Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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FANG

”Ready to spread your wings?” Leo smiled genuinely at the fairy’s show, her wings sparkling from the light of the stars behind them. Flame hissed in his ears, Kill the Solomon King, and he turned, smile slipping from his face as a frown masked his momentary joy. He did not have wings to spread, only flame, and the flame hungered for King’s blood.

But it did not roar.

Instead as Leo turned away from the joyful girl stretching her wings over her home the flame settled, no longer licking at the back of his throat, its call still hissing in his ears but removed of its insistence. The scene before him was carnage, chaos, blood and gore and much of came not from the Truth Teller’s crew. Men and women lay scattered, groans of pain from torn and broken bodies intermingling with the groans and grunts of the undead that ravaged them.

“You are capable,” Leo moved before thought, feet racing toward the nearest fallen and dragging them to their feet. He could not say why, could not put words to what motivated him to try not to kill, but to save someone he didn’t know. His body was already exhausted from the escape, his back stinging with liquid fire in the shallow trenches the zombie had made with its raking fingers. But the man he carried was far worse, blood spilling from shoulder and thigh and skin pale white, breathing ragged.

”More than a killer.” The man Leo carried was conscious, at least, and together they stumbled toward the rail of the Truth Teller, the black chasm between the ships an indomitable hurtle that formed an equally bottomless pit in Leo’s stomach as he looked over. Here and there men and women would find their way to the chains and run over them like bugs on a twig. Leo gulped as he took another peek at the black nothingness below.

He had no choice. Leo scooped the injured man into his arms, grunting a bit from the effort. With one arm looped around the man’s shoulders and the other underneath his knees Leo stepped to the rail and onto the railing of the Truth Teller just in time to see a giant shadow spring through a hole in the side of the other ship, wood splintering into the air. Emryk, of course. Nothing stopped that lizard. Leo took a deep breath and stepped onto the chain with gaze firmly fixed forward, the man in his arms still as Leo set one foot in front of the other carefully. Gusts of wind billowed past him, tearing at his har and trousers but failing to rock him from his slow and steady pace. Five, six, seven, and his toe touched wood, the mizzenmast of the Hard Nox towering above him.

With a relieved sigh Leo stepped onto the deck of the other ship, bodies milled about as hands more familiar with what was needed set to work. Leo smiled again, something soft and warm compared to his snarling grins, and handed the bleeding man off to some set of helpful hands. The cool wind swept by him once more and in an instant his entire body relaxed. Slowly he knelt, eyes blind to anything but the stars and rolling clouds, then he slept, steps away from the rail curled into a ball.
 
UMBRASIGHT

Nessa stole her steps, each one given so easily by those in the room that none were aware that they had given her something so valuable. She scarcely breathed as motion stilled her, just behind and to the left of King, air was a luxury of sound and sensation like a sweet memory of life, but she had no use for life in the moment. No one looked her way twice, if they had ever looked at all, and that was good as it was how things should be. If it were her skill or just simply inclination to overlook what they always overlooked, it mattered not to Nessa because she was there.

King’s hand twitched, that little twitch that men’s hands do when they hear whispers of thieves spiriting wallets. People always wanted to feel assured by the shape of it still being there, and even the mighty Solomon King was not free of such simple tendencies. Nessa reached out, her ears vaguely aware of the conversation, though there was little she actually heard, but so long as Solomon heard it that would be enough.

Gentle, like the brush of fingertips across a lover’s skin that left only a murmur of sensation, Nessa’s fingers touched the jacket. There was a commotion at the doorway, a sudden arrival that prickled the hairs on the back of her neck, but it wasn’t something she could concern herself with. She slid two fingers into his pocket, her whole hand would be too noticeable, and she felt so carefully for the ways King might twitch as her fingertips searched for the touch of paper. She brushed against an edge so she caught it between her fingers and drew. Smooth and quick, so it was gone before they even noticed the sensation of it leaving.

Nessa took a step backwards as she pressed the paper into the palm of her hand. It vanished into the cloth of her robes, unchecked but it wasn’t like she had time to unfurl a map. Worse come to worse, she still lifted something from Solomon King. She retreated quick, giving back the steps she and taken as her eyes darted around the room as she gathered what everyone else was doing.
 
ANNASIEL

"No you are not, Baron Emryk Vakaan," Emer replied firmly, pushing him - with some effort, her feet skidding on the floor - back towards the stool. "Whatever it is, the crew will have it done. What you need now is to rest, and to allow me to look over you."

