Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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HIGHVOLTAGE

The captain shouted, adding a weight to Lucien’s threat and scolding that the two could not argue with. Not for a lack of want, however. Juniper called into question his use of the term ‘prey’, to which Lucien flashed his fangs in an expression that was halfway between a smirk and a grimace. Any other argument they had died in their throat. The oaf spoke, a miracle in and of itself, ordering them to capture one of the guards sent for reinforcements. While it was not a bad plan, Lucien loathed the idea of being ordered around by a meager cook.

Fortunately, he was saved from that dilemma by the pyromancer taking their role a bit too eagerly, incinerating the man and leaving naught but a charred corpse. At the very least he would not be sending for aid anytime soon. Caleb and Alys swooped in, and Lucien raised a bloody hand in greeting.

“Delighted you could finally join us, quartermaster,” Lucien remarked, watching the two begin to take loot from the pile. “ Glad to see the fighting has died down enough so you can descend from your perch.” The captain shouted once more, encouraging Juniper, who took to it eagerly. A scream tore from their throat, flames pouring from their outstretched arms, coating the nearby buildings in shades of flickering orange and yellow. Lucien laughed darkly. “We may make a beast of you yet, sorcerer. I trust you and the oaf can handle the loot.”

With that, Lucien surged forward, away from the loot pile, seeking the last dregs of defense the city had set up. The battlefield was bathed in dancing firelight, the heat rising as Lucien continued his dance of death. His rapier danced out, stabbing here and there, leaving wounds that wept red, lashing out with his free hand to tear them wider, bits of flesh and blood clinging underneath his nails. Some even surrendered, thinking he would let them live. For those he merely sank his fangs into them, a greedy draught of blood pulled before pushing them to the ground.
 
REYN

"A likely story!"

This stranger was heavy, Mal noted- a struggle even for them to drag. His skin, as well—if you could even call it that—was notably cold, like grasping at the arm of a statue, albeit one with some give. Perhaps the bonesaw wouldn't be needed. Perhaps all Mal needed to get was a chisel.

Of course, Emer stepped in before any of that could manifest.

"Your naïveté has vexed me for the last time, Emer." They growled, "Look- he brought tools with him. This isn't a case of a lost child; he knows what he's doing- don't you, eh?"

Mal shot a glare at the stranger before returning their gaze to Emer.

"We're taking him inside." They stated firmly, "You can ask your questions only when I'm within sculpting distance."

They pushed past Emer to grab the stranger again- and, if successful, would continue pulling him into the ship, muttering under their breath.

"Oooh, there are monsters about- there are monsters about, alright. I'll show you bloody... bloody monsters about..."
 
UMBRASIGHT

She landed on the top of the wall at a crouch, with no other missile having found its way into her flesh. Which was, in her position in any case, a good outcome. Did the guard who took his opportunity spread the word to others? If the raid was going how she expected it was, the man likely died not long after he took that shot. A waste of good effort and energy, that, sometimes your lift is better spent running. Still, it didn’t matter none, she was where she wanted to be.

Nessa slipped down over the edge, with another impact she could feel in her knees as she hit the ground. She glanced the way of the guardsmen, but they seemed more preoccupied with the fight going on outside the gates than they were watching the walls. Still, no reason to keep out in the open where she could be spotted, so keeping low Nessa slid around the backside of what she assumed to be some form of smithy, before picking her way forward to the building she had seen with the garden from her perch up in the tree.

She crept forward, weight on the balls of her feet and practically soundless save for the gentle swish of cloth. She didn’t bother with the door as she circled her way around the building, the window on the side would serve her needs well enough, and was harder to jam a chair under. She peered inside the building, as she drew a thin blade. Movement, but none looking her way. With a well practiced hand Nessa slid the blade between the window and the still, moving it carefully until she felt the latch ’click’. No time to grease anything to make it open quietly.

In one smooth movement Nessa pushed the window open, before grabbing the bottom of the sill and pulling herself through. She dropped down to the floor of the apothecary, her blade raised and amber eyes scanning.
 
DELFI

The lord had sent the best on his personal guard to battle. Mercenaries who earned a high amount to keep him safe, and were now in charge of keeping his belongings from being taken by filthy pirates.

