RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

Chatter filtered through a nearby door, expectedly grim considering the presumed occupants beyond. A lifetime as a criminal had shown him nothing but the worst of the Empire, and if there were any more decent than those contemplating machinations of pointless war on the other side of the door Argent had never heard of them. If there were a decent Empire he would have had the chance at a decent life.



Despite his experience his hand unconsciously drifted to the hilt of his stolen blade, a cheap thing meant only for those with a short life expectancy in battle. The Master Gunner’s position mirrored his own as he asked for Argent’s opinion. The elf let the weight of the choice settle before whispering a reply.



”Odds will be stacked.”



Noblemen often came with servants at best, and a bevy of guards at worst. There were only two would be assassins and the element of surprise. Their countdown had already begun, though, with the death of the Duke himself. There might not be another chance to take out the groom.



”Let O’Cain worry over the Princess,” his voice was a hiss as he slid to the doorframe. He said nothing more, not daring any further warning to their targets. He gripped the door’s handle firmly, only releasing the sheathed sword at his waist to silently raise three fingers. He trusted Ciaran was experienced enough to understand his intention, and slowly lowered each finger one at a time before throwing the door open wide for the Master Gunner to charge through.
 
”Odds will be stacked.”

Good, the more rich pricks the better. They sounded drunk and arrogant - his favorite kind of opponent. He felt his lips twist into a grin and his hand move of its own accord, pulling the officer's sword from its scabbard in preparation to silence wicked men. If anyone in this sybaritic den deserved a bloody end, it was certainly the men here.

Ciaran crashed through the door like the tempest he was, sword and dagger in hand, charging like an auroch. Whoever had steel or was standing would die first, the drunks would be an easy kill once anyone with a lick of skill was dead.
 
The door crashed open, halfway, before the nearest guard threw the weight of his body against it, too late to do more than tag Ciaran at best, but it would be enough to separate the two men fairly effectively. Ciaran had a moment to find a man on the end of his sword, the guard who had been on the other side of the door having thrown himself in between the charging man and the table itself.

Two other guards were posted at the other side of the room, one of whom shouted, quickly "Down!", a cry that was followed by the click of a crossbow and a bolt that launched across the room towards Ciaran. The fourth man was raising a hand, empty, but sharp javelins of obsidian coalesced out of the air, targeting arms and legs - and passing through the body of the guard that Ciaran had killed, without a single instant of hesitation.

If the master-at-arms were particularly astute, he would notice that these guards weren't in the Duke's colors at all, but rather the royal house's violet and gold, and that one of the men at the table was wearing a crown. The eyes beneath it were sharp, intelligent, and - unlike the wobbling groom at the other end of the table who hadn't seemed to have caught up to what was happening - completely sober.

The man beside him was equally sober, despite the half full glass in his hand, sandy-haired and orange-eyed, somewhat wrong and yet, somehow, entirely familiar. Ciaran had spent years serving under someone with nearly identical features, after all.

The recognition, it seemed, was mutual.

"Alive, Jerome, if his highness doesn't mind."

"Rather up to the gentleman, I believe. Do you know him?"

"Not yet. But I believe we may find something to discuss."

"Other than the attempted assassination, I presume."

"It would hardly be a wedding without one."

"He-he tried to kill us!"

The other two exchanged a glance. The guards' eyes didn't waver in the slightest, and the door to the room's antechamber had opened, another pair of similarly liveried guards emerging, rifles at the ready.

"Shut up, Cormac, you're drunk."

"As you say. Well, open the door and let the other one in. It seems my advisor has taken a shine to you. Will it be prison, or death?"
 
The door was opened and the princess entered her chambers without a glance backward. Lucien followed smoothly behind her, the shadow of a grin flickering across his face. The vampire crossed the threshold as the door shut behind him with a soft click. His attention was discreetly averted to another part of the room, his gaze steady and unwavering. Other, lesser men would perhaps sneak darting glances at the undressing princess. Even if he was not indifferent to the sight of bare flesh, his captain had slaughtered dozens with her chest bare. The princess was tin to his captain’s copper, clothed or no.

