At its heart, the city of Jader was a fishing port. It borrowed from both the Fereldans and Orlesians, creating a chaotic miss-mash of architecture. There was a practical simplicity clearly reminiscent of Ferelden stonework, coupled with Orlesian whimsy of columns and vibrant colors. Bright and loud. Where one faltered in sophistication, Orlais offered its fancies. Ferelden tempered it with a genuineness it would have lacked otherwise. Besides, as impressive as its aesthetics were, it wasnât what Zahra was looking for. Seeing as it was the closest shipyard in relation to Skyhold⊠it was the best they could do. She readjusted the bundle in her arms and swung her gaze skyward.
The Riptide was neatly anchored in Jaderâs dry dock. Surrounding the ship were several neat piles of timber, binds, and pad parts. Thick rope, as well. Fortunately the main mast hadnât been hit. Replacing it was far more trouble than it was worthâthe holes, however, were just as much of a pain. The railings had been ravaged by one of the cannonballs, and its midsection had been pierced as well. Theyâd had to cut and remove some of the boards; bowed in as they were. The holds were a mess. The first cannonball Borja had fired hadnât pierced through the entire vessel, and had rolled about inside. As soon as theyâd returned, it was the first thing to be removed. Nixium had taken her station next to anyone whoâd begun placing down boards. Smoothing her fingers across the gaps, until the wooden pieces molded and merged together.
Zahra had instructed the others to clean up the holds, carry boards and set about with hammers, nails, and ropes. There was much to do, and the weather had held enough not to feel uncomfortable. Hefting wood up and down the gangplank wouldâve warmed them up anyhow. She, too, bustled around the shipyard. Sheâd also visited the local tavern in order to buy a few bottles of wine for anyone whose thirst couldnât be quenched by the casket of water settled beside the nearest building. Damn Borja. Her collection of vintages had perished in the battle. Shattered and wasted on the lower decks. A damn waste.
âMore work than itâs worth if you ask me,â Garland guffed from beside her, scratching at his beard. He seemed more irritated the usual, but it was probably because of the influx of work heâd been handed. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his hair was slicked back from his face.
âGood thing thenâI wasnât,â her grin cracked wider when she turned to face him, dumping the load of wood into his arms without waiting to see if heâd catch it. He did. Barely. They were empty, anyhow. He made a noise, clearly annoyed before clambering up the gangplank and onto the deck.
Among those who'd joined the crew in their repair efforts was Estella. It was clear enough that her knowledge of ships and the requirements of repair was minimal, but she'd made herself useful clearing away broken boards and glass and the like from the lower decks until that was done. Now, she mostly ran supplies to people who knew what they were doing, hauling boards and buckets of nails up and down the gangplank with diligent steadiness. She'd tied her hair up and away from her face and neck; she dressed like any of the others working on the Riptide, with no indications of rank or position.
On one trip down for more supplies, she passed Zahra by and smiled. âThe fore hold is shaping up pretty nicely; the crew down there say they'll probably be done in half an hour." She shifted her grip on the laden buckets she was carrying and wiped her forehead with her sleeve near the shoulder.
âAppreciate you coming up here, weâre making good time,â Zahra said, offering a soft smile and a free hand for one of the buckets Estella carried. She didnât mind helping out anyone who wasnât Garland. His whining was a small victory, in a sense. If he wasnât such a damn good shipwright, she wouldâve thrown him off ages ago. Anyone who couldnât understand the value of salvaging Riptide as long as possible, didnât deserve to call themselves a raider. Heâd never ran under different sails before, as she had. This was her first ship. Her first crew. Assembled by her and Aslan back before theyâd scrounged up their motley crew.
It was the closest thing to a home sheâd ever had.
