Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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ANNASIEL

The look of uncertainty on the barber's normally joyful face spoke volumes enough. Emer's lip curled, eyes turning to the horizon, to the roiling dark that crept into the sky, to the places where the sun had been smothered by clouds.

"Well-put," she said, nodding slowly. "There's a chill about, and little to do with the weather. I can feel it in my bones, Sliocht, and truth be told, it frightens me. There's always blood spilt with these things, but something about today -"

The arrival of the ship's cook cut her sentence short. She hastily smiled as if the worried frown was a shameful secret, then held out her hand for the apple - craning her neck back to meet the friendy giant's eye.

"Thank you, Soren. It would do us little well to skip our breakfast, hm?" She took a small bite, but didn't take another, feigning an appetite she currently lacked. "I'm glad to see you're keeping the crew fed and healthy. Tell me, do you have plans for supper yet? I do hope you'll make those little rolls again sometime soon."

Her gaze shifted to Sliocht for a moment, words unspoken - a promise that their shared worry was still on her mind.
 
DELFI

Boss. Caleb liked the sound of that.

He jumped out of the ship by the brunette's side and dived through the clouds, until they were hovering over long fields of crops. The town could be seen in the horizon.

"Have you ever been to Fen Manor?" He asked, but shrugged prior to getting an answer. "I won't be surprised if you haven't, it's quite a small town. But the lord who owns it is rich, and the land is fertile. They should have stockpiles of tax payments ready for the taking". He smiled at her. If there was one thing he'd figured out about Alys so far was that she enjoyed the adrenaline rush of a raid.

As they approached the city's entrance, Caleb grabbed Aly's wrist and pulled her towards the treeline by the hill on the west border of Fen Manor. Despite both of them being skilled at silencing people who might notice their arrival, it was best to avoid a commotion - until the ship landed, that is.

Hidden amongst the foliage on top of the hill they could have a better look at the town square. There were at least a dozen armed men surrounding the piles of gold and produce, and a line of citizens delivering what they had - from golden coins to sheep, depending on their labor and capital.

Caleb sat at a tree branch and took the flare gun out of it's holster, twirling it 'round his finger (as per usual) before handing it over to Alys.

"Wanna give it a go?" He asked. "You gotta fly back up, shoot when you've passed the clouds."
 
PAPERBAG FILL

Soren only hear bits and pieces, but he paid no mind. Best to not make assumptions about what they said, but rather to study the manner in which they spoke. The giant watched as the barber and the medicine woman each took an apple. His eyes studied them both, remaining silent as they each took a bite. Sliocht's mood changed considerably. Soren simply felt amused within his mind's eye. Good food helped one's mood and mind, and nature often held some of the best. Some folk just took it for granted when in fact nature and mind often held a deeper connection that most thought.

Speaking of nature, there was also the nature of the being. His nature was to be succinct.

"Hm," Soren simply grunted and nodded once towards the barber. His attention shifted over to the sylph and he simply let a similar yet disapproving rumble out of his thraot in reply to the medicine woman while shaking his head once both ways.

"No, it would not."

One eyebrow slightly raised. A small thing as she surprised him with her inquiry as to his cooking. No one asked him much in the way of questions when it came to his cooking. Mostly because it did not matter if they knew or not. Why? They would eat or they would starve, but good for them he was an excellent cook. Something he could take a small amount of pride in. So Soren would tell Emer what he told everyone who asked him that same question a dozen times over

"You will eat what I make," Soren replied curtly. His arms crossed over his chest. Arms perhaps bigger than Emer's own head. Even his hands may have been bigger than her head.

Still, an nearly imperceptible twist of a smirk on the edge of his lips followed, like fog disappearing on a mirror.

"But yes. There will be those rolls."

It did not take any particularly perceptive wit to understand how taxing these raids tended to be on her. And when he noticed how she simply seemed to beam a little when enjoying those rolls? Well, it became a little bit of a tradition to make those bread rolls after raids. It was the men and women who looked after the injured that needed the most help. A lesson learned in his homeland where people like her were highly valued. Why make exception here?

"Would you like to learn how to make them?"

He could sense the unease, no matter how Emer might mask it. He supposed Sliocht was better at it. The beaming smile acted a much better cover than her softer smiles. In a way, this was the best he could offer to perhaps alleviate her mind. Perhaps stress before the battle. Should he ask? Was it in his nature to? It may be best to keep to himself.

