Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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GOLDEN

Usually, Alys found Ciarán and Caleb's rivalry rather amusing; their snide comments and personal digs provided some much needed entertainment in between the theft and murder. In this instance, however, sandwiched between them while internally worrying about her life, Alys was less than impressed. She peered up at them, barely able to stop herself from rolling her eyes as they exchanged pleasantries.

But before they could continue with round two (or Alys could ask Ciarán if her wings were prettier than the Quarter Master's), the trio was swarmed by a dozen or so of the Truth Teller's crew. With the two boys charging forward, Alys covered the back, keeping an eye on the other end of the hall, where the stairs slowly began to disappear from view. She'd be ready if they were flanked from behind, or if the boys left a skeleton for her.
 
THIMBLE

Sliocht vaulted over the rail, passing from the chain suspended over the open sky to land aboard the Truth Teller. He gripped the rail tightly with one free hand, scanning the deck with a pistol gripped in the other. His heavy breath were absconded by the steel blade gripped tightly in between his teeth. Nessa would have called it a long dagger, Ciarán would have called it a cutlass, and Soren would have called it a toothpick.

Sliocht himself called it "good enough".

He crept forwards cautiously, leaving the remaining undead to the other crewmen as he slipped the blade into his hand. Ahead, Ciarán disappeared down a set of stairs led that seemed to lead belowdecks. Sliocht wasn't keen to cross blades with any of Solomon King's thralls, but if pressed he'd much rather do so with someone he could count on beside him. In front of him, ideally, between the barber and whatever necrotic malignancy made it it's death's purpose to remove him from the mortal coil.

He rushed down the stairs, towards the sound of steel and the smell of rotten flesh. He patted his waist nervously, checking to see whether his attached cargo still hung slung from the barber's toolbelt. It had been a last minute decision, and he'd have to apologize later for dipping into the gunpowder without permission, but he was fairly sure that Ciarán wouldn't mind.

Slung from his belt, two glass flasks full of gunpowder and wood splinter clicked together in a sweet rhythm. He'd gathered the shrapnel from inside the Hard Nox, where the Truth Teller had holed them. The blood of those they'd lost still stained the pieces.

Maybe it was the fear, the altitude, or something in the air, but Sliocht felt a rush of grim excitement. It was time to give the bastards what they were owed.
 
DELFI

The Truth Teller wouldn’t take a hit without retaliation. One of the cannonballs shot at the enemy ship burst its way through Emer’s clinic, crashing at one of the shelves with glass jars. More holes were poked on the side of the ship, and the men who’d stayed on deck would have the tough task of stopping the undead from invading the Hard Nox.

Solomon knew what Sineád was after. He’d seen the battle in Fan Manor and by that, it was easy to assume her crew wasn’t a priority - it was gold she was after, and Hester knew exactly where it would be. He let his apprentices and his army of death to deal with the rest, making his way to the chambers with two large abominations by each side.
 
FANG

Leo landed a few feet to the inside of the cage door, his feet sliding to a stop on the unkempt floor as the robed cultist barred the way through. Barely a foot separated the two as Leo straightened to his full height, golden eyes staring straight into yellow, slitted orbs of malice. His grin widened, a madman’s smile all teeth and viciousness.

“Give me your robe,” Leo said as his hands drifted in front of him slowly. With a twist of his wrist the shortest end of the chain he had retrieved wrapped around his hand with a jingle and a soft slap. “I will have it either way.” A plan was a plan after all, and Leo would do his part. He did not wait for the snake to reply, spinning the chain around his head with gaining momentum twice before snapping it at the enemy’s neck, hoping the impact would injure it at worst, or wrap around its throat at best.

He stepped forward lightly, swinging the saber in his other hand at the snake’s waist with the force of the step. Many of the prisoners on the ground could block or evade one of Leo’s blows, but few could do so against two at the same time. The cultist did not seem a strong fighter at first blush, and Leo anticipated blood. The fire in his throat seared with equal anticipation of a true feeding.
 
