Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

[Hard Nox 2]

GHOSTLY

Ciarán followed Emer's directions silently and diligently and applied the compress to Torrel's throat. In here he wasn't the same man he was outside, this was Emer's domain and he'd follow each word she said to the letter. This was his fault, or at least he believed that. He'd led their charge, and for some reason Beck wouldn't target him - she went for his followers first, she put an arrow through Torrel's throat, killed Gee...

Emer's return broke him from his haze and he continued to assist and she requested, holding their neck until otherwise told. They'd need him up top, he was the master gunner after all - all he needed was confirmation, all Emer had to say was yes or no on Torrel's life. He watched with tense dread as Emer inserted the tube into Torrel's throat in hopes of giving them the breath of life.

A moment later a shaky breath came through and Ciarán let out a long sigh of relief and turned to Emer. "Alright, what do they need next?"

Before she could answer, Alys and Nessa burst through the doors with Caleb's limp body hanging between them - bloodied and barely conscious. Ciarán thought someone as slippery as Caleb would've managed to evade any real danger - but alas here he was. "Oh, for fucks' sake..." he swore under his breath as they dragged their illustrious quartermaster across the floor, he glimpsed his wound and looked at the two young women.

"How the hell did he manage that?"

 

[Hard Nox 2]

THIMBLE

Sliocht's day was shaping up to be full of dead men.

They'd lost two to return fire from the Manor Guards. Both died choking on last words he couldn't understand.

Three men were pulped when the Truth Teller punched a hole through the hull, showering those inside with clouds of sharp splinters. At least, Sliocht thought there had been three, but it was hard to tell.


There was at least one still alive, covered in viscera and splinters. Through the smoke and howling moans, Sliocht could see the man's one remaining eye and the look of horror within it. The wretch's burbling screams indicated a desire for seemingly anything; help, a drink, a quick death, divine intervention, his mother's arms.

When Sliocht reached to pull the poor bastard from the wrecked hull, his grip was slippery and wet. The man would not budge, seemingly fused to the deck by a visceral glue of sawdust and blood. When he tugged harder, the flesh on the man's arms sloughed off like the skin from a roast chicken. He stood stunned for a moment, his smile gone and his breath heavy. The man was still screaming, but Sliocht couldn't hear him anymore. He couldn't hear anything. The whole world seemed to have gone very quiet.

Drawing his straight razor, Sliocht approximated where the bloody wreck's throat was, and slashed outwards in a flash of silver.

The man stopped screaming, and he could hear once again. Ciarán must have been back on board, as Sliocht heard him shouting in a voice usually reserved for drilling green recruits.

"Where the fuck is Sliocht?!"

Holstering his razor, the Barber vaulted over the mass of bloody pulp and rushed to Emer's clinic at the back of the ship.

With no time for manners or pleasantry, he burst through the door. Torrel lay sprawled out on the table, breathing shallow through a tube in her neck. Ciarán and Emer looked to be tending to her, and Alys and Nessa were dragging an injured Caleb forwards. Through lips covered in blood and sawdust, the barber sputtered out a question.

"That was you, aye Ciarán? What is it?"

 

[Hard Nox 2]

ANNASIEL

Emer didn't immediately acknowledge the new arrivals. All her focus was on Torrel, attention unwavering. After a few long seconds, she spoke.

"Keep maintaining pressure."

It was a simple spell, just to calm the body, soothe the nerves - shock could kill just as much as any wound. Then, moving back to the cupboards, she grabbed a jar of small, fuzzy brown roots. She took a palmful, chewed it, then spat it out, pressing the wad through Torrel's lips.

"Make sure they don't choke or swallow," she warned Ciarán, "and keep the pressure. That should help slow the bleeding, and replenish what they lost."

Her attention now shifted to the newcomers - Alys, a limp Caleb beside her, and Nessa following close behind with a bag in her hands.

"Lay him on the floor."

A flash of her silver knife in her free hand, and the front of Caleb's shirt was torn, exposing the wound. This was simpler. Not immediately fatal, though it would prove to be if untreated. Pouring a bit of rum over it - clearing debris - she took her remaining rags and held them against the cut.

"Someone hold this," she said, popping another bundle of roots into her mouth and chewing. Spitting the wad into Caleb's mouth, she gave the same instructions to the two women - "don't let him choke or swallow," then returned to the dying víla.

"I can handle this from here," she said, glancing to Ciarán. "Get Sliocht, if you're able -"

But he was already there, pushing inside. Emer looked his way with a grateful smile.

"There's my second hands. Caleb has a cut across his chest - you know where my sutures are. Ciarán -"

Her eyes met his.

"I'll do what I can. Your men need you. Go."

Voice falling to a hush, she began to mutter once more, hands pushing against the wound.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

UMBRASIGHT

Blood, fresh and sweet, that’s what this room was. Down on the ground it was easier, not to feel it in the pit of her stomach, down there was smoke and ash and terror all in its own measure, but this room was blood and her breath was short. Nessa took her instructions, helped place Caleb down on a patch of free floor. Was there going to be enough space in here? Perhaps. But, blood glistened on Emer’s fingers, it ran in dark shimmering rivers that pooled in deep red lakes on the surface of the table. Ciarán asked how Caleb had gotten his wound, she heard him ask. The words were there, in the air.