The air smelled of smoke when the group made their way down the manor, led by a dark haired man covered in a purple cloak. Crow was his name, and a smile crept onto his lips as he got to the townsquare, past the corridor of flames.

From a quick glance at the group, he could easily tell who was in charge.

"Leave the captain to me," he told the others. "You can take care of the rest." With a hand resting on his sword's handle he calmly walked forward, locking eyes with the woman with blonde hair.





***

From afar, Brandon was certainly the easiest to spot. A 9 feet tall giant covered in heavy metal armor pointed at the largest target from the bunch - a man who'd already been pierced through by a number of arrows.

"YOU." He grunted. The ginger giant certainly wasn't the brightest, but was great at smashing things. He screamed while running towards Soren, fist ready for the encounter.




***

To say Poppy was mad would be an understatement. The female satyr was a fierce fighter but a gardener first, and to see everything in flames was enough to put her on edge; in fact, she was furious. She waited behind as Crow and Brandon walked past her, searching for the culprit of all that mayhem. Then she saw her.

Poppy clutched her fingers, feeling the roots under the ground beneath her feet. She could feel it as it moved towards Juniper, breaking through the cobblestones and attempting to wrap itself around the changeling's limbs.




***

Further from the rest of the Elite Guard of Fen Manor, Beck prepared her bow for an avalanche of arrows. She shot three at the pirates rushing towards the stockpile, led by a handsome man without an arm. She'd deal with Ciarán later, after putting all his men to permanent sleep.


 
ILLIRICA

Mate was going to be in a fight today.

He had not been in a fight in a long time. There had been fights at home, but those were troll fights. Troll fights were different. Sometimes you had to pound your words into someones. These other races did not understand the words even if he pounded them in. They had other words, made of strange sounds. The way a word was formed made it mean something else.

Troll words were not like that. Troll speech was a rhythmic thing. It did not matter what the sounds were, it only mattered when they were. They spoke with their feet as often as anything else, great stomping debates. They spoke with their hands put together in thundering conversation. Sometimes they sang their any-shaped words across the mountains.

He had a name, in the speech of trolls, but the ones here did not know much of the speech of trolls, and when he had come here he had not known much of the speech of others. Someone had greeted him the first day with "Watch where you're going, Mate!" and now that was his name here.

He did not mind. There were many things to see. Mate was not a mountain troll or a cave troll. He was a swamp troll, with great moss upon his back. His people cultivated small flowers and plants upon themselves. He had found many interesting plants here. A thistle blossomed behind his right ear, and he was growing a very respectable blackberry bramble on his left shoulder, with long thorny tendrils reaching down nearly to his knees. Some of the berries were beginning to turn red. He was quite proud of that.

But today there would be fighting, and fighting was not good for blackberries. He stopped at the side of the road and gently untangled the roots, digging a hole for them with a thick hand the size of a shovel and patting the dirt down once more before rising. He was twice the height of most of the people here, and must be careful where he put his feet.

A small fairy man was shooting people with a gun. Mate understood that guns were dangerous to most people. They did not do much against his thick troll hide, though they stung very fiercely. He had been shot once, but the person had apologized. "I'm sorry, Mate, I won't do it again!"

He wondered sometimes how they all knew his name even though they had never met.

Still, this man could not be allowed to shoot the other people. Mate would have to convince him otherwise. He bent down and picked up a large rock, a good size for his hands, and threw it at the little fairy man to introduce himself and open discussion.


--


For a moment, Alys had been alone. There were always moments like that, in a fight, where things went quiet. Sometimes it happened more often than others, especially if one tended to take to the skies. It wasn't unusual.

No, what was unusual was that suddenly she was not alone. Not in the manner of someone rushing up to fight her, but rather in the manner of there being no one and then there being some one - or, at least, something.

It began with a voice in her ear, a very cheerful "Hello!"

The word echoed, repeated, from all directions around her:
"Hello!"
"Hello!​
"Hello!"​

Several somethings. Wherever she looked, she would see one - not much more than a bright smile, wreathed in darkness. They flitted around in the air, tiny little things - perhaps a dozen, perhaps half a dozen. It was almost impossible to count, as they seemed to move in and out depending on where she was looking. They didn't seem to attack, her, though - only laugh brightly, even as it seemed to grow darker around them.
"Hahaha!"​
"Are you a friend?!"
"Come play with us!"​


--


So, it had come to this, had it?