DELFI

Caleb was too busy slaying enemies who wouldn’t fucking die to bicker with Ciarán. They didn’t have to die anyway, just get tossed out of the way and preferably not hurt the living. The quartermaster decided to restrain himself from using his pistol - the sound could attract unwanted attention - and his sword was enough to at least knock them down long enough for the group to move through the corridor.

“Follow me!” He said upon getting to another set of stairs that’d take them to the floor below.

The bottom floor opened to a dining room, much fancier than the mess hall of the Hard Nox. A long hardwood table was in the center, with six chairs on each side and a tall, crimson throne at the end. There were two people with robes seemingly waiting for them: A tall ogre holding a staff and a smaller blonde woman, armed with a whip.

“We only need one of them alive.” He announced, choosing to fight the ogre. Caleb avoided fighting women whenever possible.


***

Juniper had successfully shoved the undead out of the way and Poppy watched as it lost its balance, bumping against the metal bars of the cage. With the immediate threat out of the way, the satyr turned her attention back to the hand holding her wrist, leaning her body back, stepping on the bars to get enough strength to let herself loose. It sort of worked. She fell backwards, with Bob’s hand still holding tight around her, but disattached to his body.

***

Sapphire had only been aboard the Truth Teller for a little over two years, and they weren’t prepared to deal with an uprising. They stared back at the half naked man, trying to hide the fear caused by the pair of burning golden eyes looking into theirs.

They let out a shriek as the chain got wrapped around their neck, but was able to respond quickly enough so that their blade would meet Leo’s instead of their torso. They didn’t understand what the use of the robe was to the prisoner, but Sapphire didn't opose to let it remain stuck to the chain, sliding their head out and spinning on their heels, attempting to slash the back of their enemies leg.

Under the robe, Sapphire wore a black shirt and trousers, with a silver pendant hanging from their neck. There was a circular symbol carved into it, something regular people wouldn’t be able to recognize, unless they were familiar with sorcery.
 
GOLDEN

Everyone aboard the High Nox had an assigned role, and it was evident as to why Caleb and Ciarán held the responsibilities that they did. The two tore through the onslaught of skeletons so effectively that Alys didn't even need to lift a finger. She did, however, slam down the heel of her boot into the bare skull of a fallen undead woman, reducing her twitchy movements to nothingness - at least for the time being.

At one point, Alys heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from the opposite end of the hallway. She took a defensive stance, firmly clutching her cutlass in anticipation. Fortunately, she recognized the looming figure; it was the ships beloved barber. "Sliocht," she acknowledged with a slight tilt of her head. "Here to join the fun?"

Their small group continued down the corridor, leaving a trail of bone and decomposing flesh until finally reaching another set of stairs. Of course, Caleb took the lead, descending deeper into the belly of the ship, leading the rest into an impressive dining room. The throne at the end gleamed, mimicking the deep red shade of spilt blood. It no doubt seated King Solomon. Perhaps by the end of the night, Sineád would be rewarded with his blood.

But that brought little concern for Alys, who now faced two new opponents. Caleb seemed to gravitate to the troll, so the faerie turned towards the blonde woman - leaving Ciarán and Sliocht to make their own choice.

It wasn't every day that Alys was matched against another female, let alone one sporting a whip. She couldn't help but to smirk, making a wide half circle around the woman, sizing her up as well as her weapon of choice. It could do some damage from a distance, so she waited, either for their opponent to make the first move, or her partner.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

With Poppy's assailant dealt with for the moment, Juniper turned from the corpse they had just downed and faced the rest of the prisoners, taking note of the ones being grabbed by the other corpses. It dawned on them then, the fact that there were six corpses and one mage, a daunting task for themself and their compatriots, with Soren being down, but a non-issue when you considered the number of other prisoners. They were emaciated, and weak, but a corpse had less muscle than they did, and if you piled enough bodies, no matter the condition, on any one thing, it would certainly have a hard time moving.

