Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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PAPERWORK

"Lovely," she muttered, walking around the circle and nudging Cecil's extremities back into the circle with her boot.

"Um, no, not exactly. I've got something that kills people already." No point going for numbers over quality against King. "I need this for curses--which'll be in the nails--and then something to deliver them with. You know where Death tends to accumulate in the body, then?" The bone bracer around her left arm uncurled back into its full many-legged glory, then hopped lightly down from her arm to the bowl of nails.
 
DELFI

Caleb watched her every move carefully. She seemed to be comfortable on the Hard Nox already, more focused on her corpse than the quartermaster.

"Enlighten me." He answered, crunching down across from her as he watched her work. He didn't know shit about necromancy, but he was willing to help in anyway he could. And to extract information while at it. "What curses do you plan on using? Did you learn it from King?"
 
PAPERWORK

"If you don't know, then why--" She sighed, stifling her annoyance. Inopportune time for an interrogation, but the sooner it was done, the sooner she could get on with her work. The centipede construct clicked back and forth a few steps as Hester paced back around to the other side of the corpse; then, under her direction, it grabbed a nail out of the bowl and danced over to the corpse's head.

"Yes, alright. Head and heart are the best places to start. Some books'll say you need to put it dead center on the forehead, but that's just symbolism; you can get away with ignoring it if your materials are damaged."

Crack. One nail down. It retrieved a second nail from the bowl, and gently slid it into the corpse's chest.

"Then you want the hands and feet. If your project died by hanging, and you know what it was hanged for, you can make the hands into a variety of useful things. If you've seen a gibbeted corpse without its boots on, you've seen why the feet are important. Either way," she paused. Four more wet cracking sounds. "Then the joints. Shoulders, knees, elbows, wrists, hips, neck, ankles. Only need eight to accelerate decay, but we want more than that for the other part." Hester watched the corpse as her construct hopped between it and the bowl, apparently unbothered by the sounds or the smells.

"Which is to say, um..." She blinked for the first time in a while, her expression turning properly sour as she considered the floor. "No, I didn't learn this curse from the Good Captain. Not directly, anyway. He's got an enchantment that suppresses magic set up in the brig; I worked it out backwards from that. If one of these gets into a cultist, it should block them up until they dig it out. That's what the construct'll be for. Small enough to pass underfoot unseen, but strong enough to get a nail through a boot." She shrugged. "That's the idea, anyway. Might all be dead before I have a chance to try it. Going after him this soon after a battle is suicidally stupid, if you ask me. Not that anyone has."
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Lucien had continued the back and forth with Nessa for a little longer, the girl’s gnawing hunger replaced with a slight intoxication as before he had guided her out. The Captain had met with him afterward, filling him in on her plan. He had not noticed the oaf and flame-wielder missing, having little need of encountering the ship’s cook. He passed along what he had seen of Nessa’s previous condition, not out of worry, but of a sort of duty. The Captain liked to know what happened on her ship.

--------------------

Lucien had slept, or at least slept as much as one with his affliction could. The rest had done some good though, the blackened skin mostly healed, only slightly tender to the touch. It could hold a weapon and, more importantly, it could tear a throat. A cloud hung over the ship, one that darkened as the day wore on. Going after the Truth Teller so soon after another raid seemed like a fool’s errand to most. To Lucien it seemed like a chance to properly let loose. None needed to survive on King’s ship. They were already dead, after all.

He slipped through the ship like a phantom, haunting its halls. Those who saw him and were not wrapped in their own heads shrunk away from him, warned to stay away from the Captain’s attack dog when battle was on the horizon. Lucien found her shortly after she had left Emer’s clinic, her steely-eyed gaze prepared for the night to come. He offered a smirk, and a slight tilt of the head.

“I trust that Solomon King is off-limits, my Captain?”
 
ILLIRICA

Ah, Lucien. He was showing remarkable restraint this morning, Sinéad thought - of course, he could be like that, when he chose to be. His question was direct and to the point, yet as an arrow it missed its mark.

"Why would he be? Kill him if you can take him. He's not the priority, but I'll not stop anyone from putting him down out of some foolish sense of pride." She didn't stop walking, but a gesture suggested Lucien accompany her, heading up from the underbelly of the ships to the decks above, feeling the cold air's kiss on her cheek. Making the killing of someone personal meant being willing to risk everything - not only herself, but whichever crew were expected to turn away from the fight, and stemming all too easily from that, her ship, her captaincy. People weren't inclined to follow those who made foolish decisions for long. Sinéad might have been vicious, but she tried not to be a fool.

