A Poor Beginning to a Summer Journey

DING! DONG!

The silence of the summer air was suddenly broken by the chiming of a bell. Silence returned when the bell fell silent. It was broken for a second time when mobs of robed figures started streaming from the inside of the buildings. Some of them immediately passed through the wrought iron gates and onto the road, heading in the hazy direction of the city in the distance. Most, however, instead chose to congregate in the courtyard, gathering in small groups to chatter and bask in the flowery aromas of the gardens in the afternoon sun. One such group in particular had taken up residence by the door of the central tower. 

“For the last time, no, we are not inviting Tytoslav along!” They were also in the midst of a dispute. 

“Why not?” The frustrated question came from a male clad in leafy green robes. Despite the summer heat, a midnight cloak hung from his shoulders, a silver brooch in the shape of a raven clasped at the neck. His hood was down however, revealing a mop of black hair that hung in front of one brown eye that was swiftly turning to red. What could be seen of his skin was pale and lightly beaded with sweat. Strapped across his torso and hanging at his side was a black leather satchel. His companions gave matching looks of exasperation. One of them, a woman dressed in finely woven violet robes with a cloth handbag draped across one shoulder, cast a gimlet stare at him.

“Because Mikkel, we told your parents that it would just be us three going to Colomba, and if we let any of our fellow students tag along your parents will have our heads, let alone if it happens to be Tytoslav. It is not happening.” The man next to her groaned, bringing a hand to brush his russet locks back into a messy ponytail. His eyes were red and puffy, his skin gray in the sunlight. His midnight blue robes were rumpled and reeked of ale. Sheathed at a brown leather belt was a jeweled dagger placed in an olive wood sheath. A cloth pack hung from his shoulders down his back. One puffy eye cracked open blearily. 

“Guys, can we stop arguing and just go already? We still need to-”

“Shut up Jean, we know!” Two voices interrupted. Mikkel gave the woman a glare.

“What my parents don’t know won’t hurt them, Roksana.” Roksana flipped her blond, braided hair over one shoulder with a huff. 

“You say that now, but we all know they have their ways.” Her and Jean glanced at each other. “Still, Jean is right, we should head to Cryignistadt for some last minute preparations.” Mikkel rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Very well, have it your way.” The three then joined the throng of students leaving the school, heading out onto the road towards the nearby city. The trio idly chatted about various topics, from the validity of certain rules and regulations to the absurdity of building a school twenty minutes walk from the nearest settlement. Eventually, they reached the gates of Cryignistadt, iron and oak set within enchanted stone walls. All manner of sigils had been painstakingly carved into the walls, inscribing spells of protection and victory into the defenses of the city. Passing beneath the arch of the gates, the throng of pupils came under the passive watch of several armed figures bearing the armor of the Imperial Legions. Normally, the steel clad, gray robed, iron masked figures of an Imperial Legionary armed with their infamous polearms would incite feelings of both awe and dread, however it was clear to see from the slumped postures and lazy gestures that these Legionaries were bored out of their minds. The one who was supposed to demand identifications, for example, was only taking a quick glance at everyone’s papers before waving them through. Mikkel, Jean, and Roksana side-eyed each other as they were sent on their way with only a cursory look at their papers. 

“The standards of the Legions have been dramatically relaxed over the years,” Roksana observed. “Before the Kinstrife we would have had to deliver our papers and our itinerary before being let through.” Mikkel rolled his eyes and pulled out their list of last minute supplies. Turning into a side street, they cut through two more alleys before coming to the portside bazaars. Here, native born craftsmen and vendors competed with and bought and sold wares to foreign traders hailing from all over the world. Fur clad Taridians, flamboyantly garbed Umaneans, and the vertically challenged shapes of Kearlic merchants located near their longships and knarrs advertised their wares to all and sundry. The three friends, however, neatly ignored the majority of the vendors, instead walking over to the beachfront and the docks. A small, out of the way portion of the beach was reserved for recreational swimming downstream, but the majority of the waterfront was taken over by the docks, with dozens of ships entering and leaving the harbor of Cryignistadt's every moment. 

Mikkel’s musings were interrupted by Roksana’s query. 

“Mikkel, the list?” Mikkel handed the list over to Roksana, who placed it in the sleeves of her robes. “So, we’ll meet at our chartered ship at sunset, agreed?” Mikkel nodded as Jean groaned. Roksana nodded. “Then I’ll see you two later.” The three then went their own ways, Jean going to their chartered ship and Roksana to the shops with their last minute supplies. Mikkel, meanwhile, turned on his heel and left the docks, slipping through the bazaar and into the city proper. With a whisper and a mutter, he flipped the hood of his cloak up and faded into the shadows of the city, slinking along the edges and sides of shops and homes alike. The afternoon sun made it difficult to move unseen, so he couldn’t stay in the populated areas. Through back alley ways he crept, always moving, until he finally came to a dilapidated tavern. For an Arcanian building, time had not been kind to it. Dust covered the thin glass window panes, whilst the door and the walls were covered in all manner of debris and refuse. The sign at the front was worn down and covered in muck, while the roof was missing several shingles and appeared to be partially burnt. With a sigh and a shrug, Mikkel allowed his spell to fade. Wrinkling his nose, Mikkel gingerly touched the door handle, only to leap back in surprise as it flew open. His breath caught in his throat as sky blue eyes gazed into his own. 

