Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

This request is currently closed and not accepting new users.
GHOSTLY

Ciarán winced as the blade pressed deeper into his chest with Beck's impact against the wall and his subsequent following. The fear in her eyes shook Ciarán somewhere soft and weak inside him. Anyone else would've killed her, she killed Gee and likely the others - but she was only a girl, and they were marauders come to burn and pillage her home.

It was raining now, the ship and the crew would be leaving soon with or without them. Pressing her against the wall he looked quickly over his shoulder at his team, hoping they'd have the time to return with the wounded at least - loot be damned. Ciarán looked back at the girl, unsure of what to say and what to do. "P-please listen, you don't have to die," he stammered, "I don't have much time, we don't-"

Her knee came straight up between his legs and made contact fast and hard. If they'd been training he would've applauded her quick thinking, but all he could do now was groan and struggle to stay upright. The grip on her wrist loosened, leaving her to slip free. After a pained breath he managed to speak.

"Wait..."
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Lucien's blade skittered off the man's gauntlet, the type of deflection that came with years of experience. His second strike let out a shriek, scraping against an armored shoulder that had been positioned just so. Lucien bore his fangs, this man was a fighter with years of experience. He would be fun to toy with. Distance was created for but a moment, the large two-handed sword brought around to bear in an overhead strike. Lucien danced backwards, the blade clanging against the stones, inches from where he had been. The man retorted, and Lucien could not help but sigh.

"Unfavored Child. Is that meant as an insult, or merely as a moniker of your god's disdain?" He sneered, his footsteps carrying him in a circle as the man recovered his blade. He would enjoy wearing this corpse down, breaking him, flaying him with a hundred cuts as his strikes grew frail and slow, as if moving through wa-

Drip.

Something cold and wet splashed against Lucien. He glanced upwards, the clouds swollen, ready to burst. He let out a low growl, his fun was going to end sooner than expected. No time for playthings then. Lucien lashed out, this time aiming his blade for another exposed spot along the midsection. The man fought honorably, something Lucien had long ago left behind, shortly after his humanity. As the blade met resistance, flesh or steel, the vampire's claws raked at the man's face, seeking to gouge flesh and hamper vision.
 
REYN

"Exactly," Mal interjected, "Emer's just about the only person thick enough to take you in- everyone else would have you killed on the spot. Probably still will, when they get back from murdering all your neighbours, or whatever they get up to on these bloody holidays..."

They continued down the ship towards the clinic, taking the cup of tea from Emer and setting it down on the table. God, this was stupid. Mal would much rather get this all over with quickly, none of this nonsense. The command to search the bag of tools prompted them to roll their eyes, but they obliged regardless, keeping their hands occupied as Emer tried to comfort their intruder, until...

"A chisel!"

They grinned, pulling out the metal and holding it up to the light.

"It's in good nick, as well. Ah..."

They kicked the bag back under the chair and stood behind Fionn, staring directly at Emer as they turned the chisel over in their hand.

"Carry on, then. Don't let me interrupt."
 
GOLDEN

Not a moment later, darkness began to envelope Alys again, clouding her vision of the battle, and more importantly, the stockpile. That childish voice had returned, though it had turned whiny, reminding her of a babe that had their favourite toy taken away.

Alys regarded herself as someone who was able to control (more so suppress) their emotions well. Without this control, or perceived control, she would begin to unravel. In this instance, not only was she unable to see the battle, but these somewhat painful childhood memories had resurfaced after years of dormancy, no thanks to these annoying creatures.

As she felt the first droplets of rain slide down her skin, she found herself swapping her pistol for the dagger that had been strapped to her thigh. It was time to head back to the High Nox, and she'd wasted too much time ruminating and avoiding the shadows. She glanced around, eyes burning with anger, until she noticed a flash of warm colour to the lower left. A glimmer, just beyond the swirling darkness. Without a second thought, she lunged, plunging the dagger through the air, right at the motherly figure she'd seen before.

Let's see if they still wanted to play games now.

She'd realize too late that the glowing fae woman was actually the orange toned wing of a certain Quartermaster.
 
DELFI

When he got closer to the stockpile Caleb looked back, as a way of making sure there wasn't another rock being thrown at him. He noticed something coming from above, but it wasn't a rock. It was Alys, and she came down fast.

The quartermaster stopped on his tracks, squinting to try and see through the storm. The view of his one eye was too blurry for him to notice the weapon on his crewmate's hand, and instead of expecting an attack, Caleb flew towards Alys with open arms, assuming she wasn't flying towards him, but perhaps falling from a great height, and in need of assistance.

Big mistake. Caleb was ready to catch her when he noticed the knife, not fast enough for him to do something that'd stop it from slashing him across the chest, tearing down his shirt that quickly turned crimson.

The fairy curled in pain, his wings stopped flapping and he fell down, unable to think or react.

***

Beck wouldn't fall for the pirate's lies. She had successfully built some distance between them by sliding out from under his arm but her knife had to stay, as she failed to get it out of his prosthetic.

