In Sol City, there are plenty of taverns to suit the tastes of various customers from the highest nobility to the lowest scum scraped off the underside of the Gold Docks like stubborn barnacles. The Rusty Anchor Tavern catered to such bottom feeders and boy did they school around the business like hungry sharks. This shack located on the piers has plenty of space for crews of rowdy sailors to unwind and partake in boisterous sea shanties sung in a drunken stupor.

It wasn't unusual for someone to find themselves hoisted up and tossed into the bay during a disagreement or just a dance move that went a little too far. As such, the city guard tended to keep at least one man on standby to throw a line should anyone be thrown in the drink. It was one of the least desirable stations which often meant it was more as a disciplinary punishment than an honor. Half the time any guard serving their sentence here would be just as likely to be drunk off their ass anyway.

On this balmy afternoon, the tavern's outdoor patio area was swollen to burst with a number of foreign ship crews all trying to get their fill of mead and rum. One particular crew laid their claim to one of the longest tables and have been aggressively defending it from any interlopers not cut from their own cloth. This crew is led by a fiery red winged tiefling wearing a large salt stained coat and long feathered hat. She sits atop the table like a queen surveying her faithful servants as they trade jokes and laughs over their drink. 

A cheer rises up from the far side of the table as a triton woman with multicolored skin arm wrestles a bored looking half-orc man. The woman tries fiercely to try and slam down the muscular half-orc's arm but it is beyond clear that she is far out of her league with her jellyfish arms. The crew laughs and jeers as she struggles before the half-orc slams her hand down against the table's surface. The crew yells loudly and clank their tankards together. 

"Ow! Bruk, ye ass! That 'urt." Tsarra exclaims as she shakes her hand out. 

"Serves you right, Tsarra. Keep to splashing water 'round." Laughs a human male sitting next to the orc. 

"Shut up, Lenard. Can I get 'nother round over 'ere?" The triton waves over to the bartender who ignores her because of the multitude of demands being shouted at them all at once from the various crowded tables. 

"Salina 'elp me. Fine, I'll get my own drink." She gets up and heads over to stand in line for bar service. 

If it wasn't Vi'ira's greatest and closest friend, The Rusty Anchor Tavern. As repetitive as the stereotype may be, pirates do love their drinks. When you've got nothing but your mates and the sea to keep you company, adding liquor into the mix can certainly make for a livelier passage, for none partied quite like a pirate. This tavern was bursting with life, crew's clinking glasses together and old shanties being sung heartily. Vi'ira's crew sat at one of the larger tables closer to the center of the tavern. A collection of dwarves and orcs surrounded her as she sat at the head of the table. They spoke loudly and laughed even louder, pounding down on the table when another joke was said.

She placed both her hands on the table with a thud, "Ye lot keep on, another drink is calling my name." She smiled wickedly as she cupped her hand and placed it around her ear. "Can't ye 'ear it?" In one swift jump, she stood with both legs on the chair in a playful stance. Her feet took the lead as she began to tip toe across the table. Her crew laughed, some shouting at her.

"Watch me ale!"

"She's gone mad!"

She chuckled to herself as she sprinted the rest of the way and hopped off. As she landed, she gave them a dramatic bow as one of the dwarves, the quartermaster Orivren, gave her a rough pat on the back. Dwarves never did mind their own strength. She danced her way over the bar top, which had acquired a hefty line at this point. The servers raced throughout the tavern, attempting to fulfill the orders of dozens of needy pirates and sailors. Vi'ira couldn't help but feel a tad bit bad for them, but then again, they could always join a crew and have a much more fun job. Hell, she'd welcome more members with open arms if they proved themselves. As she stood waiting, she watched an orc body a multicolored triton in an arm wrestle and laughed as the crew erupted in cheers. They seemed to be having a good time. She stood observing the other partygoers within the tavern when she spotted the triton sneak her way closer to the bar.

Vi'ira stepped forward, placing her hand on the shoulder of the woman to turn her around, "Mind yer manners, fish. We grew up on the sea, not in a barn. Back o' the line." There was a ferocity behind her voice, for she didn't take kindly to those who stood between her and her drink. 

Tsarra feels a hand land on her shoulder and she looks at the current owner of said hand. “Manners? Sod off, we aren’t at some fancy party ‘ere.”

She slaps the elf’s hand off her shoulder and rests her other one on the hilt of her scimitar, turning to square up with the elf...which is a hilarious sight as the elf is just shy of a foot taller than the fish woman. The crowd around them starts to take notice of the altercation and both step away to avoid getting caught up in any violence and to start side betting on the impending cat fight. 

