Back on Cerulean Soil

[lockethrowsknives]

As the modest shipping rig settled into port, a crowd of weary passengers began to assemble to one side of the ship, more than eager to disembark from the hulk of timber that had been their world for countless uncomfortable weeks. A seedy bunch of drunkards and vagabonds, the mass of droning seafarers was parted by the stern shoves of a tall, weatherworn figure pushing to the front as inspection agents prepared to board the ship. Bypassing the last passenger, the man paused at the boarding plank, encountering a smartly dressed Constable of the Cerulean Fleet. Eyeing the forceful figure carefully, the Constable spoke sternly.

“Step back onto the ship citizen. This vessel has not passed inspection and no cargo, human or otherwise, will be permitted into His Majesty’s port without my grace.”

The soldier raised his hand, prepared to continue with his lecture, when the passenger’s attire suddenly struck him as odd. Recognizing the ragged but still outstanding gold hue in the chain coat of a City Guardsman, he stopped short. This man did not have the sharp, pristine look of an Imperial soldier. His crimson hair was much too long, his beard tattered and salted by long sea travel. Yet the stern coldness in his deep set gray eyes and his confident posture spoke of his history than his currently unkempt appearance. Considering the possible explanations, he was silent. Seizing the opportunity in the Fleetsman’s pause, the other figure spoke up in a stern rasp, producing a small, tattered document.

“Sailor, I am not aware of what agency you represent, but seeing as you respectfully cite His Majesty’s interests as your own, I expect you will recognize the seal on this writ and grant a soldier in His service the privilege of expediency, hm? I’ve had one hell of a season and I’m in no mood for formalities. Rest easy boy, I head directly to Thrall’s Gate, Father Minuvas has quarters waiting for me.”

Placing a heavy hand on the Constable’s shoulder, he leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice.

“Second cargo hold, aft. Last six barrels, bottom half. You’ll get yourself a reward for busting that contraband boy, trust me. Marcus' favor, Varana's Glory.”

Pushing past the Sailor and the three men-at-arms behind him, Zadrithurn Norentun strode into Cear with his head held higher than it had been in quite a long time.

[Torquil Lamond]

Movement caught his eye, causing the Commodore of the Fleet to look up from the weathered dispatch he had been reading. Clutched haphazardly between two cerulean-gloved hands, the missive had been about the latest wave in supply shipments from the Dasarian mainland. Much to his chagrin, there had been several attempts made to import illicit cargo, including but not limited to contraband liquor, heretical substances and unlawful paraphernalia.

His day had improved, however, when he learned all involved had been detained, and were awaiting adjudication.

That afore-noted movement that caught his eye looked to be coming from a modest loading dock; a dock harbouring a small trading brig. It seemed a passenger was attempting to force the inspection, and a Constable had interposed himself between Cearian soil, and the brig.

What held his attention, however, was the man's clothing. He knew the uniform well—he wore it for nearly half a year's time. The man was garbed as a member of the Watch.

The Commodore turned to a Corporal on his right. The man had been a veteran Watchman, and Torquil wasted no time in drafting the man into the Fleet.

"Anders." Torquil gestured to the man with a free hand, and the Corporal stepped forward, his hands folded casually behind him in a customary military posture.

"Yes sir?" The sailor replied, arching an inquisitive brow.

"Follow that man, there, the rough-looking Watchman," Torquil began, gesturing with a nod of his head in the sloop's direction, "Be discreet, and report your findings to me later this evening."

"Aye aye, sir." The Corporal nodded curtly, unfolding his hands from behind him, placing one on the hilt of his cutlass. Retreating a few steps, he signaled to two of his Constables that flanked him. A few minutes later he strode towards the north, Constables in tow, keeping an eye on the guardsman.

Torquil watched impassively.

[DM Bionic]

Deleted the posts after this to keep this thread clean. Apologies to the posters but with hope for understanding.

[lockethrowsknives]

The bright blue uniforms stuck out like ogres to Zadrithurn's eyes, trained by countless days and nights of sentinel duty. And in those many nights, never before had he caught notice of heavily armed men in bright blue uniforms moving throughout Cear's streets. He noticed each one strolling through the crowds, especially the three that kept a safe distance behind him. Shifting his step, he turned a sharp right after passing through the gates into Cear proper.

Partly to test the trails and partly to refresh himself with the sights of the city he called his home, Zadrithurn weaved in and out of obscure commercial alleys all the way to North Cear, where he came upon the distinctive Fleet Guardhouse. Pausing in a bit of surprise, his plans changed. Zadrithurn stepped forward, pushing the door to the office open and stepped inside quickly. Ignoring the startled men inside, he turned to face the door and await his company, a stern look set on his brow.

[Adam Kenholme]

Constable Kenholme was briefing a fellow Fleet-member on the day's activities when the door opened, admitting Guardsman Zadrithurn Norentun. At first glance, Adam thought the Watchmen had been in a brawl—his rough and unkempt appearance was easily mistaken as such. Kenholme's eyes broadened slightly, his eyes questioning as he mentally took down the Guardsman's description.