They moved to the two undead women, long past their primes both in life and death, and attempted to pry the man crying for help from their death grip, looking back to the other cowering prisoners as they did so. They spoke aloud, confidently, attempting to inspire the others to fight for their lives. It was almost as if they had become another person.

"I don't know about you lot, but I don't particularly fancy dying today in this cell! There's quite a few more of us than there are of them, and the door's damn well open. Someone else is aboard this ship that shouldn't be here, and I'm eager to find out! How about you stand up for yourselves here instead of letting us do all the work, and bust us out of this cell!?"
 
PAPERWORK

Hester came up after the first wave, her boot buckle construct guiding her feet along the chain to compensate for her own lack of balance. The tiny creature she’d made from Cecil was held gently in her right hand, ringed all around as it was with curse-laden nails. The centipede construct was wrapped tightly around her left arm. Neither were active just now. She was too focused on getting over to the other ship without dying. And on the fact that she'd almost certainly be dying sometime in the next hour, if she was lucky. It made her feel stupid, to put all that work into securing a position on the Hard Nox, and then be taken back into Solomon King's hands less than two days later. If she'd known this was how it was going to be, she might not have bothered. Still, she thought, as her boots made contact with the Truth Teller's deck for the first time in days, too late to change your mind now, isn’t it.

It took her a few moments to place Sinead's silhouette in the swarm of pirates and corpses, and by then one of the zombies, left unattended, was turning towards her. At a thought, the bracelet-construct leapt into motion, hurling itself into its face as Hester jogged past to catch up with the rest of the loot party. The corpse reached for the construct, trying to pull it free, but as it scrabbled uselessly at its spine, Hester reached through the connection and took hold of the revenant’s strings. It jerked once–then collapsed to the ground, the spell that animated it unraveling. By then the construct was already hurtling towards its next target, glowing darkly as the excess energy it’d absorbed burned off into the air. She didn’t have much of a problem making it to the captain, though she doubted she’d be able to keep that up forever. God help her if one of the revenants managed to get hold of the thing.

In a moment of relative calm, she cleared her throat. ”Right, hello, you lot, welcome to the Truth Teller. I’ll be your guide this evening. This way to fabulous wealth and almost certain death.” The construct bounded to another zombie, now positively sizzling with necrotic juice, and down it went, clearing the way very briefly towards the passage to the wing of the ship containing the treasure chambers. Hester moved into the gap as the centipede skittered on ahead of her.
 
QUIRBLES

Emryk grunted as he felt his back impacted, ready to recoil and face whatever had struck him-- until Leo went up and over his brawny form, having used the Baron as a springboard to clear the rest of the distance to the cell door. Their robed target met the feral man's advance head-on, which meant that they certainly were not to go down without a fight. Unfortunate-- Emryk preferred to avoid killing if he could manage it, but it seemed their hands may ultimately be forced. The Baron gritted his teeth and decided to turn his attention back to the undead as his not-so-human shield began to thrash in his grip, pulling the sword back from underneath its pinned arm and pressing the tip against its back as he set his sights on a second undead-- the one Poppy had just torn an arm from, and who was currently close enough on the other side of the cage for Emryk to get an idea.

Once again, his steps thundered along the rickety floor of the brig as the Baron, with a less-than-graceful maneuver, shoved his shield against the armless undead and pushed, essentially sandwiching the poor man between Emryk and the bars of the cell. With his blade pressed against the withering skin of the corpse before him, it quickly pressed in from the sudden halt in movement. With the Baron's weight leaning upon the hilt and the corpse against the cell wall, it quickly ran the undead through... and hopefully impaled directly into the other as a scaled mitt shot through the bars of the cage. Emryk's hand grabbed onto the other undead, yanking it forward onto the blade to skewer the both of them together and complicate any further coordination from the two. He wasn't quite sure how to kill the reanimated folk aboard the Truth Teller, but there were other ways to navigate the threat they posed, he presumed. Perhaps this was one of them.