She searched her pockets for another weapon, but that was her only knife. Rookie mistake. Her only choice was to take a couple more steps back and pull out her arrow again.

"On your knees!" The girl screamed, trying to sound threatening. Something massive had taken shape in the sky above her, casting a shadow, but Beck didn't take her eyes away from Ciarán. Perhaps she should have.

***

A ship three times the size of the Hard Nox materialized itself above the town square of Fen Manor, and those who kept themselves informed about the most nefarious pirates of the world would be able to tell it was the Truth Teller.



The Truth Teller and the Hard Nox had never landed on the same port until that day, but sailors liked to tell stories, and taverns were the best place to hear them. The crew of the Hard Nox spent a lot of time in those.

The tales told that it appeared out of thin air, and that its crew was impossible to kill - because it was already dead. They'd see it first hand with their own eyes, as ropes were tossed down, with decaying corpses hanging from it with their swords high up in the air. There was a lot of mystery surrounding the ship, its magical abilities and its reclusive captain.

The first cannonball aimed at the Hard Nox missed the mark, but the second succeeded on making a hole in its hull. The corpses that climbed down from the ship seemed endless - around 50 so far, and they were ready to kill whatever stood between them and what was left of the stock.
 
GOLDEN

One second there was darkness, and then there was Caleb. Arms outstretched, an expression without fear or concern on his face, as if waiting to catch her. Alys couldn't stop the momentum as the dagger sliced through his shirt, digging into his skin, and ripping open layers of muscle fibers beneath. Absolute shock rippled through her as she watched him fall to the ground. It'd only been a couple feet, so at least that wouldn't kill him. But as she watched the blood spill out of him, quickly soaking through the tattered remains of his shirt, she knew that she had better things to worry about. Like accidently killing the Quartermaster in the middle of the city square. That was certainly a first for her.

The dagger slipped through her fingers and she instantly found herself kneeling over Caleb, wide eyes flicking between his chest and his face. "Oh shit," she whispered, her hands firmly pressing down onto the wound to stop the bleeding. When that proved to be unsuccessful, Alys' thoughts began to scramble. "Hey! Caleb! Look at me. Don't you close your fucking eyes." She moved one hand to lightly grab his chin so that their eyes met, if only for a second. Then she let go and began to shrug her coat off, ripping at one of the sleeves.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, as she frantically worked to remove the sleeve. Suddenly she remembered the blood-stained dagger that lay beside them, so she reached and cleanly sliced the remainder of the material. "I'm sorry. I didn't know, I thought you were..." Something else. Whatever it was, it had seemingly disappeared after fucking with her mind. After all, it had gotten what it wanted.

It also put Alys in a precarious position. She couldn't just bail - anyone could have witnessed the attack. If that was the case and she ran, she was as good as dead. At least if she tried to help, she had a chance to explain. And still possibly end up dead. Fuck, if Sinead saw what she did... No, everyone was busy fighting their own battles. She could get out of this, explain to Caleb, and hope to every deity that he didn't kill her.

She shook her head in frustration and pressed the bulk of her jacket against his chest before beginning to cut the second sleeve. "Caleb - you still with me?" She said louder, as the rain began to pour down in larger, more frequent drops. Her hands were slick with blood and rain, making it more difficult for her to tie the two sleeves together. And every so often she'd glance at his face, to make sure he hadn't passed out or died.

That's when she saw it, again, out of the corner of her eye. Except this time, there was no deception. It was clear as day. Her eyes widened in horror and she watched as the massive ship descended towards the High Nox. Goddammit. They need to get back now.

"Help! I need some help!" Alys yelled, fingers desperately working to secure the makeshift bandage over his torso. "We can still make it," she whispered, both for herself and Caleb.
 
UMBRASIGHT

The few extra pounds on her back felt good, in all honesty, like the comforting weight of work well done. Which, if she must be the one to say it, had been quite masterfully handled, that little apothecary cleared out, a father and his brat still alive to spin a yarn, and what was left of the guard clearly far too busy dealing with defending what remained of the taxman’s due to bother to watch for a girl climbing her way back over their wall. She didn’t have that helpful tree on this side, so she had to get a little more creative, a barrel of water to get her up onto the roof of one of the outbuildings, and from that roof it was a simple enough hop back to the top of the wall.

And, the view from the top of the wall?

A fine mess, all that. More of the taxman’s stash left than she had expected to see, and the guards giving as well as they took. Had the nobleman sprang for some swords worth the salt? Well, so long as she could make it back to the ship then she’d have played her part true, and she was fine with that. She hopped down over the edge, landing a little heavier, but nothing her joints couldn’t take. As the first pregnant drops fell, Nessa was dashing back across the no-man’s-land she had used before to skirt around the pitched fighting. Sinéad no doubt had given the call to return, so it was time to see how many of Ciarán fresh blood got their boots wet, and kept their guts in place.