Ensign Keir Buchanan stepped forward from his post, a hand reaching for his blade. He spoke, his slightly accented voice stern and commanding, "Guardsman, what's this about? Trouble?"

Kenholme began whispering an incantation, in the event trouble was indeed afoot. Something about the Watchman's appearance, however, began to tell a different story. The man looked more worn than beaten.

"Hold on a minute," Kenholme began, exchanging a glance with Ensign Buchanan, "I don't recognize that one, sir. And he certainly doesn't look to be a new recruit to the Watch."

The Ensign eyed the Watchman down, holding his ground as he did so. A quick look to the two constables flanking the door had them re-positioned, blocking any exit.

"Well, Guardsman?"

[lockethrowsknives]

Scanning the now crowded room, Zadrithurn let his shoulders slump. He was tired, exhausted even, but he needed to know.

"Upstaged by a ship full of sailors, are we? Come brothers, tell me of what decree has warranted a seal of turquoise over my city."

Blinking slowly, struggling to bring his eyes open again once shut, he sighed and squared his gaze on Kenholme.

[Torquil Lamond]

"Upstaged?"

The door slowly eased closed, swinging freely on its iron hinges in a silent, calculated manner. The Constable manning the door latched it shut, but with a second thought left it unlocked.

Standing at the door was Torquil Lamond, Commodore of the Cerulean Fleet. He wore his gilt-adorned uniform, contrasting brightly yet brilliantly with the cerulean-hue of his epaulettes. Hanging demurely from his shoulders was that characteristic thick, azure cloak. The garment was fixed sharply in place with a gold-coloured clasp, cast in the likeness of an anchor. The acute, yet gentle shape and angling of the cloak-clasp seemed both proud in its rigidity, yet charming in its elegance.

Everyone in the room was still, save the Commodore who was smoothly pulling the leather gloves from his hands. The Constables flanking the door stood proudly at attention; Ensign Buchanan and Constable Kenholme were arranged in much the same manner: back straight, shoulders rolled back, arms and hands held tight against either side of the body, boots tucked squarely together.

Commodore Lamond looked up, tucking his gloves into his belt as he eyed each officer in the room. His voice was sharp in its usual commanding manner, "At ease."

Collectively each Fleet-member relaxed, folding their armoured hands behind them in a pseudo-casual manner.

Torquil re-fixed his eyes on Norentun, arching a brow. Anders quickly sent word that the man had entered the District Guardhouse, and it seemed appropriate to react as he would of on the morrow.

The Commodore reached into a compartment in his uniform, withdrawing a bright-white piece of parchment, folded thrice and unsealed. He took a few calculated steps forward, the heel of his leather boots clicking rhythmically on the stone-tiled floor. He reached forward, handing the grizzled-looking man the parchment. Opening it would reveal the following,

In order to address more specialized, violent crime, and concerns of Imperial Security, the Talon have recommended the creation and raising of a new military organization that will be responsible for the safety, security and legal enforcement of the City of Cear and surrounding area.

The responsibilities of this new organization shall be diverse. They will police the streets of Cear, enforcing all Imperial Law, but such enforcement will go beyond what citizens are used to with the City Watch. They will also be in charge of defending the invaluable harbor and coastlines of Cear, as such security is vitally important to imperial economic stability.

This new organization, then, will be military in nature, and will resemble other venerated Imperial outfits such as the Pike, Talon and Claw—their duties, however, will be quite different. They will take after the Imperial Navy, and as such will be issued a small armada of ships, including but not limited to sloops-of-war, brigantines, frigates and, if necessary, the more specialized ships-of-the-line.

This new organization shall be named after the characteristic azure-hue of the oceans of Cear, and will henceforth be known as the Cerulean Fleet. All enlisted and commissioned officers of the Cerulean Fleet will cordially outrank any member of the City Watch of Cear, and are answerable only to the Governor, the Talon Command, the Claw Command and the Emperor.

In Service to the Empire,
Talon Commander Maxwell Allers

"The City Watch has not been upstaged, Guardsman Norentun," Torquil began, breaking the silence that had dominated the room, "It has been bolstered, fortified and reinforced with a more specialized troop of soldiers."

The Commodore folded his hands behind him, assuming a common military posture.

"His Imperial Majesty's Cerulean Fleet exists to better safe-guard the interests of The Empire, as they exist here in Cear. In your absence, Guardsman Norentun, unacceptable lawlessness took root in Cear.

"Talon forces were dispatched from Thrall's Gate and beyond, performing a plethora of Imperial Audits and Investigations. I could bore you with the details, but the result was the formation of this organisation.

"A few short months after her foundation, the Fleet has grown strong; but she has much more to grow, and it will be some time before she is able to tackle the challenge set before her with the desired effectiveness and standards the Talon hold us to."