Dead was dead, at the end of the day. It didn't particularly matter who had stuck the blade in. She moved about the deck with the steadiness of long practice, at ease with the sway of the winds. Sinéad wanted to make sure everything was prepared - the grapples were loaded, their chains coiled at the ready. Wicked barbed things the size of a man's head - she'd seen them punch through a ship's hull before, but she didn't think she'd be trying that. Better to fire high and snag on the deck than risk them being turned away by whatever enchantments King might have put on his ship. Such things weren't common, but he had access to more magic than most.

That, and if they went in from the bottom and it all went badly, they'd be trapped like crabs in a bucket.

"How's your hand?" A question more of tactics than kindness - if he was going to be favoring it, she needed to know that and account for it.
 
DELFI

She wasn't faking it very well, was she? With a side smirk, Poppy accepted the other half of Juniper's bread roll, taking a big bite out of it. It didn't take long for the food to disappear, and Poppy was still hungry. She hoped it wouldn't take long for dinner to arrive.

"Why do you do it?" She asked bluntly. "Is it fun? To ruin people's lives?"

There wasn't sarcasm in her tone, but genuine curiosity. After getting to know Juniper a little better, she had a hard time believing they were the same person who burned down her town. She couldn't forget what she'd seen, but she'd also seen kindness, and felt goodness in her.


***

Hester's habit of referring to King as the 'Good Captain' hadn't gone unnoticed. She didn't say it ironically, but it didn't sound like admiration either. More like something she'd gotten used to.

"Why supress magic in the brig? What's in there?" The fairy asked, letting out a chuckle after listening to the necromancer's opinion. "Sineád wouldn't mind killing herself and her entire crew if it gets her close to what she wants. But no matter how many men we lose, she always comes back." There was resentment there, perhaps more than Caleb would care to let out. It was a dangerous thing, to openly criticize the captain.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

The comment from Poppy was a scathing one, fired off quickly without giving the sorceress time to process what was happening. Juniper felt a twinge in their chest, and their expression shifted slightly, though they choked it down expertly. The feeling of guilt and remorse hardly had time to touch their face. They were a changeling, after all. They had been lying, knowingly or not, their entire life, wearing a mask, hiding how they felt and who they were. How as this any different? And yet, they felt compelled to at least speak honestly, if not act it.

"Not particularly, no," they responded, shifting their gaze away from the satyr to outside the cell. Their mind wandered for a bit, wondering on the best way to make it clear to Poppy what they felt in those moments. Did a soldier enjoy battle, did he enjoy killing other men? Does an executioner enjoy her grim work, taking the lives of scores of people on the command of a single individual? Both times, with both thoughts, the changeling went to speak, but stopped, the words dying in their throat. It wasn't right, it didn't describe the feeling.

"I... There was a little girl. When we first got there. Her and her dad? I think, anyways. They were bringing in their taxes, I guess, I don't know why they were there, that's not the point." They weren't sure why they started talking, why this story. Maybe it had been building up, and they needed to get it out. They certainly never got the chance to do this on the Nox. "Her dad or whatever had gotten hurt, in the initial scuffle. I didn't see it, so I don't know how, but she was yelling at us, telling us to leave. I-"

They stopped, feeling their throat almost closing up. It was fresh in their mind, the memory that followed. It made them grit their teeth and clench their fists. They felt the heat rising within as they recounted the story, but it was different now, so far removed from the events.

They continued.

"I wanted to get them out of there. She was only five years old. I had her in my arms, I was going to get her out of the way before something bad happened." Tears were welling in their eyes now. They pulled their glasses out of the way and pressed their eyes against their sleeve as they spoke. "A stray bullet hit her. I held her as she was dying, and I couldn't do anything. One of the others, a vampire, he... Finished what was left of her. While I watched. And I..." their voice trailing off, they raised their free hand, the one not holding their fractured spectacles, and snapped their fingers, producing just a small spark, all they were capable of in this cell. Their voice was hoarse now, though they mostly held the tears back.

No more words came from Juniper after.
 
PAPERWORK

If Hester recognized how much of a risk they were taking by questioning the captain's choices behind her back, it didn't show on her face. "Suppose there's virtue in that. So long as you've got the bodies. Does she lose men often, then?"

Oh--he'd asked a question as well. "Brig's for prisoners," she said, pacing around the corpse, occasionally nudging it lightly with her foot to get a better look at her construct's handiwork. "He keeps a supply of them for longer voyages. Do you have something to block up your nose?" She took a few steps back from the corpse; it was ready for decomposition.
 