Fortunately, sheâd acquired extra hands on her way to Redcliffe: Estella, Vesryn and Asala. She was grateful theyâd come along with her, even if they hadnât needed to. It lessened the workload and would make Riptide seaworthy far quicker than if sheâd had to rely solely on her crew. Asalaâs magical prowess proved invaluable, shifting the larger boards with ease. Estellaâs eye for detail had proven equally useful. The shipâs inner belly looked even more organized then itâd been before. And for an elf so pretty, Vesryn was stronger than he appeared. His humor, as well, seemed to brighten the sour mood as of late.
Once they stepped down the stairs, the smell of shallots and garlic met their noses. Brialle was busying herself in Riptideâs kitchen, preparing lunch for those whoâd grown hungry after toiling for hours. A soft, melodic hum came from that direction. A sea-chanty she recognized. Her stomach lurched and gave an unseemly growl. Zahra grinned and gently bumped her shoulder into Estellaâs, âLooks like itâs about time for a break anyhow.â
They encountered Vesryn underneath, the elf lugging a very heavy looking canvas sack over one shoulder. He'd been working tirelessly at collecting anything and everything that needed to be removed from the ship, which mostly consisted of things blasted apart by the cannonballs or damaged when the ships had crashed together in the storm. He'd set to the work cheerfully, and indeed gave them a smile in greeting as he passed. "Ladies. Lunch sounds fantastic."
He looked to be enjoying himself, honestly, despite the dull manual labor. He'd worked up a sheen of sweat and managed to get his shirt half-unbuttoned so his chest (and most of his torso) would have room to breathe. It remained to be seen if the shirt would end up in the trash pile, too. He paused at the base of the stairs. "Looks like she held up pretty well, all things considered. Under Qunari cannon fire, no less. No small feat." His expression seemed to grow a bit more serious and genuine. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there. The whole affair was a bit over my head."
Zahra settled the bucket down by a neat stack of crates and stretched out her arms above her head: cat-like. She cracked her neck from side to side, and set to work dragging extra chairs to the long table settled in the largest hold Riptide had to offer. They had all their meals down here, as a crew should. Stale biscuits and salted meat be damned when you had a decent enough cook aboard. When one could afford better ingredients, and expensive wines, it wouldâve been a shame to punish themselves with poorer fare. While sheâd never boast of all the things theyâd had to do to accumulate their fortunes, it was obvious that they didnât lack in that department.
She plopped herself into one of the chairs and kicked up her feet on the table, boots and all. The sound of food snapping in the foreground was all the more apparent the closer they venturedâjust around the bend was Brialleâs kitchen. A place christened by the little lass herself. Off-limits to anyone else, sheâd say. Unless they wanted to help with dishes. It smelt of butter and some sort of mild fish, mixed with the shallots and garlic sheâd noted earlier. She looked over her shoulder and waved Estella over, hooking her arm over the back of the chair so she could swing her attention onto Vesrynâs face, âCanât say sheâs been through worse.â She shook her head and arched an eyebrow, âAnd risk that face?â Her wicked smile diminished a few inches, and softened around the edges, âDonât worry about it. Youâve more than made up for that.â
"Hardly," Vesryn replied, dismissive, "And I do have a helmet, you know. Keeps this face of mine intact. Dare say I look rather dashing in it." With that, he made his way up to remove the refuse he'd collected from the ship. No doubt he would soon return for the food.
A dull thump drew their attention to the door. Asala stood slightly outside of it, rubbing her forehead while pouting at the top of the door frame. Judging by the bruise already blossoming, it'd not been the first time she'd ran into one of them. One of the crew, whom she'd been following apparently, turned and quickly hid his grin. "Wh-what?" she stammered, hiding the bruise, but the crewmate said nothing and continued on his way.
Asala had her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, revealing the base of her horns and giving door frames a clear shot to her forehead. She wore a thin sleeveless shirt with a wide neck and which cut off at the midriff, her crimson cloak tied into a knot at her waist. She, like the others, had worked up a sheen of sweat. "Th-they, uh, said it was cl-close to lunchtime?" Asala asked, apparently reverting back into her shell while around the rest of Zahra's crew, whom she had not had a chance to get to know as much as Zahra and Estella. The blush on her face said that she'd rather them not had seen her bash her head on the door frame either.