Nessa ran her fingertips over her lips, her breath warm as it curled around her fingers and light glittered off her fangs. Nessa contemplated finding an answer to Ciarán's question, but the arrival of Silocht was merciful enough to spare her that particular field of mines. Her eyes were narrow and sharp as she looked down to Caleb, prompted by Emer’s demand, a glob of some herb in his mouth. Right, there were other issues more pressing weren’t there?

Shit.

Nessa ran her tongue along a fang, an eye twitching as she nicked the muscle on the edge. The taste was dull, but the trick served her as well now as it had for the last decade. She needed to focus now.

“Drugs or herbs, any you need now?” Nessa asked, her gaze flicking from Emer to Silocht as she tapped her pack with the back of her hand.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

PAPERBAG FILL

Sleep.

It had been so long since he fell into such a heavy slumber. How long had it been? Ages? More? To survive as long as him, one must remain a light sleep, even as so far to sleep with an eye open. None of his dreams ever offered solace before. It was one benefit of light sleep. But now? Soren could only dream.

He was back in the fight. Not the one from before. A different fight. One that offered nothing but the smell of gunpowder and smoke, steel and sweat, and nothing but death and pain. Not the usual pain and death. Death of the soul and the pain of muscles that must keep fighting. The mind willing the body to go on. The body could break and repair itself over and over to be stronger. The mind could do the same, up to a point.

Because if the soul itself fell apart, the battle has already been lost.

His eyes scanned a battlefield of corpses lying inside ditches, bodies being either carted away or moved to the side. Avoided entirely, as passerby's hope the vultures feast soon and plenty. All that was left was him standing among them. He could count every death, every person. How they died, what died inside of them. His eyes moved. He saw two more bodies. His eyes narrowed upon recognition.

A cold rage brewed inside.

--------------​

His eyes snapped open. Flicking left and right before he lifted himself up. Duller waves of pain echoed throughout his body. The rest had done him some good. All was left would be to remove what was embedded in him and hope for the best beyond that. They were in a cage his eyes could see, if the bars he could peer at through the legs and over the heads of a number of strangers crowded in this cell, confined them inside a ship that smelled and spoke of a different story than the Nox. The Nox felt full of freedom and all manner of purpose was in it.

This felt constrained and all for a singular will. He even felt it in his magic. Gone? Perhaps, but it felt more so suppressed and greatly so. His eyes narrowed before he tried to get up. He paused. Peering to the side, not far from him, Soren found both the druid and Juniper. He rose to full height before checking himself. Everything seemed to be on his person. Odd. Only his weapons and sheathes were missing. Nothing else. Perhaps they cared little for trinkets with the loot they were attempting to steal.

They probably already stole it and had gone airborne already, most likely. He removed his cloak and fur before draping it over the druid and Juniper. They could rest while he examined the cell, but he would not stray too far away. These other prisoners could be *unfriendly* to put it mildly. He brushed his hand over his wounds. Difficult to move without a proper tool to pull it out. Or a longer rest and wait for it to leave his body over a natural course.

But his condition now would have to do. His eyes spotted a corner of the cell. A man tied to a pole. Why was this one was treated differently than the others? Soren slowly approached.

"Speak. What has happened?"

 

[Hard Nox 2]

ILLIRICA

At least her people knew how to move. Every once in a while, some new fool would complain about orders to retreat, wanting to stay and fight it out for more gold or more blood or whatever it was that kept them going. Most of them didn't last long - and the ones that did got over it very quickly. Last stands were for people who didn't have anywhere else to go. As long as the Hard Nox was able to fly, it was better to leave and try another day.

Nessa had returned, burdened with a sack that Sinéad hoped had what they were about to need, and took over helping Alys get a wounded Caleb back to the ship. Ciarán was getting his men back to the ship as well, or what remained of them. The town archer was providing cover, so he'd probably sweet-talked her into it. That, or she was just shooting the lesser of two evils. Lucien was also choosing to dispatch the lesser of two evils, going after the old warrior-priest rather than the undead. An opportune attack, if a brutal one. Tactically unsound, but she didn't keep Lucien around for his tactical abilities.

Soren and Juniper... they'd gotten all tangled up in the hedge-mage's entrapment, and the undead hordes were already at them. Regrettable, but she wasn't in the business of heroics.

"Lucien!" A reminder that they were going, before he decided to sate his bloodlust on anyone else. Sinéad was moving back to the ship already. The stockpile was overswarmed, so she crossed another path beside a discarded white cloak left in the mud. A slight bend and she'd scooped it up with her blade, then wrapped it around the hilt as she ran. If nothing else, it looked to be good quality, and Emer could always use more bandages.

As captain of the ship, she prided herself in knowing all her shipmates, which was why the strange slouching woman approaching the ship was instantly known as an unknown. She hadn't come from the town and she hadn't come from the Hard Nox, which left only one real option. A deserter? Or something else? Whoever she was, she'd know more about the Truth Teller than anyone else here did, and there were definitely some things that Sinéad wanted to know.