DELFI

Poppy rested her hand on Juniper's shoulder, providing comfort. The spiteful side of her knew she shouldn't sympathize with them, but the druid had seen injustice, had done things she wasn't proud of and found a way out of it. Juniper could do it too. But if she stopped to be honest with herself, above all, Poppy didn't want to be alone. Not again.

"You don't have to keep doing this." The satyr said, staring through the cracked lens. She spoke quietly, intimately. "After we escape… You should come with me. You can find an honest job, start over. I'll help you."

Suddenly, Poppy felt ashamed. What if they refused? It was too late to go back now, the offer was on the table. She looked back at Juniper, eager for an answer.

***

Caleb pinched his nose, and Hester didn't have to ask twice. The cabin was stinky enough as it was, he'd probably get sick if he smelled anything worse.

"What are the prisoners for? Doesn't he like 'em dead?" He asked, straight to the point. It seemed odd for a ship sailed by zombies to keep live prisoners. He purposefully ignored her question about if they lost men often, as he was the one doing the questioning, even if it was disguised as conversation. Soren and Juniper might still be alive. He didn't feel a particular way about any of them, but if they were alive and able, it'd be helpful to have men on the inside. They were right under the brig, afterall.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

They froze upon feeling the hand on their shoulder, the words of comfort unexpected but appreciated, more than they would be able to say at the time. Pulling their knees up to their chest in silence, they wrapped their arms around their legs, and set their forehead upon their knees.

Freedom? No, not freedom, escape was a better word. An escape, from their current situation, a chance to do good, a chance to change fate. It was too good to be true, and in that moment, they almost, almost took it, mind reaching out towards that light of freedom and peace longingly, aching for the release. But just as the fingertips of their mind brushed that warm, kind, gentle light, an image flashed from within it. A face, the face of their mother... Their adoptive mother, the one who never realized her child had been replaced. Her face, frozen in fear, as she came down the stairs to an uncontrolled flame. The last face she ever made.

Darkness and shadow overtook that welcoming, peaceful light in a moment, and Juniper reminded themself of their fate, of their charge, of their punishment. With a shake of the head, they spoke. "I don't- I can't. I'm sorry. I want too, but... I can't be anywhere else. Not like I am. I'll just... Hurt more people, people who trust me, if I do. This way, at least everyone knows the danger when I'm around. It's better that way."

The changeling declined, speaking quietly, voice still haggard from the swell of emotion that had overtaken them. Deep down, however, beneath their pain and regret and want to do better, hiding deep down in that darkness, was the flame, burning, flickering, waiting once more for fuel. The fire within them wanted to be let free, it wanted to destroy, to burn, to annihilate. There was no better situation for it than here, and that deep, dark, fundamental part of the sorceress held the rest of them hostage aboard the Hard Nox, their punishment for their sin of enjoying the destruction they wrought before and again, and again, and again, since. Juniper's hands clenched, one balling the fabric of their clothes, the other holding their glasses, both shaking in this anguish and rage.
 
PAPERWORK

Hester eyed his pinched nose, critically. "If you're sure. But if you vomit you're going to owe me lunch; I've got a sympathetic stomach. One moment, please."

She took a seat across from the corpse, crossed her legs, and closed her eyes. There was a moment of silence. Then, without any lights or sounds to herald the spell's beginning, the shape of the corpse in front of her began to change. The skin slumped; the flesh spread out where it met the floor; the teeth, nails and hair seemed to lengthen as the fingers and scalp melted down to bone. Soon, all that was left was a puddle of gore spreading out to meet the edges of the circle, and a perfectly clean skeleton. The room, having just experienced years of decay in about ten seconds, smelled exactly like one would expect it to. Hester was used to it, and it still took her a moment or two to acclimatize. Hopefully the second mate (she was pretty sure that was what he was supposed to be) hadn't overestimated himself.

"Right," she said, her eyes still firmly shut against the smell. She was a little short of breath. "You wanted to know about the prisoners? Just keeps them around for their souls. Needs them for the engine. And the invisibility spell. That's it."
 
DELFI

Any attraction Caleb felt for Hester was gone, for he'd forever associate her to that smell. The quartermaster held his breath for as long as he could, enough to listen to her final words, until the podrid smell invaded his nostrils.

He was going to be sick.

Caleb stood up abruptly, running from the room. For his (and Hester, Nessa and Alys') luck, there was a barrel nearby, and that's where he let it all out. After he was finished, he knew exactly what had to be done.

He spotted Sinead and her stray the second he stepped foot on the deck.

