Warriors of Light: New Horizons

Part One

 The hold of the Majesty's Lament stunk of salt. Preserved fish and avian meats hung on hooks, cured flesh that turned a foul stench in the summer heat. A cloud of smoke clung to the walls and seeped into the wood. Mikh'a narrowed his eyes, straining to make out the expression of the man across from him. Shadows played across the hyur's face as candles flickered, wicks shriveling as they burned. Captain Drilark had been the name scrawled across the invitation, writ in a shoddy style upon parchment stained with sweat and dirt. The miqo'te reclined in his chair, wood creaking beneath his weight. Drilark bore no few number of scars on his countenance, each the twisted reminder of blade or claw. Yet, even were he not carrying such sordid marks, Mikh'a would have found himself repulsed by the man's present mask. Ever since he had stepped aboard the Lament, Drilark had donned a sneering smile. Even as a deckhand set down mugs of ale and a plate of stale bread, Mikh'a could see that the hyur bore that same grin. Rotten teeth discolored by tobacco and neglect sat behind lips drawn thin. Locks of greasy black hair draped over eyes of deep blue that flitted about, inspecting the captain of the Stargate pirates. Drilark snatched his mug and swallowed down the ale in one breath. Tossing the empty vessel onto the table between them, he pointed a spindly finger at the miqo'te.

"The Stargate pirates? And here I thought you'd all gone into the history books." Mikh'a gestured to himself,

"As you can see, t'was a brief respite. We are returned to the skies." Drilark snorted and slapped a hand against the table.

"That much I can see." Grabbing the untouched mug in front of Mikh'a, the hyur sucked down another cup of ale. The liquid dribbled from his mouth even as he spoke, his breath stinking of alcohol.

"What are you doing here? In my skies?" Mikh'a shrugged, feigning ignorance as he spoke,

"Your skies? I did not see any such claim staked, as the skies are free for all to roam as they will." Drilark growled. Jabbing a finger in the miqo'te's direction, his words came heated,

"Don't feed me that rubbish. Only one reason pirates come to these skies. Brightheart's treasure." Mikh'a raised an eyebrow, still performing his deception.

"Brightheart? I wasn't even aware she'd stored anything away, I thought she'd spent the lot of gin and girls." The hyur slammed his fist into the table. The wood shuddered under the force as he rose from his seat. Ire burnt in those blue eyes as his voice rose,

"Do you think me daft? I've been searching for that damned treasure for years now. I'll be damned and grounded before I let you take it from me." His hand darted to a dagger at his hip and whipped out that jagged blade. The steel hung in the air as Drilark leveled it with Mikh'a's unconcerned face.

"Sod off back to whatever miserable hole you crawled out of. That treasure is mine and mine alone. Don't and I'll make an example out of you and your crew." The miqo'te stared past the weapon, his lavender eyes piercing. His voice did not waver as he uttered his response,

"No. In fact, if you so choose to visit harm upon my ship, then your life will come to a simply abrupt and violent end. Consider this your first warning." Drilark scoffed, waving his blade in the miqo'te's face. Incredulity grew in his words as he processed and spat out words,

"A warning? A warning! You trite little bastard! I'll string you up for the birds to peck out your damn gizzard." Mikh'a sighed and leaned back. A hand went to his ear and a word slipped from his lips, so soft that Drilark could not hear it. Incensed, the hyur roared, spittle flying everywhere,

"What ar-" Wood splintered and showered the cramped room as a projectile exploded through the far wall. An arrow embedded itself in the wall, the shaft hanging between the two captains. Drilark backpedaled and stumbled to the ground as he looked at the harsh wound in the Lament's hull. Sunlight poked into the space, revealing a ship moored hundreds of yalms away. Clouds broke against a hull embellished with the raiment of star studded night. Three masts towered tall over a deck, filled with a crew scurrying to make ready. Aboard the deck, Drilark made out the minute figure of an archer. The hyur clambered to his feet and looked to the unbothered miqo'te. Mikh'a raised his hand to his ear again, this time speaking loud enough to be heard,