"TO ME! TODAY, YOU SHALL DECIDE-- LIFE, OR DEATH! A SLAVE TO FATE, OR ITS MASTER? CHOOSE." The Baron roared in the aftermath of Juniper's own rallying speech, hoping to spur the forlorn souls of the prison to further heights of inspiration. They would need every pittance of help they could garner. With Leo engaging the snake-woman, that meant protecting what prisoners he could; intending to aid Juniper's efforts, Emryk quickly barreled over to the two undead women and kept his stance low on approach, committing to a full-body tackle as he brought his body up into a bear-hug around the first of the corpses to lift it off of the ground-- before slamming it down into the wood and lifting up a boot to bring it down, with prejudice, upon its decomposing head. Whatever qualms he felt about such violence were momentary abated; if these folk were alive and still cognizant, it would hardly be a tolerable fate. The inhumanity of necromancy fueled his coup-de-grace, though his temperament was still calm and collected, given the circumstances.

Cooler heads prevailed, after all, and he was never one to lose his temper. The Baron was civilized, after all... though he knew diplomacy was hardly applicable to a situation like this.
 
ILLIRICA

Lucien's presence was calming, as always: Not in a way that meant he actually made Sinéad feel more relaxed about being near him, but in a way that made her feel relieved that he was at least where she could keep an eye on him. Trigger discipline, she supposed. Lucien was a weapon, and handling him required a certain level of awareness.

Nessa joined them as well, seeming closer to her usual self than she had been. Sinéad hoped that meant that Emer had managed to have a talk with the girl and that something had gotten through to her besides Lucien. She didn't mention it, of course - much of being the ship's captain required a certain amount of being above it all, standing outside of these little issues. Not dealing with them would have been a mistake, of course, so it wasn't about not caring so much as it was about delegating appropriately.

"Hester says King carries a map in his jacket," she said quietly, as the young woman drew near. "I want it." Lifting a map off of a person who was not at all interested in giving it up would be quite the challenge, but Sinéad thought that a challenge might be exactly what Nessa needed right now. Something to focus on besides the blood, such as it was. Perhaps these undead things weren't appetizing.

And speaking of their newest acquisition, Hester herself was joining them. Her words were mocking in the way of someone trying to shake off nerves. Sinéad let her have it - whatever got them where they needed to be. She followed the girl downwards into the ship, fully aware that if this were going to be a trap...

If this were going to be a trap, Lucien would have a field day. She almost pitied King, for a moment. "Can your construct carry things back?" she inquired, a question that she should have asked before, though it hadn't occurred to her until now to wonder what the creature's strength was, or Hester's range with it. If it could move a few things at a time back to the Hard Nox, that might help with getting some of the special items out.

"I want to prioritize unique things. Books, maps, anything that looks magical in nature. Grab what you can and get it back to the ship. Fighting is secondary. Lucien, you'll keep guard. Stay with us, and don't bite off more than you can chew."
 
ILLIRICA

"Listen, Emma, they're talking. They've been very chatty lately, don't you think? They were so quiet for a while, quiet like a little mouse, but oh we have words to say now, don't we? Hello." The last word was punctuated by a heavy clang, a body slamming against the bars of the cage, only for a moment.

The figure drew back almost instantly, white robe slouching off one shoulder, revealing pale, thin flesh, the shoulder punctured by an iron spike. A similar but smaller spike went through his earlobe, and three formed a triangle on the back of his hand, which was currently holding the tip of the tail of a very dead rat, spinning it around in circles like a bolus.

"Slaves, Emma, always with the slaves. Fate, or its master, or... me, me, pick me! You could be a slave to me!" The dead rat spun ever so slightly more in Emryk's direction, the wild eyes of the speaker taking note of all the chaos down in the hold.

