Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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ILLIRICA

"Never." The answer was instant, bold in the face of danger. "I've seen how you treat your underlings, Sol." An impertinent nickname, but Sinéad was nothing if not impertinent. If she allied herself with Solomon king, she'd be feeding them all to his machine - either as robed casters for his whims or as pallid corpse-slaves to wait upon his wants, serving tea in little cups that memorialized the only people she knew of who might have been more horrid than he was.

"How about a counter offer? You let me and mine and anyone who wants to walk leave here, with the treasure pile that should have been ours, and we won't have to find out if there's enough left of your shriveled heart to fill one of those fancy teacups?"
 
UMBRASIGHT

What in the fuck, how had ‘distract a guy while I pick his pockets’ gone awry?

Nessa’s advance stalled a moment next to a stack of books that rested on the top of some piece of fine furniture and a chest whose side had been split open spilling its shiny innards which dribbled down the side and onto the floor. She drew a throwing knife as the table crashed down, she might be able to get one good throw in before Sunéad and the treasure she aimed to steal were united in a fully visceral way. Was that tea set some specific insult to Sinéad?

No, it wasn’t worth the distraction right now. She wouldn’t be unraveling the secrets of the captain’s mind over a flipped table and expensive broken tea set, and it wouldn’t help their chances of survival if she could. She didn’t have the skills with the blade that Lucien did, but her own unlife had to be worth something in a brawl. Nessa slid a foot forward finding a good stand to throw the knife once King retaliated but his retaliation was its own sort of shock.

No, the opportunity was still there.

The knife returned to its place on her hip, and the dormouse returned. The other cultist and the monstrosities were near, but attention had been pulled to Sinéad. So she advanced on soft steps shortening the distance between herself and the necromancer.
 
DELFI

"Did you see how I treat them, or did you hear it from Miss Falmouth?" King asked, raising an eyebrow. "Did she also mention she was never forced to stay and learn everything I taught her- and what did I get in return? Stealing from me, her captain! I'd keep an eye on her if I were you, Sinéad." The implication was clear, and Solomon didn't hide the anger in his voice as he spoke of his former apprentice.

His hand reached for his pocket on the left side of his jacket. He only touched it briefly, before resting his hands behind his lower back.

"The gold stays, I let you and your crew go. You give me my book back, but keep the medallion. It'll let you find me once you change your mind." He smirked, looking down at the shattered teacup before turning his eyes back to Sinead. "Think about it. The Truth Teller and the Hard Nox, flying over the Floating Isles - together."
 
REYN

"Kin?" Mal spat, "I assure you, I am nothing of the sort; the only thread tying me to the undead is the one stuck through their backs."

They flicked the blood from the sword's edge and brought it before them, severing the thread in one swift motion.

"Unlike him, I was not wrested from the grave. I was created."

They laughed.

"And unlike the pair of you, I am not beholden to the whims of some halfwit puppeteer."

Still, something about them didn't seem quite right. They watched in silence as Fionn cast the head overboard, performatively rolling their eyes as soon as he turned away.

"Clean your own bloody clinic, Emer. If your patients get put off, tell them to come to me instead. I'll be more than happy to take them."

And, with that, they turned away.
 
ANNASIEL

Emer opened her mouth to reply - but there was no point, was there? No, maybe she was the fool, if not for her beliefs than at least for her thought that speaking them out would change anything. Taking a steadying breath, she moved back to the mat, settling down on it and letting her head settle in her hands.

"Out of its misery. Yes," she said idly. After a few moments of silence, she turned, glancing at Fionn through the door. "That was - perhaps not the wisest of judgements, but - I can't help but think of what may be. It's terrible, to bind those who death has taken to return again, is it not? And - while it may be the best mercy to simply give them back the ending they are owed, I can't help but think of them as people, still. Fear they may still be there, suffering for what they are."

She laughed once, dry and short.

"But I suppose that's all just aimless musings. Fionn - thank you. I really think I need a moment's rest."
 
GHOSTLY

The blast nearly knocked Ciarán’s shoulder from its socket, but it hit its mark - that was the vital part. Only the whip-lady remained, but Caleb would see to that with his killer mark.