"Is there . . . " Soren's eyes narrowed, finding the right words, "something troubling either of you?"

He simply waited for a response. Whether he get anything of substance or truth was another matter entirely.
 
GOLDEN

Lord. Rich. Stockpiles of tax payments ready for the taking.

Ah, it was like music to Alys' ears. Crazy to think that 15-year-old Alys would have had an aneurysm upon hearing those words. Good thing that girl was long gone.

She shrugged - because truthfully, she wasn't sure whether she'd been here before - and matched his smile with a mischievous grin. The fairies fell into a comfortable silence as they flew over the bountiful fields of crops, which eventually turned to gravel, then cobblestone. Alys' pale blue eyes took in the charming town, specifically the distant roads and alleys that led away from the city centre. She always liked to have her own escape plan - in case something happened and she needed to leave on foot. But before she could get a closer look, Caleb wrapped a hand around her wrist and pulled her diagonally.

She sucked in a small breath of surprise but followed after him towards the highest vantage point, which also happened to be concealed by heavy greenery. Taking a seat beside Caleb, Alys peaked between the branches to observe the town square below. Armed guards lined the square, as expected, but the line of civilians meant a possible increase in innocent casualties.

She glanced towards Caleb as he twirled the flare gun effortlessly around his finger before handing it to her. Her fingertips ran over the smoothness of the gun until she held it comfortably in her dominant hand. Meanwhile, her mind ran rampant. Goddammit, she didn't want this job. She didn't want more expectations or responsibilities. She wanted to do what she usually did. But hell, what could she do? Say no? She could use it to shoot Caleb in the other eye, but that'd likely result with her head on a spike. That is, if the captain cared at all for her Quartermaster. On the other hand, when he wasn't annoying her or flaunting his status in her face, she found him rather amusing (albeit a rarity).

"Who? Little ol' me?" She said, tilting her head slightly. Why, what an honor, she wanted to add, but decided against it. Excessive taunting, no matter how tempting, would get her nowhere. "You got it, boss," she once again drawled out before shooting away from the town square and up.

Up, up, until she felt the clouds envelope her and the moisture stick to her face. Up and up until she breached the top. Arm extended to the sky, eyes staring down the bow of the High Nox. Her finger pulled the trigger and the flare shot out of the barrel, silently rising up above the ship until it reached it's peak.
 
ILLIRICA

The time drew near. It was becoming more and more important that each man and woman prepare themselves and take their places to be ready for the forthcoming raid.

So, of course, Caleb and Alys jumped off the ship.

"Blight-winged narcissistic rat-fucking fairies!"

Of all the irresponsible idiots - and Caleb should have known better. This close to the town, it was entirely possible that their antics would tip off the people below, and merely because the idiot lad was so desperate for a bit of attention from someone pretty that he was willing to compromise the raid for a hope of a bit of action.

"If he doesn't die in this raid and I don't kill him myself, someone take that boy to a whorehouse and keep him there until he gets it out of his system." This irritated mutter was quickly overwritten by a deep breath and a return to professionalism. Sinéad had a town to raid, after all, and she wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that.

"Helmsman, take the wheel. Steady as she goes. Thirty minutes. Soren, go fetch the drop-candies and pass them out." No pirate ship didn't have a barrel of hard candy or chews of some sort to give out to the crew members when they came down from a height. The sudden changes in pressure were hard on the ear, and while sometimes dealing with that was a simple necessity, for a raid she wanted everyone properly oriented the moment their feet hit the ground.

She left the aileron wheel to the helmsman's care for a moment and returned to her own cabin to prepare herself for the town below. Ship's attire was often markedly different than land attire - it got cold up in the sky and clouds, and warm clothes and cloaks were often needed for standing on the deck. On a raid, though, the most important thing was freedom of movement and making sure nothing interfered with one's ability to stab someone in the throat if they needed it.

In Sinéad's case: loose-fitting pants, with enough flexibility that she could kick a man's nose up into his brain while standing on the ground. Boots - steel-toed and steel-heeled, with a knife hidden along each shin. A sash wrapped around her midriff, sewn with a single coin from each of the towns she had raided that held a cutlass and another dagger, and a tiny spring-loaded crossbow mounted to her forearm. It was meant to be concealed beneath a shirt, but Sinéad wasn't really the concealing sort.

And two copper coins.

She bled.

Her wings were gone, and her back was agony, and she could see nothing through the haze of pain. She could only feel the agony, and the rough hand on her arm. She could hear, though. Oh, she could hear.