Torven Winmere gave a sigh, running a weathered hand over a beard that was more silver than black. These days, finding those specks that were still black took some effort. Not so with the hair on his head - that had left him many years ago, about the same time he'd given up the wandering life.

Fen Manor had been good to him, these years. He had a room of his own, meals when he wanted them, a little alcove for prayer and quiet contemplation. He'd been satisfied to hang his sword up on the mantle and leave his armor on the mannequin. He got them out every few months, to impress the children at the festivals.

Mostly, he prayed. Father Sky, above us all, look down on us kindly.

There were running footsteps in the manor corridor now, shouts of fire, of pirates. Nothing that Torven had not faced in a time long ago, but he had not thought to face it again. Still, a man knew when he was called upon. He bowed to the altar, taking the time for one more prayer, and donned his armor once more with the smell of incense wafting in the air.

He walked down calmly, while the young men and women rushed ahead. How many of them had he proudly told stories to? How many had he let hold his sheathed blade? How many would live to tell their own stories, after today? Some would certainly fall.

The battle came to them, with bloodshed aplenty. Much of it, from one alone - a mockery of a man, something twisted and foul, just as likely to sink his teeth into those poor children as his blade.

Torven did not rush in. He made his way towards the vampire with gravity and calm, his blade drawn and shining.

"Father Sky, grant me your aid."
 
PAPERBAG FILL

Soren simply watched as flames ignited around him from the corner of his eyes. Juniper. Lucien and Sinead had both riled their resident sorcerer enough to expend her reserves of magic. A foolish errand. While they may hold the advantage now with these flames, it would mean nothing in the long run if the battle changed course in less than their favor. While Soren found respect in the druids and wizards and all manner of magic folk, it was not an unlimited resource. A living body can only work to convert so much of that ethereum into an effect.

Soren began walking towards Juniper, moving slowly to watch for arrows or any other manner of enemy attack. And while he spotted several new combatants, they were not coming for him. Soren simply narrowed his eyes in thought. Had an adventuring party been hired or were these mercenaries? The difference did not matter much, but the former acted more like a team or unit while the latter acted as a bunch of individual units.

Guess which was easier to fight off.

Soren heard a thunderous voice yelling. He shifted his feet, turning slowly towards his combatant. A giant. Not one from Soren's lands, however, but Soren had no clue what this cousin's heritage could be. Instead, Soren put one foot front and another back before adjusting the blade in his hands before pulling his arms back and keeping the handle closer to his chest, but about eight inches away. His blade pointed forward as the giant charged straight at him. Nine foot tall giant, Soren might add. Bigger than himself but less skilled.

If this giant expected the two to box or duel honorably, he should have said something. This was a battlefield, and honor most definitely got one killed, even in private duels. Besides, he had Juniper to worry about, and last he checked someone of the druid sort was attacking her. Dividing his focus now or trying to run to Juniper's aid would get them both killed. He needed to end his bout quick before rushing to her.

Soren waited until his giant opponent closed the gap himself and instead of swinging, Soren thrusted his blade forward towards the ginger oaf's throat. No matter how large the giant's arms were, they couldn't be longer than Soren's arms and the length of the blade held within their grasp. Soren sought to sink the blade as deep into the man's throat as possible. If it worked, Soren would kick the dead giant's body off his blade.

If not, Soren could only brace for impact and ready himself for a close-quarters fight.
 
DELFI

While the box was heavier than he’d expected it to be, Caleb hid the fact the best he could. Pride was probably his worst of sins, though he indulged on the others as well once in a while.

He didn’t know what had happened while he was gone, but Juniper seemed furious - furious enough to burn the entire city down in seconds, bringing a chill down his spine. Caleb didn’t like fire, at all. He flew up higher to get away from the flames, but was called back down by Lucien’s disturbing voice.