Only before he could pull the trigger, a massive Scale-Folk burst through the door and subdued the woman. Once he settled, he recognized the lifeless form hung over his shoulders - Soren, the cook. Caleb trained his pistol on the man and asked the questions, but it was clear from his edification and Juniper’s vouching that he meant no harm to the man. He only meant to carry his body to safety - a most honorable thing to do.

Another man followed them, intense and rugged. He wouldn’t have trusted one such as him from his comments and demeanor, but Juniper had always been one of good character aboard, so he’d trust them for now. It was good to see them still alive, albeit carrying the bodies of their friends.

The question of what to do next came up, and Alys had the right idea. They had everyone who was left to escape, it was time to get them out of here and do what they could for the rest of their crew fighting. Sliocht was in bad shape, Caleb and Alys were halfway there, and he imagined things weren’t going too well above deck either.

Ciarán retrieved his sword and set his hand back into the barrel, then he moved to where Juniper had left the broken body of their friend on the ground. She had been one of the defenders at Fen Manor, he thought. He would’ve liked to have saved her, she deserved better than to die here in the dark - she should’ve been with the earth.

He knelt down next to the satyr and winced, it was hard to look at her face, the traces of her beauty left bloody. She must’ve been a good person, Juniper had taken care to carry her from here. “You did well, Juniper.” Ciarán said solemnly, and pulled the coat off his shoulders.

“I am sorry,” he said, not quite sure to whom as he set the coat over Poppy before lifting her gently in his arms. He’d take care to carry her well, she deserved that and he cared enough for Juniper to treat their friend with as much care as one of his own. He’d cover the rear, unless someone else had planned to. He could shoulder the satyr’s body to fire a pistol, or set her down for his sabre if need be.
 
FANG

Leo rubbed his lips vigorously as he crested the stairs, the last flakes of dried blood falling from them in little drifts of rust to the floor. Despite the danger they still faced Leo couldn’t help but glance backward with every few steps, his instinct telling him that Juniper’s words had only gained so much trust with these new people.

So distracted was he with the risk that he did not immediately notice when he stepped from stair to corridor, his foot raised awkwardly high for a stair that wasn’t beneath it. His foot came down with a heavy thump, and as Leo turned his attention to the front so too did the attentions of a dozen pairs of decaying eyes turn to him, moving almost simultaneously as the golden eyed prisoner met their hateful gazes. The closest zombie, less than a foot away, pulled a rusty short-sword from a rotted leather scabbard and charged with rattling, garbled battle cry.

Leo sprang to action instantly, body crouched as he tackled the leading zombie with faster steps than the decaying corpse could muster, left hand grasping right and wrenching free both hand and rusty sword from wrist as he twisted free. With a swift strike Leo brought the edge of the blade through the zombie’s neck, severing head from body with the hand still clenching tightly to the hilt of the weapon. Leo shook the sword and pulled against the undead grasp with his right, managing to slide the hand down to the pommel of the blade but gaining no further room for his own.

He had little time to worry, however, as the other eleven undead charged at him through the corridor, a breath away from Leo and his first opponent. Leo darted to the left, pushing with all of his might against the planks of the Truth Teller’s floor and diving at an angle to the floor, sword swinging frantically for leg and ankle. The undead did not go down easily, but each one caught unaware and removed of limb bought extra time for Leo to see to their dispatch. His maneuver granted three of those shuffling corpses freedom from a thigh, a knee, and a foot in his slashing, and fell to the floor with a cloud of dust as Leo abruptly shifted his momentum and darted back to the right, swinging this time for head.

Rusty blade clashed upon rotting shield, the steel that held the shield together more than enough to send the blade skittering to the side, spinning on the floor from momentum and the counterbalance of the putrefied hand. The force rocked Leo to his heels, a single misplaced step taking him to the floor as he stumbled over one of the three he had damaged. With a snarl Leo rolled to his feet on the other side of the fallen zombie, and as the one holding the shield charged forward Leo grasped its mildewed shirt and belt and heaved it into the air. Both zombies collided, bone and rotted flesh tangling, but Leo chased the freed shield and left entangled bodies to their fate. He slid, kicking at the shield will all of his might to send it ricocheting off the corridor wall and crashing through another zombie’s skull.