Better not to overplay her hand before she saw her cards. "Climb up after me if you're coming, then. Lucien, after her." He wouldn't need more than that to understand what she meant: we're treating her as a guest as long as she behaves herself and chooses to remain a guest. If the strange woman tried anything funny - like escaping - Lucien had free rein to take care of the problem.

Sinead grabbed the rope ladder and started scurrying up it. No doubt the stranger would be slower at the climb, but maybe Lucien's presence behind her would encourage her to a little haste. She waited until he'd cleared the bottom run and then called up to the shipboard crew: "Lift up!"

The ship's great sails shifted, catching drafts shunted upward from the great wind machines nestled in her hull, getting off the ground and into the sky as Sinéad finished climbing aboard and shouted directions to the helmsman. Usually she would have taken the aileron wheel, but this time she had other things she wanted to deal with. She waited beside the ladder, knife dangling from her hand with the sort of casual familiar looseness that suggested a complete awareness of the blade and its function, and greeted their newest friend with something tight-lipped that even the most charitable would have been pressed to call a smile.

The muddied white fabric dropped to the ground, between them.

"So. You wanted to talk."

It was not a suggestion.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

FANG

Chained up, again, though at least this time Leo had enjoyed himself a bit. The cold hands had dropped on a wooden floor that creaked when he landed, and in an instant the bag was removed from his head. Though the candlelight in the cabin barely flickered Leo squinted against its suddenness, his other senses taking in his surrounding even before his eyes adjusted. The smell of blood and rot, the taste of mildew in the air bated by week old rushes just barely clinging to their freshness. The sound of creaking boards below and above, and even below the below, as if the world had been wrapped with a wooden cage.

Then he saw them. The cold hands belonged to rotting corpses made mobile, the flesh sagging from their bone evidence enough without the deadness of their eyes. A pair of rotting husks worked the chains around Leo’s waist and ankles, freeing him stiffly while one even lossy a piece of a finger from the process. His wrists were kept bound behind him, and as the chain around his shoulders fell to the floor a living man stepped into the cabin with the heavy scent of expensive perfume.

“The beast has a face!” The oily voice was unmistakable and Leo’s chest burned. “I was expecting something much more savage. You’re actually not unpleasant to look at.”

Leo blinked and gritted his teeth, pulling against the chains at his wrists slowly, deliberately. He made no sound, but kept his gaze fixed upon the shadowy man before him. The undead stepped away from him as the man in black approached, his hand extending toward Leo’s dark hair. With a growl Leo jerked against the chains and felt his flesh tear a bit before a link gave way. As his hand came around he aimed for the man’s throat, seeking to wrap his fingers around that disturbing voice and end it. He grasped at only air, the other stepping back swiftly and pushing one of his thralls forward in fluid movement.

The corpse drew a dagger as it stumbled forward, while simultaneously Leo leaped toward it, his left hand wrapping around the rotten arm that held the blade and jerking it away. His right swiped at the zombie’s temple, a solid blow that spun its head a bit too far the other direction. Both Leo and the undead tumbled to the floor, for a moment a flurry of rotting and living flesh as Leo tried to keep the dagger from his ribs. He jerked upwards swiftly, surprised when the resistance of the arm gave way and the dagger and hand spun into the air…

And across the man in black’s face. A line of red blood traced its way over his cheek, a scratch as thin as paper releasing only few drops of blood as Leo and zombies watched. Almost reverently the man lifted his fingers to his face and wiped the blood away, pausing a moment to study the wetness on his fingers. The man wiped away the blood on his pants, then drew a deep breath.

“YOU DARE DRAW THE BLOOD OF SOLOMON KING ABOARD HIS OWN SHIP!” Leo didn’t know what a ship was but he knew murder, and he saw in that instant the man in black intended nothing short of that. A thick heeled boot slammed down onto the head of Leo’s zombie opponent, splattering like a ripe melon with a sour smell of rot and copper. Leo recoiled away from the gore and avoided another kick aimed to his nose. Solomon King growled over the ringing of steel from sheath, echoed below the floor in a multitude like a steel serpent awakened. Leo scrambled backward, reaching his feet for just a moment before he ran into a low wooden bench. Steel sang past Leo’s face as he fell into a table and his hand felt something cold and hard beneath it.

Without thought Leo lunged back to his feet, stabbing out with whatever he had picked up at the closest target. With a sickening squelch the spoon buried into the zombie’s eye and beyond. Leo freed his weapon from the socket and turned on Solomon King just in time to throw him self out of the reach of the man’s curved blade. Leo scrambled, struggling to keep his footing in the mess the zombies created on the floor. Again he stumbled backward, but just before he could fall his back slammed into wood that gave way.

Leo fell into the doorway and rolled backward, springing to his feet with his spoon in hand, ready for battle. Dozens of weapons met his fiery gaze, pointed into his eyes so all he saw was steel. The weapons parted and Solomon King stepped forward, tossing his saber from hand to hand.

“You’re a lucky little beast, aren’t you? I should have your life twice now.” Leo stood still looking for a chance to bury his spoon into living flesh. The man smiled, as if he saw something in Leo, perhaps something he wasn't able to see. “You're a special one, I see. Chain him back up. We'll need him alive and well rested."

