Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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PAPERBAG FILL

Soren began to approach the pair but his eyes followed the satyr walking away from Juniper. He could sense her frustration before his eyes fell upon Juniper following the satyr. Soren's head then turned to peer over his shoulder, finding the shambling corpse deposit food through the gate and the half-dead bodies of those in the cell shamble towards the food. Soren did not run after the food or fight to race through the tides of people. A half-thought in the back of his head reared up. He could simply take the food from the others. After all, he owed no allegiance to anyone here. Just those who he called ally, temporary or not.

But that appeared to hit its own share of troubles if the satyr would be this is stubborn. She reminded him of that foolish little girl punching his leg and how it did nothing. A more somber expression followed at the memory before he kneeled down and picked up his forgotten cloak, strapping it onto his person once more. Soren began to lumber on over to the others. The two resident volva and another. Soren strode up to be closer to the pair but kept his distance from this prisoner. Unlike Leo, this one was not chained. No and he did what Soren had thought of moments prior. It required no violence.

This one had been here a long time to demand food like that.

And he was big. Not unlike Soren. Soren kept his eyes on the man's hands and they flickered over occasionally to the lizard's feet and upper torso, even after the bread was tossed. No sudden moves best be made here or there would be trouble. Soren's eyes fell into a more dead and narrowed state, closing off all thoughts except to examine their apparent new ally speaking of cooperation if Soren could go off of those last few sentences he heard.

Soren simply kept silent as he observed.
 
DELFI

"I get you don't like me. I wouldn't either, honestly, but we're locked in here together, and I'd rather we not be. Even if you hate my guts and want me dead, can you save it for after we get out of here? I'm not asking for friendship, just cooperation, just for a little bit."


Poppy didn't answer, but she'd heard it. And she'd considered it.

By the time she got to the burlap sack it was already empty, and she wouldn't go as low to scrape for crumbs, like a pitiful goblin was doing. With her peripheral vision she'd seen the tall Al-Ashtavahk talk to prisoners one by one. She got the sense that he was the one not to be messed with, but as it turned out and despite her prejudices, he was the closest she'd encountered to a gentleman that day.

"Thank you so much," Poppy said, accepting the bread and holding it close to her chest. Now, that was someone she could get behind. Not a pirate, or at least he didn't sound like one.

"I'm Poppy." She glanced at Juniper before adding. "And if there's any chance of getting out of here I will cooperate. I'm not unreasonable."
 
PAPERWORK

Hester could feel her hand squelch slightly as the captain gripped it. That wasn't supposed to happen; she'd need to do something about maintenance soon. Then again, embalming fluid wasn't something most ships stocked, was it? She'd have to pick up the ingredients herself next time they were in port. In bulk, ideally.

"Right." She shifted her balance, foot to foot, giving herself a moment to prepare.Then she followed the captain down.

Hester had some experience navigating cramped, cluttered spaces. That was why, after the first time she stumbled over a bit of chain, she started paying very close attention to where she was walking. It wasn’t enough; next she stubbed a toe on a chair leg, and then she nearly tripped over an out-of-position bench. She couldn’t help it; she was distracted. She’d always had a healthy appetite, which she’d rarely been able to sate back home, and which her education in necromancy’s demands on her energy had done nothing to improve. And when she’d fixed her father’s hand to her wrist, well…

The stew smelled very, very good; that was all. It made it hard to focus.

If she’d had it her way, she’d have dug into her bowl the moment they were both seated. But the captain wanted to speak first, of course. Fine. Sooner this was over, the sooner she could eat.

“If you didn’t recognize my name, you wouldn't care about my story; it’s not interesting. Here’s me: I’m a skilled necromancer, a less skilled tinker, a practiced anatomist, and an able body, more or less.” Her gloved left hand clenched and unclenched. It made an unpleasant sound, and dribbled a small puddle of clear pinkish fluid onto the table. Something about the bad landing must have damaged it. Or maybe it was down to her leaving the Truth Teller’s aura for the first time in Gods knew how long. Either way, not particularly impressive. New subject.

“Here’s my handiwork.” The ‘bracelet’ wrapped around her left arm wriggled free and clambered down onto the table. It danced a little jig for the captain, then settled down into a loose spiral, wrapping its “legs” neatly around its long, serpentine spine.