Tsarra eyes the woman before her. An elf, huh? Of course she was yammering on about manners and stupid shite. Elves were all so pretentious and with their heads up in their own arses. Didn’t matter how they grew up or what they were making of their lives. An elf would always benefit from elven rule in one way or another.

That said, the triton could really care less about who was sitting at the top of society’s political ladder. Authority in her mind existed to be opposed. Anyone who would infringe on her freedoms was someone to be cut down. It really didn't matter to her, and no one could say she was showing any favoritism in the targets of her ire.

“I’ll give ye one chance ta back off. That’s all the manners ye’ll get ‘ere, ye knife-eared deck-swabber.”

"Tsarra. Don't go startin' somethin' ye can't finish." A voice rings out across the crowd from the red winged tiefling woman. 

"Aye, cap'n. All good 'ere." The triton holds up a thumbs up over her head, not discouraged from holding her ground against Vi'ira. 

Vi'ira rolled her eyes as her hand was slapped off the woman's shoulder, and she reached for the handle of her rapier. The triton stood a foot below her, but Vi'ira couldn't help but admire her fierceness. Her accent wreaked of sea life as she replied back to Vi'ira's previous comment. She wasn't expecting the fish to act as if she were a noble, but common decency should be common sense in a tavern.

Vi'ira clicked her tongue. Her, a deck-swabber? She doubted the triton before her even captained her own ship. As if her thoughts were being read, a voice chimed in from another large table. A red tiefling sat perched atop the table, a stern look on her face. The triton then referred to her as 'captain'.

Ah, so she was right. And she did not take kindly to her title being spat on.

She leaned in. "Mummy's callin' ye. Doesn't want 'er precious anchovy fed to the sharks." A chorus of laughter could be heard from her crew's table, egging her on. She wasn't intending on starting a fight over such a small matter, but now that she thought of it, a brawl could be exactly what she was looking for today. She backed away from the triton and unsheathed her rapier. The metal scrapped against her belt as she dragged it out. It was thicker than a typical rapier, and the blade was ingrained with elvish script. The crowd that had begun to surround the two of them backed up, cheering.

"Ye caught me on a good day." Vi'ira's fingers twitched as she held her blade, the excitement of a spar bubbling up inside her. A smirk poked at the side of her lips.

Tsarra draws her scimitar. "Ye sure ye want ta fight with that toothpick of yers? I'd 'ate ta break it an' make ye cry in front of yer 'arem."

She swings the curved blade from side to side. Its sharp edge is curved and broad compared to the needle-like rapier Vi'ira wields. It's a crude looking blade with plenty of pock marks and a strand patina as if it had been fished out of some shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean. 

"Will be a good day for chumming the waters."

Tsarra glances to a bearded man standing behind Vi'ira with a big mug of ale in his mitts. A shit-eating grin spreads across her face and she points at Vi'ira with her blade.

"Ye wanna drink so badly? 'ere, this one is on the 'ouse."

With a flick of her wrist and a brief flicker of blue light from the stripes along her skin, Vi’ira suddenly feels a wet sensation and smells the distinct reek of ale as the man’s drink soaks her back.^[1]

“Wot the-! Sorry, lass! Me drink jus’ went flyin’!” The man exclaims, utterly confused by his drink taking on a life of its own and splashing the elf.

Tsarra, meanwhile, has a wicked smile on her face. She then takes a big step towards Vi’ira and goes in for a cleave across her chest with the heavy curved blade. 

---

[1] Shape Water

"Ye sure ye want ta fight with that toothpick of yers? I'd 'ate ta break it an' make ye cry in front of yer 'arem." Cause Vi'ira hasn't heard that one before. Her gaze remained flat, completely unamused by the woman. However, on the inside, she was enjoying herself.

That was, until she felt cold ale dripping down her back, completely soaking her hair and coat. She let out a grunt. A man apologized profusely behind her, but she paid him no mind. All she was focused on was getting the fish back.

The triton leaped forward with her scimitar, it pointed directly for Vi'ira chest. As she advanced, a ghostly version of Vi'ira shot forward, floating directly through the woman and standing a couple feet behind her. She closed her eyes and was suddenly standing in the same place as the ghastly silhouette of her once was¹. The man who had lost his ale only moments ago stood with his jaw hanging low, almost to the floor.

