[PQ] [RQ] she shells sanctuary

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

While Melita was the bulldozing and violent fiend, Flora seemed to have tossed out enough, and they could move on to the next portion. Above the sea was another beautiful, intangible sort of serenity, and were she not out on some zealous mission and goal at present, the Honeybee might’ve taken the time to admire everything.

Except now there were turtles.

She had a much softer spot for the gentle creatures than the little shit crabs, and wrinkled her nose at the prospect of potentially dispatching them too. Would they be bothered by the shells? She couldn’t fathom or imagine it impacting their migration pattern. “I say we try it,” she shrugged. If worst came to worst, they could figure something else out.

So she started heaving some of her own shells.

to be the sun

MELITA

The octopodes were not particularly worrisome, though they were both clever and determined. Hadama held his basket close, however, and found a conch shell on the sea floor to trade them in exchange for peace with his own task.

But soon enough the shallow, bright seas of the Isles began to drop away and the eerie effects of Metacarpal Island became evident. Hadama noted how far the growths had spread since his last patrol in the area, and he grew warier. Each shell was placed with care now and he moved with greater intention through the water, no motion wasted.

The ribbon eel was.. unexpected. He watched it explore the shell as he continued to swim slowly away, ensuring that it would not steal or damage it before he placed another. And watched the eel dip down to the sea floor in eerie mimicry of his movements, as much as it could manage without limbs. Peace, he rumbled to it through the Attuned Bond. But so long as it was not aggressive, the Mer King let it be. He did not change his route around the outskirts of Metacarpal Island and continued to swim with confidence, ceding the long eel nothing.

---

Hadama keeps a close eye on the eel but continues to place shells around Metacarpal Island, refusing to change his route but not trying to hurt or scare the animal as long as it doesn't interfere with him directly.

JACK

Congratulating himself and the rest of the crew on a job well done - clearly it's skill rather than luck, and he'd appreciate it if you kept any further comments the fuck to yourself - Jack directs them over Apopo. Which is just about when the fog rolls in, the captain taking another long drink from his flask and groaning under his breath.

Any sailor worth his salt knows about sirens, and if they don't then they know not to go following any strange ethereal voices that for some reason know your name. Alas, as the spookily detached narrative voice has pointed out, the shells do need to get dropped, and so Jack lets out a sharp whistle and gives his orders.

"Ready the cannons an' keep shell droppin'. I'll give 'er somethin' to scream my name about," he commands, approaching the rail and preparing to give the pulsing lights a delightful introduction to his lightning magic.

---

Jack has the crew continue to drop shells and also to ready the cannons. In the meantime he's going to zap the siren with some lightning magic.

sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places
(what the fuck is it doing between your teeth?)

Code stolen from Queen Sky

THE SUGARTIDE & THE FIRECRACKER
As Flora and Melita begin tossing shells into the rainbow-dappled water, the first few vanish below without incident. A couple of turtles blink slowly at the intrusion but paddle on, wholly unimpressed. But not all the turtles are so chill. A teenage group of them—if their mohawks of seaweed and general fuck-around energy are any indication—start circling below like rowdy kids at a pool party. One plucks a shell from the reef and starts tossing it between flippers. Another seems to be throwing gang symbols at Sila.

Flora and Melita now face a logistical problem: the turtles aren’t angry, just kind of obsessed with the shells. And unless the pair want to spend the next two hours playing underwater fetch, they’ll need to get creative.

"Alright, they had their chance. I say you let 'em have it." However Mel took that was fine with Flora.

HADAMA
The ribbon eel continues its mimicry, now close enough that Hadama can feel the shift of water as it slithers behind him. It makes no move to attack, but its presence is more than ornamental; it’s watching him. Studying him. When he places another shell, it coils tightly around a rock nearby and opens its mouth—not in aggression, but in eerie mimicry again. Then it closes it. Waits.

Eventually, as Hadama rounds the final bend of his shell circuit, the eel dips into a crevice below and disappears entirely...only to reappear ahead of him, now flanking the next location. Its ribbonlike body loops and drapes itself across a coral ledge in near-silent challenge, staring.

...weird.

THE ARK
Jack’s lightning streaks through the mist with a sharp crack, a spear of white-hot brilliance that sears the fog into momentary clarity. For a breath, all is still. Then the voice stops.