“Here’s the medallion.” She set it down on the table, closer to Sinéad than it was to her. At first glance, it was a thick gold disk, bordered with thick, thorny vines woven around scattered bones, and only slightly smeared with whatever Hester’s hand was leaking. At a touch, though, it *clicked* open, revealing black wood and a thin, silver needle, spinning slightly to track something moving quickly away from them.

”‘s a compass. Shows the way to the strongest magical signature in range. If we’re anywhere near the Good Captain, that’s going to be the Truth-Teller. And if it’s not, it’s probably still something worth knowing about.” She made no effort to reclaim the disk.

“And as for the captain…” Here, for the first time, the necromancer’s air of casual fatalism slipped. The heat of the kitchen seemed to fade away; even the smell of the stew grew distant and cold. She tapped the surface of the table, nervously, her left hand leaving small imprints in mixed blood and embalming fluid. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, he’s some kind of fucked-up elf, isn’t he.” After a moment’s pause, during which Solomon King failed to emerge from beneath the floorboards to strike her down, she continued, speaking just above a whisper. “Or used to be. Did all sorts of experiments; he’s…” What was the right word? “... larger, than that, now, I suppose. Not physically; just… Larger. The people he’s got with him–all sorcerers like him; he was who taught us–they worship him like a god. I don’t know what he thinks he is–if he’s bought into it, or if he’s just… using it; dressing for the job he wants–but between the experiments, his studies, and his collection, if it came down to him and most gods, I wouldn’t place bets.” That wasn’t nearly all she had, but she wanted to judge the captain’s reaction before she decided where to go next.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Juniper only just caught the side-eye glance from the saty- from Poppy. They felt a cold, uncomfortable feeling in their chest, something like disappointment, but it only lasted for a moment. 'Well, at least I got her name...'

Their attention shifted to the newcomer, the one offering food. Already, they knew they couldn't turn this down just on the idea of having something other than crumbs to eat for the day, but one glance at him told them that it would likely be unwise to decline regardless. The changeling cautiously reached a hand outwards, taking the offering gently, before speaking. "Are- Excuse me, but are you sure you don't need any as well?" they asked, having taken notice of the tremors in the Al-Ashtavahk's arm, though they wouldn't know to call him as one. This was there first time encountering one of his kind, but at the end of the day, he was a person just as much as Juniper themself was, despite the lack of true physical form.

Awaiting a response, and listening to the rest of the scaled man's proposition, they took an absentminded bite of the small roll of bread. It was stale, hard to get their teeth through. It was likely it had been left out for some time before their gracious hosts had decided to hand it out to their unwilling prisoners. Most importantly, however, it was food. The sorceress reached out and took the little more he had left for Soren and the chained up individual, holding it close to them, but away from the now semi-dry blood in her blouse.

With a nod, Juniper spoke. "You seem like you have a plan. I'm with you, I'll help as I can. I'm sure my...", they glanced to Poppy before continuing, "... acquaintance will help as well. My name is Juniper. Thank you for, well, the help."
 
GHOSTLY

With the Hard Nox well on her way, and what few boarders remained were scrapped off the hull by a few Ciarán trusted with the task. Fen Manor was behind them now, all they had left of them was their money and blood on their hands. They'd had better raids. Less men had been lost for far bigger sums, and he'd certainly left not feeling quite as dirty inside - like the whole world could see him as something else, not the man he wanted to be.

The top deck was quieter than usual, his few petty officers - those who'd survived, issued orders with less zeal. Crewmen nursed minor wounds or performed their duties silently. It was a sad sight. They didn't know what would come next, and neither did Ciarán. He'd need to speak with the captain - but she had seemed to disappear alongside some newcomer, a pale woman he hadn't seen at Fen Manor.

He stepped back down below decks, he'd need to make himself presentable - not only for the captain but also his crew. Maintaining the certainty of routine and discipline was paramount for a crew, especially after a loss such as this. Ciarán was still rather bloody, his vest and shirt a mess and in need of mending when he had the time. He hardly ever had time for such things, even activities like reading and writing had little time over his duties training and maintaining.

For now his priorities were clear - wash up, eat, and see what the captain had for him, if anything. As he came down into the lower decks and closer to his cabin, he encountered Alys, also seemingly kicked out of the clinic. "Hello again, Alys." Ciarán said with his typical friendly smile, although his fatigue bled through a bit.