"You'll never amount to anything more than a two copper whore, not any more."

A pressure in her palm, two small round objects. "Here. Your first payment. For... services rendered."

And then a kick in her middle, off the edge of somewhere, and the coins biting into her palm as she held them and fell, and fell.


Sinéad picked the coins up. Sometimes she thought they were still warm, but perhaps that was just the fury. She'd had them affixed to pins as soon as she'd could, and their placement may have been what coined the name they all called her now.

The whore of the horizon.

And now it was time for another town to get fucked.

===​


And so the ship dropped, hard and fast, pounding down out of the sky into the folds of the unsuspecting manor below. The wall cannons might be firing from the keep, if they had them, but if the ship dropped fast enough it was hard to get a bead on. Maybe they'd have archers at the ready, or maybe the whole place would have been caught with its proverbial pants around its ankles.

It wouldn't be the first time, but then again, first times were overrated.

"For fate and fortune!"
 
THIMBLE

"Not at all" Sliocht said, going for a third bite of his delectable fruit. Better to keep the big man in the dark on this particular circumstance. Besides, Soren didn't seem like the type to go in for vague, shadowy portents of unease.

"Blight-winged narcissistic rat-fucking fairies!"

Sliocht almost choked on his apple, startled by the sudden yelling from the bridge. Something about blights and rat-fucking, he thought, as he coughed out a chunk of fruit. It was time.

"We're in it now, lads" he muttered grimly, forcing a grin back onto his face. He grabbed Emer in a friendly embrace, clapping her on the shoulders in a gesture of goodwill. Close enough that no one else could hear, the cheerful barber lowered his voice and whispered a warning.

"Watch yourself today. Talk later, if there's time".

With that, the ship's barber left Emer and Soren to their fruits and made his way to side of the ship, lashing one hand to the railing with a leather strap to keep him secure during the ride down. He tapped his saw against his leg nervously, breathing quickly in anticipation of the work to come.

===


Sliocht gripped the rail tight as the ship dove through the clouds. His knuckles had long since turned white from the constant grip, and the whistling gusts of the ship's rapid descent had left him shivering. He sucked in a sharp breath as the shape of the manor below grew clearer.

Carried by determination and fury over the howling gale, he could hear a cry from the bridge.

"For fate and fortune!"

"Fate and fortune" he whispered, his words drowned out by the roaring wind.
 
UMBRASIGHT

Nessa brushed her fingers through her hair as the giant lumbered away, leaving behind a ruffle in her locks and the faint smell of bread. She could remember still being a girl when the first of harvest came, and her mother had fresh milled grain for the table — after the lord had taken his lot. It didn’t wet the tongue now, a bit like chewing on sand she had found. And the memory too offered no small comforts, even when cravings came she remembered all too well starving as thin carvings of bread were dripped with lard.

Her amber eyes turned to Lucien as his attention came down on her, a flask in hand. She sniffed at the air as the hint of bread was replaced by something far more tantalizing. Nessa reached out, taking the offered flask with a light touch, as if she were expecting some trap to be sprung.

“Another concoction of yours?” Nessa asked, unscrewing the lid and bringing the neck up to her nose. She sniffed it once, to see what it had been laced with. The blood was there, sweet and sharp of alcohol, though it wasn’t the Nox’s common grog.

“Mm, cheers.” She said, taking a healthy draw from the flask. It was… very boozy. The blood was sweet, dangerously so even, so with a click of her teeth she passed the flask back. She ran her tongue across her lips, as she felt warmth like an old fire prickling in her stomach and the taste of sweet iron lingered.

“Going to put me out on my lips, w’too much of that.” Nessa said. She turned her head as Sinéad passed, muttering dark curses that left chills in their wake. Though maybe that was simply the drink. “Thanks, by looks we’ll be diving soon, best prepare.” She turned back to the stairs. Her footwork was cleaner, now, as she looked back over her shoulder. She smiled something sharp.

“Try not to scare the fresh blood too much. Been hearing the last batch whimpering in their bunks for weeks.”
 
ANNASIEL

Emer jumped, startled at the captain's shout, wheeling around to face the source of the drama. It wasn't obvious, and in all honesty, Emer didn't care to find out. Rallying up the crew, perhaps. Whatever the case, it was time. Slipping the apple into the satchel at her side, she returned Sliocht's hug, nodding slightly at his whispered warning.

