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Splintered Light Chapter 1.4: Before Dawn

Writing had never been an easy pastime for Thomas Jameson Joseph Carter Richman but it was one he nevertheless enjoyed greatly. In an ideal setting the Corgi was able to complete perhaps a page of narrative every two hours but, then again, travel at sea was anything but ideal yet, for some reason it came that much easier. The merchant attributed it to a change of scenery and the vibrant heave of the timbers beneath his sandaled paws. Wriggling his toes in their covering the Dog idly nibbled at a fig as he looked at the paper that sat on the writing desk before him.

The Corgi, who had gone most recently with the name "Itty" Richman preferred three things. First, he hated excess, which was why he revised his name. Second, the Dog hated leaving things unfinished, which was why he began his autobiography about a decade and a half before most men. Despite the fact that the majority of men of note didn't write their memoirs until they reached their fifth decade, Itty, who was in his mid-30s realized at his pace he would never get them done if he didn't start early.

Setting his pen down, the merchant leaned sideways in his chair so he could reach the small ice box that he'd commissioned for his cabin. Turning the dial one way then the other then back, the Dog inputted the combination and popped the door so he could retrieve a pre-dawn snack: ice cold chocolate, also known as number three on his list. Number four in his list of preferences, not that he always counted that high, was his love of travel.

Itty had spent almost ten years running a boutique in Ilyse but it had never truly suited him. It didn't take much longer than that before he got tired of maintaining a shop in one location and instead turned to a life of adventure and exploration, allowing him the opportunity to meet all interesting varieties of people. He had great fortune in running into Captain Alistair Jacksoni, a Tiger of reasonable means and great insight.

Although the Wave Rider already had a quartermaster there was enough extra space that a traveling merchant could fit right in, and Itty, in a rare moment of self depreciation pointed out that he wouldn't take up much room at all. Being of short stature even for a Corgi, Itty was scarcely four and a half feet tall and in normal circumstances didn't much care for attention being drawn to his minute height but Alistair was the kind of man who was able to laugh with and not at, so it was a fast and easy business transaction.

Popping a bon-bon into his muzzle, Itty straightened back up in his chair as he chewed, looking down again at the progress of his words across the page; since awakening he'd managed nearly a half page, which wasn't bad considering the early hour of the morning. The Corgi kicked off his sandals so he could wriggle his toes more fully; although Itty was almost never without the three-inch soled paw-wear he had to admit that there were moments when it was pleasing to have the opportunity to go bare pawed... just so long as there was nice carpet present to feel with his pads.

A half hour, a half dozen bon-bons, and two breakfast champagnes later and Itty had the page finished. He carefully used an ink blotter to clean up his penmanship and set the piece of parchment off to the side to dry. It was the third page he'd completed during the short trip out to sea and, based on what little he knew of the travel plans the Corgi was confident that he'd have plenty of time to add to the stack. One thing he DIDN'T have time for however was dalliances.

Hopping off the sitting stool and onto the ground, Itty collected his sandals and made his way to his wardrobe. Despite having one of the larger passenger cabins aboard the Wave Rider, fitting in Itty's stock, supplies, sundries, and gear meant that it was scarcely larger than a 20 crown a night inn room... and he preferred the hundred-per-nighters. Nevertheless, the Dog maintained a positive impression of the accommodations and didn't mind enduring some slight hardships for the sake of adventure. To that effect, Itty chose from his rugged stock of clothing since he knew it'd help him fit in better with the crew.

Doffing his silk night robe, the Dog turned on an oil lamp so he could assess his personal presentation. Despite some slightly disheveled fur he was still perfectly put together... or, rather, would be once he had his girdle on. Although pudgy Corgis were hardly uncommon it was one trait that Itty ALMOST disliked as much as the lack of height. The merchant stared at his naked body for several moments in the mirror, turning one way then the other as he assessed his keg-like torso and lamented the ungentlemanly way his belly hung down just enough to hide the top half of his sheath; he always thought it made him look more like a pudgy little puppy because of it-- incidentally that was number three on his list of negatives as it related to Corgi-dom.

Banishing the negative thoughts from his mind, Itty made quick work of readying himself for the day. With the assistance of a paw-powered gripper, the Corgi managed to don his girdle, which did a fine job of adjusting his gut into a much more reasonable shape more resembling masculine thickness rather than a drooping burlap sack filled with sand. He took a moment to brush his much more visible, reasonably sized endowments. It wasn't that anyone would see them, but it still made him feel better. He then donned a fine set of undergarments before slipping into a yellowish brown set of trousers that closely matched the darker portions of his fur.