Alys was one of the good ones, or at least he tended to think so. She had been a nice addition to their crew, a hard worker who'd shown her combat experience and didn't rock the boat. Better than most, and if she had the drive and asked for it Ciarán would've been happy to make her an officer - or whatever Sinead called it when he gave one of the crew more responsibility. The Hard Nox never ceased to amaze him on how it continued to function with such a loose chain of command, and such scoundrels in positions of command.

Nevertheless, Alys' face was one that he was happy to see. "I'm relieved to see you made it back in one piece, how are you handling?" Ciarán asked and looking over the girl and back to her eyes. He could always tell after a battle, the ones who tried the hardest to look unbothered were either insane or shaken the most. Which would she be, he wondered.
 
FANG

Soren-big-man took Leo’s prize with a promise, satisfactory enough given the situation. Leo had never worked with another before, neither as a slave or a prisoner. Inexperience was a feeling Leo had much practice with, and so he left the details to those who knew what they were doing. Soren made his way to his apparent companions while tucking the spoon into hiding, and Leo released an imperceptible amount of tension he didn’t realize he had been holding.

Shuffling steps warned Leo before the cage door opened and one of the undead tossed what counted for a meal to the prisoners. Some flocked to the morsels, others hung back in a dance Leo knew well enough. Chained, however, he couldn’t participate in the festivities. That was not new to him either.

The large shadow that moved toward the prisoners was new. Light filtered through cracks in the hull over the scaled man’s form, casting glimpses to Leo in staccato flashes. How did he miss such an imposing figure? Had he been there the entire time? More importantly, why hadn’t he tried to help Soren and Leo break the chains? Two giants could surely beat a bit of iron.

Leo exhaled sharply, a sigh against the nature of people. The flame in his chest flared, searing at his throat for a brief moment as he watched the lizard-man take his offerings. Though the fires raged Leo did not feel that lust overcome him, the flames bringing a grin to his lips instead of a feral snarl. The blaze came with a need, but that need didn’t match Leo’s other experiences with the hungry flames. He pushed the sensation down with a swallow; it could be dealt with at a later time.

The new, Scaled-big-man offered his prizes to the more emaciated prisoners, those unable to move in their plight, as well as to Soren-big-man’s companions in turn. The horned one took her share, speaking her agreement to whatever plan Scaled-big-man had proffered. The spectacled one did the same, taking Soren’s share and a bit more and offering it to him. Soren-big-man would likely team up with the Scaled-big-man as well, they seemed to share a mindset as much as they did physicality. Leo’s stomach growled audibly, echoing a bit off the ship’s hull as the searing flame bit again at Leo’s throat.

The question was whether Leo’s hunger or the flame’s would be satisfied.
 
UMBRASIGHT

Any other time Nessa would have bucked against Lucien’s grasp, but if that was true then Nessa wouldn’t have been chewing on her shirt in a hallway. So, placidly, Nessa allowed herself to be pulled along on uneven steps, her mind somewhere far distant — or perhaps as close as the taste on her tongue. Sour but sweet. That was fine, that was fine. She hardly responded as she was lead into Lucien’s quarters offering up only a faint grunt as she was pushed down into a chair. Her head however snapped up at the sound of a cork being popped, and a far cleaner smell greeted her nose.

Her gaze did not stray from the glass as Lucien poured, the cloth falling from her lips and landing on her lap in a damp wad. She leaned forward as Lucien approached, scooping up the offered glass. The one she did not give an investigative sniff before she pressed it to her lips and drew a greedy sip. The glass left her lips for just a moment as the smooth iron filled her scratchy throat, and some little voice in the edges of her mind whispered of decorum but it was scarcely heeded as the remainder of the glass vanished in an instant.

“Fuck” her voice croaked as her tongue ran thick against the top of her mouth. She returned the glass to the table, her hand hitting a little heavier than she intended. “‘ve always stolen that fucking apple.” The words slipped out, though if they made any sense to Lucien it didn’t matter.

“This Goddessfucking—“ her teeth snapped as she glowered at the bottle Lucien kept just out of reach. Her breath rattled through her teeth, and she could smell the heaviness in it. She swallowed, but it didn’t do much to dislodge the feeling of a lump in her throat. “Can’t fucking think straight when it’s just—“ Her words stopped again as she squeezed her eyes closed, and the hunger rolled like acid in the pit of her stomach.
 