The glowing lights flicker, stutter—then scatter, zipping across the water like startled fireflies. The fog remains, but its pattern shifts—no longer floating aimlessly but moving in tendrils, like fingers grasping for the Ark’s sails. The compass keeps spinning. The hels return, circling above in agitated spirals, but the water remains navigable...for now. The shells can still be dropped, but the Ark’s time in Aumakua’s waters is no longer casual.

They’ve caught the attention of something bigger than a siren, so best hurry up so you can fuck off.

---

5/8

THE

Sugartide

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

He did not ignore the eel as he worked. He watched it, sometimes out of the corner of his eye and sometimes directly. Confident in his own strength, he felt no need to be the aggressor against the creature whose territory he was passing through. Another shell was placed with quiet precision, and then another, and soon enough Metacarpal Island - in all of its eerie, carnivorous glory - was encircled with the protective barrier that would prevent the feet of the Family from touching down upon it.

The eel seemed to slither away and for a moment Hadama drew sea water through his gills with a release of tension across his shoulders at being left alone again, but then--

He paused in his swimming, contemplating his erstwhile new friend's reappearance and the challenge in its milky gaze. With a silent nod to himself the Tidebreaker shifted once more, his body stretching long and longer still, darkening with midnight scales. The shell basket remained clutched carefully in one gentle claw as he flowed forward into his Lóng Dragon form, approaching the eel to circle around it in silent answer to its boldness before using his air magic to gentle nudge a shell from the basket and guide it down to its new location in a cascade of masking bubbles.

---

Hadama shifts to a Lóng Dragon and circles the eel! He activates Air Manipulation to create bubbles that he uses to lift a shell from the basket and drop it into place.

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

Sila glanced back at Melita, properly offended by whatever these ‘signs’ were, dragon mouth aghast and eyes widened. The Honeybee had felt some sympathy for the turtles, a bit more likable than previous encounters with other shitheads, but the little ‘youths’ weren’t going to be messing with their protection plans. “Aye aye,” she nodded at Flora, before sending her companion back out.

The dragon swept downward, clearly trying to be threatening to the little shits under the sea, but it was the demigod’s that really mattered – snagging an icy arrow this time, fixing it to her quiver, and letting it fire towards the cretins. Maybe it would freeze the water, slow ‘em down, let the shells fall where they needed. Or they’d die. Fine by her.

--

Sila provides a distraction to the turtles while Melita fires at them with her ice arrow.

Type: Light | Style: Offensive | Level: Mastered
Bowstring Bracelet | At first this bracelet appears only as a length of intricately braided bowstring, adorned with vinelike patterns and tiny, fanged charms. But with an arrow in hand, upon miming the action of knocking and drawing it, the user will feel a bow beneath their fingers, as if it was there all along.

Type: Dark | Style: Offensive | Level: Mastered
Fire/Lightning/Ice Quiver | A magical quiver with two compartments. In one, it turns any arrow placed within into a flaming projectile when shot. In the other, the arrow becomes imbued with electricity. (Made by Remi)

to be the sun

MELITA

JACK

Satisfied that his lightning magic has been a successful slap on the rump to any sirens lurking about, Jack leans against the rail to watch the strange lights scatter across the water below. He might have remained there for a beat or two longer if a call from Murphy hadn't grabbed his attention, the captain heading to his side to observe the spinning compasses for himself. Add in the tendrils of fog and irritable hels and all of this is starting to feel like the start of a cautionary tale about the sea.

"All attention on droppin' shells and speedin' through here," he calls out. "Ain't time to dawdle." He'll even join on shell duty himself, since his current skill at the wheel is probably going to tilt more towards tipsily reckless than anything else. And so while Murph cuts their route towards the Aumakua, Jack joins the crew with their shells to drop them at quick, regular intervals into the water below.

---

Jack has half of the crew dedicated to the shell drop and the rest focused on sailing quickly through the fog and the hell out of dodge.

sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places
(what the fuck is it doing between your teeth?)

Code stolen from Queen Sky

THE SUGARTIDE & THE FIRECRACKER
The moment Melita’s arrow hits the water, it blooms outward in a sudden, icy shockwave. The temperature drops enough to startle the gang of delinquent turtles, who scatter in a flurry of flailing flippers and indignant bubbles. One dramatically flops backward like it’s been mortally wounded, but the rest simply flee, leaving their pilfered shell bobbing to the surface like a guilty conscience.