Lucien made a faint noncommittal noise of agreement as she berated her new husband. It seemed as though the prince had a drinking problem, one that he would have to take advantage of should the others neglect to pull their own weight. Still, it would not do to disparage him to his wife. The royalty were allowed to complain, but the help never agreed or gave an opinion, merely kept doing their job.

“Not long, your Highness. A month or so, perhaps.” Lucien’s gaze shifted back to focus on the woman who believed she was his superior. She was submerged in the opaque, rose-scented liquid that made his nose itch. Scarlet began to flow down her neck and into the water, free of its pins and allowed to fall freely. “I was brought on in preparation for the ceremonies, an increase of the guard for the celebration.”

“I am experienced, however. Prior to this I was a guard for a noble family in Morwin, although they have since moved on.” The name fell from Lucien’s lips and dropped to the floor before the sentence could continue. The moment had arrived, he was steeped within it, he could easily snap their necks and be done with the whole charade. But it had been so long since his lead went slack, and Lucien intended to enjoy every inch of freedom before some fool tried to pull it taut.
 
“An elven maid?” Sir Willem repeated, scratching his chin. He didn’t bring any elven maids with him, not that he remembered, but the thought of Lady Gabrielle being interested in something that presumably belonged to him was quite a pleasant one. Afterall, despite the age difference, any of the Goswick twins would be a great match for an old, unmarried man. He could never tell the two apart by looks, but Gabrielle seemed to be the most blessed one in matters of intelligence. “Tell her she can have it,” he said. “In exchange for a dance.”

Danielle would have grimaced, if it wasn’t improper. She curtsied, certain to relay the message to her sister despite knowing she’d be as disgusted as she was by the implications. The fae left the dining room heading to her father’s study, to find a horrific scene, a pair of fangs and her sister’s blood.

She’d studied enough to know what that girl truly was, despite never seeing one in person. Danielle knew the right thing would be to scream, run and find help, but that was her sister. Her feet moved forward before she could command them to do so, and her hand reached for the maid’s hair, attempting to yank her head away from her sister’s neck.

“LET GO OF HER!”

***

To earn Alys’ forgiveness would be harder than Caleb had hoped. He wanted to go after her but she’d made it clear that wasn’t what she wanted so he respected her space, and instead stayed at the drawing room until every possible clue that a murder had happened there had been perfectly disguised.

He left through the same hallway Ciaran and Argent had gone through a few minutes after, intending to head to the Princess’ quarters and assuming that’s where they went. The sound of altercation, hurried footsteps and clashing weapons however, denounced the two idiots had headed the opposite direction and encountered resistance. The captain rolled his eyes and moved close to the wall, quietly and attently moving forward, trying to listen to what was being said and more importantly, how many people were on the opposite side.

***

Maeve confidently mistook Lucien’s hunger for lust, and fearlessly slid down the tub, reemerging from the rose milk with white droplets glued to her long eyelashes. She didn’t notice, or care for the maid’s discomfort by her side. She wouldn’t leave, not without Maeve’s command to do so and the audience, who’d have her tongue cut out if she ever mentioned that interaction to anyone, made it all the more interesting.

“Morwin, you say.” The princess muttered, twisting her wet hair over her left shoulder, exposing the right side of her bare neck. The name was familiar, but she hadn’t thought of it for a long while. As she recalled conversations with her older brothers and lessons from her governess, a curious smile grew on her red lips. “Did you serve under him?” She asked, leaning over the side of the tub and resting her chin over her forearms. “The vampire.”
 
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"Yes." Lucien's voice was low, eyes towards the practically naked royalty before him but focused past her, past anything any of them could see. He remembered the screams of terror, the thrill of the newly-found hunt, the decades of isolation and quiet, and the subsequent flames that had been his liberation from the shackles of his former life.