She worked at the buttons of his jacket and shirt, setting them neatly aside, and tugged off his undershirt as well. The man gave some resistance to this, but a flick of her silver knife cut through the fabric with ease. There was less blood on it than the jacket, which was a good sign - it meant much of it had been from Soren. Still, underneath, his body had taken obvious damage, from basic cuts and bruising that purpled beneath his scales, to areas where the flesh beneath had turned pink from heat, scales loose and peeling overtop. Hurrying over to her basin to fill a bowl with soap and water, she took a rag and began scrubbing away the blood, dirt, and dead skin from his body.

"How many others are wounded? Did everything go smoothly, or -"

Or are there more like Soren? Dead, and dying?

Moving to his back, her fingertips touched momentarily on white, older scars there, before continuing to scrub away.

"- or are there more in need of help? I'd like to know what to expect."

She'd need to move Soren from her table, if so. She could wait to clean and dress his body, but she'd need the space, and she doubted she could lift it on her own.
 
GHOSTLY

"Thank you, Ciarán. I... Tried."

"I know... I know you did, mate." Ciarán said softly and gave Juniper a knowing look. He watched their expression change and wished for a moment they didn't have to hold a new face, but he knew why they'd done it. It was a time for strong faces and hearts of stone, tears and pain could come later.

It was a quiet trip to the top, aside from Leo and Juniper putting down any undead who dared raising their heads for the third time. Juniper stayed close, covering Ciarán and the precious cargo in his arms. The chill air of the top deck flushed his nose as they came about, it was time to come back aboard the Nox - he'd had more than enough of this place.

"I can take her from here. Thank you, Ciarán."

Juniper stood, arms outstretched for their friend. They held a strong face, but he could tell it was fading - he wouldn't deny them this. Gently, Ciarán laid Poppy in Juniper's arms. "We'll take care of her once aboard, I promise you that." Ciarán readjusted his coat covering the satyr's face, she deserved the respect and it was best Juniper didn't look upon her face till she was clean.

As Juniper stepped away with Poppy in their arms, Ciarán took a long shaky breath - the last one aboard the Truth Teller.

~ ~ ~
 
QUIRBLES

Emryk looked down as the woman put her hands upon his chest, stride carrying them both upon the floor. For a moment, he watched as she slid; then, cognizant of the pounding of his heart and the soreness of his form, the great Baron acquiesced to Emer's display of strength and sat upon the stool he had been directed to. It creaked beneath his weight, bowing somewhat as he settled upon it; idly, he gave a nervous glance to his legs, but settled his gaze back upon the doctor as she set off to work. His protests fell upon deaf ears; brow furrowing at the torn fabric she tore away, he grumbled a bit beneath his breath, shrugging off the rest of the jacket and his shredded undergarment. "... I quite liked that shirt."

Despite his time upon the Truth Teller, the Baron's body was largely untouched. Small cuts, of course, and scalded regions where the fire had touched upon him most intimately, but the scales were well-kept despite their discoloration. Slightly gaunt for a man of his brawn, Emryk was slightly surprised at how thin he had gotten-- nothing anorexic, of course, but his once-jolly gut had since slimmed down entirely to the muscle beneath, dense and starved of nutrients. Earth below, he would need a good meal when this was all said and done. Or two. Or three...

"I assure you, this isn't-- necessary." The Baron replied, too tired to properly stand up from the seat and, if he were being honest, quite content to stay where he was and be doted upon. Moving to his back, however, provoked a bit of tension in his shoulders; there, she would see a hive of scars, patchwork and long like a well-worn scratching post.

Lashings, all upon his hide. They were deep, and they were plentiful.

You do not gratify them with pain, Emryk. You defy them with strength.

The Baron gave a soft, ruminating expression, gazing over his shoulder to Emer and nodding in thanks.

"One. Not with you, I believe. A satyr girl. Juniper, if you know her, was... fond of her. They seemed to be quite close friends." He gave a sigh, staring forward. "There will be plenty injured, I believe, and with far worse wounds than I. Best to save your resources-- wasting them on an old scaled fool would be unwise." At that, he couldn't help but chuckle, rubbing a bit at his brow. Ash stained his fingertips, and the smile he wore dampened. "Thank you. I really must insist-- I can help, if needed. Anything you might need."
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Lucien charged down the hall, ears open for any trace of his goal. His eyes darted back and forth, checking the various doors as the voices got louder, closer. Voices, still talking. No sound of combat, no steel on steel, no cries of pain. Talk talk talk, his Captain talking with King. No sounds of his fledgeling, so that could go either way. His frantic sprint slowed to a jog, a quick walk. Lucien regained a bit of himself, still angry, still hungry, but able to exercise the restraint he’d preached to Nessa.