And so Leo watched as new meat were brought into the cell where he sat chained to a pole, awaiting the vengeance of King upon his ship. He still didn’t know what a ship was, but it seemed a type of prison as well. The newest additions to the people seemed of heartier stock than the ones that had been there when Leo had first been chained. He assumed they were fresher, maybe obtained the way he had been. Strangely none of them stoked the fire in his chest.

He was used to the sounds of fighting, and paid little heed until a bloodied new prisoner made his way over to him. The others had instinctively shied away from Solomon King’s “special” captive.

“Speak. What has happened?”

The flame in Leo’s chest flickered, but it did not grow. This prisoner was large in frame and in presence, and though the flame did not rise against him Leo knew he was dangerous. Though apparently wounded he sounded strong. Unnatural.

“You’re a prisoner. Probably going to be killed by King.” Leo answered because the man had spoken directly, only the seventh person to do so in Leo’s history. Most of his encounters had been instant violence that needed no words. He had never been very good with them anyway.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

GHOSTLY

Neither Alys nor Nessa offered Ciarán an explanation for the quartermaster's wounding, so he'd have to ask the fool himself if he survived - hell, if any of them survived. It mattered not right now, they priority was saving the lives of as many of the crew as they could and escaping. Ciarán could only watch as Emer held her hands over Torrel and spoke hushed and low - just as she had when he had been the one on her operating table so many years ago, he knew the gentle warmth and weight that would surround the vila to guide them towards recovery, or a peaceful death.

Either way, Emer was a godsend.

He watched as she pressed the wad of root between Torrel's lips, and responded with a sure nod at her instructions. Ciarán had always been fascinated by her ways, her methods and bedside manner - much gentler and effective than the surgeons and physicians whose knife he'd been under in the Navy. If he'd hadn't been so busy with training and maintenance he would've asked for her time teaching him some wisdom - another time, another life perhaps.

Ciarán was shaking, but lucky for him no one could tell with the chaos and shudder of the Hard Nox surrounding him. Sliocht had arrived, covered in sawdust and blood. Ciarán did a quick once-over on his friend, fearing he had been a victim of the first volley. Luckily he had not, more likely he'd been first to the scene of the blast.

"Gods be good, you're alright," a breeze of relief passed over him for the briefest moment. "Emer's about to have her hands full with wounded, and they'll need me up top. We need all the help we can get, friend."

He felt Emer's hands fall next to his, he looked her way and met her eyes. She was right, they did need him. Sliocht and Emer were here now, the wounded would have a chance. "Aye, I'll keep them safe. Gods know you don't need anymore down here." Ciarán said as he withdrew his blood soaked hands slowly and stepped away, they were in Emer's hands now. Wordlessly, he took a deep breath and stepped out of the clinic and back into his role as the master gunner.

~ ~ ~

As below, so above.

Ciarán loosened his collar and stepped up onto the top deck. Cannon teams were loaded and ready to fire on his, or the captains command. The captain herself had gotten aboard just as their ship had taken wind and begun to take off. "Good work, lads." He passed the gunnery teams as he took position on the quarterdeck near the swivel gun.

He took one last look down at Fen Manor, his thoughts wandered to Beck and her friends. He pressed a hand against the swirling red spot on his chest before turning his eyes back to the horizon.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

HIGHVOLTAGE

As he returned to the ship, Lucien zeroed in on a new figure. He had intimidated all the new recruits, and knew the people who had been there longest. This figure was neither of them, slouching, hunched, moving quickly to avoid being caught. His gaze flickered to the Captain, blade twitching, waiting for a command. It did not come. Instead she merely called to the figure, instructing them to come aboard the ship. Her follow-up was clear, though. An unspoken tightening of the leash, in anticipation of him lunging out.

Lucien gave her an almost imperceptible nod, slowing his pace to fall behind the new figure, waiting for her to go a bit up the ladder before starting his own ascension, a hand always on the rung just below her. As he properly got on the ladder, the Hard Nox began to lift back into the air, the few corpses attempting to crawl up the side tumbling back to earth.

He pulled himself onto the deck shortly after the stranger, moving to stand off to the side, able to interject himself between the Captain and the stranger should anything arise. His blade was clean, slid back into the sheath, and Lucien pulled out his flask again, taking a swig of the burning sweet blood. He glanced at his hand, the edges of the black slowly fading, but it would take a bit to heal properly. He would avoid going to Emer once again, it seemed.

Lucien pulled out the pistol he had liberated from the town, checking to make sure it functioned properly before cleaning and loading it, his eyes flicking to the stranger to watch for any sudden movements.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

DELFI

Two casters and a strong man in exchange for a third of the gold was a good bargain in Solomon's eyes. Perhaps it'd be enough fuel for where he planned to go next and as usual, Fate worked in his favor. After the prisoners had boarded the ship and the last bag of coins had been picked up he made a slight gesture that commanded the entire crew to return to the ship, even those who were far away. He wouldn't mind if some of them didn't make it, they were corpses, afterall.

"We're done here. Let them escape." He said, and the cloaked figure behind him nodded.

***

Caleb tried as best he could to pretend his wound didn't hurt as much as it did. He had lost too much blood at that point to stand on his own two legs without help, but at least he wouldn't be a lil bitch about it.