With the mischief-makers gone, the reef below returns to calm. Flora and Melita are free to drop the rest of their shells—Sila sweeping in proud loops above, unbothered now that she’s no longer being gang-signed at.

Mission complete, the Firecracker and Sugartide bank in tandem through the sun-washed skies, heading for the bustling Port where the final phase of their route awaits. But it’s clear as soon as they’re near—today is not the day to be discreet. The docks are absolutely teeming: longshoremen unloading crates, vendors hawking fruit and fish, children running underfoot, and more gulls than anyone ever needs. It’s chaos. There’s no way to drop shells here without causing a scene.

HADAMA
The eel makes no move to stop Hadama as he transforms. Its pale, ghostlike gaze watches the change with what can only be described as vague approval—if such a thing is possible from a creature with no eyebrows. As the Lóng Dragon coils gracefully around it, the eel stretches itself into a similar spiral, tail flicking with something like curiosity rather than threat.

When the bubbles rise and the next shell drifts into place like a falling pearl, the eel gives a final slow blink and vanishes into the reef.

Peace resumes, eerie and undisturbed, and Hadama is free to continue around the northern edge of Metacarpal Island, where the twisted, carnivorous flora gives way to sharp coral shelves and rippling sandbars. The task is far from over, but this part is complete.

THE ARK
Lightning spent, fog stirred, and lights retreating, the crew aboard the Ark wastes no time. With Murphy navigating, Jack joins the shell drop team directly. Sails are full, magic still humming in the air like ozone as they coast over the fog-thick waves, dropping shells at quick, practised intervals. The compass spins, the hels shriek overhead, but they don't stop—not until Aumakua’s jagged lighthouse emerges like a crooked tooth from the mist.

And that’s when Jack sees them.

Dozens of Torchers, some kneeling, others standing in reverent silence, have gathered along the rocky shore. Hooded heads are bowed in prayer. Today is the day this group has chosen to worship Safrin with song and dance—and the Ark’s shadow looming across their ceremony is not exactly a welcome intrusion. Dropping shells here won't be subtle.

---

6/8

THE

Sugartide

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

Smug and satisfied with the conclusion of the turtle dilemma, they could move forward, back towards the Port. But gods it was busy and packed for this instance, and more than once Melita looked back at Flora with an evident grimace on her face. Perhaps, if everyone was only paying attention to their shit, they could get away with dropping shells? What was the likelihood of that actually happening –

But the Honeybee had never done subtle either. Sighing, she shrugged. “Might as well try it and see what happens?” She cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling towards the Doubletake. She passed a couple shells to Sila, who dove down lightly and tried to place them in some covert facets.

--

Melita says they try it anyway and gives some shells to Sila to drop down.

to be the sun

MELITA

JACK

Ah, well that's alright - subtle isn't really needed for today's work, is it? And so as The Ark blooms like a bloody flower on the breeze as she sails overhead, it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's happening. (That means Bassian is able to put it together all by himself, too). And they're on a quest from the lady of the stars anyway, and his figurehead has Safrin and her bared tits in all their glory, so everyone can simmer the fuck down.

Directing a few of the crew to shout their business towards those on the shore, Jack's plan of attack is basically to not, and the galleon will continue to drop shells overhead with or without the permission of the worshippers. They can either pause and let them do their work, or they can get hit by shells and cursed by Safrin for getting in the way. Savvy?

---

Jack has the crew yell to the worshippers that they are on Important Safrin Business, and they don't bother to stop at all. If the people get hit by shells or get upset, literally on their heads be it.

sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places
(what the fuck is it doing between your teeth?)

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Hadama had not expected to be in an eel-measuring contest today, but he was quietly glad that it had ended without violence. It was a creature he would warn his guard to keep an eye on in the future; not hostile, but not entirely a normal denizen of the Arclight. Perhaps Metacarpel Island's influence had affected it... But it was left behind as Hadama regained his more comfortable Mer-shape and continued to swim around the perimeter of Torchline's second most notorious island.