Estella smiled in a way likely intended to be reassuring, and patted the seat on the other side of her. âIt is. Sit next to me?" She made no mention of the blunder against the doorframe, as though she hadn't noticed it in the first place.
Asala smiled and nodded, quietly taking the offered seat.
Zahra had a harder time ignoring the fact that Asala had bonked her head on the shipâs door frame. Her mouth stippled itself into a wavering smile, before crooking into a simpering smirk. Her laughter sputtered out like a leaky facet. How many times had she seen Aslan smack his horns into the wooden frames? Dangling ropes? Unfortunately, Riptide hadnât been designed to cater to anyone whose stature was above average. While she hadnât seen it firsthand, she assumed Leon had had the same troubles when he was aboard. A shame, really. She wouldâve liked to see him as flustered as Asala seemed to be. She nodded her head and unhooked her arm from around the chair in order to face them properly.
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry,â she said as she knuckled at her watering eyes, clearly thinking it was much more amusing than anyone else, âItâs been awhile since Iâve seen that happen.â As soon as she regained control of herself, she cleared her throat and smoothed her fingers across the wooden surface of the table, âAh. Yes, itâs nearly ready,â she added with a conspiratorially wag of her eyebrows, âIt might just be the most delicious thing youâve tastedââ
âDonât listen to her. Itâs fine on an empty stomach. Nothinâ fancy,â a slight elf-woman with blond curls interrupted with a sheepish smile, hands occupied by a large pewter-platter. A peculiar item for a pirate ship, but given their prior affairs⊠perhaps not so surprising.
Brialle set the platter in the middle of the table, and brought out a few more platters. One had an arrangement of fragrant fish toppled on top of each other, garnished with shallots and wild mushrooms. Others had fresh bread and a round of old cheese. Diced fruits, as well. Afterward, she set smaller pewter plates in front of them and retreated back into the kitchen with a content hum. âNothing fancy she says,â Zahra snorted.
"You know," Vesryn said after he'd come back down the stairs, free of any heavy load, "I don't think I've ever been served a meal by a pirate before." He slipped into an open seat at the table, surveying the array before him. "Seems I should make a habit of it, though."
Zahraâs clapped the table, making platters jump, before she laughed, âWell, youâre always welcome aboard this ship.â
Estella carefully served herself from the platters nearest her, occasionally diverting the spoons on their way to her plate to someone else's instead, if one got shoved in her general direction. Eating meals in a large group that wasn't too stuffy about their manners meant it happened more than a few times.
âOh, nectarines. I haven't had one of those in years." She seemed quite excited by the prospect, and lifted half of one to her plate with something approaching reverence. âI suppose I should be questioning your supply lines, but I think I'm going to selfishly enjoy this instead of asking." She bit into the tender fruit with relish.
Asala was busy helping herself to fish, shallots, and mushrooms when Estella spoke. She leaned over and whispered, though quite loudly enough for Zahra to hear, though from her expression it wasn't meant to be some sort of secret. "Pirate," she answered with grin and a flutter of fingertips.
âSay it isn't so," Estella quipped back in the same stage whisper, apparently unable to help the slight smile she wore.
Zahra was busy stuffing her face, though sheâd noticed the conversation going on to her side. She leaned towards them and grinned wide, arm hooked behind her chair. âI prefer the term⊠opportunist.â
âThen I guess this is an opportunity to remodel the ship. Should we put in anything new while we're at it? A bar, perhaps?" Estella nudged a tankard a little closer to Zahra, perhaps sensing that she was going to need to wash all that food down at some point. âDay spa? New cannon? We might actually be able to get you one of those, eventually."
