Level 14 ~ Sheya

Sheya felt light, springy even. Her boiled leather armor was so much lighter than the chain-shirt she normally wore, stiffer too, but ultimately it would be easier to swim in. She couldn’t forsake armor entirely though, no easier than she could wander ship-board naked… She felt in a minority as far as that went actually. Feanthar kept his church robes on, and she appreciated that, given her own hesitance to disrobe. Vixie’s cloth was actually even more revealing than her bodice had been, not the compromise Vixie had implied when she said she wouldn’t replace the bodice. The vixen was sunning herself on top of the wheelhouse of their ship. Feanthar was up front watching the waves for a good spot to regurgitate his lunch. It’d been a while since she’d been reminded of his cloistered upbringing. She was actually starting to trust him.

Sheya stopped and crossed her arms facing Andrew on the aft deck. Obviously he couldn’t swim in all that dwarven plate, but it seemed a little unnecessary for him to have taken his shirt off too. The sun was warm, but the sea breeze actually kept things fairly cool and everyone but Feanthar’s hair windblown. With Feanthar who could tell? Andrew had been doing sword-drills and various exercises and only breaking for meals or sleep throughout their crossing. He didn’t seem too happy to be shipboard; specifically it was obvious he didn’t like being idle. Years as a mercenary had taught Sheya to enjoy the idle moments. Sometimes an hour’s nap was all you got on the way to battle and once you got there it was usually a good thing to be rested. And that was against mortals and monsters.

“Hey.” Sheya greeted Andrew as he paused to take a swig from his waterskin. She walked over to lean against the railing next to him. Like Feanthar she’d never been shipboard before, but she could feel the ship roll beneath her almost like a living thing. If she rolled with it her stomach didn’t give her any trouble.

“Hey.” Andrew sighed and leaned against the railing next to her. His body was heavily muscled and completely covered in scars. Sheya resisted an urge to run her hand over them. She wasn’t sure she’d seen enough battles to accumulate as many scars as Andrew had, let alone been hit enough times.

“So… What’s Oracle tell you about Letemra’s forces?” Sheya nodded at the cross-road hanging in front of Andrew’s bare chest.

Andrew shook his head dourly, “Nothing good… We’re going to have a couple… maybe three, problems getting to him.”

“Alright… What’ve we got?” Sheya ran her hands back through her hair with a sigh, only catching once.

“Swordsman… Letemra’s daughter… Something else, big but I haven’t been able to identify it yet.” Andrew scowled, his eyes focused on the steadily rolling waves. “I’ll let you know more as I figure it out. At this range Letemra’s power is interfering with Oracle’s read.”

Sheya nodded. “He’s really a god, Letemra, isn’t he?” She glanced at Andrew out of the corner of her eyes. “Gyle was a miracle worker. A profane one, but a miracle worker nonetheless. And if Letemra can grant miracles…”

Andrew simply nodded, “Yeah… He’s a god. Otherwise all the hordes of the Abyss wouldn’t have been enough to take the Silver Temple.”

“I’m sorry.” Sheya hung her head, “It must be hard for you to go back… You lost so much.” She felt tears come to her eyes as she thought of her own lost mother. She’d been crying a lot more since she met Feanthar, but so far the others didn’t seem to know.

Andrew looked out to the horizon with a steely gaze, no tears in his eyes, “It was a long time ago. And all I’ve wanted to do since I escaped was go back. I’m finally going to kill that bastard.”

Then unexpectedly Andrew turned to Sheya and looked her in the eyes, “Feanthar mentioned you lost your mother. She’d been looking for her sister.”

Sheya was only able to nod—now Andrew knew about her tears. Did he think she was weak? Why was he looking at her like that? Damn it, why couldn’t she tell what he was thinking?

“Was your mother’s name Brihane?”

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