“Delighted you could finally join us, quartermaster. Glad to see the fighting has died down enough so you can descend from your perch.” The fairy rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he hated more than being bossed around it was dealing with Sinéad’s condescending bitch. He noticed the vampire’s crimson lips and the small goblin’s body by his side. It made him nauseous.

“I see you’ve been busy as well. Did you help clear the area or was the child all you could handle?” He spat back, holding back from throwing that box on the vampire’s face. Perhaps he would’ve done it, if it hadn’t been for the giant rock thrown his way.

Despite being knocked down and losing the box that broke into pieces a few meters ahead, the Quartermaster of the High Nox considered himself lucky for managing to escape before the rock crushed him against the wall it crashed through.

“What the fuck?!” He looked up, trying to find where it came from.

Caleb had seen a troll before, but never a swamp troll. He couldn’t tell what it was but it looked disgusting, so he wouldn’t mind piercing a few holes through the creature. He pulled out the rifle that hanged from his shoulder and shot at it. Three shots should be enough.

***

The apothecary had heard the gunshots and explosions outside, and pushed every furniture he could to barricade the door. The window to his shop was small so he didn’t bother barricading it but he should have, he realized, when a teenage looking vampire crawled through it. The old man got to his knees.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” He cried. “You can have everything you want, just let me live, please! I beg you…”

***

Brandon saw his enemy raise his blades and when it got closer, he raised his arm to protect his throat.

The steel that covered most of Brandon’s body was his weapon in itself. Soren’s blades would’ve gotten stuck in between his spikes, and with a single pull, Brandon intended on disarming completely his opponent.

“YOU DIE!” The giant screamed and his terrible breath filled up Soren’s nostrils, that would be hit by a punch strong enough to deviate his septum.
 
GOLDEN

It had all happened so quickly. Like the arrival of the crew, the calvary seemed to appear out of thin air, eager to defend what was left of the burning village. From below, Alys hadn't seen the extent of the damage. But now, from the air, it was certainly grim. Juniper's hungry flames ate away at buildings, sending billows of smoke into the air, filling her lungs and leaving behind a taste of ash and decay. Burning bodies writhed and eventually toppled over, their charred remains mixing sweetly with puddles of blood. Buildings and citizens gone, but not the pile of riches. The lord had sent the calvary to protect his wealth, not the people who supplied it. Of course, Alys couldn't preach about right and wrong, not anymore. But she still used the fact to support her future actions.

The roar of an angry giant filled the air, but it was the childish greeting in her ear that sent a chill up her spine. Her grip on the box and the pistol tightened instinctively and she whirled around towards the initial source. Arm extended, finger on the trigger, expecting to face a being with wings. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes met nothing more than a gleaming smile surrounded by darkness. She fired a shot amd watched in horror as the bullet flew at and through the being, as if it had never been fired. No bullet hole - nothing. Nothing but a wider smile.

Then another voice spoke, once again causing Alys to swirl, pistol extended in front of her. They appeared from thin air and slowly began to surround her. Wherever she looked, they were there, smiling and chanting. Her heart began to race as their darkness, combined with the smoke, began to disorient her. Soon she heard nothing but their voices, saw nothing but hazy darkness and smiles.

"Oh fuck," she whispered, desperately trying to remain calm as time passed. They hadn't attacked her yet, but whatever they wanted to play, whatever game it was, Alys couldn't wait any longer. She couldn't stay there, suspended in the air, waiting for their game to begin.

"Come on," she whispered. Nothing. Then a little louder, a little more aggressively, she repeated herself. "Come on, let's play." Alys shot upwards, hoping she'd pass through them like her bullet. She needed to get out of this darkness and get back to that goddamn ship.
 
ILLIRICA

With the town ablaze, it wasn't going to be long at all before someone arrived from the manor. Sinéad thought they had gotten a decent start on things - most of the defenders cleared out, at least - though with the brightly burning signal of their presence, they might not have as much time to move the stockpiles as she had hoped for. Caleb and Alys swooped in, returning from their scouting to start loading up sacks of riches to take back to the ship.

"Good work." The Captain's ire might have been quickly raised, but it didn't tend to last long - not where the crew was concerned, anyway. She'd put all of her ability to hold grudges into one specific grudge, and everything else seemed to pale in comparison.