"I served under the monster." Lucien stepped closer, shortening the distance between himself and the princess with every sentence. He kept the maid in the corner of his eye, however. She could be an issue if she managed to escape. "He kept us stationed around the manor. We were terrified, he would occasionally drag one of us away to fulfill whatever sick desires he had." Lucien stopped, maybe a foot or two away from the princess, her neck so tantalizingly close and vulnerable, practically begging him stain the thin fabric red.

"There was a betting pool, a macabre sort of thing, to see how long you lasted before he took you. Guess I've won by now." Lucien let out a small chuckle, taking effort to keep his fangs hidden. He bowed his head once more, remembering to be subservient, or at least appear to be so.

"I must say, it doesn't seem that there are many who remember Morwin. You must have had some thorough instruction in history, Princess."
 
Ciaran was a flurry of movement and steel, the visual calculus of the number of guard and their wardrobe was secondary as he split the first man in half. He had but a mere moment to realize who he was truly up against - not simple duchy militia, but king's men, and most importantly a magic user.

The bolt flew true, clipping just below Ciaran's eye and leaving a deep red line through the left side of his head. Had he not motioned to place the guard he'd engaged between them, his blitz would've been even shorter lived. The master-at-arms watched in half bewilderment as the slender obsidian shards formed in the air and streaked towards him, passing through the still standing dead man. The first was a dull impact to his left arm, catching his prosthesis right below his elbow. He looked, watching light dance across its oily surface, leaving him blindsided as the other three made purchase.

Pain radiated through his thigh, calf, and lastly right bicep. The force knocked him back one step - two, but on the third Ciaran planted his foot and stayed standing. His eyes stayed locked on the orange eyed man, his too familiar features finding some corner of his mind to occupy. The pain was making it harder to think - to remember. The Fir Bolg tried to move and a terrible ripping noise followed. Cloth or muscle? Ciaran wasn't sure, but now he could feel hot blood streaming down to his finger tips.

I need to scream, tell the lad to run. He doesn't need to die for my stupid courage and damn ego.

The asshole with the crown kept talking. The king? A brother maybe. Ciaran knew the groom had to die, but clearing the whole royal line would be just as good. Not that killing anyone was an option anymore. "You'd really give me a choice? How benevolent of you to show a little mercy before you butcher more of your subjects once your ennui catches up with you." Ciaran wanted to spit but found his mouth dryer than it had ever been. He hoped Argent would run, find Caleb and Alys and leave while the nobles were still goading him.
 
The door opened. Nessa heard it open, heard the rush of feet, the frantic beating of a heart, all of it so loud and messy. Nessa did as she was asked, dropping the woman she had held in her arms. Maybe she would drop to the floor, maybe she had enough left in her to stagger, Nessa didn’t care. Nessa was so tired of having to care. So very tired of waiting for—

The vampire turned to face the sister, still unblemished, and far too close for her own good. Nessa could feel the fingers in her hair, twisting, but it no more fazed her than the feeling of the jewelry in her ears jingling. She reached up, to grab the woman’s arm before she could pull away, blowing air between her lips in a gentle shushing noise. Her breath was so very sweet.

Nessa squeezed the woman’s arm as she tried to get her to let go, her nails biting the soft skin.

“How much was I worth?” Nessa couldn’t help but giggle at that.
 
"You'll be hanged in due course." This statement was made flatly, as if there was no reason for any discussion about it. Indeed, the stay of execution rather than meting it out immediately was only a favor, and favors could easily be withdrawn. "Or beheaded. I've seen my friend do some rather wicked things with a scythe."

Despite this being said in the tone of some sort of in joke, none of them were laughing. The servant-guard had opened the door once more, allowing Argent entrance to the room if he chose. Running was also a choice, but it would be harder to keep him alive that way.

"And what about that one, do you have questions for him as well?"

The other man's gaze shifted from Ciaran, raking over the newcomer. "No. I don't believe so."