Leo straightened and dusted his pants off as the remaining zombies hesitated. Two clawed their way toward him, abandoning their attempts to stand on severed limb and dragging themselves along by their nails. Leo grinned and stepped to the closest of the two, raising his left leg high into the air he brought his bare heel down on its skull with hollow crash. Gore splattered Leo’s leg and he charged forward once more, breath coming raggedly as he side-stepped, dodged, and rolled his way through the next four zombies, pushing each as their expected blows swept by him, knocking them off balance enough for him to continue forward. The two he had entangled had begun working in tandem, locked ribs and shoulders conjoined as they parodied a three legged race towards him, and Leo instantly remembered the combined women from the brig.

Leo turned away from the recovering zombies behind him, panting at the air as the effort caught up to him, muscles burning with a different sort of fire than the one he kept suppressed within his breast. Three more barred the way between Leo and the stairs, their fresher bodies still mostly untouched by the rancor or wear of death. Each held glimmering saber in hand, and Leo recognized one as the man pulled from the cage during his meeting with Soren, Poppy, Emryk and Juniper. The three rushed at Leo, their advance simultaneous and nearly calculated, giving him no chance to take them only singly.

The zombie that charged from behind got to Leo first, bony fingers clawing red furrows into his back as he howled, reaching behind him to clutch at the enemy’s head and grasp at their hair, rotting teeth digging into his shoulder as he grappled with the undead creature. As the flesh tore beneath the zombie’s bite Leo heaved it’s body over him shoulder, swinging it with such force that it’s kicking legs crashed against the low ceiling and its torso careened into the oncoming zombie trio. Savagely Leo slammed his foot down on the zombie’s shoulder and wrenched at its head, jerking left and right and back again until it finally came free with a loud squelch.

The three fresher zombies regained their feet quickly, the one who had been hauled away days before had lost its blade, the other two charging Leo again in tandem from the left as he darted toward the one who was unarmed. Leo slipped, his arm swinging out wide as his heel hit blood and lost purchase. Hand hit cold steel and Leo grasped at it as the ripped head flew from his grasp, smashing into one of the charging zombie’s face and splattering a bit before falling to the floor. Leo jumped up as the unarmed man kicked at his head, his hand wrapped around the blade of the saber. With a slight adjustment of his grip he palmed the blade, and with a swift swing of his arm he smashed the handle of the weapon through the unarmed zombie’s face, sending it crashing into the wall.

Leo glanced the remaining zombies and back to the stairs, a sudden breeze gusting down from the deck and filling his nose with sweet, fresh air. Leo turned away from those recovering and remaining zombies, trusting the approaching companions behind him would take care of the threats he left behind. He took the stairs two at a time, breath heavy but steps light at the promise of open sky and gentle breeze. He burst through the opening and gasped at the brilliance of stars peeking behind scattered clouds, their glow so intense he thought for an instant that he might reach out and grab one.

All around him the crew of the Hard Nox battled against the stubborn undead, many bodies scattered along the deck with life spilling free. Clouds passed by the deck lazily on their own, unhurried journeys and as Leo looked upon the chaos a wispy tuft of the cotton passed over him, dampening his skin and sending rivulets of condensation down his filthy torso. Leo looked up to the stars once again in awe, then turned back down the stairs and yelled to the trailing entourage, ”DID ANY OF YOU KNOW WE WERE IN THE SKY?!” with incredulity.
 
GOLDEN

Little bird.

Alys hadn't heard that one yet, and truth be told, she wasn't particularly fond of the new nickname. Nor did she appreciate being stared at like she was about to slit the newcomer's throat. But her distrust towards this stranger, the one who could clean floors and kill, was currently not her biggest concern. So she bit her tongue, swallowed her annoyance, and followed him down the hall.

She wouldn't admit that he was effective, but he was. The stranger saved her from swinging her sword a fair few times, saved her from aggravating her shoulder more than she needed to. Still, Alys swung through gritted teeth, sending the undead he barreled through down, to join their fallen comrades. Every once in a while, she'd glance back, making sure that those behind her were still there, upright and moving forward.

Emerging into the night felt like taking a breath after being trapped underwater for far too long. Despite the lingering battle, the cool breeze brought a tight smile to her lips. Like the stranger, she looked to the sky, watching the distant, yet familiar stars twinkle from millions of miles away. There, to the right, was the coleoptera major, wings extended outward as if the bundle of stars were in flight. She used to love stargazing on the beach, but that was years and years behind her, in the distant past. And she needed to move, now.