ILLIRICA

What Hester had to say about the elusive Captain of the Truth Teller was probably more than anyone had heard about him in ages - probably more than anyone knew about him who hadn't been on his ship - and people didn't come back from his ship. In all the rumors from all the ports... never. Not once. That meant the information was probably just as valuable as the compass, depending on who might be interested in buying it. For the time being, Sinéad stayed quiet and listened. She wasn't planning on selling the information yet, though. Being the only one to have it gave her an interesting advantage, and sometimes that was worth more than gold.

So she ate her meal and she listened attentively. Hester seemed half-starved as well, but she was keeping good on her promise of information before starting in on her food. That sort of discipline was good - usually Sinéad had to encourange such things a little, with new crew members.

The girl was a bone-witch, evidently, and blight knew what all else. Enough brain to make a few decisions for herself, but not so much willfulness that she'd done it right away. She was probably a decent prize herself, even if she hadn't realized it. Sinéad would have to see if she could hold on to her - another addition to her menagerie of violence, perhaps. It wasn't like the Hard Nox didn't tend towards an excellent supply of bones just from their general activities.

"How many of these sorcerers are on the ship?" she inquired, at a juncture. "And how much trouble are they likely to be?" She set down her spoon and picked up the medallion, watching the needle carefully. Those wouldn't be simple enchantments, whatever it was that had made this thing. "Where does this come from? Did King or one of his subordinates craft it, or did he just pick it up somewhere?"
 
SOMEGUY500

A job well done, if Fionn could say so himself. The patch was imperfect, but very much serviceable, and more extensive repairs would have to wait until they were on any sort of solid ground. He stood up, collecting his tools save for one chisel, and motioned to head up. "Well then, shipmaster. I suppose we should quit this place, and gather for repast." He himself had little need for such sustenance, but it made for a good chance to meet more of the crew. Rather, more of the crew that he hadn't met as they were carried into the apothecary's, or rather, Emer's clinic. And lest he intrude further on their patience any longer, Fionn hesitated to bother them for directions. He hoped he remembered the way well enough, and left for the mess without another word.

The mess was an apt name to call it, with seating and debris strewn about. Inside were two, already discussing something over their bowls. Making his prescence known by approaching their table, Fionn asked, "Pray forgive mine intrusion, but might either of you know where I might find the captain or any officer of this ship?"
 
GOLDEN

Another corner later, and Alys laid eyes on the exact man she was looking for. Strolling down the hall, a little worse for wear, much like herself, but decent enough to greet her with a polite smile. He was always decent enough to greet most people like they were respected colleagues rather than subordinates.

Sometimes she wondered what the hell he was doing as a Master Gunner abroad the High Nox - not in terms of skill, of course. Skill-wise, Ciarán was among the best, and not just including the miserable souls serving this ship. She was happy to have picked up a thing or two from him, sharpening her own fighting tactics over the last couple of months. No - it was his character that she couldn't quite place her finger on. Where most of the crew was either cruel, narcissistic, or simply psychopathic, he was not. She supposed that everyone had a vice, whether it was coin, or power, or even a sense of belonging. Looking up at him now, at the relaxed smile on his face, Alys wondered what brewed inside.

"Just the man I was looking for," she exclaimed, before answering his question. "I'm peachy keen. Your boy will be fine too - Emer's takin' good care of him. Anyway, have you got anything up top for me?" The faerie asked, moving the hand she had used to soothe her grumbling midsection onto her hip.
 
DELFI

They had formed some kind of group as it turns out, the two pirates, a man in chains, the nobleman and herself. Poppy couldn't afford to be picky, and despite not trusting most of them, she knew what her former enemies were capable of doing. If she had any chance of escaping, it was probably amongst the ones who could put up a fight and hadn't conformed to their situation, like most people around them seemed to have.

She looked past the metal bars, to the two men that guarded the cell. One of them was practically a skeleton, with few bulbs of flesh attached to its bones. The other one was at the early stages of its decomposition, with his eyes whitened by blindness and mouth wide open, with thick saliva dripping out of the corner of his lips. Neither seemed to have a brain so Poppy assumed it was safe to speak, but kept her voice low just in case.