He turned the corner, seeing a room glittering with gold and jewels, various treasures. Inside, his Captain, circling a decrepit old man who could only be Solomon King. Massive constructs of flesh and bone towered by his side, and he managed to pick out a small white shape darting through the shadows, retreating from King. She was safe, good.

Lucien strolled in, his tongue dragging along one of his fingers, King’s pet’s blood still fresh. It reminded him of peppermint candies he had once before, in another life, but without the sweet. Just the bland sting of the cold. He merely nodded to his Captain, before directing his attention to the man whose ship they were currently invading.

“Is it hard to find good help, these days? Your pet turned tail and fled the second he faced his equal.” Lucien smirked, the effect somewhat combated by the hunger in his eyes, the flexing of his claws. He took another taste of Naveen’s blood, dark and rich.

“Cowering somewhere, no doubt. At least I managed to give him a little reminder of me before he so rudely departed. I do hope you were not keeping him around as an ornament, though. His value might have dropped somewhat.”
 
ANNASIEL

A satyr girl - not one of hers, then. Sad that Juniper lost someone they had doubtless grown close to in their imprisonment, but Juniper themselves was safe. A visible tension left Emer's shoulders, her body relaxing, her lip curling into a slight smile.

"My resources are mine to use, and I choose to use them on you," she replied, playfully admonishing. "Besides - as you say, your injuries aren't too severe. At present, the only thing I need to spend on you is time, and until another wounded comes barreling through the side of the ship, I have time enough to spare."

She didn't ask about the scars. It was obvious what they were. Would Juniper share them? She shuddered to think what the conditions were like aboard that hellish ship, how the prisoners were treated. The sickly pallor and malnourished gauntness of the Baron's body before her were evidence enough of something terrible. Finishing cleaning his back, she took a length of clean, dry cloth and began to wrap it around his midriff. Once the bandaging was tied tight, she took a step back.

"I apologize if you're of modest folk, Baron, but I need you to remove your pants."
 
PAPERWORK

Hester let out a long, low sigh, her eyes drifting up towards the ceiling. The question drove whatever Lady Fingers was up to out of her mind. Pris was young, but Hester wasn't that much older, was she? It wasn't fair--she'd finally made it out, across to the Hard Nox, away from a world where she had to lie about who she was or what she believed. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to lie anymore, hadn’t she? That even if the new captain had threatened her with death, she’d stay truer to who she thought she was? And now here she was, bleeding out in the hallway in front of King's vault, the victim of her own stupid assumptions about the intelligence of a famous captain, and here Pris was, demanding that she pretend to be the kind of person who knew what she was doing.

And she kept calling her Hetty. If it’d been anyone else...

“You need to get to the Hard Nox--the other ship,” she said. “If you can get to the infirmary and show you can be useful, they’ll probably let you stay.” You’d need to be some kind of demented freak to kill a living child in cold blood without a gun at your back. “I’ll, um…” The child had already made it clear that she thought she was protecting Hester, which meant she wasn’t going to leave if she thought Hester was just planning to die. “I’ll stay and…” Fuck, she was going to have to lie again, wasn’t she? Her brows creased; she glared at the floor. “... and try to talk to whichever captain comes out of there alive. Explain the situation. Get help. That sort of thing.”

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. The last thing she was going to do, before dying like a stray cat some idiot child had shot for sport, was break one of the few promises she’d bothered making to herself in the last few years. And she hadn’t even managed to make it sound good. And, gates, what was with all this self-pity?

“Either way, you need to get away from here. Before someone sees you with me. They‘ll assume the worst if they do.”
 
QUIRBLES

"As you wish, ma'am," The Baron replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I know better than to question a woman with your expertise." The smile had returned in earnest, now, as he kept both arms raised to allow the doctor access to his midriff. The bandages were a small comfort, and he let out a breath of relief as he was left alone for a moment. Time to think, and time to reflect.

... time short-lived, it seemed, with her next request.

"Ah." He said, craning his neck to look over to her. Slowly, his aching form pivoted upon the stool to face her. "... I beg your pardon?" A rhetorical question, ultimately, but he looked down to his trousers and frowned. "I'm fine, I assure you, I-- ah, if-- well, if you do insist..."