"Where's the fun in being on the ground?" Alys asked the man, her loose hair stirring with the wind. She couldn't imagine being imprisoned, and from the sound of it, this man had been a prisoner for a long time. She almost felt bad for him. Almost.

"If you want a chance at freedom, come," she said, making her way towards the Hard Knox, assuming that the man would follow. With the casualties sustained within the last two days, Sineád would appreciate a new set of hands, especially those that cleaned floors and killed.

Upon reached the edge of the ship, Alys painfully hoisted herself up over the edge and reached for a dangling chain. She extended it out to the man, glancing between him and the gap of open air that sat between the two ships.

"Ready to spread your wings?" She said pointedly, staring down at the stranger with a smirk on her face. Oh, wasn't it convenient to be a little bird?
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Once everyone's allegiances had been squared away, Caleb quickly took over, taking a position of leadership among the few that were here. It was to be expected, considering his position on the ship, and as such, Juniper complied, turning and walking back towards the hallway they had just emerged from with Ciarán. They walked in silence, until the master gunner spoke, where they felt a cold shock through their chest. If he were paying close enough attention, he would even be able to notice their expression change to a bittersweet, forced half-smile, before it was swept away and replaced with a more expected, confident look.

'How can you say I did well? She's dead, and it happened right in front of me. I had all the opportunity to stop it and she's-'

"Thank you, Ciarán. I... Tried."

They stopped a few steps away, finding it difficult to reapproach the body now that they had once separated themself form it. Already their clothes and skin were caked in her, and their own, blood, and it was nearing the limit of the blood they could have on their hands at the moment. They gazed down at their hands, then, losing themself in thought for a moment before the mans words shook them out of it, once more with a wave of barely-contained emotion.

They quickly turned away, feeling tears rise. Why had he apologized? It was Juniper who should be doing that. Had they been more careful, done things differently, had they been more convincing, both she and Soren would still be here, or so they thought. They wiped the tears away as Ciarán lifted the body, saying quietly, "I... Am too. Just, take her to the top deck. I'll cover you until then and... Take care of it from there." With that, wordlessly, they set off, being sure to stay near Ciarán and his new charge, an escort now.

Thankfully, with Leo leading the charge, very little was needed from either of them. Only on the odd occasion did a corpse manage to get back up after he was done with it, and it was met swiftly by fire, putting it down once more. As they stepped up into the night sky, feeling the chill of the cold, dark air, they were made painfully aware of their injuries, the contrast of the building heat below shocking their skin. The dull aches from the lacerations turned into stinging pain, and the burns from the melted nails, while still manageable, on account of their specific set of abilities, would still need rest.

Instead of making for the Nox straight away, they turned to the master gunner of said ship. They held out their arms, jaw clenched, and spoke. "I can take her from here. Thank you, Ciarán."
 
ILLIRICA

"Hester's said very little about you," Sinéad commented, all veneer of calm conversationality lacquered over the lurking fissures once more. "You must not have made the impression you thought you did." Her shoulder moved, somewhat closer to a shrug than a twitch this time. She could feel the ache starting, the cramp in the tip of the wing that wasn't there. Her shoulder twitched again, as if moving the muscle could ease the strain.

Her breath left her slowly, a contemplative exhalation, followed by a slow draw once more. Emer had a technique for it, breathing through. Sinéad had never had the patience for more than a few cycles, and this was hardly the time for it. Even when she tried to do it properly, she never lost focus. Perhaps it was paranoia, or perhaps that was only captaincy. She wondered which of the dogs slept at the foot of Solomon King's bed, now that Hester was gone. Naveen, perhaps? Or one of the giants? But no, it would have to be someone autonomous, unless King never slept.

She could not discount that possibility, either.

"I don't intend to fly over the Floating Isles again until I've amassed enough firepower to rock them from their sky cradles and send them tumbling down into the depths of earthen oblivion below. You want to rule them - I just want to see them burn." She turned a scimitar smile on him, curved and wicked, even knowing there was likely no blood to be found here. "It seems we're at an impasse on that one. Perhaps you'll get there before me, and then you can die in the fire." She shifted her shoulders once more, testing the tension, readying herself. She was going to have to try to murder him, after all - it was only a matter of time.