Besides, a compliment now and then would keep Caleb questioning things, keep him just a little off balance. That would be good for him, if he thought he was going to be Captain... or good for her, if he hesitated. He wouldn't get anywhere, though, if he hesitated. That was one of the first things she had learned.

"See if you can-" Her next directive was stopped, as a large rock hurled through the air and took Caleb somewhat by surprise. A quick glance at the oncoming forces and she could tell that they weren't going to be moving the stockpiles right away, after all. One of the newcomers already had his eyes locked on her, his words making her his target.

Fine with her. Sinéad responded with a quickfire grin, something between a smile and a smirk - undaunted, amused. A lover's grin, almost: well, then, let's see it.

Her arm twitched, and loosed the crossbow bolt that Lucien had spared her from needing to use on the girl. A quick shot, not likely to be as precisely aimed as one of Alys' - Sinéad doubted she'd put the man's eyes out, but perhaps she could manage a hit, or a distraction. She was already moving after the bolt, head low, cutlass at the ready, hoping she could get in and strike low across his kneecaps before he had a chance to do whatever he was planning in retaliation.

"Kill 'em all!"
 
PAPERBAG FILL

The giant was not as completely amateur as Soren at first thought. That charge, as sloppy as it may have been, did little to indicate any actual fighting style or thought behind the giant's actions. All Soren knew now was the giant had some amount of thought in that head and he was down one blade. Soren felt the muscles in his finger and palm tug in one direction while struggling towards the opposite. Eventually, Soren lost the tug of war and caught a deep breath of the brute's breath. All that could be done is Soren bring his arms up.

It was just enough to force the brute's arms to glance off of Soren's own before striking him in the face. Soren able to turn his head downwards and force the punch to strike the side of his forehead. It was enough to send the Jotunn on the backfoot and stumble back a few steps. He felt the bruise and scape begin to ooze a little with blood. But a few steps is all Soren needed. A fight not only was determined by who had the most will to see it through. Ferocity and adaptability. Discipline. All needed in this fight if he were to survive.

To win.

Soren moved to tackle the giant, wrapping one arm around the big guy, and simply pushing forward against the opponent before the other began moving Soren's hand towards the knife at the big brute's side. One Soren would pull free and begin to repeatedly shank into the side of his larger opponent. Whatever leather or skin that protected the brute would receive as much punishment as possible.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Juniper did not hear the captain's warnings, nor noticed everyone else engaged in their conflicts, so lost she was in her thoughts and anger. It was only the shrieking of metal on metal from Soren's clash with the giant that alerted the sorceress that anything was wrong, and as her head jolted upwards, she saw everyone else in their own conflicts.

'Where did they come from? I blocked everywhere else except for th-'

Her train of thought was cut short by an unexpected event. The cobbles beneath their feet buckled and gave way, as roots and vines burst from the street and engulfed them before they could so much as act, wrapping their arms and legs tightly. Instinct took over then, as their staff once again tumbled from their grip, and let the blaze free again to burn the vegetation away, anger surging forwards once again, but it was different this time. The flames were weaker, less volatile.

They only just managed to free themselves, the aching in her arms more pronounced than it had been. Juniper set their jaw and attempted a retaliatory strike on her assailant, a satyr, but the fire scarcely made it past her fingertips before fizzling away to nothing. Instead, they retrieved the staff once more, and carefully advanced, attempting to keep an eye out for any other spells thrown her way, at a clear disadvantage.

The anger had burned itself out, and with only embers left, she was thinking more clearly now. She had wrought destruction here, that much was clear. She looked over the woman, head tilted to the side slightly in her observation. She was pretty, that was for sure. If things had been different, maybe they could have been friends. Maybe they still could be, and it was that vain, hopeful part of the changeling that lead them to speak.

"Hey! I'm sorry about the city!" she said, knowing almost fully that the remark, despite being genuine, would fall on deaf ears.
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Lucien returned Caleb’s venom, drawing the flat of the rapier along his tongue, licking it clean.

