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Oftentimes, the wrath of the Endless decimated merchant ships before they even had the chance to breathe sea air.
The storm and the tide, two sides of the same coin, would brew frenzies of hammering downpour, the ochre of the varnished ships beating clean starboard bows, ensuing cries of devastated shipwrights and perturbed Captains barking out warnings of an oncoming slaughter from another gigantic, ceaseless eagre. Men scrambled for their lives, and for their supplies, and their ship, but the ebb and flow of the Great Ocean was eternal. It was simply the way of the sea, neither right nor wrong.
And she felt deeply the reality of that transcendence, her celestial form, all the way from the timid effervescence of seafoam at the shore, to the deepest subzero of her abyssopelagic zones, where no man has ever dared to dive before. The Endless was her and she was the Endless, the beginning and end of all water, continuously tamed and unchained between each newborn wave. In every bubble, she saw a reflection of herself, the cerulean in her shape of choice wavering delicately; surrounded by only herself and sea life for as far as the marine itself stretched out.
To her dismay, it was also only natural tyrants from land should attempt to tame her.
Alas, the Endless grew weary of her routine, and made it her new goal to make sense of the pirates and sailors that disturbed her so greatly. Darting effortlessly beneath the skyline with a dazzling glow, the former Merlopian pressed her palm against the hull of a large vessel. As if a sign of her arrival, moonlight glittered against her watery back. For a short while, she swam alongside the craft, before it pulled lustily into a lowly town on the docks just on the outskirts of Ninjago City.
The Keep shuddered against the inland dock, its sheer size tearing a wooden bearing or two, before the pirate vessel came to a discernible standstill. Stiix - as Nyad read carefully from a sign nearby - was to be the ship’s sanctuary for the night, until the crew would recuperate at dawn’s light and plan their next odyssey.
Stiix was too destitute of a city to be worth plundering, Nyad thought, wondering just who could be in charge of the ship’s charter. Whalesong and dolphin chirps? Now that she understood perfectly. The intimacies of piracy? Not so much.
Drifting towards a more picturesque area of the docks, she was able to catch a glimpse of the person steering the ship. A rugged man, wearing goggles, who seemed very determined to get the job done. On his shoulder, an ape of sorts, unusually metallic. Nyad watched carefully as the man spoke to the primate, words she couldn’t quite get close enough to hear, before coming to the conclusion that neither of them commanded enough authority to be the ship’s Captain.
…Which disappointed her greatly. A monkey captain would have been very funny.
Cautiously ducking her head, she observed the not-captain wipe his brow, before making his way below deck to presumably sleep for the night. It was only then the Sea was able to truly marvel at the beauty of the vessel - Misfortune’s Keep, as she found crudely inscribed in the wood of the rudder’s underside, accompanied with several vulgar carvings of… nevermind.
Nyad found it difficult to fathom the size of it. Unusual, considering her own vastness since having merged with the waters. The sea allowed her to rise up to poke her head in a cannon, her excited laughter echoing in its ashen chamber. Delightedly, she swam as fast as she could from one end of the Keep to the other in record time, and for a moment she swore the skull and crossbones emblem emblazoned on the mast was looking down on her with pride. The soft crashing of the tide pushed her up higher, and she was just able to lean on the top of the hull, admiring each groove and curve in its timber.
Nyad always found solace and identified strongly with the ships themselves. Commanding, powerful vessels, yet meticulously crafted. Additionally, it was lovely they were referred to in the feminine.
Feminine…
The rhythmic clicking of heeled boots against the staves snapped Nyad out of a trance. Ah, fishsticks. Spotted.
“Who goes there?”
Delara had always been convinced the tides were purposefully rough to spite her.
Officially, she was the Quartermaster of Misfortune’s Keep - a lengthy title, but in reality, she never had to do very much manual labour. But when she was tasked with the lengthy, precise procedure of nautical chartering, the routes were always either tumultuous, storm-ridden, frustratingly far from inland, or all of the above. Luckily, she was the Captain’s precious angel; he would make fish food of anyone who dared make a fool of her, and Flintlocke fulfilled most of her duties either way. It was a… different life, certainly, but that was how she liked it.
Admittedly, there were times when she felt she ought to be doing something greater. That life was too short to be a half-arsed bride-to-be for the rest of it. But, much like all other unwanted feelings, she shut down those thoughts, tied them up with a darling green bow, and swore in her mind she’d address them… one day.
As the Keep arrived at harbor, secured to the pier by Flintlocke, Delara was jostled from her sleep with a juddering thump , flinging her unapologetically into the wall. She grunted in discontent, prompting a sluggish mumble from the djinn beside her.
The hold he had on her most nights was ridiculous to pry out of; she was so dazed herself, she struggled to figure out which arm was which, wrapped so intently around her body. But akin to a cunning serpent, she slithered free of his grasp and stumbled to her feet, her lover murmuring defeatedly in his sleep.
She dressed herself in an ornate silken robe, taking in the outside rumbles of the ocean and the taste of rum and saltwater on her tongue. With a husky yawn, she departed from the Captain’s quarters, lazily making her way up to the top deck. The room was stuffy, and some fresh air would be nice. A moment to recollect the thoughts keeping her up at night. A moment to think back on past decisions. And a moment to maybe get a snack. Gosh, she was hungry. Cider is not enough, she lamented. I could murder a bowl of ramen.