"Captain," he called, announcing his presence before approaching and speaking. "Prisoners power the ship. We get them out, and the Truth Teller will lose it's main asset of defense."
 
PAPERBAG FILL

Soren did not feel or hear the breath of the prisoner nor did he hear the movement of the chain upon the ground or in the prisoner's hand. For what may have been once a warrior easily awakened at the slightest sound or movement, now his injuries and wounds have rendered him into such a deep sleep, one that hindered his senses and mind. No, it was when the length of the chain slid across the ground as Leo leaned closer, as his hands made to move to grab the shafts of the arrows. The cool metal touched upon Soren's frame. His entire body wracked with wounds and pain. The slightest touch immediately sent his eyes open and the clawing feeling up his spine that someone hung over him sent more than a chill down his spine. Tension wracked his frame, pulling sore and torn sinews of muscle into knots. The feeling of hands near and on his person clouded his feverish mind with a rage. In a moment, everything melted away into one singular focus. He recognized no one and nothing, all surroundings become foreign in that moment. Only one thought remained constant, a single reality.

Kill.

Soren's entire body shifted and his arm struck out in a flash--body pushing through the sore pain only on instinct and hate--to close his fingers around and into the assailant's throat, to feel the flesh and muscle give under a constricting vice. A burning desire sent all of his strength into that one arm even as his shoulder burned with the shifting of his shoulder and the arrow impaled within. His entire body wracked with freezing cold and burning fire throughout his body, but his mind held only a fever both sick and rageful, burning him up and sending his entire body sweating.

His eyes cold yet frightening, not afraid to attempt to end another life before him. No, his very soul fell into an ice so cold it burned. And the same sensation could nearly be felt around around Leo's neck if he did not scramble out of the way in time. Because if he did not, the prisoner would find it very hard to breath. This was nothing short of betrayal, one Soren would not tolerate. Even if it meant death upon the last of his strength, Soren would end it on his terms. The terms would be crushing the life out of this fool who dared approach him in his sleep.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill all of you!"

His voice roared, hoarse and cracked with dryness and affliction, as his lungs burned with each breath. His one good leg fought to get him up while the other could only limply move to try and help. Soren only sought to move closer and over Leo, bring the full weight of his body to bear on this tiny man. His shoulder burned and his other arm, shoulder unhindered, sought to aid in the attempt to choke Leo's throat.

A coldness in his veins, muscles, and bones started to filter into and over Soren's body. Not because of his own power as fatigue began to quickly build in him again. No amount of adrenaline would prove to be the cure to his ailments. Only the kick needed to perform this one act with such brute force and animalistic ferocity.
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

"Of course. I simply thought that, if the moment came to it, you wanted to be the one to end him. For bragging rights." Lucien followed the Captain as she left, falling a half step behind and another to the right of Sinead, heading with her towards the deck. The Captain had a vicious streak in her much longer than a mile, and Lucien would not have been surprised if she wanted to be the one who ended King's miserable life. If his skill was half as great as the rumors, that probably would not be his first death, nor his last. He stepped onto the deck, scanning the various crewmates.

The atmosphere was dark, barely recognizable as the same crew who had been eager to launch themselves from the ship for a raid. For once, Lucien did not blame them for their fear, although they could have hid it better. The Captain was making her rounds, ensuring all was ready. Lucien followed, a lazy eye tracing along the preparations. He flexed his hand at her question, giving her a brief nod.

"It shall suffice. Rest assured, it will not slow me down." Lucien stated matter-of-factly, flashing his balm before stowing his hand once more. "All fair game, this time? I know I cannot taunt them this time, but I can more than make up for that in quantity." He flashed his fangs out of habit, turning at the new voice, merely raising an eye at the fairy's revelation.
 
FANG

Rolling had been a good choice, though Leo hardly had time to register his fortune as the behemoth roared to life in front of him and swing his massive hand toward Leo’s throat. The momentum of Leo’s maneuver saved him, but only slightly as the clammy mitt of his opponent wrapped like a steel vice around his right arm, squeezing the iron chain into his flesh with a slight crunch.

Leo’s lips twisted into a vicious grin as Soren declared his killing intent. The fire in Leo’s chest rose dramatically until he felt nothing but it’s searing heat in his mind, all thought of pain and planning lost to the moment of combat as familiar to Leo as a favored blanket.

He released his grip on the chain looped about his arm, loosening it slightly despite the giant’s death grip on both link and flesh beneath. Before his prize was lost Leo tucked the arrow he had managed to steal from Soren’s knee into the waist of his pants and pushed against the mass of his attacker with both legs and his free arm, the chain against his skin threatening to tear his arm at the motion even as it slipped away and he found his momentary freedom. Instinct called for Leo to duck just as Soren’s other hand whipped about, seeking again the smaller man’s throat.