From there he laced up a two layered, dark colored linen tunic that helped offset the brightness of the creamy hue of the lighter part of his coloration. He finished off the ensemble with a wide brimmed hat to help keep the sun out of his face. Although Itty had a variety of hats he tended to favor the brown one because it matched his eyes and helped pronounce the healthy pink hue to his nose. Although most Corgis had black noses, the pinkness to Itty's was inherited from his father, and he actually quite liked it.

He finished off the ensemble by sticking a large white feather into his cap and slipping his sandals back onto his feet. Reviewing himself once more in the mirror, Itty paused long enough to roll his whiskers together between his thumbs and forefingers on either side of his muzzle, using just a touch of styling wax until they spun together to resemble the fashionable pencil mustaches the Ilysean Human merchants favored. The Corgi finished everything off with a carefully prepared smile, and prepared to start his day above decks so he could welcome the sailors to the morning. From what he'd heard from the Captain, the other Quartermaster kept to himself, which meant that Itty would be best served doing the opposite.

* * * * * *

There was something invigorating about cursing at an errant mechanism in Olde Mehnzylian and it was a trait that Somus had gained during his work aboard The Wave Rider. Although the Captain made certain that the Chief Engineer would always have the right tools available and an ample supply of replacement parts things tended to happen at sea that invariably led to a degree of frustration and having the right methods for dealing with that frustration usually meant the difference between keeping a cool head and breaking something more than it had already been damaged.

The Dragon had a love of machines that rivaled most underground Technomancers in Mehnzyl, but the main difference between Somus and those reclusive self-exiled criminals was that everything the Chief Engineer had done in his pursuit of knowledge had been done in the open with the approval and blessing of the Church. Most of all, everything he'd done has been legal. Achieving the status of a Chief Engineer aboard a sailing ship at scarcely twenty five years of age had been quite a feat and, despite naysayers claiming he wouldn't be able to handle the job, almost five years later he was still going strong.

He adjusted a particularly unruly pressure tank. "Not unlike you, Angor."

That particular piece of machinery had been with the Wave Rider longer than Somus, and it had been one of the first components he'd named. The Dragon had named it after his eldest brother, who, much like the tank had a bit of a temper-- not just because of the similarity, but also because the name sounded entirely too much lilke 'anger', which was a common reaction Somus had when the boiler's function caused Angor to rattle and whistle. Sure, there was nothing stopping the Chief from having the tank replaced but, for all of Somus' complaints about how uppity Angor was the component was one of his favorites.

As an M2 pressure chamber, Angor was a dying breed; it was virtually impossible to find one any longer since newer steam engine components were in much more favor than the older varieties. Plus, he and the tank had a bit of a history; it was Angor that managed to help him get the ship to safety during a harrowing battle with pirates. When the engine was all but shot, it was Angor that stood up to the heat of Somus' fiery breath and provided the necessary energy to push the Wave Rider to safety. Newer tanks would have melted beneath a dragon's fire, but Angor was an M2, and that meant no matter how much complaining it did Angor was there to stay.

Since taking the title of Chief Engineer, Somus Veridius had named no less than two dozen engine components. They each had their own personality and their own quirks. It also meant that he was able to form a much greater bond with them; he rarely if ever replaced one of the parts... not if it could be restored to function. Even if the other members of the crew didn't particularly take to Somus' idiosyncrasies that trait earned him the appreciation of the Captain, who benefitted from the Dragon's frugality.

It wasn't that the crewmen were unkind or impolite-- far from it; in every way that mattered as Somus was concerned he was given full honors as a member of the ship's officers, even if he wasn't included in their number officially. There WERE moments however when an errant whistle or a chugging clunk interrupted the sleep of a sailor (or ten) and he had to deal with complaints almost as loud as the machinery. The simple fact he had to remind them was that even the most loyal and obedient dog was prone bark now and again-- it didn't make him a bad dog. That explanation usually worked... except with the members of the crew who were canines. That tended to make his analogy a little inconvenient.

The emerald scaled Dragon let his mind meander through such thoughts as he sifted through his collection of tools. Despite the fact that he kept the work area clean and organized there was a lot of equipment in a very small area and that didn't make it easy. Eventually he found the heating rod he wanted and set to work welding a small section of metal on a heat exchange. Chances were that it was fine and it wasn't about to cause any problems but Somus prefered not to take chances and preferred to know for certain. Pulling a small tube from the back of the handheld device he stuck it between his scaled lips and set the tip of the tool to the work area. Since he preferred to save the heating fuel for something more pressing, the Dragon released a slow, purposeful blast of flame into the tube.