The water was cool at the depths he moved at, and the colors of the shells were faded and difficult to ascertain. Still, he did his best to vary their rainbow hues as he swam along the sea floor. Each shell was placed with care for its environment: where it would be least likely to impede future coral growth and also least likely to catch the eye of something that might try to move it. Ideally, each one would blend with the natural flora and fauna around it to create a pleasing whole, neither deliberately hidden nor particularly out of place amid the sandbars and corals he moved into.

---

Hadama keeps on keepin' on, focusing on *aesthetic* placement of each shell!

THE SUGARTIDE & THE FIRECRACKER
Despite the dockside chaos, Spice and Sila make a nimble, aerial duo. Flora sends her little white dragon swooping after Melita’s with a quick gesture and a sharp whistle, each small creature carrying a shell or two in their claws or tails. Below them, the wharves buzz with noise: the clang of crates being offloaded, the hiss of fresh fish frying, and the endless shouting of orders, prices, and curses.

For the most part, the shell drops go unnoticed beneath the tangle of ropes and sails. A few land precisely between planks or slip into tide-washed gutters with satisfying little plunks. But not everyone is so easily distracted.

"Oi! Skyships ain't supposed to hover that close!" one dockworker bellows, waving a length of rope like a weapon. "Anchor or fuck off!"

Others join in with complaints about breezes knocking over crates or hels scattering at inopportune times. Flora, from the helm, blows them a kiss before ordering the Sugartide into a lazy orbit, letting Melita and the Firecracker trail just behind in a loop of organized defiance. They don’t anchor. But they don’t fuck off either.

Just a few more shells to go and then they can be done.

HADAMA
With the eel gone and the reef at peace, Hadama continues his route with the same calm, deliberate rhythm that defines his rule. Each shell is placed with care, nestled among the coral shelves or tucked into alcoves between sea anemones and sand dollars. His colour choices remain deliberate, forming gradients like natural mosaics along the sea floor.

For a time, it’s almost meditative—the kind of underwater artistry that requires neither audience nor approval. Eventually, he'll reach into the shell pouch and find it empty.

Time to head back.

THE ARK
The galleon glides like a smug omen across the rocky outcroppings of Aumakua, its sails shining faintly with the lingering kiss of stormlight. The Ark’s presence—along with the shouts of "Important Safrin Business!" echoing from her decks—eventually drives most of the worshippers to take shelter within the lighthouse. Robes flutter as they disappear into the mouth of the building, some clutching their offerings with wary glances skyward.

Not everyone leaves. A few remain, curious or too devout to abandon their post entirely. One older woman mutters prayers under her breath while never breaking eye contact with the Ark, as if trying to out-glare the storm itself. Another teenage acolyte pulls out a notebook to sketch what she insists is a divine intervention mid-ritual.

Seems like the Ark is clear to get rid of the rest of her shells and head back.

---

7/8

THE

Sugartide

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

Melita scoffed at the dockworker. She’d never listened to them before, and wasn’t about to start now. Nor could the Honeybee fathom the man’s own audacity – telling off the Queen of Torchline and Ludo’s demigod for intending to help the whole gods damned region. Maybe he’d be next on her victim list of future bullying. Seditious to a fault, and sometimes simply just because she could, she steered directly overhead of the asshat, flipping him off as they went by.

Handing more shells to Sila, she figured they could rinse and repeat the scenario with the dragons, permitting the companions to drift downwards and drop them without much more interference. She wouldn’t take any issue with shooting anything else that tried.

--

Melita follows Flora's lead and continues giving more shells to Sila.

to be the sun

MELITA

Blissfully oblivious to the various mischiefs occurring above the waves, Hadama finished the undersea portion of the quest in peace and calm, his thoughts upon Safrin and his hands crafting harmony from the placement of the protective shells around their shore. When his hand found nothing further in his basket to distribute he swam up, not so high that he lost sight of the details below but high enough to examine the subtle artistry in the pattern that would henceforth bound and bless Torchline's perimeter within the Arclight.

Well pleased with his work, he turned a slow curve and began the swim back towards where they had begun the day's venture. True, he could have teleported, but he chose instead to retrace his path and ensure that no curious ocean creatures had come in his wake to shift the shells upon the sea floor. He moved more swiftly now that the task was done, curious to hear how the other legs of the journey had gone but not so fast that he missed any details along the way.