Standing from the stool with a grunt of exertion, the Baron fumbled with his belt-- coordination quite clearly impaired from pain and fatigue alike. Twice, his hands approached the loop, and twice his hands tremored, withdrawing from the pants to steady themselves. Frustration graced his features, and he shook his head. "I-- apologize. Give me-- hrmmh."

With a snap, Emryk clutched the belt and pulled, tearing the leather and wrenching it free from his pantaloons with an iron grip. "... I quite liked that belt, too. Hmh." Then, of course, came the inevitable disrobe, the pants brought to his ankles as he stripped down rather immodestly to his skivvies. His hands dutifully held themselves over his lap, and he gave a nervous look to Emer.

"Like examination day at the Royal Navy!" The Baron joked, giving a small chuckle. "Shall I turn and cough, next?"
 
DELFI

“Move! Out of the way!” Caleb shouted as soon as he stepped foot on the Hard Nox’s deck. The men obeyed and he marched as fast as he could towards Emer’s clinic.

The blood pouring from Sliocht’s neck was beginning to blend with his own, and he didn’t know for how long the barber would manage to maintain his consciousness. Caleb was lucky to find the door open and barged in.

“He’s losing a lot of blood, where should I-” The fairy interrupted himself, seeing Emer wasn’t unaccompanied. He’d seen the lizard jump ship and apparently he’d managed to land just in the right place, and was already being tended by their shameless wisewoman. “Should I come back later?”


***

“You have an illusion of freedom. It’s not the same thing.” Solomon said, eyeing his company as a cat eyed its prey. Between Sinéad’s invitation and the vampire that had just entered the room, neither he, his abominations or apprentice noticed the swift touch of his pocket.

Oh, Naveen. Solomon never kept him around for his bravery. He had qualities no doubt, the best one was worshiping him unconditionally, but the captain of the Truth Teller would definitely have to punish his minion later for backing down from a task.

“You tarnished his looks? Good. Perhaps he’ll stop wasting time admiring himself in the mirror.” King answered with a chuckle, before turning back to the person he was truly interested in.

“What’s it gonna be, then? Would you rather die here, or take my proposal into consideration?”
 
ANNASIEL

Emer glanced up, undisturbed by the intrusion, rising from scrubbing at the Baron's thigh and gesturing at one of the recently displaced mats.

"Set him down," she said, setting aside her dirty rags and grabbing new ones as she hurried over to Sliocht. "My apologies, Baron, but this looks urgent."

Kneeling beside Sliocht, she placed two fingers beside the wound in his neck, then traced over the deep gashes the bone-whip had left in a circle around.

"Bloodleaf for the loss. I'll need to clean this - is this an earring?" She glanced at Caleb as she hurried to her cabinets, grabbing a handful of bloodleaf root from her counter - rescued from one of the shattered jars - and setting her cauter into the hotstones. "What happened to him? It looks like he was being strangled. Did he - do that himself?"

Moving back to Sliocht, she worked at removing the tube from his throat, chewed the root, and spat into the man's open mouth. Pressing both hands over the wound in compress, she looked up again.

"I'll need hands. Mind the glass, it's in a pile by the table."
 
GOLDEN

Curious eyes watched the stranger, and whatever battle he was fighting within himself. Although he remained silent, offering her nothing more than a smile, Alys could tell that the gears were turning. She wondered what he was thinking; if he was afraid, or brave enough to leap towards freedom. She observed as he stumbled back, scrambling towards one of the dying bodies. Her brow rose in question, but still, she remained silent. Even as he held the man to his chest, just on the edge of the threshold, he looked nervous - and rightfully so. It wasn't every day that one flew through complete darkness, suspended in nothingness. Yet, he took the chance and succeeded.

Alys flew over to safety, to her temporary home, and silently landed beside the man. Her head tilted to the side as she watched him curl up into a ball. What a strange man. She wondered where he came from, what made him this way. Surely nothing good. After a brief pause, she spoke quietly, "Welcome to the Hard Nox." Then she turned and descended into the heart of the ship.

Her first stop was Emer's clinic, which was uncharacteristically dishevelled, likely due to the massive hole in the wooden hull. Emer tended to the large man with scales instead of skin, cleaning the minor wounds along his chest, then back. In the corner laid Soren's lifeless body. Knowing very well that severe injuries would be arriving promptly (worse than his, and worse than her own wrist), Alys didn't announce her presence. Especially after hearing Emer's request for clothing removal, and the sound of a belt unbuckling - although that did cause the faerie to grin to herself. She did, however, swipe a small roll of fabric bandages from a stool left out in the hallway, before pressing forward. Her long legs stepped over other supplies littering the narrow space, as well as the headless and armless body that laid abandoned further down the hall. A couple corners later, another set of stairs, and she descended towards the level of her shared room.

