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The Unmoored Scion of House Azurium

People who follow me may be surprised to hear this, but I am almost always mulling new story ideas or concepts in my head. Even now that The Case of the Titan Syndicate is over, I still have plots and details that can expanded on into their own thing. I need to pen them, but they do exist.

One such idea was exploring younger Azurium more, before he became a guardsman and well before he became a titan. When I saw this YCH from Refegi back in August of 2024, I realized that the body type was the exact same one that I had envisioned for younger Azurium: Lean, muscular, and tall, but not bulky.

Synthesizing the attack happening in the piece with some of the world building ideas I was always mulling over in my head, I started writing during my week off work in November 2024. By the beginning of December, this story was ready to post.

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“Ah. Our very own rising star. Thank you for coming, Captain Azurium.”

Even after becoming a commissioned officer himself, Azurium could never quite adjust to the whiplash of walking from the austere, utilitarian barracks where his subordinates lived out of a standard-issue backpack and trained for most of the day, and the lavish quarters like the Major’s.

His superior, a lionkin with a well-groomed mane and manicured claws, addressed him from the other side of his gold-trimmed desk, uniform starting to visibly strain under his seemingly growing pudge. Both of them knew the greeting was nothing more than a formality. Still, considering his unit had just returned from their last mission a few weeks back, he knew the team was going to be pissed that the “fat cat” was sending them out again so soon.

But there would be time for that later. Right now, he had a mission and he needed details. He gave a firm salute to the Major, hazel eyes forward, dressed in the leather crimson breastplate emblazoned with the claws of a tiger, symbol of House Azurium, as was his accursed birthright.

Banish those thoughts, Azurium. You aren’t good for much else, so might as well focus on the one thing you can do right. Can’t afford to get distracted, not when your team counts on you to bring them home.

“Sir! I’m told you have something for me.”

“Yes. I know you only just returned from the war machine extermination, but a kraken is approaching our shores. The merchant guild has petitioned the consul to take care of it before shipments get interrupted and lives are lost.”

“Permission to speak, sir?” Azurium could feel his brow crease as he started to think.

“Granted.” The Major, on the other hand, looked as calm and collected as if he had asked a new recruit to do a set of push-ups.

“By the consul, do you mean my father?”

He caught the ghost of a malevolent grin on the Major’s muzzle, a crack in his mask that quickly repaired itself before he could draw attention to it.

“Your father insisted we send our best and brightest. And who better than our rising star, the Beast Slayer himself.”

Unfortunately, this treatment was nothing new for the Captain. “Understood.”

“You depart tomorrow morning. That’ll be all, Bartholemew. You’re dismissed.”

Azurium gave a salute and walked off as his commanding officer shooed him away. Fortunately, his unit was used to packing up quickly, so he knew they’d be physically ready when the day came. The problem was whether or not they’d be mentally prepared. As he contemplated his conundrum in the halls, a welcome surprise greeted him.

“Clara?”

The lean, armor-clad pantheress, with pelt pure as the driven snow, looked at him with cerulean eyes and shushed him with a single claw gently tapping his snout. Before anything else could come of it, Captain Azurium conspicuously, deliberately pulled on the sleeve of his chainmail. A flash of recognition crossed her features, and she left with a friendly wink.

Though he still had to break the bad news to his squad, having something to look forward to did much to lift Azurium out of his sour mood. By the time he had arrived, the rumors had already spread. His second-in-command, a raccoonkin about half his height, Roland, didn’t waste a moment.

“Where are we off to this time, boss?”

“Coastline. Merchant’s Guild Port. They got us fighting a kraken that’s getting a bit too close for comfort. We ship out tomorrow.”

As a rule, Captain Bartholomew Azurium gave his unit blanket permission to say what was on their mind. They’d all proven themselves many times over, and he was surprised how often one of them knew exactly the right information to form a winning plan. Still, there were times he regretted that policy, and his foxkin scout, Selene, was about to trigger one of those times.

“I get that your dad wants you dead, but why does he keep draggin’ the rest of us into it?”

She was right, and he knew it. Still, honesty deserved honesty in turn.