Without thought Leo recognized the slight slowing of Soren’s movements, dodging back to the right to avoid a blow that had not come, and back into the man’s side with his whole body, hoping to knock him off balance and into the wall of the cage. Soren’s injuries had already taken their toll, and Leo needed only wait for his mind to catch up to the reality of his battered frame. ”I couldn’t have asked for a better show,” Leo thought silently as he prepared himself for Soren’s next move.
 
ANNASIEL

Emer didn't immediately respond. She put a hand on the girl's shoulder - paused - then drew her into a hug, pulling her head against her shoulder. After a few seconds, she moved away, hand still resting on her.

"Don't. Do we blame the rain for falling when we pray for drought to end?"

Her face was gentle, warm, her words quiet.

"I shouldn't have asked for your help. My mind slipped in the moment, and by the time I had recognized your anguish, you had already stayed for far too long." She let her hand fall. "I wanted to let you know I'm not upset. If anything, I'm proud of you. You recognized your cravings, and left of your own accord."

Her expression darkened a little.

"I was told Lucien spoke with you after. What did he say, if I might ask?"
 
UMBRASIGHT

It was a little odd, wasn’t it. It wasn’t like she’d never been hugged, she was a girl once, but it wasn’t like people were exactly lining up to get one from her. Maybe they just didn’t like the idea of putting a blood sucker next to their neck, which was reasonable enough. This was nice though, warm, smelled a little like tea. The hug caught her off guard, but Nessa made no move to pull away until Emer had released her from the embrace. Though a prickling heat did linger in her ears as Emer spoke.

“Oh, that’s, thank you,” Nessa said, running her fingers along her shoulder as Emer’s hand fell away. “Lucien? That’s…”

Nessa’s expression soured as the momentary shock was chased away.

“You can either feed or fall apart around blood, ain’t another option,” Nessa said, crinkling her nose. “Don’t think I’ll have the Goddess’ favor long acting that way.” She added with a mutter. She frowned, and shook her head.

“Also asked if I had any plans after I, well, he was a right ass about it but it was fair enough. Didn’t have any plans for dealing with the uh, that hunger other than chew on my shirt. Caleb’s blood isn’t bad, though, I think he needs more greens in his diet.
 
ANNASIEL

"Mhm," Emer replied, looking thoughtful. "I can't say I know much of your predicament, but I can imagine how difficult it must be."

Her eyes drifted behind Nessa, lip curling, hands folding beneath her shawl.

"I would fear Lucien's desire for you to feed has ulterior motives. I do not trust that man, or his intentions with you. He has little regard for mortal life."

She shifted her gaze back to Nessa.

"Is there a way to feed without causing harm? Without - killing, or passing on your condition?"
 
UMBRASIGHT

“Never can read what he’s thinking, like some old hound waiting for slack on the leash. Not looking to get tangled around in all that.” Nessa said, her brow furrowed and her frown lingering. Her fingers trailed along her shoulder until they brushed against two faint knots of scar tissue. Perhaps they’d fade someday, but Nessa couldn’t quite shake the feeling she’d forget the taste of her mother’s cooking long before that would come to pass. Her focus returned to Emer after a moment.

“It’s…” Nessa’s lips pursed as she contemplated. “Problems in my veins not my teeth, though always possible I might nick my lip on a tooth.” She added with a laugh. She traced the scars, fingers moving as if she could brush them away.

“One that, ah… bit me, cut his thumb and made me drink.” Nessa said, nose wrinkling. ”Tasted like mud
 
ANNASIEL

"I see," Emer continued, voice growing quieter.

"I have a root, the juice of which excites the body with blood. Its - typical medicinal use is in keeping warmth when injuries are grievous, but -" Emer frowned. "I believe it would be useful in undoing that which is taken from your feeding."

She held out one of her arms, pressing a finger to the underside near the elbow.

"Were I to make an incision here, I would be able to draw a sizeable amount of blood without risk or damage to my body. Easily mended. It would be a gift freely given, no violence, no harming those who do not wish it. Safe."

Her gaze turned sharp, eyes focusing on Nessa's, hand once more reaching out to rest on her shoulder.

"I will not force you to do anything you don't wish to do. If you feel you are able to hold off on your cravings, I respect that. I admire that. But if you cannot - there are ways to help you that won't weigh heavy on your heart."
 
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