She didn’t have the crowd now to cover her sprint back to the Nox, but she held some hope that the rolling retreat and the heavy rain would be enough.

Of course, no plan on this soured earth ever went how you wished. First, the two fairies falling out of the sky, carrying in their descent the unmistakably sweet smell of blood. Had Alys just…? Her gaze snapped up to the sky, searching first for something flying that wasn’t Alys that could have been the culprit but instead finding the second issue aiming to utterly fuck all of them, the goddess-fucking Truth Teller had chosen to also come knocking to this completely forsaken town.

If Alys was a traitor, that was now a secondary concern

“Is he alive?” Nessa yelled as she dashed towards the duo. Probably still alive, Alys was screaming like he was anyway. “Get his other arm, we need to fucking move.” Nessa said, keeling down, and hooking an arm under one of Caleb’s armpits. It was going to hurt like hell for him, but getting cut to bits by fucking zombies would hurt more, so he could deal until Emer could put him back together.

“Move!” Nessa hissed at Alys through her teeth.
 
PAPERBAG FILL

Drops began to drizzle along his skin. Not just off blood as he cleaved his enemy into two. But the rain as well. The storm was approaching. His captain's orders, as far as they felt, sounded like she was yelling into his ears. His opponent was done for, and Soren took this opportunity to cough until his throat was clear and his lungs sucking in all the oxygen they could desire. As his breathing and fits steadied, his amber eyes scanned around, looking at the others. Each dealing with their own enemy, unable to disengage. His eyes locked on Juniper. The only one who could not safely leave. That druid was holding her down, tied down by vines.

Something felt off. The wind. The rain. The spirits. A sense of dread, not his own, sat heavy and thick in the air. His eyes turned upwards and narrowed. HIs brow furrowed and creases along his forehead grew to make his face almost displeased at the sight of what he saw. Another ship. A pirate ship. As the roar of cannon fire echoed, the Hard Nox fell under attack. They need to get back to the ship.

Another yell. More akin to scream. His gaze turned to the side. Alys and Caleb. She was calling for help. His eyes flickered between Juniper and the pair. What to do? He sheathed his blade away and picked up each piece separately of his formerly alive enemy into each hand. A moment of hesitance could cost him in a situation like this. His legs began moving one direction, carrying the pieces of his foe.

He could only look back, almost ready to yell a message in return. But that's when he saw Nessa. Her lithe frame helping lift up Caleb's body along with Alys. Good. The crew were looking out for each other, which meant he could focus on his tasks and his tasks alone. Simpler this way. His run became a full sprint as he carried the deceased pieces of the ginger giant. Almost halfway to two-thirds of the distance of his sprint, Soren pulled his left arm back, cranking it back, before he twisted his legs and torso and threw one half of the giant straight at the druid, only waiting for a mere moment for his shot to be clear again before firing the other half off with the right arm. Both hurled at startling speed at the horned woman.

He barely caught a glimpse of the druid's eyes. He did not hesitate even then.

Perhaps his tactics would either distract or harm the druid, or perhaps pin her down instead. Either piece of the man should have weighed quite hefty, and, if either caught her, she might not get up. She might not get up if either heavy piece managed to break her neck or spine. It did not matter. Soren would retrieve Juniper, one way or another.
 
ILLIRICA

The vampire wasn't minded to fight quickly, though Torven wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Deftly, the creature had dodged his strike - but then simply recovered and waited for him to take a new stance. It was to be one of those battles, the ones that put him in mind of a cat toying with a mouse. No clean kill, only entertainment.

So be it. He'd entertain the creature long enough for the others to... perhaps achieve something. He set his blade for another strike, when something changed the scenario entirely - a single drop of rain.

Like an actor playing two parts upon the stage, the creature's entire demeanor changed. No more cat and mouse, now, but a hunting dog, straight for the kill. The rapier tip skittered across his armored belly, drawing out sparks from the armor. Torven stepped back as the creature lunged forward, but the empty hand still caught him, bright claws against flesh.

There was, for an instant, lightning. A great holy pulse of it, where claw met skin, the Sky Father's Holy Justice for his long devoted. No doubt a surprise to the creature, perhaps enough to finish him-

But no.

There were other surprises to be had, here, as a second ship dropped in from the mists. For an instant, Torven thought it likely to be reinforcements for the first crew, but then the first of the undead began spilling out, and even he knew rumors about such things. They were allies for no one.

He took a glance to his defenders - Poppy was occupied. Beck would no doubt already be shifting her arrow storms. The giant... Torven winced, but could do naught for that. The mage was fighting the pirate captain or working up the courage to ask her on a date, Torven wasn't certain. The troll was making friends, typical, though the new friend had just encountered a bloody problem in the form of one of his old shipmates.

And from the stockpile, an undignified squeak. Torven couldn't help but look over, hoping that he wouldn't see what he did - a terrified fourteen-year-old girl who shouldn't have been in a battle at all, if he'd had anything to say about it.