âYouâve read my mind. Maybe, on all accounts,â Zahra tapped a fork to her lips, and dropped it in lieu of the tankard slipped in front of her face. Who was she ever to turn down a drink? Opportunities and all that. She settled her hands around it and arched an inquisitive eyebrow, âIâm thinking itâs time that Riptide had a little more kick.â
Sailing fast no longer suited her purpose. If she had more bite? Itâd mean all the difference. A Qunari-crafted cannon with those damned cannon balls?
Itâd suit her just fine.
The Riptide was neatly anchored in Jaderâs dry dock. Surrounding the ship were several neat piles of timber, binds, and pad parts. Thick rope, as well. Fortunately the main mast hadnât been hit. Replacing it was far more trouble than it was worthâthe holes, however, were just as much of a pain. The railings had been ravaged by one of the cannonballs, and its midsection had been pierced as well. Theyâd had to cut and remove some of the boards; bowed in as they were. The holds were a mess. The first cannonball Borja had fired hadnât pierced through the entire vessel, and had rolled about inside. As soon as theyâd returned, it was the first thing to be removed. Nixium had taken her station next to anyone whoâd begun placing down boards. Smoothing her fingers across the gaps, until the wooden pieces molded and merged together.
Zahra had instructed the others to clean up the holds, carry boards and set about with hammers, nails, and ropes. There was much to do, and the weather had held enough not to feel uncomfortable. Hefting wood up and down the gangplank wouldâve warmed them up anyhow. She, too, bustled around the shipyard. Sheâd also visited the local tavern in order to buy a few bottles of wine for anyone whose thirst couldnât be quenched by the casket of water settled beside the nearest building. Damn Borja. Her collection of vintages had perished in the battle. Shattered and wasted on the lower decks. A damn waste.
âMore work than itâs worth if you ask me,â Garland guffed from beside her, scratching at his beard. He seemed more irritated the usual, but it was probably because of the influx of work heâd been handed. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his hair was slicked back from his face.
âGood thing thenâI wasnât,â her grin cracked wider when she turned to face him, dumping the load of wood into his arms without waiting to see if heâd catch it. He did. Barely. They were empty, anyhow. He made a noise, clearly annoyed before clambering up the gangplank and onto the deck.
Among those who'd joined the crew in their repair efforts was Estella. It was clear enough that her knowledge of ships and the requirements of repair was minimal, but she'd made herself useful clearing away broken boards and glass and the like from the lower decks until that was done. Now, she mostly ran supplies to people who knew what they were doing, hauling boards and buckets of nails up and down the gangplank with diligent steadiness. She'd tied her hair up and away from her face and neck; she dressed like any of the others working on the Riptide, with no indications of rank or position.
On one trip down for more supplies, she passed Zahra by and smiled. âThe fore hold is shaping up pretty nicely; the crew down there say they'll probably be done in half an hour." She shifted her grip on the laden buckets she was carrying and wiped her forehead with her sleeve near the shoulder.
âAppreciate you coming up here, weâre making good time,â Zahra said, offering a soft smile and a free hand for one of the buckets Estella carried. She didnât mind helping out anyone who wasnât Garland. His whining was a small victory, in a sense. If he wasnât such a damn good shipwright, she wouldâve thrown him off ages ago. Anyone who couldnât understand the value of salvaging Riptide as long as possible, didnât deserve to call themselves a raider. Heâd never ran under different sails before, as she had. This was her first ship. Her first crew. Assembled by her and Aslan back before theyâd scrounged up their motley crew.
It was the closest thing to a home sheâd ever had.
Fortunately, sheâd acquired extra hands on her way to Redcliffe: Estella, Vesryn and Asala. She was grateful theyâd come along with her, even if they hadnât needed to. It lessened the workload and would make Riptide seaworthy far quicker than if sheâd had to rely solely on her crew. Asalaâs magical prowess proved invaluable, shifting the larger boards with ease. Estellaâs eye for detail had proven equally useful. The shipâs inner belly looked even more organized then itâd been before. And for an elf so pretty, Vesryn was stronger than he appeared. His humor, as well, seemed to brighten the sour mood as of late.