"You as well," she muttered back, pulling away and folding her arms beneath her shawl.

~​


The lozenge was sweet and hard, edges tough between her teeth. She didn't need it - the descent rarely hit her as hard as it did the others, and she could deal with some mild nausea well enough without - but it was nice to have something else to focus on than the looming manor-house below. Her body felt weightless. Empty. Wind-headed, her mother called it, when the mind floated out like a leaf in a gust, pulled away from the body by worry or dread. It was good to have grounding, then. To focus on what you saw, you touched, you heard and tasted, if only to bring yourself back down to the earth. The candy's edges were rough where it had cracked. The mingling liquid with her spit was sugary. The wind was cold and biting, roaring in her ears as they rapidly descended.

Rough wood beneath her hands gripping the railing tight, sanded of splinters but still poxed with years of wear.

She touched ground when the ship did, centering herself as the Nox slowed its swooping dive within range of the estate. Taking a final look over the crew - truly final for some, perhaps - she let go of the railing, turning to descend back down below to the lower decks. The battlefield was no place for her. Seeing bloodshed was pointless. Instead, she settled back into her clinic, setting her tinctures and balms out ready on the table, before reclining back in her blanket-draped, small silver knife gripped firmly beneath the folds of her shawl.

Just in case.
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Lucien couldn’t help the faintest hint of a smirk from tugging at his lip, the faint glint of enamel shining through as he saw the fledgling in front of him took a cautious sniff and, realizing the contents, hearty swig. It was like she had finally woken up when she’d been sleepwalking. He chuckled darkly at her comment.

“Someone has to keep them in line. Our beloved quartermaster has been too busy trying to get his wings wet to perform his duty.”

Lucien gave another bow to the Captain as she let out her cry, the ship beginning to slip downwards, as if gravity had finally decided to wrap its earthen tendrils around the skyship and drag it to the deep. Crew swarmed the deck like ants whose hill had been toppled, rushing to their posts as the ship began its descent. Lucien strode through them, watching the fresh blood part like waves when their paths would have intersected with his. None wanted to get too close to the Captain’s pet vampire, it seemed, especially not as a raid was starting.

He strode to the bow of the ship, rapier in hand, as he gracefully leapt, perching atop the ship’s stern. He crept along, each footstep deliberate, precise, until his next step would only plunge him to the earth below. There he crouched, a smile cracking through to his face, wind threatening to buffet him from his perch. Words came to him, the words spoken before every raid. Ancient, yet new. Timeless, yet so young. Fully formed and yet not thought of. They came to him and slid from his lips like a sword from its scabbard, their echo low and grating.

“Cry ‘havoc’, and let slip the dogs of war.”

The clouds burst, the ground appeared below them, and Lucien took that final step.
 
PAPERBAG FILL

Soren's eyes remained on the pair before him. His attention slightly brought away as he turned his head to the side by just a little. The Captain was spewing curses. Fairies. Caleb and Alys, most likey, and Soren could guess a few reasons as to why. But he would not get involved. Whatever resentment those rash actions brewed would be deal with between those individuals.

The same could be said of the two people in front of him. Sliocht could have fooled most. Emer perhaps too. But Soren had been in this business long enough to know when he's not wanted nor needed. So while his eyes watched their mouths move in whisper, he heard nothing before eventually his eyes tore away from the pair. He began trekking back towards the entrance that lead to the levels beneath the deck.

Always the outsider looking in, even after three years. Always coming and going. Hiding under the floors and in his kitchen. Never quite ignored but never quite seen either. He supposed he had his height and few words to thank for that.

Soren soon pulled a second barrel. This time with the candies and chewing tobacco and all assortment of chewable cures in bags within the barrel. He settled with a large bang, just like he done with the apples, before speaking once more, loudly and in gruff tone of voice.

"Drop candies. Eat. Now."

Before lumbering off down once more. Minor details needed to be sorted out. Strapping down certain objects and foods while also preparing his own gear. It did not take long before he wore his battle attire. One sword strapped to his back. Impractical to draw, but that was not the point. The point it was a backup, a perfect twin to the blade sheathed away and strapped to the belt at his side. Along with the belt was also a pistol strapped to his side. Well, "pistol". The armament was larger than most of even the largest guns, and let's just say the power behind its blast matched its size. Soren was the only one that could wield it without getting hurt.