"So… What's the plan?" The satyr asked, breaking the silence. "I assume unchaining this one would be a first step, and then what?"
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Lucien rolled his eyes as Nessa greedily swallowed the drink, practically inhaling the sanguine concoction. She slammed her glass on the table, nonsense spilling forth from her mouth. He’d heard of similar scenarios, the hunger causing some to lose their minds, temporarily or permanently. He had never had an issue sating his hunger, but Nessa clearly was cut from a more restrained cloth. Her gaze was quite clearly locked onto the bottle, and Lucien set his glass up out of her reach as he snatched hers.

“Patience, child.” He snapped. “Too much too quickly and you’ll be sick. And I assure you, if you vomit in my cabin I will force you to clean it before throwing you in a crow cage for the next month.” Lucien kept her in his periphery as he filled her glass again. He wouldn’t put it past her to lunge over the table to try and drink faster than he was providing.

“Knowing your lack of restraint, however, it would not surprise me if you drank the sick itself for any hint of blood remaining.” Lucien sneered at her as he placed the glass in front of her, leaving his hand on it and holding it against the table as he looked in Nessa’s eyes.

“What do you have to say for yourself, fledgeling?”
 
QUIRBLES

As quickly as the tremor had shown itself, a clench of his fist suffocated the tremble in his arm and left it still. Giving a polite smile to the two women, he shook his head in a vaguely dismissive gesture, looking towards the larger fellow that'd come to watch them from afar. He gave a nod of greeting to disarm the man's apparent apprehension as best he could, then turned his attention back to the newly-introduced Poppy and Juniper. "Ah, where are my manners? I am Baron Emryk Vakaan, at your service." A short bow of his head was as much as he afforded the pair, given the circumstances, but he wouldn't compromise upon a polite greeting just because they happened to be prisoners. Uncouth conditions did not facilitate uncouth temperament, no matter how tempting the pull. He gave a brief nod of his horns to the extra food Juniper had picked up, pointing to the bigger man and the chained prisoner across the cell.

"If you could give that food to them, I shall tell you while we eat-- the fine art of conversation can only be helped over the inclusion of a good meal," At that, the Baron gave an apologetic glance to the pittance of food they had all collected for themselves. "Though I do suppose calling that both good and a meal is entirely conjecture." Regardless, it would be the only sustenance they'd receive at least for some time, and it was best to make the most of it. He wouldn't have them planning and enacting said plan upon an empty stomach, trying as their conditions were. If they were lucky, there wouldn't be a retrieval between now and their attempted breakout-- only another food delivery. Luck, however, seemed to be more and more scarce these days. Truthfully, the Baron had nearly lost hope after a month aboard this hellish ship, but he was a stronger man than most. If not in body, then in spirit.

"Now." When they were all situated, he would begin-- preferably near the chained one, so he could listen in as well. "The workings of Solomon's ship are, in my observations, enigmatic. However, they are also like clockwork. At the same time each day, an undead comes down at two intervals. Noon, and dusk-- based on the light we have when it comes, at least." He gestured with a nod towards the guards outside the cage. "Those two are here all the time. The outlier is, of course, the robed ones-- different almost each time, and they always come to take someone with them. Now, the first order of business would indeed be to free your chained friend over there," Emryk spoke, gesturing to the aforementioned prisoner with a hand as he knelt. "But what comes after is entirely dependent upon our confidence."

Closing his eyes, the Baron gave a hefty sigh, and pinched the bridge of his snout. "The way I see it, we have two main options of getting out beyond this cell." At that, the Baron held up a finger. "Option one-- we wait for the undead with food to arrive and open the cell. When he opens it, we rush him-- preferably when he still has the pack of food, and isn't entirely able to defend himself at a moment's notice. We try and shut the door to block the other two from entering, and deal with the one inside. From there, we take its key, open the door again, and then deal with the other two-- maybe one-by-one, or simply through the bars of the cage." Then, after a brief pause, he set a palm flat upon the ground and looked around at the rest of the group. "Option two-- we take down one of his students when they come to collect, and one of us poses as them to walk around the ship and find a way off. I'm less confident in dealing with an intelligent and alive magic user, but-- so long as we get the drop on them, we should have an advantage through numbers alone. That goes for either case. This spell has weakened us, yes, but it hasn't made us any lighter. I'd say you and I dogpiling on a weak little novice mage or undead could be enough through sheer weight alone-- not just strength. And that's not even considering the others."