Once they stepped down the stairs, the smell of shallots and garlic met their noses. Brialle was busying herself in Riptideâs kitchen, preparing lunch for those whoâd grown hungry after toiling for hours. A soft, melodic hum came from that direction. A sea-chanty she recognized. Her stomach lurched and gave an unseemly growl. Zahra grinned and gently bumped her shoulder into Estellaâs, âLooks like itâs about time for a break anyhow.â
They encountered Vesryn underneath, the elf lugging a very heavy looking canvas sack over one shoulder. He'd been working tirelessly at collecting anything and everything that needed to be removed from the ship, which mostly consisted of things blasted apart by the cannonballs or damaged when the ships had crashed together in the storm. He'd set to the work cheerfully, and indeed gave them a smile in greeting as he passed. "Ladies. Lunch sounds fantastic."
He looked to be enjoying himself, honestly, despite the dull manual labor. He'd worked up a sheen of sweat and managed to get his shirt half-unbuttoned so his chest (and most of his torso) would have room to breathe. It remained to be seen if the shirt would end up in the trash pile, too. He paused at the base of the stairs. "Looks like she held up pretty well, all things considered. Under Qunari cannon fire, no less. No small feat." His expression seemed to grow a bit more serious and genuine. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there. The whole affair was a bit over my head."
Zahra settled the bucket down by a neat stack of crates and stretched out her arms above her head: cat-like. She cracked her neck from side to side, and set to work dragging extra chairs to the long table settled in the largest hold Riptide had to offer. They had all their meals down here, as a crew should. Stale biscuits and salted meat be damned when you had a decent enough cook aboard. When one could afford better ingredients, and expensive wines, it wouldâve been a shame to punish themselves with poorer fare. While sheâd never boast of all the things theyâd had to do to accumulate their fortunes, it was obvious that they didnât lack in that department.
She plopped herself into one of the chairs and kicked up her feet on the table, boots and all. The sound of food snapping in the foreground was all the more apparent the closer they venturedâjust around the bend was Brialleâs kitchen. A place christened by the little lass herself. Off-limits to anyone else, sheâd say. Unless they wanted to help with dishes. It smelt of butter and some sort of mild fish, mixed with the shallots and garlic sheâd noted earlier. She looked over her shoulder and waved Estella over, hooking her arm over the back of the chair so she could swing her attention onto Vesrynâs face, âCanât say sheâs been through worse.â She shook her head and arched an eyebrow, âAnd risk that face?â Her wicked smile diminished a few inches, and softened around the edges, âDonât worry about it. Youâve more than made up for that.â
"Hardly," Vesryn replied, dismissive, "And I do have a helmet, you know. Keeps this face of mine intact. Dare say I look rather dashing in it." With that, he made his way up to remove the refuse he'd collected from the ship. No doubt he would soon return for the food.
A dull thump drew their attention to the door. Asala stood slightly outside of it, rubbing her forehead while pouting at the top of the door frame. Judging by the bruise already blossoming, it'd not been the first time she'd ran into one of them. One of the crew, whom she'd been following apparently, turned and quickly hid his grin. "Wh-what?" she stammered, hiding the bruise, but the crewmate said nothing and continued on his way.
Asala had her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, revealing the base of her horns and giving door frames a clear shot to her forehead. She wore a thin sleeveless shirt with a wide neck and which cut off at the midriff, her crimson cloak tied into a knot at her waist. She, like the others, had worked up a sheen of sweat. "Th-they, uh, said it was cl-close to lunchtime?" Asala asked, apparently reverting back into her shell while around the rest of Zahra's crew, whom she had not had a chance to get to know as much as Zahra and Estella. The blush on her face said that she'd rather them not had seen her bash her head on the door frame either.
Estella smiled in a way likely intended to be reassuring, and patted the seat on the other side of her. âIt is. Sit next to me?" She made no mention of the blunder against the doorframe, as though she hadn't noticed it in the first place.