Well, her father wasn't here to overrule him now, was he? "Ilia! You get those illusions back up, girl, and you keep them up. Your father'll have my b- blade if you get yourself killed!" Another squeak and the girl vanished into a puff of strange laughter and the grinning faces of half a dozen strange little shadow creatures.

Weird kid. "Mate! Throw some rocks at 'em before they trample your flowers!" The less-than-subtle art of troll redirection, which Torven shouldn't have been doing, but this was why you didn't bring a gardener to a battle, even if the gardener was eleven feet tall and built like a sculptor's very first attempt at a statue.

And now, the vampire.

"It'd be too much to ask you not to kill me until it's over, wouldn't it? Well." A twisted grimace, and a nod. "May it be worth it to you, when you stab me in the back."

And without further thought, he turned away to meet the oncoming hordes.


--


It seemed like Sinéad's opponent was one of those mages who could both cast and fight. A bit of a shame, that - she'd met plenty of casters who could whip up a spell with half a thought but didn't have the faintest idea what to do about someone coming at them with a knife. Of course, it did make him more interesting...

Crow. An interesting name, that was - and she had just the place for him, as it turned out...

But he'd already declined the offer to join the crew, and she wasn't about to make it twice. 'You are?' he'd asked her.

"Not interested in commitment," she answered, with a wink. There were some that would say that a name was hardly a commitment, but the rains were starting in, and she had places to be rather than discussions to have. She'd disentangled herself and started back towards the stockpile to pick up some of the choice goods there when the sky dropped something entirely different than rain - bombardment, coming in fast - and on its heels, the spillover of bodies that should have been dead a long time ago.

"Ah. King, you corpse-fucking bastard." There was only one ship that could be, wasn't it? The Truth Teller, apparently with the same idea as Sinéad, but less concern about getting the crew out. She didn't know much about Captain King other than a name and a reputation, but what she was finding out, she didn't like. It seemed she was going to have to reconfigure this entire raid, on the quick.

A glance around at her people, a lot of blood on the wrong side of things, some on the right. Caleb was down, Alys crouched over him. No time to sort that out right now.

"Alys! Get him back to Emer straight away and tell him if he dies and wastes your time, I'll kill him in the next life. Once you get there, tell Mal I want that ship skyworthy ten minutes ago. And get the cannons manned! The rest of you, we're leaving."
They weren't heroes, after all, and if discretion was the better part of valor, the better part of being a sorry bastard was knowing when to cut your losses - and it was better to get out of here before any of them wound up being the Truth Teller's new crewmates.
 
GHOSTLY

With a low groan, Ciarán withdrew the dagger from between the wooden supports of his arm, leaving a growing red spot behind on his chest. He held the knife point down as not to make the girl any more panicked than she already was. "I don't want to hurt you," he began but stopped as she nocked an arrow and drew back to her cheek. She was desperate and scared, but she let her training and talent guide her instead. "Please, you need to-"

A massive shadow loomed overhead, dominating the skies even as the rain began to crash down on them - as it passed overhead the rain ceased for just a moment, drawing Ciarán's eyes upward. The Truth Teller loomed overhead, the Bane of the Free Skies, a blight with sails. The undead came like vultures to pick the carcass and steal the spoils from their very mouths.

The boom of cannon fire from the Truth Teller was a familiar portent of doom, and as the second blast was followed by the splitting of timber and the battle cries of the undead. Had he left enough crew to man both the guns and fend off boarders? Did they even have a chance against fending off the dead? Ciarán knew only that he was in the wrong place at the worst time and needed to be back on the ship as soon as possible.

He quickly glanced over at the stockpile, hoping the crew had taken what they could carry off quickly, grabbed Jarys, and run off. Ciarán looked back to Beck, her arrow still pointed firmly at his head. "Listen to me, that ship? She's crewed by the dead. I won't lie to you, you've got two options - you can stay here with your friends and try to fight, and likely die." Ciarán took a step closer, then flipped the knife in his hand, holding it by the blade and offering her the handle.

"Or you come back with me and live. You've got family? Friends? If you can get them here quick, I can-" Ciarán stopped himself. Could he give her safety? Anyone? They'd raided her home, stolen their money and slaughtered their citizens - not by his hand, but he'd be putting both sides to the knife if he brought anyone else aboard, but with that banshee overhead what options did he have.

"I'll give you safe passage, you can survive. You have my word." Ciarán didn't like lying, but there wasn't time for anything else.
 
DELFI

Captain Solomon King looked down from his ship. He'd been quietly watching for a few minutes now, protected by the Truth Teller's invisibility while waiting for the best moment to strike.

The Hard Nox had taken about a third of the town's collected resources, and his minions would make sure they wouldn't take any more than that. Some of the undead would attempt to retrieve the stolen goods from the ship, but Solomon was aware of the Hard Nox's reputation, and wouldn't depend on the brainless corpses to complete the service.