The stench of vomit hit her like a brick, and she shook her head in annoyance. Who was the pussy who couldn't hold their stomach before a raid?

As she drew closer to the room, the smell worsened. It wasn't just vomit... but the smell of decaying flesh and death. Alys brought her arm up and nestled her nose into the crook of her elbow as she slowly nudged the door open. The room was a mess, certainly not appearing as she'd left it hours earlier. Some of the furniture had been moved, creating a large, empty space in the middle. On closer inspection - was that a bone? "What the fuck?" She whispered to herself, horrified by what she saw and smelled.

Slowly and carefully, Alys entered the room and inspected the space. Had an undead somehow made it onto the ship? And decided to die a second time, specifically in this room? It was ludicrous. Upon discovering absolutely nothing, the faerie grumbled unhappily to herself as she opened the wooden chest containing her belongings. Her left hand rustled around, digging through the contents until finding the half empty bottle of rum at the bottom. She had purchased it after receiving her cut from the second to last raid - it seemed that's where a good chunk of her coin went to. She brought the bottle up to her lips to remove the cork, and then swallowed a healthy dose of the burning liquid. Placing the bottle down at her feet, Alys took a deep breath and removed the covering from her nose to gingerly shrug off her jacket. Then, her bloodied hands slid the collar of her shirt down to inspect the damage on her shoulder. A healthy reddish-purple coloured bruise stretched along her tanned skin, just as she had predicted. Running out of oxygen, Alys inhaled and nearly gagged once the smell infiltrated her senses. Fuck, she wouldn't be able to stay here, not in it's current state.

So she reached down to pick up the bottle, grabbed a clean jacket as well as the bandages, and left the room, in search of a quiet place to clean her wound.
 
ILLIRICA

"Oh- okay..." Pris didn't sound entirely sure about this, especially the part about leaving. The Truth Teller had been her home since the time she was born. Leaving it was hard to imagine. Leaving it on her own, without Hetty? She could hardly even think about it.

There was a tug at the back of her too-small shirt, Lady Fingers jerking her up out of her self-pity and giving her a little propelling push forward. "Hey!" Pris protested, but well... as usual, Lady Fingers wasn't listening, or at least wasn't listening to her. She turned her head back over her shoulder, giving Hetty a questioning look, the sort that knew all about how much she was trying to hide right now.

"You're coming, though, right? Promise me!"

Lady Fingers took her hand, and pulled her forward, up to the deck of the Truth Teller and the sky above.


--


Sinéad made no move at all to indicate she'd noticed Nessa's filching motion. She'd have to keep up the act just a little while longer, to allow the girl to escape with the map and whatever else she could pick up on the way. Lucien appeared at her back, which should have been terrifying. It seemed like today wasn't the day he killed them all, though. He had a few words for King, mostly of the sarcastic nature.

A man after her own heart, really, even if his reasons were mostly aortic. King was taking things into account, considering the new options that lay ahead, offering yet another compromise.

Sinéad offered a look that appreciated the entertainment. "Oh, Sol. Is that meant to be tempting? Fine, fine. I'll spell it out for you." She'd completed her positioning now, King in front of her, the door once more at her back.

"I would absolutely rather die here than consider your proposal." Her knife hand flicked in an arc, a motion that both released the knife itself towards King's throat and opened the line for her hidden arm crossbow to release its bolt directly towards the eyes of the nearer giant, the quiet thrrrrkk of the bolt as it tore through her shirt sleeve the only indication that the weapon had even been there. She kicked the table once more, following up the knife attack, then lowered her now-empty hand to retrieve the sack she'd partially filled earlier - mostly books, including both the one she'd been mockingly reading out of as well as something that might have been a journal, and a few other trinkets that might have had some value. No teacups, though - she wouldn't have wanted them for anything other than target practice. Her steps were meant to carry her back, towards the door, signaling to her crew that it was time to be getting the hell out of there.
 