“Took care of more than you. The child was because two of yours could not handle the demands of piracy. Since you were either unable or unwilling to steer them in the right direction, I stepped in to assist. You are welcome, quartermaster.” Lucien bared his fangs in a sickly sweet smile, crimson still staining his face. The smile flickered to a genuine one as he saw a large rock strike Caleb, sending him tumbling to the ground. He turned to face its source, seeing the reinforcements had indeed arrived. As if on cue, the Captain’s rally cry sounded. Lucien raised his blade in response, turning to face the foe who had come to strike him down.

The figure wasn’t too impressive: a bald man with a silver beard, certainly not young by any means. Not just an old man though, an old warrior. He moved calmly, where the newer guards rushed and moved jerkily. His sword and armor were polished, the former decorated with religious symbols, common ones. Lucien strode toward him, his own blade gleaming dully in the light.

“Hm, sending a corpse to kill a vampire?” Lucien chuckled darkly. “Father Sky is off to market, I am afraid. He will not be answering.”

With that, Lucien ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it, before launching himself at Torven. His rapier flashed out, seeking to strike at his cheek, marring the old man’s face with a scar before drawing back and aiming at one of the joints in his armor.
 
UMBRASIGHT

“Oh? So you’ll offer me anything except your life then?” Nessa took a step forward into the small room, her lips curling away from her teeth in what could charitably be called a smile. She held her knife at the ready, as she watched the man for any movement she read as anything other than terror. Some were fool enough to fake a surrender, and she didn’t really have the time to waste in learning how much a fool this man was. It was about distance in moments like these, keeping just the right amount between you that you could cut their throats if they did something stupid, or react if they tried to charge.

“But you know what, I’m in a generous mood.” Nessa said, a saccharine sweetness dripping in her tone, one that did not make an appearance in her cold gaze. A sweetness that vanished as she spoke again. “Empty your pockets, slowly, and place their contents on the counter. Once done with that, I want you to strip down to your skivvies and kick your clothes into that corner. And I do mean kick them. After that, you’ll help me wrap up all of this medicine and put it away into my bag.” Her gaze never straying from the man, Nessa slipped a leather rucksack off her shoulder and dropped it to the floor between them.

“You be a good boy and don’t try anything funny, and I won’t take the only thing you aren’t willing to give. Do you understand?” She finished, coolily. If he needed to die, he would, but he would be useful for getting everything she wanted packed away in a timely manner. She smiled again, full of teeth and little else.
 
ILLIRICA

Mate had successfully gotten the attention of the little fairy man. The little fairy man responded with words - not troll words, but the shifting-sound words. Mate was still for a moment, sorting them out for meaning. He could understand the words well enough, if they were simple and familiar and he had a moment.

These words were familiar. He had heard them before. They were not very helpful to the discussion. He was still sorting them out when the little fairy man added something that was not shifting-sound words: sharp punctuation against his belly, his shoulder, his leg. Stinging not-words, all mixed up and wrong. He roared with pain, slapping at the spots with a meaty hand. The little metal balls fell away, but they left behind sore spots, burned spots.

Mate rushed forward on uneven steps, his feet stomping out the proper words: LEAVE US ALONE.

But they would not understand the words, he did not think, and sometimes it was hard to hear them in a battle, with all the other movements and stompings happening. Mate could feel all of them, in the soles of his feet, jumbled up and incoherent as everyone was rushing around.

His steps carried him closer, and he swung a great open palm at the little fairy man, aiming to swat him out of the sky and down to the ground where he could listen properly.

But these little people were not good listeners - or, not good listeners like trolls were. Too different, with their shifting-sounds. Some of them tried, though. In the manor, they tried, or they let him be, or they let him work in the great gardens, shoveling and digging and planting.

This one did not seem to care much for gardens.


--


Laughter echoed around Alys as her confusion set in, the darkening shadow surrounding her with little enchanted smiles.

"Play with us!"​
"Yes, play!"​
The shadow swirled with lights that were eyes or smiles or something else entirely. Alys seemed to agree to the game, but then suddenly changed the rules of it, flying upward towards the sky.

"Wait, come back!"​
"Wait, wait!"​
"Come b-"​
And suddenly, there was silence. She'd broken out of the shadow and the voices could no longer reach her - but when she would turn back, the shadow wasn't there at all. No trace of it nor whatever it was that had been within those blackend boundaries - only the battle she had left behind, far, far below.