Emryk's gaze went to the larger fellow, at that. "We let our mass do the work for us. It's imperative that we don't try and fight these folk on the basis of mere combat. We outsmart them, we surprise them, we immobilize them."
 
UMBRASIGHT

“Like you could keep me in a cage.” Nessa muttered, though the words were spiritless and their passage followed quickly by silence. Desperation didn’t send her diving across the table, though, despite her closed eyes her head tilted to follow the bottle Lucien held. They were always like that, watching her to keep their food safe, judging her.

Nessa pulled a breath in, held it for a few moments before letting it go. No, he wasn’t the merchant, so she couldn’t simply take. This hunger, it only dulled at its edges but weren’t blades that had gone blunt far more dangerous to the one that held them? A frivolous thought. Nessa opened her eyes as Lucien placed her cup back down. So dark it was almost black. It took an effort to lift her head, but she was silent still. She attempted to pull together what dignity she could, but she didn’t have much more than scraps of it to her name, a bit like that wad of her shirt resting in her lap.

“I didn’t tear the throat of that vila.” Nessa said, an attempt at a defiant tone sabotaged by a heavy tongue and a gaze the kept trying to drift down to the tabletop no matter how she tried to meet Lucien’s gaze.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Juniper nodded solemnly, clutching the morsels of food in their hand before turning to walk over to Soren, checking back to see the other two following to sit near the chained man. On approach, between bites, they held out the offering to her larger compatriot, nodding her head back to Emryk as they did so. "He helped us out, and seems like he has a plan. I say we hear him out, gather our strength, and wait for a good time. Take this," they said, dropping the bit of bread into his much larger hands, " I'm going to go check on him and help him to eat a bit." With that, they made their way to Leo.

As the other three settled nearby to listen to Emryk speak, Juniper was standing beside the chained man. "I know this might be embarrassing, but you'll need some nourishment too, if we're going to get out of here. Eat." They held the morsel up to his face, otherwise focused on their new associates strategy.

Once he had finished speaking, the changeling nodded. "It seems sound to me. The only problem is everyone else beyond the small area we can see in front of us. We're outnumbered heavily, and Poppy and I are exhausted. No magic coming from us for a while, not anything worth using. And even if it does work, where do we go from there? I'm not even sure which direction we've left Fen Manor from, much less how far we've traveled. I don't know how quick the Truth Teller is."
 
FANG

As the others moved closer the one with glasses gave Soren a portion of the extra spoils they had procured and moved to Leo with an outstretched hand and the command to eat. Leo carefully grabbed a bit of the stale, crumbling bread between his teeth while keeping his eyes on the strange gathering of similar minded stock.

He chewed slowly, his growling belly less important than the growling tone of the horned one called Emryk, the larger of the horned ones and match to Soren in mass at least. Though the flame burned Leo imagined Emryk’s options, grunting affirmatively at the mention of his release and remaining silent through the rest. Finally, after the options were explained and the bread eaten the bespectacled one who brought him food spoke.

They spoke of the numbers that had foiled Leo’s attack against Solomon King and the speed of the ship, irrelevant in Leo’s mind but of some apparent importance to at least the three new arrivals. Leo nodded at their warnings, having already spoken similar words to Soren.

“The dead are many,” Leo echoed as he chewed a stray crumb absentmindedly. He paused a moment, looking to each of the collaborators in turn. “Fighting all dead will be hard. They do not fall easily or for long.” His eyes met Emryk’s for a moment, and another pause was necessary to quell the flame within. “You are weak, hungry and a shadow. Soren, also less powered than he thinks of himself.” Leo met eyes with Soren as well, giving pause too short for denial but long enough for consideration.

“Leo knows how to scrub floors and how to kill, but killing a dozen dead is as hard as killing a score of living, and many beyond that would hinder a group escape.” He had been privy to many an escape plan before, some subtle some audacious. He knew what was needed. “Taking a robed one seems the best choice, but also with problems.” He looked to Soren and Emryk back and forth. “Unless you have spotted a giant one walking about neither of you are capable of pretending to be of their kind. The one with glasses is injured, though they seek to hide it. They probably have damage inside and would die if caught.” Leo had seen broken bones and bruised organs leave many strong warriors in the grave, had inflicted those wounds himself. Leo looked over to the one with glasses, again giving time to consider but no time to make denial.