“Y’all’re commoners. I doubt he even cares.” On paper, the military was the fastest way for a commoner to rise above their station in service to Oplentis. In practice, they were the playthings of the aristocracy, and that reality was beaten into them, by force if necessary. “Look. My name don’t mean much now, but I can cash in a few favors. If any of you want out, I can see about gettin’ you another post.”

An awkward silence permeated the air for a few moments, Selene and the rest of them burrowing their gaze into the sand. Just as the Captain was opening his mouth to speak, Selene made eye contact. Whatever went on in her head, the doubt had vanished from her eyes.

“And abandon you? Not happening. You wouldn’t do that to us, and I’m not gonna do that to you. You’re the one who makes sure we always make it back.”

Looking around, he could almost swear that Selene had lit a fire under their asses. There was not a hint of protest from anyone.

“Alright then. The afternoon is yours. Spend it as you see fit, but be ready to go early morning. Dismissed.”

With firm, but light-hearted salute, the group left, mission received, to tend to their preparations. He still had to study the intel and form a plan, but that could wait. He had more “urgent” business to attend to.

Sure enough, Clara was waiting for him in his room when he arrived, laying tenderly in his bed. Disgraced he may be, Azurium was still nobility, and his sleeping quarters were big enough for two.

“What happened between you and your family, Bart? Your father has it out for you.”

Taking off his breastplate and chainmail, the young tigerkin officer laid right next to her.

“Long story. I just wish he’d leave my men out of it. What about you, Clara? What’s going on with you?”

Without thinking, she had begun to rub the tension out of his shoulders while he ran a claw gently down her side.

“My men are on leave this week. My dad isn’t sending me on suicide missions, so I get the easy life.”

A devilish grin marked his snout. “Easy life, huh? Sounds like someone needs her ass kicked.”

She giggled back. “That’s what I like about you, Bart. You’re the only one here delusional enough to think he can take me.”

“And you’re the only one here with the guts to call me ‘Bart’. Besides, last I checked I was catchin’ up. Score’s only 10-8 now.”

That did it. She was audibly purring now.

“Alright hotshot. You want a shot at me, you got it… when you get back from your mission. Until then, you’re mine.”

“Yes, ma’am”

The two shared a night together like no other. Before the crack of dawn, with what sleep they had managed to claim, the two of them packed up provisions and equipment for the road. His troops, to their credit, were ready to go when he gave the order. The journey to port took half a day by carriage, and a vessel had already been chartered when they arrived, complete with a mercenary crew, doubtless as expendable as the rest of them were to Oplentian leadership.

However, as Captain Azurium was still the highest ranking officer present, command of the vessel fell onto him. According to their information, the kraken was still a day’s voyage out to sea before they’d be close enough to confront it, meaning they had until around noon tomorrow. With no pressing business, he retired along with the rest of his unit to rest and prepare while the crew kept their ship sailing.

He had even managed to find a comfortable spot on the bed, claiming a genuine deep sleep, when a series of booming thuds, and his door being barged open sprung him to full alert. It was one of the mercenaries, a lizardkin, trying and failing to camouflage himself in a panic. The name escaped his memory, but Bartholomew swore that they were the helmsman’s alternate.

“Sir! The kraken ambushed us! It was on us before we saw it coming!”

The officer made himself as decent as he could on short notice, slipping on the pair of pants and a belt from yesterday he had absentmindedly thrown on the floor last night. He made a snap judgement not to waste time trying to fasten and buckle his chainmail and family breastplate, as neither would be of much use against a creature that large.

While his mind was processing all of this, his mouth issued orders, instinct and training handling what they could.

“Alert the squad! Have them come to the deck immediately!”

The mercenary nodded, before running off below deck. Gripping his sword, the officer leapt into action, rushing out of the Captain’s Quarters to survey the ongoing battle. Luckily, the damage to the ship had been largely localized to the deck, keeping the hull intact. And yet, by the same token, broken boards made for treacherous footing.

By a stroke of luck, their crew weren’t frozen in fear. Some were wildly firing cannons hoping to damage the beast’s main body under the ocean’s surface, while others were slicing and slashing at soot black tentacles as they latched onto the ship. What they lacked was organization. They weren’t coordinating their attacks, creating openings for the kraken and failing to take advantage of any openings it gave in kind.