Time was on her side, though. She waited, catlike, to see what he would do next.
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Oh, this feeling, there was nothing else like it in this unlife. The cry of pain, the feeling of his prey squirming beneath him, struggling desperately to escape. The blood coating his hands, the skin and flesh building under his claws as he dug into the vampire beneath him. He made the mistake of turning to face him, and Lucien could not resist dragging his claws across his front, marring Naveen’s porcelain countenance. He snarled in the prey’s face, staring into its eyes, letting it know exactly who he was, and who was in charge.

Frost erupted from the mage once more, shoving Lucien back and off of him. His prey and rapier disappeared from view, surrounded by a shield of ice. Pain blossomed in Lucien’s shoulder as a spears of ice emerged from the shell, one stabbing into him. Good, there was still some fight left in him. Lucien pushed forward, the spyglass-sized icicle stabbing deeper into his body, until he got within striking distance. The wrath of the Captain’s attack dog crashed against the bubble, scraping claws leaving smears of gore along the outside as it spiderwebbed beneath his fists. A few more blows and the ice caved, falling in pieces as Lucien growled, ripping the now loose icicle from his body and throwing it into the opening.

There was nothing.

No prey, not even his weapon. Just some spatters of blood and a hole.

That fucking rat.

Lucien snarled, gnashing his teeth as he went to move further, to dive within the bowels of the Truth Teller and rip Naveen’s heart out, making him watch as Lucien sank his fangs into it in his final moments of consciousness. But then he heard a crash, things smashing against the floor, raised voices, tense voices. His Captain, his fledgeling. King’s pet would have to wait. Lucien extracted himself from the ice and raced towards the treasure room, passing Hester and Pris without so much as a sideways glance.
 
QUIRBLES

Few things weighed heavier on the heart than to kill another living thing. Though he was not particularly responsible for the woman's demise, he certainly hastened it, and the arrival was as swift as he imagined it to be under the boy's hand. There was a killer in that one, certainly. It worried the Baron, but worries would wait until they were free from the Truth Teller's clutches. For now, violence was an asset to be used unsparingly. They were caught in a war, and war was not kind. It made allegiances unclear; it made men paranoid wrecks. As one such man pointed his pistol at Emryk, questioning his unclear allegiance, and a single scaled hand was raised in a defensive gesture. He could not speak, for the wind caught in his lungs bellowed over any words; instead, he let Juniper speak for him. A smile of thanks, weary and exhausted, was offered her way. Finding he had nothing more to add to this reunion of pirates, the Baron turned his attention to the stairs, brow knotting in trepidation as he wondered how he was to make the trek topside. The flight was steeper and far longer than its predecessors-- fitting, he supposed, that it would be his final trial before salvation. Sighing a hefty gust from his nostrils, Emryk stepped forth and grunted, shouldering Soren's weight even further as he began to move up the stairs. Truth be told, he ignored the rest of the folk for a good moment, focusing upon his own struggles at hand; they would no doubt move past him, lumbering as he was, and he dearly hoped they did not find his actions rude. He would have loved to introduce himself, truly, but a man's corpse was still fresh. Best for him to prioritize.

As he expected, his newfound compatriots joined him, with the boy and the rest taking point. Emryk, encumbered as he was with a jotunn's body, stayed at the back of the group, stairs creaking underneath his weight as each step brought a huff from his snout. Like a bull, he pushed himself, neck and back straining as he gave a glance to the man bringing up the rear. A nod was given his way-- his only means of thanks, at the moment. From what Emryk could tell, the fellow was a crackshot. He dearly hoped that observation continued to remain true.

<strong>"Heart... loam."</strong> Barely a whisper, now. Emryk would have liked to think that he and Soren shared similar ideals, jaded as jotunn appeared to be. <strong>"H-hands. <em>Stone."</em></strong> From what he learned, the two knew their roles well. Protectors. Guardians. Walls. Fortresses in their own right. A bigger size means a bigger heart, Emryk. Men who, in their final moments, would try all the same to be saviors. To do the best they could. They will use that against you. They will try to sully that heart, to make it run cold-- but you will burn bright. Your love is a flame. It will warm. It will comfort. It will be beautiful. Would he be the same, in the end? Jaded and forlorn, as Soren had been? Would he live long enough to have his heart run cold, to have his flame die out?

Your heart is clay and your body is stone. Use them well. As you came from the earth, so too shall you shape it.