Asala smiled and nodded, quietly taking the offered seat.
Zahra had a harder time ignoring the fact that Asala had bonked her head on the shipâs door frame. Her mouth stippled itself into a wavering smile, before crooking into a simpering smirk. Her laughter sputtered out like a leaky facet. How many times had she seen Aslan smack his horns into the wooden frames? Dangling ropes? Unfortunately, Riptide hadnât been designed to cater to anyone whose stature was above average. While she hadnât seen it firsthand, she assumed Leon had had the same troubles when he was aboard. A shame, really. She wouldâve liked to see him as flustered as Asala seemed to be. She nodded her head and unhooked her arm from around the chair in order to face them properly.
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry,â she said as she knuckled at her watering eyes, clearly thinking it was much more amusing than anyone else, âItâs been awhile since Iâve seen that happen.â As soon as she regained control of herself, she cleared her throat and smoothed her fingers across the wooden surface of the table, âAh. Yes, itâs nearly ready,â she added with a conspiratorially wag of her eyebrows, âIt might just be the most delicious thing youâve tastedââ
âDonât listen to her. Itâs fine on an empty stomach. Nothinâ fancy,â a slight elf-woman with blond curls interrupted with a sheepish smile, hands occupied by a large pewter-platter. A peculiar item for a pirate ship, but given their prior affairs⊠perhaps not so surprising.
Brialle set the platter in the middle of the table, and brought out a few more platters. One had an arrangement of fragrant fish toppled on top of each other, garnished with shallots and wild mushrooms. Others had fresh bread and a round of old cheese. Diced fruits, as well. Afterward, she set smaller pewter plates in front of them and retreated back into the kitchen with a content hum. âNothing fancy she says,â Zahra snorted.
"You know," Vesryn said after he'd come back down the stairs, free of any heavy load, "I don't think I've ever been served a meal by a pirate before." He slipped into an open seat at the table, surveying the array before him. "Seems I should make a habit of it, though."
Zahraâs clapped the table, making platters jump, before she laughed, âWell, youâre always welcome aboard this ship.â
Estella carefully served herself from the platters nearest her, occasionally diverting the spoons on their way to her plate to someone else's instead, if one got shoved in her general direction. Eating meals in a large group that wasn't too stuffy about their manners meant it happened more than a few times.
âOh, nectarines. I haven't had one of those in years." She seemed quite excited by the prospect, and lifted half of one to her plate with something approaching reverence. âI suppose I should be questioning your supply lines, but I think I'm going to selfishly enjoy this instead of asking." She bit into the tender fruit with relish.
Asala was busy helping herself to fish, shallots, and mushrooms when Estella spoke. She leaned over and whispered, though quite loudly enough for Zahra to hear, though from her expression it wasn't meant to be some sort of secret. "Pirate," she answered with grin and a flutter of fingertips.
âSay it isn't so," Estella quipped back in the same stage whisper, apparently unable to help the slight smile she wore.
Zahra was busy stuffing her face, though sheâd noticed the conversation going on to her side. She leaned towards them and grinned wide, arm hooked behind her chair. âI prefer the term⊠opportunist.â
âThen I guess this is an opportunity to remodel the ship. Should we put in anything new while we're at it? A bar, perhaps?" Estella nudged a tankard a little closer to Zahra, perhaps sensing that she was going to need to wash all that food down at some point. âDay spa? New cannon? We might actually be able to get you one of those, eventually."
âYouâve read my mind. Maybe, on all accounts,â Zahra tapped a fork to her lips, and dropped it in lieu of the tankard slipped in front of her face. Who was she ever to turn down a drink? Opportunities and all that. She settled her hands around it and arched an inquisitive eyebrow, âIâm thinking itâs time that Riptide had a little more kick.â
Sailing fast no longer suited her purpose. If she had more bite? Itâd mean all the difference. A Qunari-crafted cannon with those damned cannon balls?
Itâd suit her just fine.