“This is not a nice place to meet.” Mikkel’s mouth ran dry as his mind shut down. Bright honey hair artfully tousled shone like spun gold when the afternoon sun reflected off the dirty glass windows. An aquamarine cloak was draped across broad shoulders barded in tawny robes. A pinewood staff crested with an owl was clutched in a strong grip. As heat flooded his face, Mikkel coughed and licked his suddenly dry lips. 

“Apologies Ianto, this was the only place I could think of to meet at on such short notice.” Ianto pursed his lips and Mikkel felt his ears being set aflame. 

“Why couldn’t we have met back at Icefyre and come over here as a group?” Mikkel internally shriveled up. He shrugged, hoping that would suffice as an answer.

“I see.” Ianto’s frown made Mikkel wilt and feel a great weight settle on his heart. The world itself seemed to dim. Mikkel coughed again. 

“So, do you want to head over to Der Schwarze Lindvurm with me?” Mikkel mentally congratulated himself for not struggling with the Kearlic for "The Black Dragon." Ianto shook his head after a moment. 

“No, I have to do something real quick, I’ll meet you there though as planned.” Mikkel felt his spine straighten up. 

“Alright then.” He and Ianto stood there in the doorway for several moments more, awkward. Mikkel finally couched once more. “See you then.”

“Yeah.” They stood for a few seconds more, then they finally moved, Ianto towards his final errand and Mikkel back towards the docks. Along the way he stepped into a map makers shop briefly to purchase a map of Moricania and a map of Colomba, and then along the way he joined in a back alley game of dice, whereupon he proceeded to swindle the other players out of two hundred gold. He would have played more, except some had started to catch onto his cheating. As he walked back to the docks two hundred gold richer, he idly caressed the ring he wore on his right pointer finger, the raven ring seeming to darken in the light. As afternoon turned to evening, he returned to the docks still crawling with sailors, dockhands, and merchants, finally spying Roksana and Jean talking to a short person in front of a longship. 

The Black Dragon would not be his first choice of transportation, if only because the captain had cheated his father out of a particularly valuable enchanted dagger decades ago. Alas, Roksana had been the one who had hired said captain, citing cheapness and willingness to travel to a city where Kearls were all but personae non gratae. Mikkel frowned as he caught the eye of the captain, who rolled her eyes. 

“Oh great, a Ravencroft, just what I need.” She adjusted her wide brimmed hat, giving Mikkel a suspicious glance before returning to Roksana. “So just to be clear, I only need to take you there, and you will find alternative transport back?” Roksana nodded. 

“Yes, Captain Freydis.” Captain Freydis nodded back and looked up at the sky. “We still have two more passengers waiting, so once they get here I plan to cast off, cheaper to leave then to spend the night in port.” Roksana cocked an eyebrow at that. 

“Who else are you expecting aside from use three?” Captain Freydis looked past Mikkel and pointed. 

“There they are.” Mikkel turned and his heart soared as his face once more blazed into flame as he caught sight of Ianto walking towards them. Then he saw who Ianto was with, and his blood turned to ice. While he managed to fight the instinctual snarl from forming, in the back of his head, all that was running through his mind was a mentally screamed ‘NONONONONONONO NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’ Walking alongside Ianto was the walking firestorm that was born from Mikkel’s nightmares. Hair as red as fire was held back in a ponytail, the crown of a moon shaped and colored face. Emeralds were placed above an arrogantly set nose as lips were drawn back into a cocky sneer. Instead of robes, the object of his jealousy wore a white blouse beneath a black leather corset. Brown tights accentuated muscled legs as black boots clacked against the wood of the quays. A thin one handed sword and dagger were sheathed on a thin black belt, a black half cloak slung over her left shoulder. A wide brimmed hat with an ostrich feather completed the look. Mikkel felt his jaw drop when he caught sight of a hand holding onto Ianto. Unbidden, a blazing fury rose in his chest, primal and hungry. The ring on his finger gleamed with a dark crimson glow. The air grew heavy. A hand on his shoulder brought him to his senses. Captain Freydis stepped forward with a wary gaze, head swiveling between Mikkel and the red haired demon. She waved a finger in the air. 

“I don’t know what issues you all have, keep them to yourselves until you are off my ship.” She spun around and glared at all five of them. “If my ship gets damaged because of you fools, I will make you pay for it.” A deceptively merry laugh answered the captain.

“Oh trust me, the only one you should be telling that to is the juvenile who can’t control himself over here.” Mikkel almost lost it, a curse on his lips before Roksana stepped in front of him and glared at Captain Freydis. 