Hell, he sometimes wondered if it was a toy compared to the size of his two longswords. Nearly the size of greatswords, perhaps. They certainly matched his size and stature. The armor and thick cloth and leathers wrapped around his entire frame, similar to his cloak and fur wrapped around his shoulders. A substantial armor part of his assemble. Enough to protect what was necessary and what not. He could not sacrifice too much defense or too much speed. Both were critical.

Afterwards, Soren prayed. He sat crosslegged upon the center of the deck as he simply meditated for a few moments. He could help with other tasks on the deck. Pulling rope or wheeling out weapons, but it would be best to preserve his strength and focus.

What was also critical that everyone had a partner. An individual to watch their back. And while Lucien may be content to run in alone and slaughter and feed, others were less so inclined. In a way, Caleb's foolish actions held some wisdom in having another person to watch over and do so in kind. Opening his eyes and lifting to his feet as they finished their descent, Soren's eyes scanned the deck. Many would leave to raid and many would stay behind.

But there was one who seemed a little lost in the confusion.

Soren reached a hand out from behind her person and settled it firmly upon the young sorceress's shoulder.

"Juniper."

She would find his gaze piercing.

"Do you wish to go with the others or stay here?"

A simple question. Often it was best to not point out to the lost they are lost. Instead, better to show them a few paths to get back on track. And a guide to help.

"I will help watch your back."
 
DELFI

"What do you mean, it's not enough?!" A fat man with a bald spot on the top of his head and a big mustache complained, his face turning red with anger. He was the first in line, discussing with the fairy responsible for the collection of tax payments. "Ten golden coins, that's what I paid last time, and that's all you're getting from me! I refuse to comply with this thievery!"

Behind him, an old goblin carrying a fruit basket in one arm and a rope tied to a sheep's neck on the other fidgeted with his fingers. It hadn't been a good season for his farm, his wife had been ill and between taking care of her and his 5 year old grandaughter, there was little time to tend to the crops. From what he'd overheard from the discussion between the fat man in the blue attire and the guard, the lord'd been asking for a higher pay than usual. That was not good. He was next in line, and was already delivering less than what would've been expected last month.

"Grandpa, look!" The senile creature was pulled away from his toughts at the words of his granddaughter, that tugged the rim of his shirt. He looked at the direction she was pointing at, it wad something in the sky.

"PIRATES!" He heard someone scream, at the same time he realized the thing she was pointing at was a ship.

"Guards! Protect the stockpile!" The leader of the guard said, pushing the fat man out of the way and pulling the rifle that hang behind his back.

"We need to go, now!" The old goblin said, reaching for the little girl's hand, and accidentally dropping the basket on the ground.

"The fruit!" She exclaimed, running after the apples that had rolled away from the both of them.

Meanwhile, the guards were getting in formation. Two of them attempted to guide the civilians away while the others gathered around the stockpile.

"Call for reinforcements!" The leader said, batting his wings to float a couple meters off the ground. One of the guards ran back towards the mansion, while the others got their guns ready. "FIRE!"
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Juniper was pulled from their thoughts, and their idle chewing on an apple, by a deep, rumbling voice and a hand on her shoulder. They turned to face the source of the voice, and found themselves staring into the chest of a man much larger than their current form. Her eyes trailed up to meet the gaze of Soren, the chef, and an intense gaze at that. Shaking her head in order to clear it, she plucked a drop candy from the barrel, grateful for the service they provide, and answered the giant. "That is... and excellent question. I'm not sure. I don't really even know where we're going yet, and that would help a lot. It may be best for me to stay and defend, though if they hardly have any firepower..." they said, voice trailing.

'If they don't have way to retaliate, my skills would be wasted here, surely,' she thought, and she would remain thinking for a bit longer, mind running circles, wondering if she should stay or go. Every time she came to the decision to stay, that want for supremacy would convince her to go show the small town of Fen Manor their abilities, but then the creeping memory of what happened before would stay them. It was only when the city fully came into view that their mind was made up. What little sunlight that could fight through the clouds shone down on the stockpile, gold glinting in the air, the guards and mercenaries raising their rifles to take aim at the High Nox, it all filled them with a burst of adrenaline, a want, a need to face those odds and come out on top. And so, she spoke, a grin forming on her face, creeping ever so slowly into a full, near-crazed smile.

"Soren, I think I want to go."
 
DELFI

Caleb stared up at the sky waiting for Alys to come down, but the Hard Nox came into view first.