"Ahhhh, but we're being rude, aren't we, my dear? And usually you're such a good girl, too. Shame, shame, we shall have to... discuss that, later." He bowed, quite formally. "Hello. Hello, my dead new friends! Dead... oh, what was it? Dear, dear new friends, of course. I am Sarus Khai, and this is Emma! Say hello, my girl."

For a moment, he stopped swinging the dead rat and held it up, just long enough for it to scream - not with the sound of an animal, but the voice of a person - maybe a young woman or an older child, far gone beyond words.

"That's a good girl. Such a good girl, you must be rewarded. Perhaps I shall make you a friend? Now...." His eyes caught the captives, and something in them felt as though they must remain still, prey caught in a trap. "Who wants to be friends?"
 
FANG

Leo ignored the pain, shoved down the flames that roared within him to reach down and retrieve the robe he had requested. After a moment of disentanglement the freed chain was looped again over his forearm, the ill-fitting garment set around his shoulders. He faced the cultist with sword point toward the floor, eyes meeting again. Those slotted yellow eyes held something familiar within them, something Leo had many times ignored since that fateful day when a child rose against his oppressors.

Juniper called to rally the other prisoners as Leo and Sapphire studied each other’s gaze, fighting their own battle against the thralls the cultist had brought to bear and striking a surprisingly impressive figure against the hopelessness that had only moments ago ruled the inside of the cage. Leo saw expressionless faces light with emotion, and something stirred within his heart as well.

”A SLAVE TO FATE OR ITS MASTER? CHOOSE.”

”You’re capable of being more than a killer.

It was fear he saw in the serpent’s eyes, eyes that betrayed youth and inexperience despite their skill with a blade. The flames within Leo settled, a warmth covering his body as he chose a path never considered before. Slowly, cautiously, Leo spoke to Sapphire plainly.

“This battle is lost, and your life on the line. Thank you for giving me your robe.” The words felt odd in his mouth as the plucked at the fabric with his chain wrapped hand. With a click of his tongue Leo continued. “Lay down your blade, release your minions, and take us to these boats of life. You will have your life and your robe if you but surrender and come with us.”

Leo raised the saber slowly, leveling it at the serpent’s chest menacingly. “If you do not I will feed your flesh to steel and flame.” He held little confidence the cultist would surrender, but the option given felt right. From the showing of the lizard man’s honor to the tenderness of Poppy’s diligent healing, Leo had seen a light he had never known in but a few days, and he wanted to hold that light as long as he could. Were he to have simply torn out the serpent’s throat the darkness of his life to date would surely envelop him again and remove him from the unfamiliar glow he craved.


"Listen, Emma, they're talking. They've been very chatty lately, don't you think? They were so quiet for a while, quiet like a little mouse, but oh we have words to say now, don't we? Hello."

Leo’s ears pricked at the new voice, the docile flame raging before eyes laid upon the self-mutilated cultist. Knotted muscle tensed as the man continues talking, apparently to the rat he spun about like a weapon. Words were ignored as licking flames boiled in Leo’s hearing, a call to rend flesh once more at the newcomer’s appearance. Warmth became sizzling rage as Leo adjusted his position within the cage door’s frame, ready to hold his ground against both opponents if no other option arose. He glanced behind the serpent to his newfound friends embroiled in battle enough already and stretched to their limit by odds that continued to grow steeper.

He said nothing as he returned his gaze to Sapphire’s, silently pleading they take his offer and return the suddenly diminishing light to him before his blade was forced to cut it from their body.
 
ILLIRICA

"Hetty?"

A young voice, as they rounded a corner.

"Hetty, you've got to help, there's people everywhere, bad people, and Mr. King says we have to- to- we have to fight them. And I tried to tell Lady Fingers to guard the door but she's not listening, I think it's the shaft of the third phalange acting up again, but can you help? Because-"

The speaker stopped, suddenly taking stock of the situation and realizing that there were people nearby who were not, apparently, Hester. She was maybe eleven, and was holding hands with a... hand. A skeletal one, to be fair, but a hand nonetheless. It didn't seem to be attached to anything, at least, besides the girl.