He could tell by his blurry vision that the clinic was crowded, but he couldn't make out anyone's faces. The sylph's voice giving out instructions sounded familiar, just like the burning sensation of the alcohol on his flesh - familiar, but still unpleasant. He grunted and breathed deeply, counting his breath like Emer had taught him to do in situations like this.

Before losing consciousness he heard Ciarán ask how that'd happened. He too wanted to know the answer to that question when he woke up.

***

Poppy opened her eyes slowly, surprised to still be alive. A cloak, damp and covered in blood covered her body, as well as Juniper's, who was fast asleep by her side. She looked peaceful when she was asleep. Almost not like a murderer.

She sat up, looking at her surroundings. The vile man who had murdered Brandon somehow escaped her hedge and had been captured with them. Rage rushed over her once again and she attempted to conjure a thorn, but with no success. Even if there wasn't an aura around her that made her and every other prisoner feel weak, Poppy needed the earth to do her magic. She didn't have earth aboard a flying ship.

Poppy turned to the cage's door at the metallic sound of the lock being opened and saw two corpses walk inside, while a person hidden beneath a white cloak stayed behind.


They pointed at a man in the back of the cell and at first Poppy assumed they were asleep, but when the undead got to him, she realized he was just too weak to stand. The next person the figure pointed at was a skinny elf missing an ear. His eyes widened in terror.

"No, please! Don't take me yet!" He tried to escape, but while every prisoner felt somewhat tired, the corpses didn't seem to feel the same and despite his struggles, the elf was successfully imobilized. "No! NO!" The man kept screaming, but none of the other prisoners moved an inch to help him, and didn't seem fazed at all. As if it was an ordinary occurrence.

The door was locked once again, and the two men were taken upstairs. Poppy was left with the feeling they wouldn't be coming back.

***

Beck was almost out of arrows when the corpses turned around and climbed the ropes back to the ship. She sighed in relief, both because the attack was over, and because she was able to spot the gentleman pirate making his way back into his ship. Beck doubted they'd ever meet again, but she wished they did. And regretted not asking his name.

While the Hard Nox took flight, the Truth Teller simply disappeared within a second. She waited to make sure it was gone for good before running through the ruins of Fen Manor looking for her friends.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

PAPERWORK

It was Hester's cloak, of course. Convenient. Saved her having to explain who she was. Her hands went up, slowly, until she was holding the book and medallion at about shoulder height. Would have been better if they'd been empty, but hopefully the captain would get the idea. And hopefully neither she nor the monster standing behind her would pay too much attention to the fact that the spine of her strange "bracelet" was now facing backwards, directly at the monster.

It wasn't that she thought she could get off the ship alive, if it came to a fight. But if she had a choice between going out at the hands of the strange half-mutilated faerie in front of her, and those of the ancient dead aristocrat behind her, well. She'd prefer to have something interesting to think about on the way down to the Gates. Besides, if the ratcatcher hit him hard enough, it might topple him back over the railing, and that would be very funny for the few seconds it'd take the captain to gut her.

"Lovely day for it." She glanced up at the sky, grimly, but didn't pause long enough for the captain to get any more annoyed. "This medallion'll point out things like the Truth Teller for you, so that this doesn't happen again. The book's one of his better manuals--best one I ever caught a look at, anyway. Not written in the common tongue, but I can read it to you well enough. If you like." Here's a peace offering, and here's proof of my continuing usefulness after you've extracted all the information you can from me. "If we're going to chat about the Good Captain and his ship, can we do it somewhere warmer? You'll catch your death out here, dressed like that, in this kind of weather."

 

[Hard Nox 2]

GOLDEN

How the hell did he manage that?

If Alys was good at anything - that is, after handling a blade - it was telling a damn good lie. After so many years, they left her lips like breaths of air. And as much as she respected Ciarán, even regarding him as an honorable man, that's all he would get from her on this topic: a sweet little lie. Especially since half the damn crew had managed to fit into the cabin.

"Do I look like his mother?," she muttered under her breath, working with Nessa to gently lower Caleb onto the ground, as instructed by Emer. Why not play off the fact that she wasn't the Quartermaster's babysitter, who saw (and did) absolutely nothing.

Thankfully, Sliocht arrived, Emer rambled off orders, and the room shuffled, accommodating the chaos within. Ciarán's question and Alys' potential answer became an afterthought.

With Nessa unpacking her medicinal haul, Alys was left to follow Emer's orders - to make sure Caleb didn't choke on whatever the hell she'd spat into his mouth. He had passed out now, so she wasn't as worried about leaving, knowing that he wasn't capable of opening his mouth and revealing what she'd done. She knelt beside his body, glancing between him, Emer, and Sliocht, who would soon prepare to stitch up Caleb's chest.

She'd had to suture someone once, a couple years back. He'd lived, but had one gnarly scar thanks to her terrible stitchwork. Fortunately, he was a fellow who would proudly flaunt any battle scar. On second thought, that sounded an awful like someone she knew.

She remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt the work around her, gaze continually flicking from one person to the next, and then to the door. Surely if someone needed her assistance they'd ask. Until then, she was on don't let Caleb choke and die duty. How ironic.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

ANNASIEL

Things were settling, at least, and no more bodies had been laid at her doorstep yet. Emer's hands slipped behind the unconscious vila's neck, fingers feeling for a rough edge - and finding it beneath the silvery hair. Equal parts good and bad. It would make the arrow easier to remove without causing new damage, but it also meant the damage had already been caused. Necks bled deep, and even with the stalroot, there was quite the risk of them dying to chill before they could properly mend.