From up the tree he couldn't distinguish people, they looked more like tiny ants that were suddenly no longer in line, but running for their lives. The smart ones were, at least.

With everyone's focus on the giant ship, he didn't have to worry much about hiding as he flew closer to the town square until he got to the roof of a tall enough building where he could have a better view, but still keep himself from being seen. He didn't worry about Alys, his orange wings would be easy to spot from above.

He had cabin seats for the spectacle that was the frightened guards shooting their rifles, that barely scratched the Hard Nox' hull. All except one, who ran away from the ship and towards the manor, protected by it's own guard.

Caleb positioned his rifle in between the shingles, set aim and shot. Headshot.

The man fell to his knees, drenching the cobblestones with a puddle of his own blood. The fairy smirked. It should delay reinforcements for a while, until the big explosions at least.
 
ILLIRICA

Join the militia, they said.

Learn some skills, they said. Meet some new people, they said. See a little of the world, they said.

Evani Orens was in Fen Manor, which was less than fifteen miles from the village where he'd grown up. He'd gone there for festivals as a kid, with his sisters. This wasn't exactly seeing the world. That, and the skills he had learned so far mostly consisted of how not to complain, and how to clean just about anything.

He was here to guard the tax shipment, apparently, and getting the side eye from the local guards, because apparently being in the militia made him untrustworthy. Even Domani was giving him the side eye, and they'd gone to school together. They'd dated for a while.

Actually, maybe that explained more about why she was giving him the side eye than the militia thing - but it didn't account for the rest of them. Evani could have been one of the local guards just as easily as the rest of them.

Maybe they'd see something interesting later. He wasn't sure if they'd be taking the tax money all the way to the capitol, but maybe. Maybe everyone else was just jealous. Maybe that was it.

Maybe Domani was jealous. He gave her a rakish grin, and she rolled her eyes at him from her post. Maybe that was progress? He was figuring out how to patrol over her way while looking busy when someone shouted something entirely unexpected:

"PIRATES!"

He had a brief thought of impressing her with his prowess by singlehandedly defeating the invaders, and then the reality of it all set in and he paled, quickly drawing an arrow and setting it to the bow, sighting along it with keen eyes towards what he hoped was an easy target, and loosing the arrow.
 
PAPERBAG FILL

Soren's eyes simply watched her as she decided. He simply waited. Indecision and hesitance could cost someone their life on the battlefield as much as it may save it. But, for now, the hull of their ship was more than resilient against the small arms fire. So he simply waited. After all, he had time. All that time his eyes watched her eyes dart as she aired her thoughts.

Before he noticed that smile creeping onto her face the closer the ship drew to the ground. At quite the speed too, if the rush of the air was any indication. His gaze flickered over to the side as he watched Lucien leapt down towards the ground below. Soren hoped he survived the fall. However, as his attention returned to Juniper, he found his concern greater at her smile. It was wild. Untamed. Nearing a crazed look he had found in certain warriors and murderers, berserkers who ran in the fight with nothing but the thrill and adrenaline of battle in their blood.

A sense of disappointment filled him at himself before focusing back at the task at hand.

"Then we shall strike at them from behind. Conserve your magic. Fire only when ready."

His advice to Juniper. His stern countenance never fading for even a moment.

"Now follow me."

It was less of an ask, more of a command. He wrapped an arm around her before racing towards the front of the ship and leaping off the rails. His leap carried them forward and far away from the ship. The wind whipped past their persons before they began to descend further. Soren's limbs were spread out, only slightly slowing the fall before adjusting his approach until he landed feet first. His boots crushing into the ground and stone, sending huge swathes of upended dirt and land. He slid to a stop before settling Juniper down, ensuring his body would cover her as he did so. Another moment spent to ensure she was steady before he turned around, drawing one sword at the ready.

Work needed to be done.

"We clear a path."

While the soldier fired at the ship, Soren sought to end this group from the back. Draw their attention away from the ship where the Hard Nox's reinforcements would reside, those unable to fly or withstand the drop. His feet carried him with startling size, one that should not have been associated with a man of his size but he carried forth like a bull, but only what was more startling was what his eyes soon grasped. A child and her relative in the middle of this battle chasing after . . . apples. Foolish girl.

Soren grunted before thrusting his blade into the ground. He was aiming to take out someone's throat. He ran, barreling past a few soldiers and sending them onto their asses before sliding on his knees and picking up both goblin adult and child

And throwing them as far from here as possible without breaking their damn necks.

