienced in their life. Every wound he had suffered in battle, every broken bone, even if they all occurred at once, was nothing like the pain he had endured being brought back, and the recovery was going to be just as painful in total, just drawn out more.

Nothing is without a price.

@Gyles F. Stowett @Silvertongue Songfox

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Feels like an age, don't it? Since you sat in the in the demmed thing, anyway. He unbuckled his sword and leaned it against the wall. It was terribly intimate here, alone in the cabin before the Captain's chair that had been the object of his ambition for so long. He looked down at his paws, still covered in streaks of Talinn Ryalor's dried claret. The battle to save Talinn's life was won. The war would be longer.

You'll have to speak to them soon.

Them. The crew. Those who were left needed answers.

He stood up and walked to the washing basin, dipped his open palms twice, scrubbed the blood off and flicked his wrists as many times to banish the wet from them. He looked up.

A ghost looked back at him in the mirror. Its eyes wept crimson.
Gyles jumped back, paw racing for a swordhilt that was no longer by his side.
His paw found the desk behind him and threw the first thing it closed on. Ink spattered the crystal plane the spirit had occupied moments before. The inkwell lay on its side on the floor timbers, bleeding lampblack.
"You're dead! You're not real."

Nothing. He was alone again.

"Jove's immaculate flippin' robes."

Gyles knelt and picked up the inkwell.

Two knocks broke the silence. He hastily returned the well to the desk as he called, "Enter!"

Silvertongue gingerly entered the room, taking his hat from his head. "Begging your pardon, Sir." He nodded. "Please forgive me for the interruption, but the Duke has requested your presence in his quarters." He swallowed a bit. Silvertongue still wasn't entirely sure of how he should feel about Gyles or address him. He was the Captain of course, but for so long Talinn had been the Captain. It was a bit awkward.

 

[Gyles F. Stowett]

"I see."

Gyles faced the desk, back to the door. Outside the lattice windows of the stern gallery beyond, seabirds wheeled, shrieking hungry cries as they dove here and there after fish.
The young fox accepted his offer of entry and spoke his piece, quietly, timid almost, as if unsure of how to proceed. Gyles blotted the inkwell with a chequered kerchief, but the more he dabbed, the blacker his paws became with ink.

Demmed useless thing.

Talinn was awake so soon. A mind like that never really slept, did it? But why? Recovery? Regression?
He looked down at his paws. Where now they were black, only yesterday, no, even this morning they were red. A different sort of ink stained the floorboards then.

The mess of bandages came back to him, fumbling like a blinded beast, the futile feeling of trying to hold a broken mug together, as if they could put all the pieces back together, unspill what it had contained, even as it soaked the table, his paws, the floor. Finn on the table, a strange hose connecting him to the Minister, siphoning his vitality.

It truly had only been yesterday. He'd fallen into his hammock, void of spirit, no strength in him to wash, eat, or drink. He'd left Talinn alive; no more, no less.
Now, the fox summoned him again. Time must be short.

"Lord Ryalor's still breathin'," Gyles said, turning to the young midshipper as he downed the goblet of spiced 1729 on the table. He dabbed his mouth on his wrist. "Small victories."
As thin as he'd been worn, somehow, he realized with a welling pity that Silvertongue looked the more sapped of them both. He mustered a faint smile. "Let's waste no time, then, Mister Songfox."

~×~×~×~​

As they ascended the short stair from the aftcastle entry to the main deck, he continued, "We'll have to speak to 'em soon, you know."
He looked into the distance as they walked briskly, remembering words his own captain, long before Talinn had come aboard, had spoken to him. He could tell this budding young protegé needed to hear it, too.

"The only thing a ship an' crew can't abide's disorder. Disorder's a sickness. Disorder spreads. Rots from the inside out. A crew needs certainty, direction - in a word, us. We're it. We're the order that separates this little wooden piece of Vulpinsula from all that." He waved his paw out at the sea and its vastness. "We can't break or they break. Never. No matter how we feel inside, no matter what we lose."

Or who we lose. Silvertongue had already lost someone. Whether the price of growth or of impulse was a question yet to be answered.

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue nodded as Gyles imparted his words of wisdom. "But... was any of this what I signed up for? Being an officer? I wanted to entertain everyone and... and to keep my fellow seabeasts happy. I'm not sure how to handle all of this responsibility."

Silvertongue thought these things to himself. He felt like he had been thrust into this position... though, he really had brought it upon himself, offering to take the brunt of Morgans punishment. Silvertongue didn't regret any of that. He'd do it again, in a heartbeat. A thousand times over he would bear the lashings that his friends would have taken.