"Well. There it is. I will allow you to surrender unconditionally, provided that is your next action. Otherwise - guards, you may remove the excess."
 
He was brave, for stepping closer; most guards wouldn’t dare. Maeve didn’t know how to feel about it, but the story he had to tell was… instigating.

“What was he like?” the princess asked, her eyes beaming with curiosity. She knew what people cared to tell her but for a pretty, delicate flower, the morbid details were always left out. “What happened to them, once he was… Fulfilled?”

***

A vampire. Danielle had never seen one before, but her fangs, her stained red lips and hungry eyes… It couldn’t be anything else.

As the monster’s fingers touched her arm, a high pitched scream left the blonde’s lips; a scream loud enough to be heard all throughout the second floor, but would hardly reach the music filled ears of those below. She let go of the maid’s hair and tried to release her arm, panting frantically as her vision blurred out of fear.
 
“You’ll be hanged in due course.” In due course meant it wouldn’t happen right away, giving Caleb at least a few minutes (hours if he was lucky) to come up with a way to rescue Ciaran without also getting captured. There were two, three… At least four people in that room, people with enough strength to subdue the hunk of a man that was his master gunner. He and Argent had no chance, and he’d performed enough recklessness for the day.

“Leave it!” Caleb mouthed, tugging the back of Argent’s collar to get his attention, while making way to the direction they should’ve headed before the door was pushed open. While attempting to run, he reached for the syringe hidden inside his boot, filled to the brim with Poppy’s milk and handed it over to Argent, hoping he’d know what to do with it.

No more killing innocents. Caleb never thought sticking to his word would end up being such a difficult feat.
 
"If you must know, princess." Lucien began, as though he truly had reservations about describing his messier days. "He called it 'sampling'. First he would drink enough blood from a person to determine if he liked the taste." His voice dropped lower, getting slightly rougher as he leaned into the tale.

"If he liked the taste, he would bind your ankles and hoist you from the rafters before slitting your throat." His hand moved towards his throat briefly before stopping. He let it hang in the, not letting it fall. "He'd bleed you dry. He kept bottles labeled with the name of every person he killed that way, and the date he killed them."
 
There it was, fear. A giggle bubbled in her throat as Nessa yanked the fae close, even as she felt the woman’s trying to pull herself free from the Vampire’s hold on her wrist. Nessa bared her teeth, lifted a hand to tap the woman’s lips.

“Shh, shh.” She intoned, leaving a smear of blood on the twin’s lip. Like a drop of honey to sweeten a piece of coarse bread. Nessa leaned in, unconcerned by the other woman’s free arm. “I have a question for you. Just one, easy, yeah?”

Nessa shifted, lifted herself up onto the balls of her feet. “Why would King want you dead?”
 
Directly behind Ciaran’s charge Argent pivoted around the doorframe and nearly drew his sword free before it barked upon sudden slamming of the door he had just thrown open. A muttered curse fell from his lips, both toward the speed of the reaction from the guards within and the flash of crown that explained all too well the weight behind the promises the bearer made. Though tempted to throw the door open himself as blood leaked from beneath it, Argent gritted his teeth against his own impulse to rescue the Master Gunner.



Before the urge to play hero had reached its crescendo, and Argent struggled to keep his blade sheathed with each slimy word that slid from the nobles tongue, a sharp tug at his collar and Caleb’s command turned the elf away from the door. He was almost thankful for the interruption to his own indecision, though he cast an incredulous look toward the Captain as he followed behind.



”The groom was in there,” he said softly, glancing back as he took the syringe to see if they were being pursued. Despite the gravity of the situation his voice was flat and calm. The syringe disappeared into Argent’s sleeve as easily as though it were his knife, though he felt that one was far more useful than the other.



”Kill who needs to be killed with no casualties on our end.” Their deal rang through Argent’s mind as they ran, though he said nothing to O’Cain. It had been the Captain’s call to leave Ciaran, after all.
 