"Ye missed!" she grinned, leaning on a wooden beam with her rapier pointed towards the ground. As she expected, they quickly spun around, the scimitar still raised high. Vi'ira glanced down at the triton's feet, and watched as ice began to spread in the spot underneath her shoes². As she went to charge for her next attack, she quickly slipped and collapsed onto the ground. Vi'ira pranced over to her, in typical elf fashion, and touched her rapier to the bottom of the woman's chin, the tip of her blade digging into her neck. "Yer coordination is utter shite today, don't ye think?" 

Further cheers erupted from her crew's table. Vi'ira looked up to them with a smirk, and stepped away from the triton, her blade still brandished. "Surely that's not all ye got! Come on!" A fire blazed behind her eyes as she watched for the next move.

---

1. Spectral Shadow
2. Ice Over

Nope. No. There was no stepping back from the triton who had slipped and fallen on her arse in front of a jeering crowd. She was pissed off now. She slaps her webbed hand against the ice and draws up a lash of water which forms into a long  twisting whip.^[1] She snaps it around the moon elf's ankles before getting to her feet and tackling her to the floor. 

The crowd erupts in cheers as the duel turns away from blade against blade to just a catty fist fight. Tsarra punches the elf in the jaw. Despite being much shorter, she was sturdy and dense with enough muscle mass to be a pain to wrestle with. Was she particularly practiced in the art of punching? No. And her wild swings made that undeniably apparent. 

A few members of the crew Tsarra was with get to their feet and start to head over to the brawl only for some of Vi'iras guys to intercept them. 

"No interferin' now." One of Vi'ira's crew warns. 

"Back off, dwarf." Replies a human man. 

"Make me, mate."

It didn't take long for a fist to be thrown. Who threw the first punch? Who knows. In honesty, it really didn't matter at the end of the day. There was too much ale in their blood and too many hot tempers amongst the crowd for any amount of reason or common sense to survive this altercation. Chaos quickly ensued as tankards, chairs, and a halfling were thrown about the space. 

The red tiefling sighs exasperated and downs her drink, not yet concerned about the bar brawl as she surveys the scene. 

---

[1] Water Whip

One moment Vi'ira was standing, and the next she was on her back with her skull smashing against the tavern floor.

Her blade collapsed on the floor beside her as she was tackled by the triton. She sat atop Vi'ira, straddling her to prevent her from moving, and a punch landed square on her jaw. Her teeth clicked together as her head went flying back. She could taste iron in her mouth as her eyes rolled forward to look at the triton. She let out a laugh, blood coating a few of her teeth. If they were going all in, no swords, it was bound to get brutal. Hand to hand combat was much more personal, and the blows were backed up by intention.

It didn't take long for brawls to break out all around her. Fists swung in the air colliding with cheeks and abdomens as cheers erupted in the air. Ale spilled from mugs and began to coat the floor in sticky alcohol.

Now...this was a party.

Vi'ira's crew was getting quite intense, lunging at the nearest body to them and throwing hard blows. From time to time, and always at an hour where the crew was drunkest, they would host their very own fight club on Vi'ira's ship. No matter how long they had known each other for, they went to town. She once witnessed a brawl between a 4'5 dwarven woman, Tafta, and a 6'2 half elf who had just joined the crew. Tafta proved to be much quicker and much sleazier than the man, and prevailed as champion. The half elf was bedridden for days with two broken legs (in multiple places) before the ship could dock and Vi'ira could get him set up with a proper healer. She never saw him again after that.

The triton went in for another punch. If they were going to get catty, she was going to go all in. Another punch landed, this time on her cheek. Her head swiveled on the floor, but she quickly reached up grabbed as much fin-like hair as she could. With that, she yanked. The triton slammed down beside Vi'ira, and she took this as her time to get a couple of her own punches in. She swung her leg over the woman's abdomen, reared back her fist, and aimed it directly for the triton's nose. 

Tsarra winces as her head fins are yanked on and her face slams down on the wooden surface next to the moon elf. The pain was sharp, worse than having one's hair pulled since the fins were more a part of the skin than something that sprouts from follicles. She feels the elf's weight bear down on her, pinning her down as she landed several punches to the fish's face. 

Vi'ira's fist bashed in the triton's face and quickly became stained with a spurt of metallic blue blood. Tsarra's head swims and she swears Vi'ira has at least three identical sisters for a moment. She blinks and shakes her head clear of the delusions and thrashes underneath the elf's weight. Her smaller size was at a disadvantage on land and she glances to the side where the rail surrounding the tavern was. A dumb idea takes a hold of her mind. 