One hand resting on the base of the throat, fingers splayed around the shaft, the other on the arrow itself, Emer pushed, the rest of the burgeoning head blooming behind Torrel's throat like a blood-fed weed. Quickly, she grabbed the other side, tensing and snapping it while holding the rest of the shaft steady, then - still chanting - she slowly, ever slowly, slipped the clipped arrow back out through the front. Her face tightened, expression more intense. The chanting rose and fell in pitch. After agonizing seconds, the end of the crimson shaft withdrew. Emer set it to the side, holding her entire hand over the throat instead.

"Nessa, dear, could you fetch me that iron?" she said, gesturing to the warmstones. "Be careful. It's hot."

This was already proving tiring work. More patients hadn't entered yet - but that didn't mean they didn't exist.

"Alys, how many seriously wounded, would you say?"

 

[Hard Nox 2]

PAPERBAG FILL

Soren's gaze kept still on the man before him, listening. He did not appear entirely gaunt or thin, but more so muscle and bone and little else. Perhaps due to hard work, hard fighting, and little in the way of meals. But why did they tie him up? A dangerous warrior? A dangerous man? If he was a man. Soren's eyes narrowed. Appearances could be deceiving. Lucien could appear human enough if he bothered to hide that other side of him--something Soren believed Nessa was much better at. She was the sneaky one, in the total sense at least.

This man could be one of the same. Still, aboard this ship and all the risk that surrounded this ship of death, perhaps it would be best if the Jotunn made use of a possibly dangerous individual. If he made the situation worse, it'd just be another problem on a long list Soren was keeping track of in his head. His hands began to go for the chains before they stopped as he heard the gate begin to rattle. Soren turned and took a step back, putting his back closer to the wall.

Two of those again-walkers walked alongside a cloaked figure. The figure pointed and the undead followed. Soren saw how they grabbed two of the men, weak and unable to stand yet possessing lungs stronger than ever as the men yelled and wailed. Soren's eyes flicked back to the figure instead of staying on the men. A mage? Undead too or commanding the undead? If it was mage. Perhaps just a cloaked creature of a different yet similar origin. Still, it held some command or sway over these walkers. But what of this King the other prisoner had spoken of. Was he not the ship's commander?

Too many questions. Time to get a few answers and do something now.

Soren found himself off to the side of the prisoner before reaching for the chains and grabbing ahold.

"This King. I have heard he is captain of the ship. Who is he? What is he?"

Then Soren began to tug at the chain fervently, putting his back into it. Perhaps if one of these links had rusted enough. If this one did not budge, Soren would try the other. Perhaps he could enlist the help of the druid and Juniper, but he would try and give it a go alone.

While working on the second one, Soren popped as second query.

"Can you fight?"

 

[Hard Nox 2]

ILLIRICA

Lucien was right behind them. Sinéad glanced once in his direction, wondering when the day would come that he finally slipped his leash. She had no doubt that the day would come some day. She didn't harbor any thoughts that he felt any particular sense of loyalty. He did what she told him to because she kept his life interesting. Some day, he would decide something else was more interesting, and then they'd very briefly have that one embrace that half the crew pretended they thought was already happening - and only one of them would walk way from it.

But today wasn't going to be that day. He'd gotten to tease his bloodlust into a frenzy, and he'd be enjoying the afterglow of the moment for a while. She could rely on him. Not trust him, certainly, but rely on him. There was a difference.

That left the problem of the foul-smelling girl. The breeze took some of it away, but without the competitions of blood and viscera and petrichor, it wasn't hard to tell the girl was rank. It wasn't a body odor, Sinéad felt - or, rather, it was the odor more associated with dead bodies than living ones. Something of offal, and decomposition. And she'd come from the Truth Teller, which told a great part of the story already.

And she was a sarcastic bitch. The Captain grinned at the sharp slash of a rapier wit. The mind within the body seemed quite apt, at least. Her eyes took in the medallion and lingered on the book. She had enjoyed reading very much, a lifetime ago. She had been quite a different person, then.

"If it's not in a language I know, you can teach it to me," she countered the offer. After all, having it read to her was only good for the one time, the one book. Knowing how to read it herself would be far more valuable, in the long run. It was possible that she already knew something of it, though. Sinéad knew more languages than she let on, but that wasn't really a skill that came up very often in the realm of piracy.

No, that was a skill that came up in the fae aristocracy... but Sinéad had no plans about going back to anything like that, unless the plan involved an awful lot of murder. It wouldn't even have to involve looting, even though the looting was no doubt excellent - she would be quite content with the blood. All of the blood. Down to the smallest babe in the cradle.

But that was not something to be achieved today. Sinéad knew to strike for the goals that were within her grasp - and a very interesting goal had suddenly become something she could reach for.

