Heaven can wait

Ayrin stared at the ceiling of the cramped cabin. Not long ago, right after he had refurbished his captain’s quarters, he had promised himself that he would no longer travel in such unbefitting accommodations. But that was all gone now – the Gloria was gone, and so much more along with it.

Lying weakly in his state, Ayrin had all too much time to run over the battle against the Thri-Kreen in his mind. He closed his eyes, and was haunted by the faces of the thirty souls under his command that had perished in the suicide run against the queen’s ship. The desperate run at the fleet, the Gloria hammered by leaf ships and burning under the Greek fire of the innumerable thorn ships. He had thought the sailors would at least stand a chance against the Thri-Kreen, but their chitin was too strong, and they tore the crew to shreds.

In desperation Ayrin had gone below, slaughtered as many he could without harming his remaining crew, but in the process, he had abandoned Haurchefant and Azrael, stubbornly focused on destroying the queen instead of aiding his friends and allies. Maybe if he had stayed and helped them, they would have been able to do better against the queen… He himself knew he could have done better, pushed himself that much harder to stay in the fight… He should have used the precious time he had to aid his friends, not go it alone…

It was utter foolishness – he saw now – doomed from the start… but he felt like the prince and Ticktiktick had given him little choice…

And he had paid dearly for it.

Perhaps Gondriel had been right to abandon the rock. He was at least alive somewhere, perhaps home again on Toril, wandering the Neverwinter Wood or the High Forest…

The thought of the High Forest turned Ayrin’s thoughts to his home in Silverymoon and of his family. He had left Silverymoon from the shame his past actions had brought to his family… The dream of returning home triumphantly had been so close… How could the house of Silverwind be shamed by the captain of the great spelljammer, Gloria? He would ride down through the clouds and make even Lord Santoné turn his head… and more importantly, his daughter…

A single tear rolled down Ayrin’s cheek as his thoughts turned towards Elysia. In his dream he imagined that she would be by his side, sharing in the glory of their return. He had watched her blossom from an uncertain page into a trusted friend and companion. He was so proud of her mastery of the rapier and the weave… and yet it was how she had grown into her role as a leader that had impressed him the most, the way she led the men with such charisma as he knew he would never possess. And now she was dead.

Elysia.

She had been Ayrin's compass. Whenever he strayed from the path, Elysia was always there to remind him of who he was and what was right. She was his rock, devoted like no other and his reason to set an example, a reason to follow the honourable path…

You don’t have to go… Ayrin heard her distant voice, the only remaining memory now fading of the time between when Ayrin died and was raised by Abdul Fatwaif.

He turned in the hammock, shutting his eyes and facing the hull to hide his shame and sadness. His whole body ached. When had it hurt to be alive? It went beyond the mere weariness and trauma of being reft back from the dead. He could not remember where he had been, only that it was a better place – a place of peace, a place of belonging. He had tasted paradise, if only for a moment – and now he had returned to the vast emptiness, the incompleteness of the prime material.

Ayrin brooded as his mind turned to the future. He knew he had to go home. He had to tell his aunt and uncle of Elysia’s loss… It shamed him that there was not even a body to inter in the family crypts in Silverymoon. The only hopeful thought, the only brightness in the darkness was the thought of seeing Satine again…

“Satine…” Ayrin sighed her name.

The Silverwinds and Santonés were ancient rivals, but worse, Satine’s father was human, not Eladrin. Ayrin didn’t care. Satine was everything he ever wanted, and he pursued her despite the shame it brought on his house when Ayrin had challenged Lord Gilgamesh to a duel for Satine’s hand and had been beaten to within an inch of his life.

That was the reason for his exile. He had bought such shame upon his house falling in love with a Santoné half-breed, but challenging her father – not only a knight, but a lord – and losing in the first mêlée over something as foolish as love had deeply embarrassed Ayrin’s entire family.

But now, now that he had lost everything a second time, Ayrin no longer cared.

For years, Ayrin had tried to do what was right. He had fought with his comrades, ridding the sphere of a plethora of menaces, from beholders and pirates to drow and neoghi slavers. He had taken public whippings for the honour of his ship and crew, and convinced his allies to go to war for what was right when they didn’t have to.

What had it gotten him but death and ruin?

Ayrin knew that no parade would await them on the rock of Bral, that the coward, Prince Andru would insist that the actions of the Gloria were illegal, no matter the good that they did, and that there would be no compensation for risking everything.

“That spineless prick,” Ayrin muttered to himself.

To think that he had once respected the man – Prince Andru was nothing but a coward, hiding behind his position. Ayrin knew that prince had been ready to flee the rock and abandon it to its fate. It made his blood boil that such a boneless man still sat in power, lording over the rock with only his own selfish drive steering the fate of the people.

He would one day get his comeuppance, Ayrin promised. But first, he would pay Ayrin and his fellow survivors their dues – whether he liked it or not.

Ayrin channelled his anger, hatching a plot.

Perhaps there was a way to get another ship – and hope for the future. Although it came from the most unlikely of places, Ayrin knew of one example where love had conquered the odds. If old Gondriel – the most elitist elf Ayrin knew – could give up his life and look beyond his obsession with racial purity to be with a human girl, then maybe Ayrin could damn his family and find a life with Satine after all and take her beyond the stars.

Ayrin wiped away his tears, getting up out of the hammock to stand definantly. He would seek council with Azrael and Haurchefant, Ulfgeir as well – the sailor had proven himself invaluable in combat, and might be needed in the fight ahead. Together, they would infiltrate the palace, gaining a forced audience with the prince.

There they would make their demands for compensation for their war efforts – a new ship, a small price for Prince Andru to pay for what he was about to lose. They would pledge to leave the rock, avoiding the port in the future and allowing Andru to avoid the unrest their sheer presence will create by staying.

And if the prince should refuse… Well, they will simply take it… and maybe his life, honour be damned.