--


The vampire's attention had been captured easily enough. Of course, this left Torven with the trouble of fighting the creature. It would have been far simpler if the thing had just turned and run - but those days were long past, he supposed. It had been many years since he had killed such a thing. Decades, even.

This one wielded a blade, a tiny little stinger of a thing. Torven understood - it wasn't a weapon meant to kill, but to maim, to torment. The creature would prefer other methods of killing, after all. The blade came in, sharp and fast. He raised a hand, gloved and gauntleted, catching the blade against the back of it and turning it just enough away. Facial strikes were always problematic, after all - too much risk of losing an eye, or getting blood into one. Torven was long past the days of fighting quickly, so he needed to fight smartly. Every move must count.

The blade returned once more, for the joint at his shoulder, and Torven turned slightly to force it to meet upon the pauldron: a resounding clang, but no blood drawn yet. He doubted he would get through this unscathed, but he would hold it off as long as he could.

Torven turned his sword, bringing it into battle as well, a heavy overhand strike meant to strike at the collarbone and cleave down on the diagonal, separating head and arm and shoulder from the rest of the body. It rarely worked, but when it did, it ended battles quickly. That was what Torven needed - a creature like this would outlast him, if it were drawn out too much. He would need to go for heavy strikes, and hope to end it before it got to that point.

"Just because Father Sky does not respond to you does not mean he is not there, O Unfavored Child."
 
DELFI

Crow wouldn't mind killing a beautiful woman, especially if said woman was attempting to steal from those who pay him. He reciprocated the smile and pulled out his sword, lifting up his palm before Sinead's shot could hit him.

A light blue flame engulfed the arrow, stopping it mid air and changing its course towards the ground upon a flick of the sorcerer's finger.

"You made a mistake coming here." Crow said when they got to arms' length. Slowly, the same blue flames burned around Crow's blade. The fire wasn't warm, in fact, it didn't seem to have a temperature. "You can turn around now, leave the gold behind and maybe, maybe we'll let you and your crew live."

***

Brandon waited for Soren keeping a square stance, welcoming him with open arms and trapping him on a collar tie hold.

He was strong despite being short, Brandon noticed, as the encounter forced him back slightly. A small blade began to pierce through the leather around the giant's waist, tickling his skin. He let out a laugh and stood up, lifting Soren off the ground and dropping him behind his back.

"Small giant." He laughed one more time, returning to his stance as he waited for his oponent to stand up.

***

Poppy's rage was rewarded with satisfaction, after watching the incendiary's pitiful attempt at retaliation.

"Hey! I'm sorry about the city!" The pirate had the audacity to say. Poppy let out a goat snort and raised her hands, making more roots and vines climb their way to the top, this way succeeding at wrapping both of Juniper's legs and pulling her body closer.

"Foolish girl! Do you have any idea of how many ecossystems you murdered? And you ask for my forgiveness?!" Poppy screamed, wraping vines around Juniper's arm and lifting her up so they could look each other in the eye.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

"Painfully so!" Juniper called out in response, fighting vainly to fight the grasp of these plants. Once finally, fully engulfed, and brought near the satyr, she spoke again, a weak attempt at a smile on her face.

"At least, in my defense, wildfires and the ash that follows helps them to regrow, right?"

The changeling was less pleading with the satyr and more with themselves, trying to find any positive to the chaos they wrought whenever they let emotion dictate their power. They hung their, suspended in the air by vegetation, looking towards the woman in front of her pitifully. She stayed aware of her situation, however, and in the background, was building whatever strength she could muster in case her conversation once again fell on deaf ears and she needed to save herself.
 
SOMEGUY500

Ah, thank the fates, someone who was not intent on damaging him. Cooler heads would prevail here, surely. As Fionn allowed himself to be towed away, he turned to the other woman.

"Full flattered as I am that mine visage reminds thee of a child, I assure thee I am no such thing. The shipmaster has the right of it, I am a trained tradesman and I would offer my services to this ship. Now, please, I fear thy shipwright wishes to... dismantle me. Would I be incorrect in assuming thy captain is busy, to put it politely, levying fees?"