The wind was subtle but caught in her choppy, dark hair. Delara exhaled within the cool breeze, filling her lungs with something other than the smoke and sweat of a motley crew. It was a welcome change, a refreshing one, and she was eager to breathe in bliss. The nostalgic air of her hometown, at last.
…But not like she was particularly eager to reconnect with family. That's why she left in the first place; a former stowaway on Misfortune’s Keep, desperate to sail away from overbearing parents, yet naïve and unprepared. She lasted surprisingly long for not knowing a lick of English, until she was ratted out by the stammering cabin boy - and since that day, Delara wondered what might have happened if she had stayed in Stiix forever. What butterfly effects she might have been able to prevent, like… sharing a bed with an ill-tempered djinn. Fate really was cruel, she smirked. Nevertheless, she had been promised a great deal of power.
Solemnly, she continued to gaze upwards at the night sky, failing miserably to make out any discernible constellations - only to rub her eyes and catch a glimpse of ethereal blue washing over the deck on her left side. Prepared for an impromptu sword fight, she staggered backward and drew her beloved cutlass, only to be met with…. nobody.
“I said, who goes there?”
“I'm sorry,” a delicate voice chimed. Propping herself up on her liquid elbows, Nyad thrust herself into view and blinked curiously at the woman, her apology plenty genuine.
“I was simply looking at your beautiful ship.”
Delara subtly pinched her own wrist, unsure if she was still dreaming. She had heard tales of water nymphs and sirens, who used the art of wit and seduction to lure sailors to their grisly deaths. But this peculiar water-woman, her skin a swirling aquamarine, felt much too unusually polite.
“Who… and what… are you?”
Nyad cocked her head to the side.
“I don't quite know. I suppose I am the sea.”
“The sea? The sea is not a person.”
“You're right. The sea can be many things.”
Carefully, Delara inched closer to where Nyad was leaning. She reached out a gloved hand towards her, only for it to phase through and soak the leather wet, prompting a muffled gasp. Upon touching “the Sea”, she briefly felt a sense of indescribable connection - like a lantern drifting slowly from the shore, still and perfectly tranquil, overwhelming her senses with a twang of déjà vu, followed up with an odd gut feeling that she was safe in the presence of this mysterious lady.
“I am glad you like the Keep.” Delara spoke. She ran a hand through her own hair, bewildered. “It has sailed the Endless Sea for many years.”
“It has pilfered for many years, too.”
“Pilfered?”
“Thievery. Stealing.” Nyad explained. “It is not nice to take the sea for granted, then to take from those less fortunate.”
“It is the way of a pirate.” Delara stated adamantly. “They call our ship the Gold Reaper . They fear us. It is how we survive.”
“...I see.”
“My name is Delara. Since you did not ask.”
“Delara…” Nyad echoed.
“It means ‘beloved’, or ‘she who delights’.”
"Have you ever had something stolen from you?” The Sea inquired.
Delara paused. Had she? It was a good question. She'd had liquor nicked by Monkey Wretch, but that bottle was stolen anyway. She couldn't recall any moments from her childhood, maybe one of her sisters taking a belonging of hers, but nothing came to mind. She rubbed her temples; it was difficult to remember anything before her life as a pirate.
Her life… as a pirate.
It was possible she had her integrity stolen?
The essence of what made her human in the first place? - her ability to choose her desired path and walk its rustic road of her own accord? To choose her lantern and light it, the domesticated fire gentle against the docile tide, two opposites of nature yet so similarly beloved. The choice to see herself in the sea, to be one with its fluid beauty - the joy of her humanity, whether she was massacring an enemy ship or lulling herself guiltily to sleep, the memory of a man thrown overboard to the Leviathan plaguing every square inch of her psyche that eventide blush.
It was her decision to lead a life of maritime evil. Her autonomy, poorly spent on feral sailors with filthy tongues; on rustic pistols shot and reloaded for fun, on power-hungry men who could easily have her replaced if she dared to disobey.
Delara never disobeyed. She was a woman who stayed in her lane and complied with the dirt and filth. It was how she got people to like her. If she wasn't beloved, or she who delights, she'd certainly be thrown overboard to suckles of leeches, but even their bloodthirsty nips at her suntanned skin wouldn't hurt as much as the truth.
Perhaps she was only kept alive because she didn't cause trouble.
Perhaps she was only kept alive with the expectation she was wed.
She left Stiix with the promise of safety. You cannot be hurt again and again if you are with the most feared pirate crew to sail the Endless.
Perhaps, by being someone she wasn't, by being someone subservient; an accessory, a tool, a vessel , much like the feminine grandeur of the Keep itself, she had been robbed of her own identity in exchange for her survival.
And if I have to dumb myself down to survive, she thought, deeper than tide and trench, am I really living at all?
Delara barely had a chance to open her mouth again. With an elegant splash, the Endless was gone. The Quartermaster peered desperately over deck, both port and starboard; nothing. No one. The tranquility subsided, and her lantern drifted back to shore. All that was left of Nyad’s presence was the benign tango of the ocean below the ship, respectfully swaying and creaking the vessel as if it were a cradled babe.
Undoubtedly crestfallen, Delara gave up on calling out to her, and gathered her thoughts as she returned to her bedchambers.
“Now that I think about it,” she considered, checking one final time for any glints of divine blue beneath the docile tide,
“We looked slightly alike.”