Pris had been born on the Truth Teller. She'd just been called "Prisoner," but somewhere along the line that had gotten shortened to "Pris." Why she hadn't been fed to the ship earlier, no one really knew - but at some early point she'd been determined useful enough to learn, and given to Hester as an apprentice. Maybe it had been a kindness, or maybe Hester was just the one least likely to waste resources.

She wore a white robe like all the others, the sleeves having been rolled up several times, and the hem dragging on the ground. It made her look smaller than she was. Her gaze moved back and forth between the strangers, and whatever she had been about to say turned to a very quiet: "...oh."

Pris set her jaw with a very determined look.

"...You better run away, Hetty. Don't worry, I'll... Lady Fingers and I will protect you."
 
DELFI

If Alys looked closely she would’ve noticed her opponent wasn’t holding the whip per se. As one would expect of a necromancer, it was made of bones - vertebrae to be precise - and slid down her robe covered shoulder like a spine. The blonde woman smiled, watching the fairy move around her like a fly surrounding a carcass.

“You see, Snot? These are Hester’s new friends.” She said, and the ogre grunted in response. The tip of the whip made small motions, as if teasing its prey. “I wonder what their insides look like.”

Quick as a bullet, the woman’s whip lashed forward at Alys, and if it was successful, it’d wrap itself around the wrist holding her cutlass, pulling it towards her to either disarm her or end the distance between them.

***

Too much was happening at once and the plan was surely tossed out the window by then.

Poppy managed to free herself from the grasp of the severed hand and looked around her, trying to make sense of what was going on. Juniper and Emryk tried to plead for the other prisoners' help, after the baron had successfully immobilized two of the eight corpses on the brig. He attempted to attack the two women who had the men in their custody, but was stopped by the other two undead that got in his way, slamming one of them down instead, and cracking their skull with his feet. The druid was surprised by the level of violence the gentleman was capable of, but it was a pleasant surprise as she doubted they’d find a way out of there that didn’t require violence. Meanwhile, Leo faced their only living enemy.

“What are you waiting for?!” Poppy screamed as she stood up, startling the paralyzed prisoners. A moment of silence was then followed by a raging scream.

One by one, the prisoners began to rebel. Three of them grouped around the undead women, trying to release their companions, while the rest ran towards freedom. They stopped as a new figure, a more menacing one walked down the stairs.

Poppy wasn’t a fighter, she was a gardener - but neither were the men who stared at that new creature, frightened to death. Without her magic she was pretty much useless, but she had to do something.

The satyr screamed, running past the cell gates with her head low, horns aimed at the necromancer. If she was able to tackle him, perhaps it’d give the others a chance to escape.


***

Sapphire was relieved Sarus had come down to their aid. The man was right - the battle would’ve been lost if they were on their own, but despite being frightened, Sapphire would rather die than let them escape.

They hissed, letting out a sound only the corpses would understand. The articulations of the two undead women began to snap out, and merge together to form one single body - with two heads, four arms, four legs. It let go of the weaker prisoners, pushing them out of the way and rushing towards Leo to get a hold of him with its 20 fingers.
 
ANNASIEL

Back to waiting, already so soon.

Emer sat in a chair in her clinic, trying to relax, warm tin of tea cupped between her hands. It was hard to. True, the storm had passed from the last raid, but this was just as much a part of that. Perhaps ill omens had whispered of the Truth Teller's coming. What then, did that mean for the way the wind of this battle would blow? Would they be victorious, and the whispering gust was only fair warning of the earlier ambush? Or was this simply going headlong back into a roaring squall, risking it all for another brush with a danger they had - for all intents - mostly evaded? It was foolish to dwell on the might-bes. Everything held risk. Just existing on this ship held risk - they were wanted, they were hated, they were feared. Harming them - harming her crew - was a moral right to many.