“And unless your crushing victim has hooves the little horned one cannot play at being a robed one. Besides, they have not killed and would be helpless if caught.” Leo gave the satyr a stare as well, debating upon revealing all that he saw. The flames threatened to steal his voice, their fanning blaze licking his tongue in their metallic taste as they called not for blood, but something else made closer by Leo’s words.

“I am all that is left, stupid and chained, but resigned to the task. Free me, first. Then we can take one of the robes and I will find escape.” And kill Solomon King.
 
PAPERBAG FILL

Soren's eyes watched the scene unfold as everyone began gathering their wits, bringing their two silver pennies to the discussion. The Baron talked too much with extra words and too friendly. Either the lizard was being too friendly or been trained that way, either through occupation or upbringing. Soren kept listening even as his attention turned away from the lizard and towards the shapechanger. Juniper. Soren outstretched one hand and accepted the bread. He did not eat any of it, only held it. He registered Juniper's words, but a small flare of disappointment followed inside of his chest. So calm and reasonable now, but if she had not expended her magic earlier, if she had remained disciplined.

No matter, it was in the past. His expressions showed no signs of changing nor his emotion before his gaze cast itself back on the lizard. His arms crossed as he held the bread. At that time, the lizard found its gaze upon the Jotunn as well. The giant stared down the horned lizard man before moving his arms.

And *snapping* the bread in his hands in half before handing the larger half over to the lizard.

"Eat."

No soldier starved on his watch. Not when a plan of attack required all of them to work in conjunction with one another. Soren's eye flicked to the side as he watched Juniper speak, then Leo. The two kept bringing up the same points. Too many, too outnumbered, too weak. That they were lost and held little means or chances of surviving, of escaping. These were all foolish thoughts. No worthy of people trying to reclaim their freedom.

But the detail that caught most was Leo's detail of Juniper. How severe were the shapechanger's wounds? He had no clue. Not good. His eyes narrowed before he began to walk over next to Juniper. He turned around slightly while his gaze peered over his shoulder, looking at the satyr and lizardman. His gaze even looked to peer at the Soren would voice his say before tending to his ally.

"All these questions serve to do nothing but instill doubt in each of you. We will know more only once we take action. No sooner, no later."

A deep groan echoed within his chest. His face hardened as he looked at them all.

"If the robed ones indeed use magic, it means they must have a way to bypass this weakness placed upon us. They are the only worthwhile target to risk our lives on, if only to discover their secret. Whether we attack soon or attack later matters little, but--if we wish to leave this ship swiftly--the best opportunity is when this ship raids a town once more. They will lower lines over the sides of the ship."

His head nods at this before slowly sweeping his gaze across them all.

"We can run and slide down and get as far as possible. They will be too busy with other matters to deal with us. We should wait until the time is right. If they do not raid soon, then we must consider attacking earlier."

What they did with that information is irrelevant right now. Soren had other pressing matters to deal with. His gaze sharply turned to Juniper.

"What is this I hear about injury? What did the satyr do to you?"

Leo could very well be off the mark, but it was better to check than be sorry. No one escaped that battle unscathed, and he doubted Juniper did when she had been tied down by the satyr. So what was the damage, if any, and what could be done about it?
 
ANNASIEL

Emer glanced up from Torrel. The bandages around the vila's throat were already pinkening, though they weren't soaked through as the rags had been. She paused - as if considering the offer - then shook her head.

"I've done what I could, I'm afraid. Whether or not they live is in the sky's hands, now."

Breathing a deep sigh, she rinsed off her hands, then walked to a chair in the room's corner. The moment she was beside it, she sat down hard, body slumping. It was tiresome, pulling a body from the brink, and not just for the magic. There was a mental exhaustion there. A responsibility, of sorts, that made as much of a burden as the work itself.

"I heard Soren and Juniper didn't make it back," she finally said, voice low. Solemn. "I suppose they're in the sky's hands now as well. Do you know what happened? I haven't heard much of the storm that came, except for that things blew southward."
 