Whoever had tipped him about Fen Manor's tax collection had probably sold the same information to the Whore of the Horizon, otherwise they wouldn't both be there, during the same storm. Brilliant minds think alike, or so he'd heard.

Despite being left with less gold than he'd intended, Solomon was great at finding the silver lining on things. And oh, he had found it.

***
Caleb had seen enough blood in his lifetime not to be startled by it, but it was a different deal entirely when it was his blood dripping down his chest. He didn't understand why Alys had attacked him like that, but he'd worry about it later, if he survived through this. The girl seemed to regret it at least a little bit, otherwise she wouldn't be apologizing and trying to stop his bleeding.

"Ouch! Careful…" He squirmed in pain when she pressed her jacket against his wound. The quartermaster closed his eye, trying to think of happier things to distract him from the latest events. He might have seen a big ship appear in the sky, but it was probably just delusion at that point.

"Caleb - you still with me?"

"Mhm." He muttered in response, but he wasn't sure if he was.

With his eye closed and Alys' teared down jacket wrapped around his chest he allowed his body to be dragged back to the Hard Nox.

***
That was the worst first day at the job ever.

With living corpses falling down from the sky, Beck didn't know where to aim her arrow, and the pirate in front of her suddenly didn't seem as threatening as before. In fact, he didn't seem threatening at all. She slowly released the tension on her bow, blushing at the strange feeling growing on her stomach and breaking eye contact.

"Go." Beck said, after taking a moment to make up her mind. "I'll cover for you on your way to the ship. And don't worry about me."

Shooting an undead's eye socket before it got to the ground and aiming at a second one, Beck proved to be the finest archer in her class for a reason. Despite believing Ciarán's words she didn't think it'd apply to her friends, who were still out there fighting, and she couldn't leave them alone.

***
Crow allowed Sineád to go, as his instinct for self preservation was far greater than his loyalty to his employer.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you." He put down his sword and his eye began to shine once again, the flames engulfing his boots this time, as he flew in the opposite direction to the Truth Teller.

He was confident his path would cross with the blonde pirate's again, even if he didn't know her name yet.

***
"Run, while you can. While you still have the chance."

Maybe the girl was right and she should leave. Poppy had the gut wrenching feeling that the world surrounding her was being torn down for the second time, especially now a second pirate crew had decided to attack her town, after it was already bruised and burned.

"What's the point? We're all gonna die." Poppy muttered, her eyes lost in the horizon. She saw someone run towards her, and Poppy quickly realized who it was - or rather, who it was carrying.

Her eyes met Brandon's lifeless ones, as the upper part of his body was thrown at her like it weighed nothing. Like it meant nothing.

That was the last straw. Something in the satyr snapped, and rage consumed her entire being while the ground beneath her seemed to rot. She dodged Soren's attack and pushed her arms forward, screaming while using all the strength she could muster to grow a thick hedge of thorns surrounding him. The hedge's vines wrapped themselves around his limbs and torso, with sharp thorns piercing through several places across his skin.

When she was done Poppy fell to the ground, completely worn out. She didn't care anymore.

"We're all going to die." She repeated, looking back at Juniper while at least 20 undead pirates ran towards them.
 
SOMEGUY500

Fionn stiffly, but slowly, tipped the mug's contents into his mouth. Though he was not proficient at drinking, it would be poor form to decline such an insistent offer of tea. In the absence of eyebrows to raise, he simply cocked his head a little at his chisel being commandeered, but thought little of it. "Ah, pray forgive me, I am called Fionn, and I am a travelling tradesman. Fates guideth me onboard thy ship, and I cast my lot with your crew of pirates because I have been told a great upheaval lieth in mine future. Whether it be onboard the ship or awaiting me below, I am not wont to choose stagnation."

The clouds outside hung heavy, and had begun to give way to rain. A shattering boom rang out, which could have been mistaken for thunder, but a second one dispelled such hopes. A horrible, ugly sound of wood being rent apart resounded across the ship. Fionn reached for his remaining tools, eyeing the door. "By your leave, I would begin inspecting the damage. However well thy ship may fly while damaged such, t'would be unbecoming of fearsome pirates to land in pieces."
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Such as the way of the world, everything happened at once. The satyr, despondent, had given in to grief, and in the corner of their eye, the changeling saw Soren approaching, lugging the two halves of the giants corpse, an unpleasant sight for all involved, and to make matters worse, the Nox's chef had decided to throw the corpse of this persons friend directly at their head. Just as the satyr, in a bout of rage Juniper was all too familiar with, a second ship arrived, one that, quite frankly, heralded more doom than the Nox could manage, at least in their own eyes. Undead poured over the railings, descending on the town of Fen Manor, and with Soren now trapped and Poppy now essentially in shock, they knew they had to make a move now, injured or not, exhausted or not.