The Commodore paused, studying the City Watchman for a moment.

"The City Watch has not been replaced, and you will find yourself welcome in their barracks." Torquil's expression remained stoic and unreadable, but a single brow arched questioningly. "That is dependent, however, on your continued desire to serve."

[Minuvas]

Minuvas oversaw the conflict occurring between the Guardsmen and the Commodore , and saw him far out-matched politically in this matter.

He immediately recognized the Guardsmen, and old friend to Minuvas and trusted companion from his first days as a Missionary to the city.He still had the unique scar upon his forehead, to which he claimed to received from a basilisk.

The Priests armor was polished, and as ceremonial as ever.If Zadrithurn had remembered anything about Minuvas from their last visit, he would have noticed his status had been elevated generously since they last spoke, his armor bore the many Church insignias and representations of a Veteran and ranking member at this time. Minuvas often wondered if he could make the Commodore and his men jealous, that he could keep it so presentable, and yet look as if his armor was ready for battle at any time.

"Guardsmen....it has been a long time" he nodded once in his direction, then looked at the Commodore. "Commodore.." and once in the Commodores position, he greeted the other Fleetsmen in attendance with a warm smile. His appearance portrayed utter comfort amongst a group of men that might make many Citizens quiver in fear of even breathing against the law. He spoke with a strong tone of confidence, authority, yet pleasant.

"Forgive the Guardsmen, my good Fleetsmen. I know that Guardsmen Norentun has been on continual military duty in between his shifts as a Guardsmen, and I'm sure we can all understand sometimes - the trauma and confusion that can upon a man from being so far from his home, and at the forefront of battle for many seasons. We cannot expect this brave soldier of Varana to keep up on the petty current events of the small town of Caer, when he is out fighting off dangers on the boarders of the very Empire itself! This man is a true Hero and Varanite by the very definition, and still under temporary mental trauma condition as deemed by the Church, before he is fully recovered and prepared again for his duty as a Guardsmen"

*He looks Zadrithurn in the eye, away from the attention of the fleet. He places one hand on his right shoulder and whispers into his ear*

"We need to talk, Guardsmen...meet me in my Church later. I suggest you let this conversation end for now" he turned and smiled to the fleetsmen "Lochwar praise you brothers, and may Lord Rhauth watch you on the sea's and guide you always to the shores of Varana true"

He awaited the Guardsmen to follow him, as he walked slowly from the group - the Iron tenets thudding lightly against his metal armor.

[lockethrowsknives]

Zadrithurn seemed to tip slightly under the weight of Minuvas' heavy hand. He managed a nod in response to the priest's suggestion, then turned his attention to the Commodore. Inhaling carefully, he raised his shoulders and spoke directly.

"Impressive work for only several works time, Commodore. Most impressive. Though it make me sick to imagine what transgressions may have come to pass in my absence, I suppose your Fleet is much the sort of force I had intended to muster within the City Watch. It is an honorable post, as any service to Marcus is honorable, and I would not refuse to serve thusly. Nevertheless, I feel I am capable of being more than a tax collector. I am most..." He raised his hand to his brow as if to steady himself. "...most interested in discussing the current status of Cear's security, if you'd humor me.

Eying Minuvas' slow exit, he spoke once more with a less firm tone. He was exhausted. "For now, you must excuse me good Varanite, for I have not had a restful sleep in many months and I've not set for confession before the Lord of Gods in an equal amount of time. I will seek you imminently. Marcus' favor on you."

Bowing almost lazily, he headed to the door after the sound of the priest's thundering footsteps. Though these new developments nagged at his attention, all he could seem to focus on presently was a decent cot and a warm meal.

[Torquil Lamond]

The Constables at the door stood at the ready, waiting for the command to bar entrance to the Red Priest. A quick and angry look shot both men flanking the entrance down. When the Commodore was in a meeting, it was uncustomary for any man to be granted admittance, but Torquil could make an exception for Minuvas.

As the good Father said his peace, Torquil nodded respectfully, making way for the Priest to pass on by. He was more than curious as to what the man wished to speak to Norentun about.

When they were once again alone, the Commodore resumed his position at the door, regarding the Watchman once more.

"You are, of course, more than welcome to return at a time of your convenience to discuss Cear's security, Guardsman Norentun. And perhaps, your future in that security." The Commodore inclined his head, as adding emphasis to the unspoken proposition.

"You are, undoubtedly, quite tired. If the Watch does not have a bunk available for you, I shall have a room prepared for you in the Misty. Master Roggins often accommodates extra officers at my request."

With a curt nod, the Commodore stood to the side, gesturing to both Constables at the door. They snapped to attention, unlatching the door to the District Guardhouse.

"You are dismissed, Guardsman."

[Minuvas]

ooc: On a side note, please forgive my confusion. I had thought this was occurring in a common area viewplace inside the Guardhouse. I lost that it was behind a semi-enclosed area in translation.