"And if I freeze my tits off, there's at least two people on the ship who can sew them back on. Tell me... how does the medallion work?" Could they find the Truth Teller after all, get the jump on that bastard king, and steal back the stockpile gains before he had a chance to sell them? Time was of the essence, if that was the plan - and she was thinking that it made for a very interesting plan indeed.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

UMBRASIGHT

Laying things out made it easier, really. So long as she kept her hands moving, as she continued to unloaded her bag, then that was something. She was good at little somethings, when she was a child she counted herself to sleep as she rested on her mother’s lap because sleep was easier than hunger. Difference was, back then they had no food other than thin gruel with wild onion, and here it was abundant. She breathed quick and shallow, as if half a breath would somehow keep that sweetness from seeping in. Yes, laying things out made it easier, really.

The bag emptied itself into neat piles of wrapped packages. The wrapping wasn’t perfect, some were sloppy and some were tight, one the father the other the son, she assumed, but the labor was free so she wasn’t one to complain. Some wrappings too, she had taken, but she hadn’t taken it all. They’d need some of that for their wounded, for they didn’t have quite the luxury of leaving some bleeding on the cobble. There was a wooden snap as the arrow shaft was broken, the slick sound of flesh following, and Nessa froze. She pressed her fingers to her lips again, and her body ached to turn.

When she was a girl she rested her head upon her mother’s lap —

Some packages were still fresh, so they might need to be dried. Emer always had things drying. Fresh things could be piled together, so they could be dealt with together. One of the herbs she recognized, faintly, by the smell of it. Perhaps it was something Emer brewed in her teas? It was hard to tell, it always dulled her senses, hunger. Not the ones that would help her feed, but those tastes and flavors of her old life were like ash. She could remember them, the sweetness of an apple, the richness of toast drizzled with bacon fat.

— she counted, one, two, three, four, because speaking —

“Nessa, dear, could you fetch me that iron?” Nessa looked up from her bag, long emptied save for a handful of coins that glittered on the bottom. Her lips twitched under her fingertips as a warm breath escaped her, short and quick. Nessa turned, her gaze lingering on the tips of Emer’s fingers as she gestured. She stepped over to where those fingers directed her, with footsteps light as a whisper in the breeze. She reached out and took the handle. Emer had warned that it was hot, so she took the handle firm before drawing it out. She stepped back to Emer, her focus on her footwork in this little space. Lucien had noticed her this morning so that needed practice did it not? Then, too soon, she was at the table.

“Here,” she spoke, her voice almost as soft as her feet as she held the warming stone up for Emer to take. The table glistened, so rich and full. The wound wept, and this was a crewmate. That was important. Her lips parted, and she did not have fingers to brush them closed again. Her eyes were sharp, her pupils thin, and her free hand reached for the pool of blood as her fingers strained, half-curled as they hovered just above the gathered blood. She forced herself to look at Emer. She drew a breath through her mouth, so heavy with iron, so coying. Did she even know this one’s name? Her nails pressed into the meat of her palms, but she didn’t register the pain.

— was easier than hunger.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

GOLDEN

The chaos within the room whittled away with the unnecessary bodies, leaving behind only the wounded and those with an assigned role. A quiet fell over them - apart from Emer's chanting, the suction sound of open flesh, and the rustling of Nessa's movements. Distant bellowing could be heard beyond the confines of these four walls, no doubt guiding the High Nox back where it belonged.

After a moment, Alys shifted her position, resting her back against the wall, extending one leg, while flexing the other. She unconsciously reached for her thigh, expecting to find her dagger there, when that simply wasn't the case. It had been left behind on the blood-stained cobblestones, forgotten. As her eyes slowly moved across the final laceration that dagger had made, she supposed it was for the best. Ever so slowly, Alys began to unbuckle the leather sheath that came with it - it held no purpose now.

Her head lifted as Emer spoke, first instructing Nessa, and then questioning Alys. "I- I saw Soren - he was badly injured. Juniper too. I don't think they made it back to the ship in time." She paused, then listed a couple other crewmates that she saw had made it back, albeit injured. There weren't many, not compared to their casualties. "We lost a decent number of men today," she concluded.

 

[Hard Nox 2]

FANG

As if to bring Leo’s words to life two prisoners were taken away, a performance Leo had already seen before. The big man had not, though, and Leo could see his mind asking questions just as Leo’s. He doubted they asked the same one. When the commotion ended the other man moved closer to Leo and began questioning him as he pulled at his chains. Leo flexed against them as well, figuring that the pair of them stood a better chance against the iron links than either did alone. Leo had tried the tactic before, however, and held little hope a link would break.

“This King. I have heard he is captain of the ship. Who is he? What is he?"

“Can you fight?”

Leo took a moment before answering, running his hand over the waist of his torn trousers to check that his prize was still there. When felt the hard metal he strained again against his bindings, pushing against the pole he was chained to and tensing his muscles against the digging chains.

“Solomon King is unnatural and ugly. The flame wants his flesh.” Leo had rarely spoken, and though he knew many words from Sylvael’s visits he couldn’t be sure the words meant what he thought. Talking was way harder than she made it seem. “Leo is not small anymore. He- I will kill King.”

Leo relaxed and took a breath, giving his body a chance to rest. Even if they broke the chains they were in a cage. Bars were harder to break than chains. Leo also knew the greatness of the undead numbers, a fact his large questioner seemed to miss. Escape was generally not a good option, more so when the hands behind numerous weapons were moving dead. Did Leo posses the words to make him understand?