With hardly a thought, Juniper the changeling tapped into their true nature. It wasn't like her control of fire, it wasn't magic like that. It was a natural thing, like breathing, just a little more intentional. They felt themselves get smaller, shrinking by just enough of an amount to pry themself free from their prison. It was easy enough, now that everyone's attention was on their new assailants, and they quickly reverted back to their "regular" size, taking on the Juniper the Pirate shape once more. Abandoning the cocoon, she ran to Soren.

She began to pull on the hedge, doing her utmost to avoid the thorns, but it was no use. They were familiar with the amount of power that went into creating this, and Juniper couldn't match it, not now, not after everything. "Fuck, fuck fuck, Soren, I don't know what to do, I don't have enough to get you out of this, I don't..."

They turned to the satyr woman. "Hey! Hey, we don't have to die, we can run. Please, this is up to you, you can save my friend, and get out of here," she said, stepping over to her. They placed their hands on her shoulders, looking the woman directly in the eyes, doing everything they could to convey the gravity of the situation. "This is up to you. I... Wish we hadn't come here. I'm so sorry. Please."
 
PAPERWORK

King's study hadn't been particularly well-secured. Normally there'd be at least a corpse on duty by its entrance, but though you'd never think it to look at him, arriving to discover the raid already in progress and a third of the loot already taken had caught him off-guard. He knew the Nox's was taking no chances with the battle. That left only the lock on the door, which was hardly an obstacle for her. With a wave of her good left hand, she was in, snatching up the book, the medallion, and a handful of coins. Then she was out again, crossing the deck back to the taffrail. As she went, she took one last look around, memorizing every inch of the ship--its tattered black sails, its grime-smeared deck, the late sailors lugging powder and shot across the deck to prepare the guns for their second shot, the idiot cultists giving them their orders--and sighed. She'd miss the place. Parts of it, anyway.

But Hester Falmouth had learned all she could from the Truth-Teller and its captain. Now it was time to bid them farewell.

The buckles on her boot popped off at a whisper, and, joining together, unfolded swiftly into a half-foot-wide platform with a toothy clasp on its side. She secured it to one of the ropes with a satisfying 'click,' and as she slipped over the rail, she felt it take hold of the sole of her right boot like a living thing. For a second it held, leaving her suspended awkwardly in plain sight of all (it occurred to her just then to wonder if this might not be the safest idea, this being a battlefield and all), and then she was falling--fast enough to give her ropeburn, if she'd tried holding it with her ungloved hand, but not fast enough to break her legs on the landing. Hopefully.

She landed a little heavily, sending a shooting pain up her free leg (something to amend in the next version, if she survived the day) but not breaking anything. Pretty good for a first trial. What had she been worried about? She gave the tiny construct a second to turn back into boot buckles, and then she was off again, limping towards the other ship. The book and medallion were tucked neatly beneath her arms, and the white cloak--uniform of Captain King's cult--had been left behind in the mud. She'd miss having it if the clouds started really letting loose, but it was probably worth it to make herself a little less of an obvious target. The crew of the Nox had begun to turn back towards their home, last she saw, but most were still tied up with the Dead or with the town's defenders, or with each other; she might have time to make it to the ship's crow cages before they got in the way.
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

His blade met metal, but that was to be expected. Lucien’s ideal target, the man’s soft, unprotected face, clung to the underside of his claws. As they dragged down, however, the stench of burning flesh and bright light seared Lucien, snatching his hand back with a hiss. His hand was blackened and burned, and flames burned within Lucien’s eyes as he prepared to make the old man pay thrice what he had caused. Yet as his fires turned towards the old man, his gaze was not met. His opponent looked past him, a paltry trick, surely. But for the moment, a wave of silence washed over the courtyard, steel stilling, the thrum of bowstrings and the roar of gunpowder coming to a halt. Lucien turned to look at the sky.

Fuck.

The Truth Teller was rarely a welcome sight, but even less so when they had not finished looting. This certainly was not a coincidence. Either they had been followed or sold out, and Lucien was unsure which would be better for whoever had let slip their plans. Fortunately, the Captain saw the oncoming vessel, calling her intent to get up and out. The old man called too, barking orders to the other defenders, seeming to value the safety of their town from the new invaders over continuing to fight the retreating ones. He gave a nod to Lucien and turned to face the undead horde. Lucien did not stab him in the back. It was too well-armored.

His rapier leapt forward, burying itself into the soft flesh of the old man’s neck, the blade emerging crimson on the other side. He jerked his arm to the side, the blade responding, slicing through meat and sinew until it ripped through the side of the man’s neck.

“You can consider this a mercy, if it helps you choke less.” Lucien said, monotone and low. He flicked the blade, blood scattering along the ground. He scooped up a fallen pistol, tucking it away before turning and making his way towards the ship.
 
GHOSTLY

Her answer wasn't quite what he wanted to hear but he still offered her a smile. She was brave and loyal, he wouldn't have judged her for running but admired her all the more for staying to fight alongside her friends. It was an honest smile, but there was something in his eyes that still echoed how he felt.