“You never mentioned that you would have other passengers, especially not this hag right here.” Ianto frowned, jealousy pounding in Mikkel’s head. Suddenly, someone retched, and everyone turned to see Jean crouched low and vomiting into the water. When he was done, he stood up on shaking legs and turned with a pitiful look.   

“Can we please just go already?” he asked. With a shrug, Captain Freydis led them all to the gangplank of the ship, her crew making preparations to set sail. In moments, they were ready, and the captain gave the order to cast off. As the sky above turned the clouds to crimson and cast its rays upon the sea, The Black Dragon sped rowed out of the protected harbor and turned westwards, the crew lowering the sail and allowing the wind to speed them on their way. Across the waves they sped, leagues passing in the blink of an eye. From where the five Arcanians crouched and sat, they witnessed the crew of Kearls go about their business, calling out to each other in their own tongue. Occasionally, Mikkel could make out what they were saying, but they spoke too quickly for him to listen. A cough from Roksana gained his attention. Turning his head, Mikkel saw Roksana and Jean give him matching glowers. Roksana leaned over and whispered harshly, one eye glaring at Ianto and his hanger on. 

“Did you fucking know he was going to the same place as us, on the SAME SHIP???” Mikkel decided to lie. 

“Yes, deal with it.” Or maybe not. Roksana focused her full glare on him as Jean sighed and leaned back into a crate. 

“Deal with it? Like how you are dealing with that wench Rusalina? I doubt you expected her to show up,” Roksana retorted. Mikkel allowed a scowl to form on his face as he glared at the woman in question who was speaking with Ianto about a topic Mikkel knew nothing about. Several months of scheming and planning behind the backs of his friends and family, burned to ashes and thrown to the winds all because some harlot with delusions of grandeur decided to tag along on a trip she had no purpose in coming on. Catching Ianto’s eye, Mikkel imagined a bridge forming between them. When he felt Ianto completing the connection, Mikkel wasted no time in unraveling the mystery before him. 

‘Ianto, why is she here? I thought it would just be you coming with us,’ Mikkel thought. Ianto furrowed his brows. 

‘I told her that I was going with you to Colomba, and she wanted to come with me. I saw no reason to refuse her.’ Mikkel felt her temple throb. 

‘Ianto, I’ love you, want you, desire you,, ‘I'm very fond of you, but Rusalina hates me, and vice versa.’ Ianto raised an eyebrow and peered at the woman sitting by him, smirking at Mikkel with a knowling gleam in her eyes. Mikkel grimaced. 

‘Why don’t you like her? You two hardly know each other.’ Mikkel attempted to give Ianto his best deadpan expression he could. 

‘The moment we met she has consistently irritated me, she constantly tries to challenge me to fights, and she always-’ gets in the way of me spending time with you, ‘makes my life difficult.’ Ianto made a face at that. 

‘Well, I promise to keep her in line for this trip, alright?’ Ianto did his best to assure him. Mikkel held back his caustic reply to nod at Ianto. Conversation finished, they allowed the mind bridge to fade away. Mikkel turned his head to see Jean drinking from a flask he pulled from his pack and Roksana softly sniggering into her hand. When Mikkel narrowed his eyes, Roksana adopted a faux innocent look and started examining her nails. When Mikkel looked over, Ianto had pulled out a book from somewhere and was flipping through the pages while Rusalina was examining her weapons with a critical eye. Briefly, her green eyes met his reddish browns. To his surprise, he found himself being reached out with a mental bridge from her. Against his better judgment, Mikkel completed the connection, albeit with poor grace on his part. 

‘What do you want bitch?’ Mikkel wasted no time in establishing where they stood. Rusalina gave her signature smirk. 

‘Well someone’s certainly in a poor mood. What crawled up your rear end and died?’ Mikkel sent over an image of Rusalina lying in a pit with a carved tombstone nearby. 

‘Now now, no need to be so blunt. We can all be friends here, can’t we?’ Mikkel sent over a mental image of her being mauled by wolves. ‘Okay, you don’t like me, that's fine.’ Rusalina looked uncharastically sullen. ‘You know, I don’t know what my cousin sees in you-’ Mikkel’s head blanked and the connection was lost. Mind and body going numb, Mikkel fell back against a crate filled with rations and stared up at the sky without seeing. Rusalina ... ..and Ianto…..are COUSINS!?!?!?! How did he never catch that??? They all went to the same University, with how much gossip Rusalina and Ianto accumulated he should have found out. He glanced at Jean and locked eyes with him over Jean’s flask. 

‘Did you know that Ianto and Rusalina are related?’ Mikkel demanded. Jean’s eyes widened right before the connection was lost in Jean’s spit take, a burst of spirits coming out in a spray. Everyone in the area looked over as he sputtered and fell over. 

“She’s a Tytoslav?!?” Jean wheezed. Roksana's head snapped to attention. 

“What did you just say?” She demanded. Ianto set his book down and looked up. 

“Her mother is my father’s sister. I thought everyone knew.” Rusalina facepalmed.

“No, they didn’t.” As they descended into bickering, Mikkel knew only one thing. 

This was going to be a very long summer journey.