"Sir... If I may speak freely." Silvertongue interjected. "You speak of the crew as if they're a bunch of... uncivilized creatures. Why would they not just listen to us. After all, they're being paid for their work. That alone should put any beast on their best behavior, right?"

 

[Gyles F. Stowett]

Gyles' whiskers twitched in amusement at the caricature the fox had built of him. He thought deeply on what he might say next.
"You're from a fleet of pirates, ain't you? Fear, submission, that was the way, eh?"
He shook his head slowly.

"You've got it topsy-turvy, lad. 'Tis precisely because we are civilized creatures that we need a sense of purpose and direction. Uncivilized creatures would never follow reason, only the lash. Most officers see their crews as just that - their crews. No more than dumb slaves. Serve the Navy long enough, you'll find brutality's the only tongue most officers speak."

Gyles looked distant then, remembering someone. "You talk of leadership as dictatorship because that's the only leadership you've come up under. That ain't leadership."
Leadership was service. Even unto death. You died for your crew, didn't you, Sarabande?

"A good officer serves by leading. When I speak of breaking, I ain't speakin' o' behavior, Mr. Songfox, but of the soul. Not breakin' of rules, but breakin' of mind."
The cold air chilled his lungs. His exhalation came out as a foggy breath. "This ship's the sole safe haven for hundreds o' lives - hundreds o' lives in the safekeepin' of a leader or a tyrant, take your best pick.
A crew can go mad without some sense that somebeast has got a good head on their shoulders and knows what to do, or figures it out even when they don't, or would die tryin'. A leader, in a word. A good officer don't seek obeisance nor worship. A good officer serves. A crew follows that sort o' creature. A crew would lay down their lives for that creature as much as that creature would die for the crew."

The question in Gyles' mind still remained unanswered. "Lord Talinn chose you as an officer, but you didn't have much choice. You've done a lot with a little, ain't you, Mr. Songfox? Bein' a leader takes doin' plenty without much." He searched the fox's eyes for some sign of his inclinations. "Is that what you want? To serve this crew with your life? Or simply entertain them? There ain't a wrong answer."

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

"Sir." Silvertongue laughed a bit breathlessly. "I-I'm a Songfox. It's in my name- it's practically in my blood. I-" He stopped mid sentence and taking a breath to calm his nerves. This question was a loaded one for him. "I don't want to seem ungrateful for my position, sir. However... in my opinion..." He swallowed a bit. He didn't want to speak out of turn like this, but... well, he had already started speaking. May as well spit it out. "I don't think I can be a stern faced, finger wagging officer and a bard at the same time. I can't image much of the crew would respect me if I tried. To be honest, sir, I'm just as surprised as you are at how I was able to take command at Urk!"

 

[Gyles F. Stowett]

Gyles seemed to chew on this for a long while as they walked. An entertainer served the spirits of a crew. A good officer did the same.
The stoat couldn't help but chuckle as the notion of Silvertongue the disciplinarian, straitlaced and blustering, swagger-stick in paw as he berated and laid about shiftless lackeys, flashed through his mind. He raised a mock-serious eyebrow. "Is that what you think of us officer types, eh? Bunch of pooh-pooh-ing wet blanket killjoys? I must say, lad," he said, shaking with hardly contained mirth, "First we're disdainful dictators, heheh, an' now we're a pack of no-fun nannies. Quite the picture, ain't it!"

He frowned. "On the contrary, Silvertongue. I warn't in the least surprised you took command, boyoh, and I don't think the Minister would've been either, had he his wits about 'im." He swallowed and stopped walking.
"You care. Devil knows you serve everybeast but yourself, anybeast can see that. You inspire spirit in hopeless creatures, demmit. Leaders care about the beasts they serve more than anythin' else."
Leadership ain't a position, not really. You ain't made a leader. Nobeast puts that fire in you. When it matters, you just are. You have the instinct or you don't. Ignore it, run from it if ye like..." He smiled kindly even as his thoughts shifted to a darker memory, the frantic scene of beasts, dead, wounded, struggling for survival, to get away from the roars, the screams, the raining arrows of death, and a voice among them, the same voice that sang silly songs and spoke of youthful cares, emboldening, empowering, uplifting in the face of Hellgates.

"...but you had it on that beach when they needed you. They still need you. Not somebeast else, somebeast stern or serious or hard. They need you exactly for who you are. The beast who had what it took on that forsaken beach."

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue swallowed a bit as Gyles spoke. It was high praise, coming from an older, more experienced beast. "I... thank you, sir." Silvertongue bowed his head. "I appreciate you see such potential in me... I was starting to feel as if such a position would not be befitting of a beast such as myself."

It was true. He felt overwhelmed by the duty, the work, the hope that he carried on his back. But it was worth it, every second of the struggle, after hearing those words from Gyles.