"Why?" He asked, then shook his head. He already knew, she was decent. "You have my thanks. You'll still need this," Ciarán passed her the knife, but paused as their hands touched and placed his over hers with the knife between. "Shoot straight, run fast. And don't die, little archer." Ciarán held for only a moment, just long enough to memorize the details of her and the scene before he stepped away.

Ciarán reached over with a wince as he retrieved his pistol and made his exit, looking once more over his shoulder at the archer before breaking into a sprint past the stockpile. Beck's second shot found its mark, letting another carcass splatter against the cobble. One of the undead had managed to reach the pile and pull a bag free, but it had no chance to raise it's cleaver before Ciarán split the corpse in two with a single slash of his sabre straight from his sheath. As he swept by, he thought for a moment to nick the sack, but he shot a look back to Beck and thought again.

She was young, beautiful, talented, and deadly. Ciarán thought he was too old for her, but the ol' sky-dog was still young enough to dream. As Ciarán ran with arrows flying past, finding their mark with artful skill he couldn't help but grin and chuckle at the thought of Beck - her rosy cheeks and deadly aim.

~ ~ ~

Ciarán came back to the ropes just as he saw Torrel's rescuer - Kord managed to pull them back onto deck, whether or not they'd survive was a far slimmer chance now. He scaled the hull and pulled himself over the side. Jarys was unconscious but still breathing - Sliocht could try to stabilize him, but for Torrel he needed Emer to try - or at least tell him it was a doomed effort. Without a word Ciarán scooped the wounded víla off the deck and rushed below deck for Emer's clinic.

He came down the stairs and was greeted by the massive hole in the hull. "Gun teams prepare a retaliatory volley! Someone find Mal and get on patching that damned hole, everyone else better be on deck with sword in hand by the time I'm back!" Ciarán called his orders with stoic force of command.

"And where the fuck is Sliocht?!"

Out of habit Ciarán managed a brief knock with his foot against Emer's door - knowing from experience it was better to offer the courtesy to anyone who may be in a state of undress rather than be exposed to an unwanted glimpse at the quartermaster. Without waiting he burst through the door and stepped through the beads to Emer's clinic proper - his chest and hands a bloodied mess with a dying víla in his arms, half an arrow still through their throat.

"Can you fix them?"
 
PAPERBAG FILL

Soren's eyes watched in slow motion as each tendril wrapped around his person. His steps slowing and his clothing slick with new drops of blood as those thorns needled their way through his skin. He blinked and adjusted his head, peering through his one eyes not soaked in his own blood. It was slowly being washed out by rain, but wihtout a free hand, he couldn't wipe away any of the congealed blood. So it was no wonder she appeared to have been missed by his projectile. A little to the left and she saw it. Her screams echoed in his ears as good as any row of cannon fire. He strained against the thorns. Stuck. It would take time to remove himself. Time he did not have right now.

His eyes looked down at the satyr woman. Druid she may be, but she gave up all too easily. She was a warrior, nature magic or not.

Just like Juniper. His eye flashed over to her. Those eyes only widened for a moment of the briefest surprise before narrowing, peering closer. She was shrinking, smaller and smaller. Until she was gone.

Was she-?

No, she had changed herself and her parts into that of a small mouse. Clever. Whatever ability she held in her arsenal, spell or something innate, it had prove effective in getting free. Now, for his own bindings, there was a different story. His eyes followed as she began trying to pull him free. It was no use. She pleaded with the satyr woman. He doubted it would be of much use. Nothing she did would be of much use here.

There was one thing to be done.

"Juniper, enough," his voice carried over the sound of battle and blood around them, stern and booming, "Panic will not help you. Control yourself! Run to the ship. Now."

A command. One that she must carry out as his eyes held solid with his tone. There was no pleading or want for her to help or save him. He wanted her to run. The undead, these again-walkers, were approaching fast. Their stench only made his countenance grow fiercer.

"I will be right behind you. Go."

His instruction boomed before he looked back to his own vegetative shackles. Muscles sore, his wounds being washed by the rain. It stung a little, but the rain also helped soothe him. He felt no cold from it. He did not freeze. His power was in the water. How strange was it to wield an element of both life and death when he had done nothing much but kill. Let's see if he could create something decent this time around.

His eyes closed and he reached out. The rain was good. The pain, his physical injuries. would only hamper his concentration, but his practice had been many years. Years to let the pain wash over him and through him as he reached out. Water swirled all around him before slipping between the cracks and crevices. The dampness settling into a few of his clothes until damn and heavy that they could absorb no more. He pushed the water from his person outward, freezing and growing it. Cultivating it.

Until sharp shards of ice along his body pushed and strained against the vines. His mind held one goal. An attempt to cut his way out through using his own magic. Unlike the druid, he did not give up so easily.
 
ANNASIEL

It seems the tea and the talk had settled aggressions here, and if the lull of silence from outside was any indication, the fight was nearing its end as well. Nobody had come barging into her clinic yet, either - perhaps her earlier misgivings had been unfounded after all. This was one time when she wasn't disappointed to be wrong.