Alright, Az. Time to do what you do best.

His troops right behind him, he gave out orders, assigning each man to command a section of the mercenary crew. Through his command, they had begun to gain ground. Fewer tendrils were connecting, and the ones that did land were quickly routed through swift bladework. Inky black began to pour out of kraken’s cuts and injuries, pooling onto the ship and into the waters.

But the battle had only just begun, and in response to their aggression, the main body, once only barely visible beneath the waves, had finally emerged to greet its would-be adversaries.

“Looks like it’s tired of playing with its food. Fire at will! Aim for the eyes!”

Though the vast majority of the volley struck the body, the monster was unrelenting, showing no signs of damage or exhaustion. Not one cannonball was able to connect with one of the kraken’s two oversized eyes.

“Cover the artillery! Give them time to reload!”

He bellowed out the order, and both his troops and the crew were quick to follow. In his mind, he made a note to himself to commend the mercenary crew. Most sellswords were ill-tempered and belligerent, and it was refreshing not to have any issues with the chain of command.

And yet, as they fired, that professionalism wasn’t producing results. Again, in the next volley not one cannonball struck the eyes. At this rate, they were all destined to drown. Azurium needed a new plan.

“Keep firing until you run out of cannonballs! Swordsmen, let one of the tentacles stick! Roland, take charge!”

Despite the circumstances, and accustomed to his superior, Roland remained calm. “Understood, sir.”

Azurium didn’t need to listen out for Roland’s commands to know he could handle it. With a tight grip on his sword, he waited for the beast to strike the hull once more. It didn’t take long, and the mercenaries left it alone as ordered.

It was a desperate plan, but what choice did he have? The only known method for killing a kraken was to gouge out its eyes, and even his arm couldn’t throw a sword that far. Such was the logic behind his decision to climb and crawl up the tentacle in order to get close.

Were Bartholomew focused on anything else but the steady climb, claws, sword, even teeth digging to keep a grip on the beast, he might have been proud of his second. Roland realized almost immediately what his officer’s plan was, and adjusted accordingly.

“Focus fire on the body. Keep its attention. Do not give it even a moment of peace.”

Steady progress on the limb, until at last he was close enough to climb onto the main body. His target in striking distance, he struck, piercing the eye. As he removed his blade, the beast squirmed, black ink gushing out of the socket. Digging in even deeper with his claws, Bartholomew waited until the beast had calmed, before climbing over to strike the other.

The kraken was onto him, and tried flailing around itself, but it couldn’t land a blow before the second eye was gouged out in turn. Mission accomplished, the captain knew that all he needed to do was let the damage take.

Though the beast continued to squirm and flail, each swing was growing weaker and weaker, until eventually it could move no longer, carcass floating harmlessly in the ocean. It was then, and only then, that the Captain retracted his claws, pulled his sword out of the soft tissue, and began to swim back to the ship where the crew had already begun making repairs.

The deck was a mess, broken boards and debris scattered about alongside dark tendrils leaking darker ink, but the vessel was still intact. Climbing aboard, he was met with the cheers of all present.

The helmsman, a human, still couldn’t quite process it.

“You must be a daft bastard to pull a stunt like that. Killin’ a kraken with just a sword and a pair of pants.”

Bartholomew began to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“And the help of your crew manning the cannons and cutting off the tentacles. It was a team effort.”

The helmsman chuckled. “And he’s modest to boot. If you’re single, you won’t be for long, lad. Got the looks and the charm.”

“Don’t catch my partner hearing you say that. She’d never let me live it down.”

“Your secret is safe with me. Can’t say the same for the rest o’ the crew, though. They get loud when they’re drunk.”

Letting out a good laugh, Azurium gave Roland command once more while he returned to his room. Taking a seat on his bedroll, he noticed that through the whole ordeal, his family’s crimson breastplate had not left the room. Though he would have probably worn it if he had the time to put it on, he couldn’t help but think about how that extra weight might have made the climb on the kraken that much more difficult.

I work better without you weighing me down. Guess that makes you a lot like the father I got you from, doesn’t it?