Without waiting for an answer, Fionn addressed the shipwright himself. "If mine appeals convice thee not, pray at least stay thy hand until thy captain returns to pass judgement. Search mine tools, even, if it please."
 
GOLDEN

Alys tightly closed her eyes as she passed through the darkness, where a smile had lingered just moments before. She didn't stop, nor realize how high she went until she felt a noticeable shift in temperature. The fresh, cold air was a welcome shock to her lungs, which had combated several inhalations of smoke. Her eyes opened and she spun around, looking for that darkness, for the smiles; listening for those childish voices. Wisps of grey from the rain clouds took their place, and a near silence fell over her. Her ragged breaths and the very distant sound of yells and metal on metal was all she could hear. Very slowly, she moved forward, towards the direction of the ship, using this time to calm her mind and body.

Moisture from the rain clouds clung to her skin, causing the formation of beads, which began to roll down her face. They tasted like sweat mixed with the metallic tang of blood - someone else's blood. She used the inside of her forearm to messily wipe her face, smearing away the condensation. The rain would fall soon enough.

She descended slowly, but began to pick up the pace once she passed the massive column of smoke. Most of the battle was beyond her now, and the screams and grunts didn't stop her from moving forward. She had to trust that the crew was skilled enough to survive for now. And if not, well let's just say she wouldn't lose any sleep over it. Besides, if the captain saw what little they had pillaged thus far, she would likely kill them all herself.

Alys descended onto the deck, dropping the small box and the bag of coins on the meager looking pile. A couple raiders had managed to make it back, but most of the loot remained on the battlefield. She approached the railing and watched the chaos for a minute, using this time to rest her wings, which had begun to ache during her descent. Another trip like that would likely exhaust them. She needed to be careful.

With one last deep breath, Alys lifted off, flying back towards the stockpile, only a handful of meters from the ground. Her eyes scanned the fighting below, watching as the crew fought with everything they had. She lingered briefly, her way of offering an extra set of hands to those who might be fighting a losing battle. And if no one took her up on it, goody - more loot for her.
 
DELFI

The creature's skin was bullet proof, amazing. Caleb tried to come up with a plan on how to kill it while the troll stumbled towards him, as rifle shots wouldn't do the trick - even though it seemed to cause pain, at least. Without being left with a choice, he let go of the rifle and pulled out his sword.

Caleb flew towards the enemy as fast as he could, holding his blade by his side. When they were finally close enough he attempted to dodge Mate's attack, sliding his sword against the side of his torso.

***

From within the apothecary's cabinet, a 15 year old boy watched through the keyhole his father humiliate himself in front of the vampire. His hands trembled around the pistol he had in hands and he tried to regulate his breathing not to make a sound, but after the old apothecary had emptied his pockets and took off his clothes, wearing nothing but his underwear, the teenager decided he could no longer stand and watch, bursting out of his hiding spot.

"Rupert, No! I told you to stay there!" The apothecary cried in desperation, his hands held up as he got in between Nessa and his son.

"Get out of here, demon, or I'll shoot you!" Rupert had long brown hair, pointy elf ears and his voice sounded firm, even though the shaking gun gave away his anxiety.

***

Poppy hesitated for a second. The girl in front of her looked at least 5 years younger than her, and seemed to truly regret her actions. The Satyr closed her eyes.

It didn't matter. Her town was turned to ashes because of her. Opening her eyes back on and looking at her surroundings, she could see the corpses of the people that girl and her crew had terrorized. People she'd said 'good day' to, and had seen shop on the market. Her people.

"One life doesn't replace another." Poppy muttered under her breath, before staring back into Juniper's eyes. "... But you've given me no choice."

Closing her hand tight, Poppy commanded her vines to spread Juniper's limbs, slowly, but with with enough strength that it wouldn't be long until her body was pulled apart.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Clearly the satyr had a more gruesome death in mind than any Juniper could inflict on someone, at least in their own mind. Breathing in sharply, they said, "Fuck! Ow, you do have a choice! I'm giving you one and I really really don't want to have to do this!", before once again attempting to free herself from the roots, fire sputtering from her hands.

Once free, and feeling sufficiently drained now, they threw theirself forward, attempting to tackle her to the ground.
 
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