Still, as Emer blew the steam away from her cup and took a sip, she couldn't help but dwell. Hopefully Juniper and Soren would be saved. She liked them both quite a lot - good hearts. Kind people. It was a rare thing to bare your feelings in a place like this, and Emer respected those who could greatly. Sinead had spoken of treasure and reputation to gain, but if those two could be saved, and only that, Emer would consider the risk well worth it. After all, deaths had come out of this whole dilemma yet.

Yet.

Another sip. Outside, the sounds of cracking gunshots and splintering wood rang out. The raid was under way, then. Nothing to do but wait.

THROOM.

CRACK.

The tin left Emer's hands, tea splattering across the floor as it clattered and spun to the other edge of her quarters. Leaping from her seat, she threw her curtain aside. Where once was a wall, now a window. She tiptoed bare feet best she could around splinters and shards of glass, wincing slightly when a few missed bits found purchase in her callouses, then raised her sleeve to her mouth against the dust of wood and medicines and gunsmoke now thick in the clinic's air. Cool wind whipped through, forcing her to draw her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, hair stirred wild even in its bun as she - cautiously - peered through the gaping hole in the hull and cupboards. Deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She was alive. She was alive, and no one was hurt. It took a few seconds for her to stop shaking, a few more for her thoughts to float above the panic.

You are empty. You are sky.

Inhaling slowly through her nose, then releasing it through her mouth, she quickly, methodically set to work moving mats and supplies from the clinic into the hall outside.
 
PAPERWORK

She'd been ready to accept Pris as a necessary sacrifice for her freedom--prepared herself to see her corpse, even. She'd told herself she'd mourn for her, and then she'd get over it, and carry on. She'd said those things to herself, quietly knowing that if she had to be there when it happened none of it would matter. She'd rather die than have to watch another member of her family executed by some fucking insane aristocrat--still less the kind the captain'd taken with her.

Her body'd gone rigid. Her construct, by contrast--still hissing and sparking with necrotic energy--had gone loose, smooth, and very, very still--ready to leap in the event that any member of the crew made a move towards the child.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Pris, we're here for the treasure." She had to force herself to relax enough to speak. Her voice sounded brittle, and to her ears very far away. She could feel the bones in her left hand creaking, she was clenching it so tightly. "The Good Captain is probably coming after us. You said yourself--your construct isn't working. Just get out of the way, and let him pass when he comes. That's all you need to do to protect me. And I won't have to hurt anyone." It took all her willpower not to glance at the captain or the walking corpses. If only she had a bit of hanged man's hair, or some murderer's tallow, this situation would be so much easier to navigate...
 
UMBRASIGHT

That bone construct of the new girl (Hester something-or-other was it?) made passage forward swift as it hopped from undead face to undead face seeming to sever whatever strings were keeping the rotten puppets moving. Nessa could appreciate that, she never cared much for violence for the sake of it and the important thing here was the loot not the bodies. Perhaps Lucien felt differently, but she wasn’t certain if the hound found much joy in slicing corpses, not much fear to be found in those hazy eyes. Or blood for that matter.

She turned her attention away from the once-more-stilled bodies as Sinéad addressed her, a thin frown twitching across her lips. Steal a map from the captain of a ghost ship? That was hell of a tall order, but Nessa wasn’t much one for backing down, even if she hadn’t the first clue how to go about it. King wasn’t the type of man she could just bump into and lift his purse, after all. Maybe if he got into a fight and could find a moment?

“I’ll see to it.” Nessa said with a nod of her head. Nessa moved to split off, she’d need eyes on King before she could put together a full plan, but a small voice paused her foot. Nessa looked back to the group, eyes sharp. Why was a child on the goddessfucking Truth Teller? Nessa’s gaze flicked to Lucien, he wasn’t one for waiting, so Nessa didn’t offer the spare second. Nessa took a step towards the girl, pressing a shoulder to Hester’s as she made sure the heel of her boot scuffed against the wood of the deck. It’d be out of character, something they’d notice but it was important for the sounds to mix.