"Ye still thirsty? Let's go for a dip then!"

The triton reaches up locks her arms around Vi'ira under the armpit and around her back. Despite her size, she was dense and had the muscles necessary to be able to swim through water without being slowed down any. She throws her weight to the side and rolls Vi'ira with her over the rail, getting tripped over a few times by other patrons before she gives one solid kick and launches them both under the lowest slat and over the edge into the wharf's foaming waters below. 

As the two plummet into the surf, shouts rise up over the brawling crowd as a patrol of guards appear on the scene. The red winged tiefling curses under her breath and lets out a loud whistle to snap her crew to attention. 

"We're leavin'. Make fer the ship!"

The crew start breaking out of their brawls with Vi'ira's crew and quickly scatter out of the tavern. One of the crew members jogs up behind the tiefling as she finishes off her drink and chucks the tankard across the space. 

"Cap'n, Tsarra's in the water, do we wait?"

"Nay, she can swim. Let 'er catch up if she's quick enough."

"Aye, ma'am."

They quickly made for the docks where their vessel is moored before the guards have a chance to start arresting the troublemakers. 

Vi’ira felt herself falling into a cynical rhythm as each punch landed on the triton. The fish’s face began to blur together as metallic blue blood spread across it and Vi’ira fists kept coming down. Her head still throbbed from the first strike, but she would take on a thousand headaches if it meant winning a fight, especially in front of her crew. They respected her as is, but nothing, especially to Vi’ira, was harder on her pride than losing.

What she was not expecting was to be wrapped up in a hug by the triton. For a moment, she thought this was a strange way to put an end to the brawl, but then the woman was tossing Vi’ira to the side and they were both sent rolling along the docks. Colors swirled in her vision as it swapped from the bright blue sky, to the triton’s bloodied dark face, and various shades of the deck. If she wasn’t so used to being thrown around like a ragdoll, she would’ve most definitely hurled. And just like that, the two of them were submerged in water.

Shite.

No matter how long Vi’ira had lived out at sea, she never learned to properly hold her breath. She could do it for a bit longer than a minute, but this was nothing compared to the lung capacity of a triton. This gave the woman a tremendous upper hand, and she could easily just hold Vi’ira under until she was squirming and clawing at the surface. As frustrating as that would be, Vi’ira couldn’t help but think this is exactly what she would do if the positions were flipped. Think. Think.

Above the surface, Vi’ira’s crew was standing on the dock watching as the guards approached. One of her crew members, Zrauc, a large purple tiefling with fewer brain cells than a sea urchin, was still smashing away at a burly man’s abdomen, completely oblivious to the incoming fun police. The guards stomped towards the ruffians still brawling in the tavern and began to wretch them apart, shouting commands to halt. In typical sailor fashion, nobody stopped, and the fighting almost increased. It wouldn’t be long until a guard was punched in the gut and this became an issue of disrespecting authority and breaking the law.

“Ira! Get a move on won’t ye!” Orivren called as he leaned over the railing as best he could.

An idea popped into Vi’ira’s head as she was still trying to escape the tight grasp of the hug. It wasn’t the best idea, but it was…a thought in her brain for sure. She wasn’t even entirely sure it would work, but she knew in order for it to even be slightly possible, she had to get further away from the docks. She maneuvered her hand still pinned to her side, and focused on conjuring as much wind she could underwater. A small gust of wind was produced¹, but it still placed both her and Tsarra further from the docks. Vi’ira hoped that she could somehow trick Tsarra into bringing them out just a bit more. She squirmed and shuffled around trying to escape the triton's grip, and made sure to lean in the direction of the tavern. She could feel her chest becoming tighter. Just a bit further...

---

1. Gust Thrust

The sound of water rushing around them as they hit the surface drowns out the brawl back on the docks. Tsarra has little awareness of what has happened to the crew she was a part of, it would never occur to her that they would just up and leave without checking to see if she was even okay. 

Her face stings as the salt water seeps into the cuts and bruises and her eyes go blind from a cloud of her own dark blood. The gills on her neck flare and draw water up into her neck and purge her lungs of any air.^[1] It always took a few breathes to completely switch from breaking air to breathing water. 

Keeping her hold on the moon elf, she kicks and pushes them both down to the sands lining the bottom of the wharf. This airbreather likely hadn't gotten the chance to take a deep breath before being submerged, which meant her lungs would be burning sooner rather than later. 