"Still time." Emryk finally spoke, voice a low thunder on the ears. It fell in with his footsteps as he crested upon the deck, observing the boy's handiwork firsthand. Undead lay around the stairwell, some fully smitten, and others quickly approaching that metric. As a half-torn corpse shambled towards him, he grabbed its head with a free hand and threw it overboard without a second glance. "... running out, though. Needs... a doctor."

His pace quickened. Once more, that thundering pace began to set itself as he ran along the edge, his eyes settling upon a particular region of damage along the raiding ship's edge. A hole-- the inside vaguely veiled with smoke, but tangible nonetheless. Bottles, plants, shelves... and what looked to be a flat metal table.

"Too much time." He murmured to the hitherto-unnamed woman, glancing to Juniper and Leo as he jogged along the edge. The trajectory would be difficult, but... he would be able to make it, barring enough of a running start. "Need to move-- quicker." His breath came in staccato huffs, chest heaving up and down. One final push-- one final trial. For Soren.

"I really do apologize, but... I must be... going."

He had already been backing up in the midst of his condolences. By his final word, he was off-- running towards the deck, shoulder tucked, grunt turning into a low growl as, with a heave of his upper body and a push from his legs, Emryk stepped atop the railing of the Truth Teller and threw himself over the edge.
 
PAPERWORK

The monster passed Hester and Pris by without so much as slowing, leaving the hallway cold and scarred but otherwise empty. Which was just fine. Hester’s eyes slid shut again. Loads of things the hallway could have been filled with, very few of which were worth staying awake for. She had no idea what the other acolytes had been told about her, or what they thought about her departure. She'd been doing her best not to think about it, if she was honest with herself. It’d been much easier to betray King, Naveen, and their ilk than it had been to leave Pris, or Sapphire, or even Khai, with his idiotic rat fixation, his theatrical antics, and his gormless, delighted expressions. He was a monster, of course–would turn her into another Emma in a heartbeat, if he came upon her now. She’d never have been able to convince him to leave King, any more than she’d have been able to take Pris with her to the Nox, but that didn’t mean…

It's not your responsibility to take care of anyone but yourself. This was really not the time to be getting introspective. The blood loss was making her stupid.

"Did the Captain have any of the others guarding the vault? Would rather not run into Solus, right now," she mumbled, forcing her eyes back open and turning her head towards Pris. Errr, hold on. What was that light? She couldn’t make out the exact nature of what Pris’ construct was drawing from this angle, but it looked like it was sketching out conjuration sigils. Was it wearing a ring, now?

"... What's Lady Fingers doing?"
 
ANNASIEL

Emer's day had been full of surprises. You'd think, by now, she'd realize the winds were wild this day, that she shouldn't be surprised by anything that blew her way. This wasn't true. The next surprise came by route least of all expected, and came in a form that, by that route, was hardly expected at all. As Emer swept the floors of her clinic free of debris, humming softly to herself, a new thing came barreling through the cannonball-hole - not another cannonball, but a person.

Two persons.

A noise partway between a gasp and a cry tore out of her mouth, and in a moment of panicked reaction, she tossed the only thing she had on hand - her broom - at the intruders. By nature of brooms, it bounced harmlessly off them and skittered to the side. A long, awkward second, and then the identity of one of the newcomers registered.

"Soren? And - who are you?"
 
QUIRBLES

He hardly had any time to regret his decision before he landed.

Emryk supposed that was a good thing, as an extensive period of reflection would have meant he had undoubtedly missed his mark; part of the reason why he'd gone through with the jump was that his exhaustion and single-minded dedication had completely absolved him of rational considerations, such as what would have happened if he'd failed. Failure, in his mind, had not been an option. He owed his momentary lapse in reason to that fact. Through the extreme, the impossible became possible; the absurd, normal. And so, it was with a vague sense of normalcy that Emryk slammed into the floor of the clinic, his guess ultimately correct. Knees bending and body twisting slightly to absorb the impact and avoid breaking any bones, the Baron's momentum carried him across the room and into a batch of shelves-- already broken, thankfully, and their contents voided-- before he finally came to a stop. Letting out a huff as he stood, Emryk offered a strained gaze across the room. The sweep paused, naturally, when a broom struck his chest and the perpetrator stood before him.