"Run."

He was a warrior first. Pirate second. If he could help it.

A sharp searing pain echoed through his back. He could feel armor and skin blistering under heat and metal fragments. The sound only came a moment afterward to his ears. He been shot. Soren simply growled before he reached a hand out. His blade flew into his embrace and Soren simply spun, kicking off the ground, and standing straight as he cleaved head from body. Blood fell onto the blade and his clothes before Soren reached to grab the uniform and lift the meatshield up as protection. Soren ran forward to the next target. Sword ready to be brought into the throat of his next enemy.
 
UMBRASIGHT

The rip of wind sliced through her cloak as easy as teeth through skin. There was a rush in the fall, in that moment of weightlessness when it felt that the strength of one’s arms would scarcely be enough to keep one grounded to the deck. It was more than simply felt in the flesh, the anticipation crackled in the air, in the nervous movement of the fresh and seasoned, the roar of whose voices rivaled even the scream of the wind. Blood and coin, it called for, and the ship would take her share of both. Nessa held tight to the railing as the ship tore through the clouds, wisps of vapor trailing in their wake like sheared cloth clinging to the form of some specter. The town below stretched out, for a moment caught in the peaceful was of the moment’s prior, before violence and blood made itself reality. Soon people would stir and run, or gift their lifeblood to the cobble.

Which it would be for the crowd, wasn’t Nessa’s problem.

The vampire stepped back from her spot as the hard dive lessened. The crowd below was breaking up, and she could hear the uneven ‘plucks’ of scattered musket shot impacted harmlessly against the hull. No volleys yet, those sounded like a terrible rain, so there was time yet before proper firing lines could be drawn from the chaos. With quick steps Nessa made her way to the rigging at the aft of the Nox. The heavy cloak she had been wearing had been swapped for one that was much lighter, with enough wear that it wouldn’t draw the eye. It wasn’t optimal for combat, though it wouldn’t be hard to slice herself free in a pinch, but she wasn’t aiming to take the role of a combatant.

She took hold of the old rope, wind smoothed and sturdy under her fingers. She watched the approaching ground, listened to the metallic clang of the crow cages that rang like unholy bells, perhaps they’d add a few bodies before the day was up — though not many taxmen were worth the effort to kidnap. Instead, she turned her ear, listening for Ciarán’s call to arms. Once the raiders dropped, she would too, and let chaos become her disguise.
 
DELFI

It was remarkable for a Goblin who'd worked so hard his entire life to still be alive, let alone walk on his own two feet. Being thrown that hard, subsequently hitting his bad hip against a pole might have done it for him. Or at least it felt like it.

The five year old rose from the fall, hearing the old man's cry.

"Grandpa!" She shouted, running towards him. The old man could't talk back, pain consuming every fiber of his being. When he was finally able to open his eyes, his grandaughter was no longer by his side.

"Miriam! Come back!" He screamed desperatly, watching as the girl ran towards the beast who'd thrown them at the curb.

"Evil man! You hurt my grandpa!" The brave little girl complained, catching up to the 7 feet giant, throwing soft punches at his tigh.

***

Baron Rufus, the fat man with a fat mustache was paralized with fear. His face, red only a few moments ago lost its color and when he finally got back to his senses he looked around, put the golden coins back inside his pocket and tried his best to get away from the square, now turned into battlefield.
 
GOLDEN

Smoke still lingered from the flare gun as the pirate ship dove, hard, slicing through the air as if it weighed nothing. The raiders would spread like wildfire, engulfing the city centre and scattering the poor townsfolk away, far away. Alys didn't intend on waiting for the kindling to catch.

So she dove as well, free falling through the sky, enjoying the slight sting of wind whipping angrily at her face. Once she got close enough, her wings unfolded and she lifted up again, soaring away from the ship to flank the other side of the city centre.

A pair of bright orange wings caught her eye and she watched as the Quartermaster aimed, fired, and drew the first drop of blood. Once she circled close enough, she called out from the sky, "Oi! Decent shot! But I've seen you do better!" Oh, how nice it felt to finally taunt the Deadly Shot. But there was more fun to be had down below. "Catch ya on the flipside," she said, swooping past him into the chaos below, caused by none other than the man who made somewhat average bread rolls and Juniper.

