Storm

You stumble into The Tempest’s Eye, a small shrine on Saltmaw Station, dedicated to the Sailor of Sky and Seas. Your forked tongue darts between your lips tasting the air, which smells strongly of frankincense, hinoki, and vetiver which rises in a curling plume of cool mist from the ultrasonic diffuser on the altar; mingled with the ever-present scent of saltwater from the oxygen scrubbers. But beneath that is something familiar. Draconic. Your nictitating eyelids blink, pleasantly surprised to see the solitary figure kneeling before the altar.

The dragonborn woman’s back is turned, hands resting on the knees of her monk’s robed, which bear no visible insignia, logo, or other mark of affiliation. The flicker of bottled lightning plays across her cerulean scales, illuminating the sharp angles of her nose and cheekbones as she turns her head toward the sound of your approach. “You’re hurt.”

Your heart leaps at the sound of you mother tongue from this stranger’s mouth, and you nod, still feeling the heat of the blaster burn searing your ribs. You glance over your shoulder, heart pounding in time with the sound of mag boots racing toward the shrine. “Please…I beg of you…sanctuary.”

The woman nods, and static crackles around you as she sweeps her arms in a protective, encompasing gesture. “What is your name, little cousin?”

“Ukko.”

“You are safe here, Ukko.”

“There it is!” A soldier shouts in common as he bursts into the shrine with two more officers on his heels. “Don’t let it get away!”

The soldier raises his blaster, but his hand wavers. Instead of aiming at you, the barrel of the gun points at your cerulean savior.

“Think very carefully about where you are pointing that weapon, soldier,” she says. Her voice is soft but firm, her gaze unwavering.

The soldier blinks, removing his finger from the trigger and putting up his gun, stammering a shaky apology. “Forgive me, Captain–I mean Doctor Wu.”

“I’ll take it from here, soldier,” Dr Wu replied, “You are dismissed.”

“But–” The soldier glances at you.

“Go,” the doctor warns. “Do not make me rebuke you.”

“Ma’am.” The soldier holsters his weapon and withdraws, gesturing for his fellows to leave with him.

When you are alone with the doctor once more, you tear your eyes off the doorway and look up at her. She towers over you, the bottled lightning casting lurid shadows across her face, but you feel no fear. “Who are you?”

She kneels, and you feel as if a cool rain has just broken over you as she lays a hand on your chest.

“My name is Sora Thousand-storms Wu,” she says, “And I am a healer.”