The repair took him all of five minutes and that summed up the total of his tasks for the morning, which was perfectly fine with the Engineer; he'd been stuck below decks in his small cubby of a work area for over a day, and that meant he knew the best way to use a little extra time. Keeping his wings folded tightly around his shoulders so they wouldn't scrape along the ceiling or walls the Dragon made his way topside. Once there he exited out onto the deck into the fresh, pre-dawn wind.

A few sailors were up and about-- some were just finishing a shift and the others were just about to start one. Paying them little more than casual attention, Somus provided a few nods of greeting here-and-there until he'd arrived at the bow. Finally letting his wings unfold, the Wave Rider's engineer took the opportunity to revel in the feel of the breeze against their unfurled membranes. Captain Jacksoni had very specific rules when it came to flying over and around the Wave Rider, and that involved nothing of the sort from sun-up to sundown. Based on Somus' estimation that left him with ten minutes. Lowering his goggles down he smiled, and announced to nobody specifically "Best not waste it then."

The Wave Rider was making good speed and, with the wind having shifted to blowing from behind some time during the early hours of the morning that meant that Somus had a fantastic tailwind. With barely enough time to cup his wings after spreading them Somus was practically pulled into the air. He angled his body as the Wave Rider passed beneath him, rolling to the right to avoid the mast and then to the left to sweep away from the reach of the ship's boom, and only once the worst of the ship's rigging had passed him by did he bother truly taking to wing.

The Dragon alternated between rising into the sky and dipping back toward the sea, using the opportunity to switch between gaining altitude and speed. Despite the Wave Rider being a reasonably swift vessel, Somus was able to accomplish far more on wing. He easily kept pace with the ship, staying just above the Ilysean Merchantman flag that flapped from the topmost point of its main mast. He flicked his tail in one direction, sending him in a wide, lazy circle over the ship and he entertained himself by watching the lookouts make their way down to the deck for the shift change.

Before too long the sun was starting to rise properly and that meant the Dragon's time in the air had come to an end. Standing on wing, Somus corkscrewed down in a tight spiral; it gave the Wave Rider a chance to cruise on ahead of him as he bled off some of his altitude. With the surf rapidly approaching the Dragon arched one wing up and spread the other out, quickly ending his roll before pushing both wings back, then out, sending him rocketing across the sea just above the waves. He smiled as sea spray shot up into his face and, despite having his goggles firmly in place his nictitating membranes slipped around to cover his eyes.

Having used the momentum of his fall to his advantage, Somus quickly caught back up to the Wave Rider, overtaking it on its portside. As soon as he reached the stern the Dragon lowered his right arm, dipping his talon into the sea. In addition to using the resistance of the water to slow him down it also pulled the dragon slightly to the right, drawing him closer to the ship. By that point some of the sailors on deck had pushed a section of cargo net over the side, providing Somus a perfect place to latch onto the hull. A few moments later he was on deck, breath still coming quickly and heart still exalting its excitement as a joyous round of percussion within his chest.

There were times when Somus Veridius found himself wondering how he'd ended up on board a ship when most Dragons never left their kingdom, let alone the mainland. There were other times when he focused on how difficult it was to be a one-Dragon repair team for the ship's many mechanical systems. Still different times the Dragon lamented his 'cell' beneath decks and the cramped space in which he was expected to serve the vessel. And then, every now and again, such as that morning, he remembered that, despite all of it, life was good.

* * * * * *

While most of the crew above deck that morning was eager to watch the Engineer's pre-dawn acrobatics not everyone was as enraptured or as approving. It was true on many levels that those who met Calus often considered him cold blooded, and it wasn't just because he was a Salamander. In truth, the translator made it a point to think before he felt and let his decision-making process be guided by logic rather than pathos. To him, the mind was far more important than the heart; thought beat out emotion time and time again, and it was in this way he viewed the early morning flight taken by the ship's engineer.

As the eldest of three sons in the esteemed Len family, Calus was afforded all honors. He received respect due to his lineage rather than his accomplishments and everything in life was handed to him with no real effort on his part. Although he was not a Dragon his family was prominent within the Mehnzylian kingdom and he was groomed from a young age to become an influential member of the Queen's court... perhaps an advisor, or a council member, or, at the very least, a courtier.