"An odd place for a tradesman to be," Emer replied, returning Mal's stare with a sideways glance and smile. "But perhaps you could speak with our captain -"

The ship shuddered. No - shuddered wasn't strong enough a word. The ship quaked, floor slanting for a moment, sounds of tinkling glass and shattering wood echoing through the hull. Emer froze. Someone had shot at them, and by the sound and feel, they'd been hit hard.

The lull outside was suddenly far less comforting. She had little chance to react to the new development when heavy footsteps rushed to her door and - with a momentary knock - Ciarán pushed inside. He was covered in blood. By the limp form in his arms, not his. Outside, more heavy thumps, the ship shuddering, but these were distant. In their wake, the screams and shouts rose once more.

"Ciarán? What's going on?"

A younger her might have had the shock linger, but this sort of thing had become an unexpected expectation. Already, she was rising from her seat, slipping through the beaded partition, grabbing cotton rags with one hand and pushing an iron bar into her warmstones with the other.

"Mal, Fionn, please give us some space. Ciarán, set them on the table."

She already had a bowl of soapy water prepared. Dipping her hands in it, she moved it beside the injured víla, using one of the rags to wipe blood from around the protruding shaft.

"It's sucking, but not as bloody as it could be. A small mercy." She adjusted Torrel's body, shifting their head delicately to the side. Then, she bundled more of the rags around the wound. "I need hands. Press."

Regardless of who took up the duty of applying the compress, she hurried back to her cabinet - after a moment's rummage, she returned to the table with a long, curved copper tube. The arrow provided an entry point, at least. It made things a little bit simpler. Angling the tube, she pushed it through the compress, sliding it alongside the length of the shaft, then moving it down along the curve as it slipped inside. The moment it was inserted, the víla would draw a deep, rattling breath, their chest rising and falling with shallow but regular movements. Emer sighed, then placed her hands at where the throat and chest touched, closing her eyes and murmuring.
 
GOLDEN

Despite Nessa's somewhat unnecessary question (of course he was alive, why would she be caring for a dead man), the sound of a familiar voice made Alys sigh in relief. With Nessa lifting Caleb by one arm, she was able to secure the bandage around him, like a form fitting, yet slightly sloppy corset. Then, as Nessa so eloquently demanded, Alys hooked an arm under his other armpit, hoisting his upper body into the air. They began to move towards the ship, dragging the male fairy as quickly as they could.

Alys gave the Captain a haste nod to acknowledge the orders, but otherwise remained silent beside Nessa. She was too busy analyzing exactly what had been said to her, and how it had been said. From what she was able to determine, the Captain didn't know. She didn't know that it had been Alys who'd slashed Caleb, albeit accidentally. And there was no better proof than the fact that she was still upright, living and breathing, without a bullet through her head.

Once that was determined, Alys slowly slid her gaze to Nessa. She took in her delicate features, briefly watching for any sort of inclination that the vampire had witnessed something she shouldn't have. But with the urgency of the situation, and the heavy downpour, Alys didn't have a chance of deciphering what Nessa did or did not see. She'd need to keep an eye on her, maybe even confront her. Whatever it took to delay the potential spread of dangerous information until she had a moment to talk to Caleb alone. If he even survived.

----------

Hoisting Caleb up the side of the ship had gone as smoothly as one would expect. But after recruiting some of the crew, somehow she and Nessa had managed. Back in their original positions, each supporting one side of Caleb's limp body, they maneuvered the deck of the High Nox.

"Get the fuck out of the way!" Alys shouted at a group of raiders blocking the hallway towards Emer's working quarters. As they entered the room, it was impossible not to notice the small group of people inside - both injured and perfectly healthy. Unfortunately for the man laying on the table, Caleb was the Captain's priority.

"Emer! Your favourite patient is back for more. Where do you want him?" She said, nodding towards the man she was supporting.

And thank heavens that Mal, the mysterious and somewhat strange caretaker, was also present in the room. "Captain says it's time to go."
 
DELFI

Soon enough, Juniper, Poppy and Soren were surrounded. The rotting corpses didn’t seem interested in killing them, instead a couple of them held Poppy and Juniper down so they couldn’t move, while the others slashed through the hedge Poppy had crafted, getting injured in the process, even though they didn’t seem to mind. The dead felt no pain, afterall.

Perhaps Soren would’ve been able to free himself then, if his eyelids didn’t feel so heavy. Poppy didn’t take too long to fall asleep, but Juniper might have caught a glimpse of the cloaked figure, hidden behind the zombie army.

When the trio opened their eyes, they were no longer on the battlefield, but inside a stinky cell that wasn’t at all familiar. They weren’t alone either, in fact, the cell was quite crowded. Juniper and Soren would soon realize their magic didn’t seem to work, and their weapons were nowhere to be found.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top