A dirty trick, but surprisingly resourceful of the impulsive fish woman. 

She didn't plan on fully drowning the elf. To be fair, she didn't plan much at all or think anything through. Regardsless, killing the woman would get her in some pretty big trouble with the local authorities and invoke the wrath of all that crew the elf palled around with. She'd just hold her long enough to garner a non-verbal surrender then let her drag herself back onto dry land like a water-logged rat. 

The elf tried to cast some sort of spell, but it wasn't strong enough to break the triton's hold and only pushed them further out to sea. Fine by her, she could have a good long swim back to the docks. The triton kicks and pushes Vi'ira through the water, increasing the distance between the pair and the shore where the guards were in an escalating brawl full of rowdy drunkards. 

"Tap three times if ye surrender!" The words are barely understandable in the water, but Tsarra often forgot that air breathers couldn't exactly hear or talk too well underwater. 

As was said, the triton wasn't one for thinking things through. 

---

[1] Gills

If it weren’t for the water that surrounded her on all sides, Vi’ira would’ve cheered when she realized the triton was driving them further away from shore. She seemed to have mumbled something under the water, but she didn’t pick up a single word of what it was she said. Something along the lines of “Tah ee ties i ye shererrer”, but whatever the hell that meant, Vi’ira would never know.

The burning in her lungs had begun to intensify, pleading and begging for Vi’ira to inhale air as soon as possible. The sensation started in her chest, and spread to her throat and lower abdomen. She needed air, and fast.

Now!

She fumbled around with her hand, still pinned to her side, and felt for a glass bottle hooked to her belt. It bobbed in the water, and without second thought, she unlatched the cork¹.

The next few moments were a blur. Just as Vi’ira undid the cork, a large ship seemed to appear in thin air right underneath them. Vi'ira felt the water shift while the ship took up vast amounts of space under them. As the ship rose above the surface, waterfalls cascaded off the top and bottom decks. The ghastly bone figureheads were the first to emerge from the water, the glowing jade eyes piercing the mist around them. Somehow…some way…her plan seemed to have worked? Vi’ira had most definitely just flooded the crew’s quarters as well as her own, but with a bit of finagling, she knew the crew wouldn’t stay annoyed for too long.

However, at the end of the day, it was her home that she just flooded.

The triton hadn’t gotten them so far out that the lining of sand below them was miles under, and the ship quickly reached the wharf, pushing against it and shooting the two pirates out of the water. The two of them still clung to each other even as they floated midair for a few moments before colliding with the wooden deck below them. Her grip on Vi'ira gave way as the two of them rolled away from one another.

Vi’ira got to her knees, coughing and doing her best to take deep breaths. She ran her hand through her hair to push it out of her eyes, and she watched as the triton tried to regain her balance. Vi’ira took this as her chance to throw off the triton, and she quickly rose to her knees before sending a strong gust of wind propelling towards the woman². The wind shoved her back against the railing of the quarterdeck. Vi'ira clumsily rose to her feet.

“Had…enough?” Her breaths were still heavy and jagged as she tried to inhale as much air as she could.

Now, the triton was in her domain.

---

1. Ship in a Bottle
2. Gust Thrust

Everything happens so quickly. Tsarra was confident she had the upper hand out in the open water. She's a fish for Salina's sake! No lousy airbreathing one-eyed hot elf lady could possibly best her out amongst the waves. Well, she didn't anticipate Vi'ira having a whole freaking ship hidden in her pocket. Who would anticipate that anyway?

Her shoulder hits the deck roughly as the ship bobs up to the surface and she releases her hold on the elf. Rolling across the sea drenched deck, she pushes herself onto her hands and knees. She's disoriented and sore. Her face has been washed of the blood, but still was a mess with broken skin and abrasions from the beating the elf woman had given her. 

She coughs and gasps, water pouring from her gills as she is forced to switch back from breathing water. Just because she can physically breath both air and water doesn't mean the transition is instant. The surprise of suddenly being popped back out of the water didn't give her a lot of time to mentally prepare. Not that she would have been prepared even with forewarning. 

She's even less prepared for Vi'ira's spell. Just as the triton starts to recover and get onto her feet, the wind launches her backwards across the slippery deck. Her boots slip out from under her and her vision goes to the sky for a moment before the back of her head cracks against the wooden railing.

Abruptly, everything goes black.