As with any well-known family within Mehnzyl, the Len household took great pains to put on airs and compete for attention, notoriety, and fame. Calus was placed within a well known and well respected Church-run school where he would be able to learn all of the many scholastic pursuits, tempered with the divine Word as taught by the Priests who provided an education second to none. While the Salamander always gave at least passing acknowledgement to the faith he was far more interested in the knowledge that he could find applicable. Faith required belief; it required devotion to a higher power; most of all, it required acknowledging and returning unconditional love, and that was foreign to Calus.

That wasn't to say that the Salamander had no understanding of love, but there was a great difference between the tangible attention of one's mother as a hatchling and an intangible being of unfathomable goodwill and well-meaning. Calus, in fact, had a very positive relationship with his mother up until her death at the hands of his father. The Salamander frowned, extending his tongue up to wipe an errant droplet of seawater off of his eye... it certainly wasn't a tear. It was a public scandal that meant the end of the Len household's favor within the capitol and resulted Calus being forced to relocate his siblings to the countryside.

Accus Len had been put to death for the atrocity, leaving Calus the eldest member of the family... and that brought with it an endless number of obligations and responsibilities. He was more than capable of handling them but, when he balanced his options on a scale of logic, Calus realized that it would result in the destruction of any chances he would have of a good and successful life, and so he put the plans into motion that would save him from the social and financial deadfall his father had set.

He continued contemplating the paths in life that had taken him to serving aboard a seagoing vessel even as the crewmen gathered around the Chief Engineer. TECHNICALLY the Dragon had done nothing wrong as he had returned to the deck before the sun had risen, but the Translator figured it would be worthwhile discussing the inappropriate activity just in case any response would be required from the officers. It was one thing in the Salamander's eyes to have a little fun but with such a blatant and vulgar expression of turning one's nose up to the church's teachings of, as Calus paraphrased 'Keeping one's wings to oneself'... well... Somus could very well have missed that part.

Calus' life had been turned upside down having had to live through one great upheaval and he had no intention of going through another. The Salamander was loyal first and foremost to himself, and that meant securing his lifeline to stability and income; Captain Jacksoni, therefore by association also had his loyalty. It had taken no small amount of negotiation to allow the kingdom of Mehnzil to leave the household in the care of the eldest of his sisters since she was almost two years his junior, but in the end his commission aboard the Wave Rider had saved him from a lifetime of servitude to his siblings, and that had to continue.

The Translator stepped aside as the Chief Engineer passed by him, chatting casually with some of the crewmen who followed him down to the galley for breakfast. Calus offered a reserved smile to all of them as a group before returning to his brooding thoughts. Somus Veridius was in many ways like his father, which was both good and bad, but the Salamander was careful to watch the Dragon for any sign that he harbored anything even close to resembling the hidden ball of fire that was his father's anger; Calus had a good thing going as the ship's translator and he wasn't about to let someone ruin it... not like Accus had ruined the family.

The brooding thoughts did the Salamander no favors and so he resolved to set them aside. It was therefore convenient that he encountered one of the ship's religious representatives. Calus was heading toward the aft of the ship when the jovial, rotund Sea Otter all but ran into him. Reverend Fischer was a good man and he followed the teachings of the Church as well as any mammal the Salamander had seen. His greeting wasn't at all unexpected in how 'faithy' it was. "Ah... the good Lord blesses us with some fine weather this mornin', don't yeh agree, Master Len?"

Although friendly, the Otter had a tendency to be a little preachy and, not being the most pious Mehnzilian, Calus didn't particularly appreciate it but he also knew the importance of staying on certain peoples' good side, and Gustave Fischer was one of those. "Indeed, Reverend... as it says in the Book of Exaltation--"

The Otter interrupted him with near-perfect recitation. "Greet every day with a disposition most sunny and the day shall greet ye back likewise."

The Salamander pulled his tail in a little tighter to keep the darkening of his spots from showing; it was a reflex whenever he was perturbed. "No... I was going to say--"

The Reverened tried again, using an entirely different quote. "And cast about he with his eyes from atop the bless'd mountain and gazed he upon the world of the Lord, our God, and--"

Calus interrupted. "Not that one either. Book of Exaltation, Verse 4, Line 17."

Reverend Fischer paused at that, furry brows furrowing in thought. The Salamander used the opportunity to pass by even as the Otter pulled a traveling version of the tome out and quickly sifted through it. Calus Len had a certain dry humor to him that most people couldn't appreciate, but Reverend Gustave Fischer never disappointed; within moments he was laughing loudly enough that the men in the rigging were likely to hear.

The Salamander's scaled lips pulled up into a faint smirk. The words on Line 17 of Verse 4 were only two in number: "Good day."