QUIRBLES

Emer's methods were certainly thorough, he had to admit that. Fortunate as he was for the exhaustive care, it seemed the Baron's checkup was short-lived; not a moment after she had begun to treat a wound upon his thigh, the open doorway was occupied with the pair of fellows he'd encountered in the dining hall. The one that had been in critical condition was still very much so, and Emryk stood from the chair, gaze hardening as he moved to the table and quickly picked up Soren's body in a bridal carry. Sod modesty; a man's life was on the line. The corpse was moved back to the hallway and covered with the Baron's own jacket before he returned in earnest to the clinic.

Claws tapping along the hardwood, Emryk came to a stop beside Emer and placed his hands atop hers, applying pressure as he motioned with his head towards the shelf.

"Go. I can handle this. Do what you need to do."
 
DELFI

Caleb placed Sliocht down the mat, as Emer told him to. After her questions, he merely shrugged.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention.” He took a couple steps back, allowing the taller man to take his place as Emer’s third and fourth hand. He had his own situation to take care of. “Wait for Sliocht to fall asleep before you get back at it, will you?” Caleb teased, before stepping out of the clinic with a cheeky grin.

“Mal?! Where’s Mal?” He shouted at the corridor, hoping someone would respond - if the shipmaster didn’t appear upon request.

***
It wasn’t the answer Solomon was expecting to hear.

As the knife made its way out of Sinéad’s hand, it got itself stuck to the old elf’s neck. Not a single drop of blood spilled out of it, not even when he reached up, to get it unstuck.

“It’s a shame, I’ll tell you that. I saw potential in you, Sinéad.” The abomination roared, with an arrow stuck to its eye, taking bulky steps forward toward their new enemy.
 
REYN

One thing Emer did have over Mal was her patience for her patients. They didn't know how she did it, dealing with the whining of the injured- with the interruptions to her workflow. Mal heard the call from down the hallway, and, though they briefly considered leaving it unanswered, reluctantly spat out a response.

"Stop calling for me, I'm not your bloody lapdog." They said, raising their voice just enough to be heard, "You know where I am. Are you injuries really that bad that your legs can't carry you ten fucking metres?"

They leaned against the doorframe, but did not exit the room.

"I'll be happy to take them, if so."
 
PAPERWORK

"Sure." Another lie. Another instantaneously broken promise. Lovely. “I'll see you there. Just hurry.” She was pretty sure whatever truce had broken out in the room behind her had just ended. Someone had started throwing things. Something was roaring. Pris needed to be gone before that broke out into the hall. If she kept looking back over her shoulder every few seconds, she'd still be here when the sun came up.

But no, the construct was making sure she got out. Soon enough she was around the corner, and out of sight. Now all she had to do was wait.
 
DELFI

“Happy to see you as well.” Caleb was used to the creature after enduring their bad personality for a decade. He was also used to their constant requests for his body parts, so instead of addressing it, he simply ignored it, pulling out his shirt.

“Will you be a doll and fix it for me? There were some tools in Fen Manor that I think you can put up to good use.” Mal wouldn’t just do something for him without getting anything in return, and that was just how things were. Three of his stitches had snapped, and the blood kept flowing out of it. It wasn’t that bad, he was expecting way worse. “And no funny business this time.”
 
ANNASIEL

"Thank you, Baron," Emer replied, giving a curt nod to Caleb as he left. Letting Emryk take over, she hurried back to her cabinets, pulling the cauter from the fire and - holding it carefully to the side - returning to Sliocht.

"Lift your hands. I'll need you to take water from my basin and run it over the wounds to help seal them cleanly," she directed. Once the space was clear, she began to press the flat of the cauter around the room, trying her best to ignore that sickly-sweet smell it always carried. "The good news is, the wound is small. It will heal over well, and there will be little damage to his throat."

She wiped at her forehead with her sleeve, leaning in.

"It will feel miserable in the moment, and he will strain to breathe and swallow, but he will mend."
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

He had clearly come in halfway through the conversation, but heard enough to get the gist. Solomon King was trying to woo the Whore of the Horizon with empty promises. His Captain showed her hand, flinging the dagger at King while a bolt ripped through her sleeve, piercing one of the aberrations. Somehow Lucien doubted it would hinder its movement. She kicked the table back, grabbing her loot and making haste for the door.

While the Captain fled, her attack dog made himself useful.

Lucien exploded into action, launching himself away from the Captain, away from the fledgeling. He smoothly drew the gun from its holster, lining up its single shot for the hulking monstrosity lumbering after his captain, training the barrel on its head before squeezing the trigger, tucking it away as he drew the thing’s attention. It wouldd take a lot more to kill him than his Captain.
 
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