PAPERWORK

"There were some ruins up in the north, on one of the smaller islands. He took the Truth Teller out there one winter. Refused to let any of the rest of us go, but took three big wights down with him--you know, the kind that can almost think on their own on a good moon; you find them guarding old barrows sometimes, if you're unlucky." She shrugged; there were bad memories there of crawling into dark, cramped tunnels after small digging constructs, hoping that her sense of death would be enough to tell whether anything was waiting for her on the other side.

"Took half a year each to make; they're not worth the hassle, you ask me. Anyway, he comes back--untouched, obviously, not so much as a tear in his coat--but of the wights, all that's left is an arm, which he's carrying with him. And the hand attached to that arm's clutching that compass, s’well as an old map. And he seems pleased with that, as if he'd been expecting exactly that outcome." She kept walking up to the edge of another insult, only to dance back away from it. That was something she'd need to get over, fast. But now probably wasn't the time to work on it; the captain no doubt had a low enough opinion of her as it was.

"Once he decided it was safe, we spent the next couple weeks figuring out how it worked--maximum range, margin of error, how close a thing has to be before the compass starts ignoring it, all that--and then we take it on a few test expeditions, and gather up more souls for what he's saying will be our biggest expedition. But it wasn't the compass he'd really been after; it was the map. One day, he shows it to us--just long enough to get a glimpse, not a proper look--and says,” she put on her best Solomon King impression, low and gravelly and completely off the mark, “'finally, we have what we need to begin the Great Work,' or something like that. Would have taken it, too, but he keeps it on him at all hours. That was about three years ago."

It was only at the end of that particular anecdote that she realized how much she was talking--more than she'd said in entire years aboard King's ship, most like, if you didn't count "aye," "yes captain," and various necromantic invocations. Her voice was getting hoarse. Still, it wasn't like any of it was information she had any interest in withholding, was it? She hadn't said anything about the hand–nor would she, unless asked directly. That and the book were the only things she had any interest in keeping for herself.

"As for the sorcerers... Eleven of ‘em, now I'm gone. Each at least as good as me; some better. All of them’re necromancers, but some can do other things as well. He tends to keep us--them--out of harm's way, when he can; feeds them well, gives them quarters you'd normally expect to see saved for an officer, and teaches them things nobody else could--or would, at least. They’re fanatics. Never heard a bad word about him on that ship. Like I said, they think he's a god. They--we--performed his rituals; we raised his corpses, sacrificed his prisoners, did his dirty work in port when he was too busy or, um, too paranoid to step in himself. His face is sewn into their souls." Her voice dropped to a low mumble. "Bet a couple of them would’ve bathed him, too, if he’d asked, the way they talk about his ‘holy body’ sometimes. If you ask me–" She opened her mouth to continue, but at that moment there was an interruption.

“Don’t mind me; not as if we were in the middle of anything important,” she mumbled, taking the intrusion as an excuse to dig into her soup.
 
DELFI

So the nobleman did have a plan, afterall. Poppy listened carefully as he listed what he'd gathered about their prison so far. He didn't mention for how long he'd been stuck there, but she figured it was probably long enough to break Poppy's spirit if she'd been the one to go through it. The more he spoke however, the more confident Poppy became that his plan would work, until Juniper intervened, by adding some well thought out and very valid concerns. It wasn't only the two of them who didn't have enough strength to fight the many undead they'd certainly find up there, but her friend still had an arrow stuck on his shoulder and another on the side of his knee, not to mention all the cuts made by her thorns.

When it was the young man in chains' turn to speak, Poppy wasn't expecting him to add anything of value, but was surprised by how observant he was, despite his language limitations. She looked at him a while longer. There was some innocence in his eyes, even though he was a self proclaimed killer. Leo was definitely a suiting name for such a wild creature.

Soren was also right. If they did by some miracle managed to escape, they'd still be miles above ground, and none of them had wings. Waiting for the ship to get closer to the ground seemed like a good idea, but how long would it take? And what happened if a hooded figure came down and claimed for one of them before the 'time was right'?

Her head was beginning to hurt, and she didn't have much to add to the conversation in regards to strategy. She could help, in a way.

"I don't know how long it'll take, but I can heal you a little faster." She said, to both Soren and Juniper. "It's an energy transfer. It'd take only a minute, if I had full control of my magic. But if Leo and the Baron are willing to give away some of their strength, it could accelerate the speed in which your cells can heal. That should at least get us ready for when the opportunity comes."
 
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