Hm.

Wordlessly dumping Soren's body off of his back, the Baron placed the jotunn's body upon the table with a sickening thud. The flesh was still fresh. He could still be saved-- still be healed. Right?

"He's dying... or dead." Emryk muttered, leaning against the wall. "Nevermind who I am, miss. Please. Can you... h-help him. His heart... his-- hrnnh."

With his burden lifted, the world began to eclipse upon him, spinning in torturous circles that threatened to hurl him into the ground. Emryk held fast, nails digging into the counter as he blinked to steady his vision. A weary citrine gaze met the pair of doctors-- no, just the one-- as he spoke. "Please. I cannot... lose him, as well."
 
ANNASIEL

Emer rushed forward, guiding the massive stranger to a stool before he collapsed. Lucky that they found someone of his stature to carry Soren here - he was the only person she'd ever met larger than the giant cook, and she doubted that anyone smaller would be up to the task. Another runaway from the ship, then? Or - by his tattered clothes and smell - a captive.

No matter.

"I'll do what I can," she murmured, rushing over to where Soren lay on the table. Running the back of her hand over his lips, she frowned, then rushed to grab a set of bellows from beside her - thankfully undisturbed - warmstones. Slipping one end into the giant's mouth, she began to force air into his lungs, muttering spells under her breath all the while.

His spark had been gone from his body for a long while, longer than any hope could stand - and death was never hopeful to begin with. With a methodical rhythm, she squeezed the bellows, then pressed against his chest, then squeezed the bellows yet again, working until the first beads of sweat glistened on her brow and her arms began to ache. A minute passed, then another. By the third, she let the bellows fall, pressing her fingers to his eyelids and muttering something under her breath.

She glanced back at the stranger and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but - I think this is beyond me." She slid the bellows to the side, focusing now on the living, sparing no more energy for the dead. Her heart felt heavy, to make that choice, as it always did, but it needed to be done. With a pained, sympathetic smile, she rose from the floor, placing a hand on the stranger's arm. "I am called Emer. You're injured as well. Please allow me to help."
 
DELFI

She was a stubborn woman, Sinead. King, now looking at her through a different lense, noticed the twitch on her shoulder and this time, he could piece it together.

"They took your wings from you, didn't they?" There was pity, and perhaps mockery in his tone. "I'll have firepower when I'm back from my next mission. I don't intend to rule them, Sinead… I want to destroy them, just as much as you do."

King notice her stance shift and the abomination on his right did the same.

"We don't have to fight, you and I. We're after the same thing. Freedom. Revenge."

***

Caleb's jaw clenched, his gaze accompanying the human as he walked past him and towards the stairs. The threat accompanied by his tone gave Caleb an itch to do exactly what he'd told him not to, but there was no time for that now. If the undead didn't kill him, Caleb would scratch that itch later.

"I'll take you to Emer as fast as I can." He whispered to Sliocht, before following after their new unlikely ally. It wasn't safe to say they were close friends, but Caleb enjoyed the barber's company too much to let him die so easily.

The human didn't lie about his ability to kill. Caleb managed to follow after him without having to waste a single bullet, and not long after that they were back to where they came from. Unlike Alys who stared at the sky above, Caleb turned to the ground, and the bodies of the pirates who'd followed him and didn't make it past the Truth Teller's deck. He'd counted five already, not to mention the ones on the other side of the ship. Perhaps the man who could scrub floors and kill would make himself useful aboard the Nox.

"Hold my neck." Caleb said, after putting Sliocht down. He wouldn't be able to put his wings to use with the taller man behind his back, choosing to carry him princess style instead. He'd have to deal with the crew's mockery later.

Trusting Alys to care for the ragged man, Caleb flapped his wings and made his way back to his ship.
 
ILLIRICA

Hester was talking again. Pris thought this was a very good sign, mostly because she had no idea what to do and if Hester was talking, she could decide.

"Mr. Khai went down with the... with... downstairs." Pris avoided mentioning the place, whenever she could, or the people in it. She'd been one of them once, and as long as she never went down there herself, she could still pretend that some of the people she'd known in that place were still down there, still okay. Some of them had been kind, insasmuch as kindness could happen, in a place like that. It had been a while now, since she'd been down there. Too long, and she probably knew that anyone she had once known was gone by now, just like she was gone - but if she didn't look, if she didn't know... she could still pretend.