He strained against the chains again. “I can scrub floors.” The floor here was filthy. “And I can kill. I have never been asked to fight.” Leo looked around the cell and beyond, spotting one of the rotting crew. “The not dead are many. Hard to keep down. You are not like them,” Leo pointed his chin at the older captives, mired in fear and weak. “You will be. Leaving is not able- we can not get out of this place alone. You are big, but many is more.”

The words may have worked, maybe not. Leo wasn’t against the idea of getting free and having another chance at the disgusting King, but he had seen prisoners attempt escape before. Sometimes they were fed to him for entertainment. In the situation he was in Leo didn’t want to have to feed this new prisoner to the fire.

“What is your name?” He asked, the sacred question rolling from his lips without thought. Something did bag at him, though, that he forced himself to ask before the talking went farther. “What is a ship?”

 

[Hard Nox 2]

ANNASIEL

Emer's face fell, slightly, her shoulders slouching.

"More to bury, less to tend," she said, more for her own benefit than anyone else in the room's. As painful as it was, there was a blessing in the loss - she could focus her energy on keeping Torrel alive. She took the cauter from Nessa, lifting away the already-soaked rags for a moment to expose the vila's front wound. With as much a gentle hand as such a brutal act could convey, she began to press the flat end of the iron around the edges of the wound, careful to hold the copper tube away from it with her other hand as she did. Methodical movements. Careful strokes. After a few seconds in silence of this - the sickly sweet scent of burnt flesh coiling off the tool in wisps - she paused, looking again to Nessa. The poor thing seemed tense, hands wound tight, mouth dangling. It took a moment for Emer's focus to shift, a moment for her to realize it was more than simply squeamishness.

"I - you really shouldn't be here, should you? I'm sorry, dear. Are you alright?"

 

[Hard Nox 2]

SHODDYPRODUCT

The satyr remained unresponsive and Soren became commanding, all as the dead approached. It was pouring rain now, making it near impossible to hear the chaos around them. Or so, Juniper thought. With the crew of the Truth Teller approaching, they had hardly noticed that the rest of the crew, some who she would consider friends almost, had all but abandoned them. Of course they had, following the captains orders, and her stance on stragglers was well defined and known by the crew, so as they felt weariness fall over their eyes, they turned to face their assailants, hoping for a last stand.

None came, and instead her vision was met with a robed figure, likely commanding the dead. This was the last image Juniper saw, before a likely magically induced sleep overtook her, as well as her companion and adversary, and her head fell to the cobbles, put under.

... Wind, and rain, and chaos. A storm swept through the , a prodigal one this time of year, considering it was meant to be the dry season. No one knew it was coming, or at least, young Juniper Mason didn't. Perhaps her parents knew, but they neglected to tell the small girl, as it wasn't something she was meant to be worried about anyways. She was sitting in the aptly named sitting room of their small, yet comfortable, home, practicing her talents. Her ambition. Her fire.

Things had been going well with it, though it was dangerous. Already she had singed her clothes and the drapes in the house, much to the dismay of her mother. Things got dicey when she was upset, but that could be fixed, it could be managed and tamed, with time and support from loved ones. It was exactly what she was doing when, under the cover of rain and darkness and thunder, that she heard the distinct sound of shattering glass.

The men were rude and rough, dangerous, angry. They wanted money, and while in retrospect they could understand this, poor young Juniper Mason couldn't understand why they were so upset. Why were they threatening her? Why yell at her father like that? Why demand mothers jewelry? It made the young girl uncomfortable. Then, like a spark, a realization came to her; she could fix this. Why was she taming the fire, if not to use it?

And so she did. And so her life changed forever. In a flash of orange-red light, a burst of flame and a boom of what could only be ascribed to thunder, despite the cause being very different, the Mason household was reduced to ash and rubble. None left except young Juniper Mason. Chaos reigned that day, as the rain poured down their face and doused the flames a moment too late, and it would reign forevermore.

Juniper waking coincided with the bright white flash, as it so often did, and they found themselves in a cell, under a blanket. No, it wasn't a blanket, it was... Soren's cloak? They surveyed the small room, doing their best to see past the crack in their glasses, and after a moment spotted both the large chef and the satyr. They felt relieved for a moment, before the smell made its way in, and her stomach reacted before her mind could think. Bile rose, but they managed to choke it down in a gag instead of emptying their stomach.

Oh gods, their stomach. Their everywhere. It all hurt, and they knew it hadn't been but minutes since they were on the Fen Manor streets. Wincing as they pulled themselves into a seated position, minding their exhausted body, they took stock of the damage dealt. A headache, likely from falling on the street. Sore muscles, from overuse of their magic. Blood, seeping through their robes, damage done by the satyr. It was tender to the touch, and still fresh, in need from attention she likely wouldn't get here.

Soren was speaking to a young man chained to a post in the cell, tugging at his chains despite the cell they were contained in. Figuring it best to deal with an escape plan once they had a moment of rest, Juniper instead looked to the satyr, and with a whisper, a weak utterance brought on by exhaustion and circumstance, she spoke.

"I'm glad you're alright... At least, for now."