Alys hadn't even touched the ground yet when an arrow shot past her head, just barely nicking the pointed end of her left ear. Enraged, she spun to face her assailant. Both him and his female counterpart had to be several years younger than her, mere children parading around like seasoned soliders, guarding the spoils. Without hesitation, Alys withdrew her pistol, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

The landing was rougher than anticipated, but it was more than made up for by the excitement of the journey. As the giant set Juniper down on their own two feet, they clutched their staff tightly once more and let out a yell of excitement. The adrenaline was pumping now, and she was ready to do some damage, but Soren was right. They needed to clear a path for everyone else, make the haul easy pickings for the crew so that maybe it wouldn't be so bloody for the Nox. Deep down, she knew it likely wouldn't matter, since the greenhorns had scarcely been in a fistfight, much less a shootout, but one could dream. She followed the giant forwards, after he had removed someone's head from their shoulders, towards the main fray, hoping to catch them off guard from behind.

Down the street, she could see where the guards were setting up, pointing their rifles at the Nox and taking potshots to little, or even no, effect, but what truly caught their eye was the scene in front of them. A small girl, pounding away at the legs of Soren, crying and yelling about a hurt grandfather. Juniper, recognizing, she thought, the fear of being alone, and kneeled down beside her, trying to catch her little arms in one of her hands. "Hey, hey, it's okay. We're, uh, trying to get you guys out of the way. So we don't have to actually be evil. It's those guys we don't like, not you two, so why don't you help your... dad? Grandpa? Whoever, home and out of here before that ship reaches the ground fully," she said, pointing to where the Nox was ending its descent. Things would only get worse once the rest of the crew got off the ship, and she knew that most of them wouldn't do them the courtesy Soren had tried to do.
 
GHOSTLY

The comforting taste of the lozenge was just as familiar as the feeling of his stomach in his throat. Something new to him once he’d joined the Hard Nox - just another piece of the job. Ciarán anchored himself with his silver hand, fingers digging into the railing as the bow took a sharp dive through the clouds just as it had dozens of times before. He stood stoic and unbent - ‘putting on a show for the lads’ some called it, Ciarán just liked the attention.

He had confidence in the raiding crew, as well as his fellow officers who'd be seeing combat. He'd tried to take the time to drill nearly everyone aboard for today, aside from those who found their role outside of defense and raiding or those too pompous or busy to accept his guidance - a common mistake.

As the dive evened out, Ciarán called forward his advance team - those he’d handpicked for their skill and temperament. Ciarán had taken time and care to focus on not only the natural talent of recruits, but also their eagerness or lack thereof to draw blood. Those who seemed a tad too bloodthirsty during sparring often found themselves assigned to hauling powder or clearing cannons until they proved they could control themselves. This wasn’t just to spare them the unnecessary brutality, but to also foster discipline and focus in the heat of combat.

“I’ll have no pointless bloodshed on my hands today or you’ll find the only cut you receive will be across your throat.” Ciarán hoped for the best, expected the worst. The cat o’ nines had its own role aboard the ship and it did it well.

As they came in close enough to sound the alarms, Ciarán shed his insulated long coat in favor of the much lighter and flexible vest overtop a loose-sleeved shirt with the cuffs buttoned up above his elbows. He wore a shoulder-harness with a pair of pistols at the ready to draw, as well as a belt of additional powder and balls on his hip. Ciarán looked over his shoulder at them - he was the tip of the spear and he was leading them directly into the fire. His face beamed confidence, but beneath stirred dread. He could hold a straight face in front of Lucien, wish and pray for safety on the wind, but when the bell tolled there was no denying it.

That wasn’t the man he’d show - not now at least. Now, he was Master Gunner Ciarán Airgetlám of the Hard Nox - the most vile and feared marauders in the skies. From the High Isles to Brimstone their name was left whispered into cups and washed from mouths with soap, lest the crew of the Nox would snatch you by your ankles and leave you dangling from a crow cage.

He banished the weak thoughts from his mind, they were not becoming of an officer of his station.

He let out a laugh as shots bounced off their hull. “They’re playing our song, lads!” He mounted the railing and grasped a rope. “Stick with your dance partners, mind your feet, keep your eyes on the prize, and we all live to do this again!” He spun on the heels of his fine leather boots and rappelled to ground level, rolling to even out the shock to his knees on the cobble.

“Focus on what that pudgy lord has his men guarding! Oh - and for whoever brings me him alive, there’s an untapped barrel of Dvergr Ale in my cabin just begging for a first tasting.”
 
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