She'd stopped tracing the lines, whatever they had meant to do, but it didn't seem to matter. The one man had gone running by, but he hadn't said anything to them. Maybe that was for the best. Pris wondered where Naveen was, but didn't worry. He could take care of himself. "And I don't know what she's doing," Pris added, looking at her construct with exasperated distress. "She's not listening." Pris folded her arms across her chest in a way that she was perfectly well aware made her look like a petulant toddler, but she did it anyway because it was the only way she knew to express herself sometimes.

"You're so much better with them than I am, Hetty." She blew a wayward strand of hair out of her face, then sighed, "I guess it doesn't matter. Look, Hetty, you're hurt. And I don't know what to do. Mr. King could probably fix you, but..."

But would he? If he thought Hester was a traitor, that might just make things worse. "I don't know what to do - Hetty, what do we do? Don't make me decide. Please. Just... tell me what to do?"
 
ILLIRICA

"We're after one of the same things," Sinéad corrected. "I've already got freedom - and I'm not about to give it up, especially not for someone like you." She took a step to the side, carefully circling so as to make sure the table wasn't between them if she needed to rush in and slit his throat. She had no doubt he'd pick up on what she was doing, of course, but that was fine with her.

Especially if it kept his focus on her and gave Nessa more room to maneuver.

"You talk pretty, Sol. Not the best speech I've heard, but not bad. The only problem with it is that I'd have to believe any of that trollshit you're spewing, and I just don't think I can trust you farther than I can throw you." Another step to the side, a rather considerate gesture with her hand, even if it happened to be holding a dagger. "To be fair, I'd wager that's actually pretty far, especially if we're starting up this high and there's a good wind. Want to join me abovedecks and make an experiment of it?"

She doubted he'd go for it, but she supposed if he did they could have a nice little chat up there in the breeze while Nessa emptied the vault of anything valuable and her people got themselves back on her ship where they were supposed to be.

And then she could kick his geriatric ass over the railing.
 
QUIRBLES

Emryk truly did appear to be a prisoner, if his appearance was to be the sole judge of character. Soot and ash stained his scales a discolored brown-grey, the color of a wildfire's aftermath; his jacket, while still largely unscathed, sported a variety of burns and small imperfections along its form. The stench of smoke and fire and death clung to him, a mixture of burnt firewood and singed flesh. It was a remainder of their struggles aboard the Truth Teller and a reminder that would not leave him for some time, in body if not in mind as well. Forty-six days and forty-six nights shone in his dolorous gaze as he looked upon the doctor as she worked, the inevitability of her failure soon becoming as apparent as the death she sought to reverse. Emryk could only stare at the corpse upon the table, a blank resignation to the twin firelflies glimmering in the twilight that shone through the hole he'd widened. "H-hhrkh." Slow breaths, steady and calm. Heart of loam, hand of stone. Yours to shape, and yours alone. Emryk was statuesque, against that counter-- his fists clenched silently as he regarded the jotunn's corpse, some faraway memory stretched taut across his features as his distant stare fell to the hand upon his arm.

Your love is a flame.

"Thank you," He muttered, opposite hand patting hers momentarily. "For what you could do. I fear I am a fool for thinking anything else could have been done." And what could have been done, in the depths of that hell? Stabilize his wounds further? Tell the boy not to pull an arrow free? Carry the jotunn further, faster, without a thought or care for the others that had still been alive? Another wheeze drew deep into his lungs, a bellow of his own to prolong the staunch beating of his own heart. A soft smile, strained in ways not yet known to the doctor, was offered in kind; his hand withdrew from his arm, and he nodded. "I am Baron Emryk Vakaan, purveyor of the... Vakaan Estate upon the Ashtavan Isles. I was-- prisoner, aboard the Truth Teller." He murmured, attempting to move to the door and nearly falling upon his knees from a single step. The weight of Soren had been replaced by the world itself, far more oppressive and far more insistent. Once more, Emryk clutched at the countertop and shelf, rattling the tinctures atop it for a moment as he grunted. "My... apologies. I need-- I need to... go back. I must." The mind insisted, the conscience begged, but the flesh did not listen and the body refused.

"The-- the journal." Barely a rasp upon the lips, like a hastened breath. "Need... hmhh."
 
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