Ghaji wore a battered breastplate-another souvenir of his soldier days-as his only armor, and he carried two axes tucked into his belt. One was a simple hand-axe he used as his back-up weapon, but the other served as his primary-an axe imbued with an elemental that, when Ghaji wished, became wreathed in mystical flame. It was on unofficial and-if Ghaji had anything to say about it-permanent loan from the prison island of Dreadhold.
Diran, his hands nicely warmed now, smiled at his friend. "You get used to the smell after a time."
Ghaji snorted as if to clear the stink out of his nostrils. "Easy for you to say. Your parents owned a fishing boat."
An elf-woman stood on the other side of Diran. Her brown hair was woven into an intricate pattern of braids, and she possessed the fine aristocratic features and pointed ears common to her people. Like the others, she wore a thick fur cloak, though she gave no sign that the cold bothered her.
"You grew up in marshlands, Ghaji," Yvka said. "Swamps have their own share of unpleasant odors."
"Sure," Ghaji said, "but they're normal unpleasant odors-brackish water, decaying plants. Not this stench! It reminds me of… well, let's just say I find it less than pleasant and leave it at that."
An elderly human male stood next to Yvka, and he frowned at Ghaji. "Just be grateful that you're a half-orc. Your sense of smell would be even stronger if you were full-blooded." A lean man in his sixties, Tresslar sported a scraggly white beard and mustache, but his eyes-though receded into the sockets somewhat and set above drooping bags-were intense, vital, and alive. The eyes of a much younger man, or a man who'd never forgotten what being young felt like.
"I can help alleviate your discomfort if you wish, Ghaji." Solus stood next in the circle, though he had no need of Tresslar's magic gem to warm himself. The voice that issued from the construct's throat was hollow-sounding and devoid of emotion, though not altogether inhuman. "I can temporarily reconfigure the sensory pathways in your mind so that you cannot detect the smell of fish. Or, if you'd prefer, I can cause you to experience any scent you desire, such as roses or perhaps a freshly cooked steak."
Solus wore a hooded gray robe with oversized sleeves to hide his three-fingered hands. He also wore a fur cloak, though it wasn't necessary since temperature extremes proved no discomfort for him. He had decided to wear the cloak for the same reason as he'd donned the robe: in order to disguise his true nature. Warforged were more common in the Five Nations than the Principalities, but they weren't unknown here. But Solus wasn't simply any warforged; he was special. Physically, he resembled a typical specimen of his kind. Roughly humanoid, body a composite of iron, stone, silver, obsidian, and darkwood. Glowing green eyes-though his were slightly dimmer than usual for a warforged-three-fingered hands, two-toed feet, and a hinged jaw.
But what made Solus stand apart from others of his kind were the crystals of various sizes, shapes, and colors embedded in the surface of his body. The crystals weren't simply decoration. They possessed the ability to absorb, channel, and intensify psionic energy. Solus was a psiforged, capable of astounding feats of psychic prowess-telekinesis, telepathy, illusion-casting and more. But he was untrained in the use of his abilities and thus potentially a great danger to those around him. Keeping his true nature concealed was necessary to prevent others from focusing their attention-and more importantly, their thoughts-on him. Until he learned a greater measure of control over his powers, the fewer minds he came in close contact with, the better.
"I'll stick with the stench," Ghaji said. "Nothing personal, but I'd rather not have my head explode if something goes wrong."
Hinto came next in the circle after Solus.
"That's not fair! Solus has gotten a lot better as using his powers!" Hinto smiled mischievously. "Though as homely as you are, Greenie, I doubt anyone would notice if your head did explode!"
Though in his early adulthood, Hinto stood no taller than a child, but he was of average height for a halfling. His skin was nut-brown, the result of a lifetime spent sailing the Lhaazar, and he wore a long-knife tucked under his belt, a weapon he wielded as if it were a sword built specially for someone his size. He wore a red bandana on his head, along with a long-sleeved shirt and pants, both woven from thick brown material. Sturdy boots, a scarf, and glove with the tips of the fingers cut off completed his outfit. A hardy Lhaazarite, he didn't bother wearing a fur cloak. As he'd said before they left Perhata, "I don't need one. It's not full winter yet."
Ghaji glared at the halfling sailor. "You're not exactly what I'd call handsome. And neither is your jewel-encrusted friend."
Hinto patted Solus's hand. "Don't mind him. He's always in a sour mood."
Hinto never strayed far from Solus's side. Ever since the construct had joined the companions, the instant bond the two had formed had only grown stronger. And, as Solus's eyesight had been damaged beyond Tresslar's ability to repair, the halfling served as the psiforged's eyes. His physical eyes, at any rate, as Solus had senses other than sight with which to navigate his environment.
The last member of the circle-standing between Hinto and Ghaji, which at the moment wasn't the safest place aboard Welby's Pride-was Asenka.
"I, for one, think a man covered by jewels is quite attractive," she said. "Even if he isn't human." She gave Diran a quick wink to show she was joking. She and Diran weren't lovers, not yet, but they were more than friends. Diran wondered if their relationship would continue to grow and deepen, and he surprised himself when he realized that he hoped it would.
Asenka had close-cropped strawberry-blond hair and a tattoo of a scorpion on the back of her right hand. Instead of the red cloak she normally wore with her uniform of black tabard over mail armor, she had on a fur cloak as protection against the cold. She was armed with a long sword, and though at first glance she didn't appear muscular enough to wield it effectively, Diran had seen her use the weapon to good effect on more than one occasion. Asenka served as commander of the Sea Scorpions, Baron Mahir's elite cadre of warriors, and it was she who had delivered Diran's proposition to the baron: the priest and his companions would travel to Kolbyr and see if they might be able to lift the curse that had hung over the ruling house for a hundred years. Mahir had been skeptical at first. After all, the Barons of Kolbyr had doubtless attempted to have the curse removed numerous times over the years, and without success. Not only would another attempt most likely prove futile, the fact that it originated from Perhata might well lead to an escalation of hostilities between the two cities. Especially since Diran and Ghaji had been responsible for the destruction of the Maelstrom and the Coldhearts. That action hadn't been authorized by Mahir-not that he wasn't pleased by it-but Baroness Calida might not see it that way.
In the end Asenka had managed to convince Mahir to sponsor the journey to Kolbyr. It helped that it wouldn't be too expensive, of course, and that they planned to conduct their mission as unobtrusively as possible. But Mahir's main reason for agreeing was a practical one. The longstanding enmity between the two cities had prevented both from progressing the way they might have otherwise. Mahir didn't exactly want to become friends with Calida, but the periodic clashes between their two cities were costly. If those Lhazaarites who made their homes in the Gulf of Ingjald ever hoped to compete economically with the rest of the Principalities, the feud between Perhata and Kolbyr had to end.
So with Mahir's approval-and more importantly, his money-Asenka was able to hire a cargo vessel to bear Diran and his companions to a small fishing village not far from Kolbyr. They couldn't use the Water Dragon-the Sea Scorpions' ship-lest she draw too much attention and be seen as an attack on Kolbyr, especially now that the Coldhearts were no longer there to protect the city.