“Make her useful, if she matters,” Nessa said, her lips close to Hester’s ear as she passed. Asking the girl to leave wouldn’t be enough to stay Sinéad and Lucien, there had been evidence enough of that. Then, hell, she needed a reason to approach now didn’t she? Her gaze fell to the girl, a scrawny thing holding onto bones, and her grubby robe. That… could work, couldn’t it? She was a little taller than the brat, but how much attention did King pay? More than enough in all likelihood but it might give her a few seconds, right?

“Is cold up here, isn’t it? Say, always was a fan of white things, got such a pure color to it, so how about we have a trade? Your robe, for my cloak.” Nessa said, lifting the heavy cloth of her cloak up with the back of her hand, hiding the dagger she held beneath. An odd response to being threatened by any measure, and odder still in spite of Hester’s pleas, but it’s wasn’t like she was really talking to the kid, was it? Nessa sent a quick sidelong glance to Lucien. The robes being dirty was fine, but bloody? Well, with any hope the man would show a modicum of the restraint he had chastised her for lacking, and that would be enough for Hattie to find her answer.

Which, hell, maybe it’s was all a momentary waste of energy, but there were things that simply didn’t sit right.
 
DELFI

A blond young man stepped out of the shadows, standing a couple steps behind Pris.

He was beautiful. His eyes had a light shade of blue, with feminine facial features and a slim figure. Only when his lips parted his fangs became noticeable.

"You heard her, Pris." The man - Naveen was his name - said. "She's a traitor. And you know what we do to those who betray the Good Captain."
 
PAPERWORK

"If you're still anywhere near her in ten seconds' time, Naveen," she said, levelly, "I'll have your ribcage out for an icebox. Get the fuck out of our way."

The construct was now aiming squarely at the newcomer, ready to leap the moment he moved away from Pris. The smaller animated corpse--the one who'd pressed up close to her and whispered in her ear, which had brought her within spitting distance of attacking before she'd understood what she was saying--was asking for the cloak, now. They were all too close. What a fucking disaster.

"Captain Sinéad, there are constructs aboard this ship which are designed for carrying and hauling. I can only control so many things at a time. Pris can help." So keep your monsters on their leashes, and put King's back where it belongs. The other construct--the one holding all the nails--dropped from her hand to the floor without a sound, and began to skitter stealthily around the edge of the group. If she could just get it behind Naveen before he decided to do something she'd regret...
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

It worked. Juniper's gambit had worked, at least the one involving the prisoners. They were up, they were rioting, they were trying to save themselves. The sorceress felt a bit of tension dissolve from their shoulders, the worry of trying to get these people out of here now gone. They instead turned their attention to the newcomer, most of their introduction, if it could be called one, lost to their worry over their surroundings. The one thing they did capture, however, was the scream, sourced from that poor corpse of a rat. Juniper's face contorted into a look of disgust, but before they could formulate a response, of either word or action, Poppy took initiative, rushing the stranger with antlers level, aiming to gore them.

Meanwhile, Leo was showing an uncharacteristic moment of calm, at least against their original adversary. The snake person, the other necromancer, seemed to be... Off balance. Not literally, mind you, just not ready to fight. Whether that was a good or bad thing, only time would tell, but the changeling had a unique insight into that mans mind, knew, at least vaguely, what he was capable of, and as such, they entrusted that to him. Juniper darted forwards.

"'Scuse me Emryk, got somewhere to be," the changeling said, slipping past the large gentleman as they aimed to follow behind their satyr friend. Already, exiting the cell, they felt some part of them returning to them, and in the midst of this battle, their anxiety over the last few days melted away, instead focused on one thing; their escape. Directly behind Poppy, Juniper set their hands alight, aiming for a follow-up regardless of the outcome of Poppy's attack.
 
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