Danielle wanted to scream again, but the voice wouldn’t reach her throat. She gasped, staring from her sister’s dead body to her assassin.

“Why would King want you dead?”

“W-w-what?” She frowned. “The King doesn’t want us dead. D-does he?” Her knees quivered as Danielle tried to convince them to run. It was clear the King she referred to wasn’t the same as the one mentioned by the vampire. “I won’t tell a soul! P-please, let me go…” she sobbed.

***

The guard saw shadows running down the hallway, and there was more than one. He unleashed his short blade and pursued them, aiming to sink it on the white haired one’s shoulder.

***

“The groom was in there.”

“He wasn’t alone.” Caleb answered between hurried breaths, trying to reach the end of the hallway. He wanted to ask what were you thinking? But the questions as well as the planning would have to wait. They were being chased.

***

The princess wasn’t sure if he was telling her the truth or not, but the tale was an interesting one. She stood up from the tub and at the same time her maid hurried to cover her up with a clean crimson towel.

“Keep talking.” She said, slowly stepping out. “What did he do to the people who’s taste he didn’t fancy? Were they allowed to live?”
 
"No. Of course not."

Quick as a viper, a blade flashed scarlet, piercing the maid's throat and jutting out the other side. A jet of crimson sprayed towards the freshly-bathed princess, and Lucien simply stared past the fresh corpse as it collapsed to the ground, her lifeblood leaking along the floor.

"This is what I did to those whose blood was tainted, sour, impure. They died like dogs at my feet." Lucien stepped closer to the princess, his boots brushing over his first kill after being released. "The vampire of Morwin has a name, you know." He smirked at her, finally exposing the fangs that had been kept hidden during their conversation. He watched her expression as realization set in, eager to see if she would try and run.

"Lucien Kilta, at your service."
 
It all happened too fast for the princess to process, and yet the first thought she had was how disgusting her maid’s blood felt on her skin. She didn’t move, not even when the vampire revealed himself and showed her his fangs. Maeve knew that fighting or trying to escape was useless.

“What is it that you want, Lord Kilta?” She asked, with her chin up and fearless green eyes staring into his. “You must know my life is very precious to me, and there’s little I wouldn’t do to preserve it.”
 
Lucien smiled wryly as the princess remained unmoved, even as her maid's blood splattered against her skin. That defiant look reminded him of her, and where he expected to find some sense of loss inside, he felt nothing but the urge to kill, to show this pampered fairy exactly what he would do to those who defied him. Instead he simply stepped closer, his cold eyes meeting her verdant ones.

"Lordship never suited me. I left that title behind the day I stepped aboard the Nox." She would have to be a fool to not know what he was referring to. Perhaps that would spark a little more terror in her.

"Unfortunately for you, your life is precisely what I want. And I doubt you have anything to offer that could sway me." Perhaps she would bargain. Perhaps she would fight. Perhaps she would simply scream. It made no difference. The vampire made no move to block his prey or restrain her. That would imply that he could not handle whatever she might do.
 
Echoes of a scream reached her pointed ears, the sound subtly mixing with the music and laughter coming from the first floor. Alys slowed, hesitating. And then with a shaky sigh, she turned around and began to walk back, towards the perceived location of the source. She didn't believe it belonged to one of their own, but if she'd heard it, someone else must've as well. At one point she bent down to retrieve a small knife, pressing the flat surface against the inner portion of her wrist. Armed in one hand, bottle of wine in the other, with a slight ache in her chest, she walked down the empty hall.
 
The Hard Nox, captained by the Whore of the horizon and responsible for murdering hundreds recently in the west; that was the extent of knowledge Maeve had on the matter. If that was the case, that the crew of the Hard Nox had broken into her wedding, the chance that the vampire was there by himself was slim to none. Was she the only victim or were there more being slaughtered as they spoke?

“Why?” She asked, trying to keep her breath steady to remain as calm as possible given the situation she found herself in. “What will having me killed going get you? Gold, ships, blood… I can offer you more.”
 
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