Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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HIGHVOLTAGE

Lucien’s rapier flashed across the deck, slicing into corpse and construct with practiced precision. Now was not the time for playing with his food, not that he would dare defile himself by sinking his fangs into most anything on this cursed vessel. Hester appeared, her own construct sending those of King and her former allies crumpling. He hoped they were former, otherwise a month spent in the crow cages would seem like a blessing compared to what he would do. There was a special place in Lucien’s black heart for traitors.

The Captain gave orders, nothing out of the ordinary. His role was its usual, to kill if necessary. The Captain’s attack dog or, as the crew would tell it, her bitch. Lucien assumed Caleb had started that rumor, probably after Sinéad had spurned his advances, whispering over cups that he was only rejected because the Captain was too busy enjoying her pet vampire. Lucien sneered at the insinuation. The only pleasure of the flesh that he sought lay beneath the skin, the crimson flowing through veins. He gave a mere nod at her order, a simple acknowledgement.

As they rounded the corner, a small voice piped up. Lucien raised an eyebrow at the child before them, drowning in her cultist’s robes, a skeletal hand clutching her own. She seemed to know Hester, at least, and the tip of Lucien’s rapier twitched, his eyes flicking to Hetty in case betrayal truly was the plan.

The glance revealed a stiff posture, a clenched fist, a voice with a slight tremble. An uncertainty, then, a variable that had appeared in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nessa seemingly tripped against Hester before moving towards this child, Pris, offering to trade a cloak for the robes. She had a plan, and clearly was worried about him messing with it judging by the look she threw in his direction. Another figure joined the group, emerging from the shadows. A flawless complexion, slim build, feminine features framed by blond hair with two blue eyes set in the face. By every account a beautiful creature, almost inhuman.

Lucien hated him before he even showed his fangs.

He took a step towards this other vampire, this Naveen that Hester had threatened. No love lost between those two, it would seem. Lucien gave the other vampire an appraising look, a grin slowly spreading across his face. He ran his tongue across his fangs, slowly, languidly.. “So King has himself a pet fledgeling.” Lucien’s rapier hovered by his side, the point facing the floor as he sneered at Naveen. “Seems he clipped its wings a bit too early.”
 
ILLIRICA

Hester, it seemed, had a friend. From the pause and the tremble, it wasn't hard for Sinéad to determine that Hester hadn't been expecting this little encounter. The child was in their way, which would be unfortunate for her if she continued to be in their way.

Everyone else seemed to understand that without her needing to say anything. Nessa was negotiating for the cloak, Hester was trying to talk her down, and Lucien... Lucien was quickly distracted by the presence of a lovely young man, one who was evidently also of the vampiric persuasion.

Well, she supposed she wasn't going to fight Lucien for him in the middle of the raid. Sinéad gave the pretty boy an amused smile, wondering what he'd look like after Lucien was done with him.

That left the girl, and everyone else who was being far too roundabout and soft about everything.

"King told you we're bad people, did he?" she inquired, of the girl. "He's right. Now, you have two choices, kid. You can either hand Nessa your cloak and make yourself useful, or you can refuse and I'll cut your throat. If you go for the betrayal, I'm going to cut her throat, and then I'll give you to Lucien. Are we very clear on your options?"

It was not an idle threat. The girl could be useful or she could be a corpse, and Sinéad felt strongly about letting people make their own choices about that sort of thing.


--


Pris didn't know what she'd expected from this, but it hadn't been whatever was happening now. Hetty - the way she was talking, it almost sounded like she was with these people, like she was helping them - but that couldn't be, could it? Because Hetty would never leave her.

Maybe Hetty was just trying to be brave. Maybe they could have done it together, except... except Pris wasn't exactly alone, either. Naveen was behind her. She didn't like Naveen nearly as much as Hetty. She didn't like the way he looked at her - like he thought she might taste good. Pris didn't like that. Lady Fingers didn't, either - she never let him come too close, even when Pris was sleeping.

The others who were with Hetty seemed to have some ideas, too. Pris didn't know how to feel about those ideas, but... the one lady was scary. Actually, both of the ladies were scary. And the man with her was scary, too, scary in the way that Naveen was.

And King was scary, too, but he wasn't exactly right here.

"Um... o-okay?" Pris didn't really think it was okay, but people didn't usually ask her what she thought, and it probably wouldn't have mattered, anyway. She shrugged out of the too-big robe, the skeletal hand gripping the collar and handing it to the lady in front of her. Her clothes underneath were, conversely, a bit too small, as if they'd been acquired a few years back and not much thought had been put into growing.

She moved forward, past the closer of the scary ladies and towards Hetty, holding her arms out.

"I'm glad you came back for me."
 
GOLDEN

Alys was fast, but not fast enough to outrun a bullet, let alone a magical whip that shot towards her with equal velocity. She yelped as the whip snapped around her wrist; the initial sensation resembling a sharp sting, that eventually manifested into an incredible tightness that began to dig into her skin. Despite the hold she had on her cutlass, the muscles in her hand failed her, causing the weapon to clatter helplessly to the floor.

Instinctively, her free hand shot towards her thigh, where a dagger had once sat comfortably, serving as a second option if it came to it. Of course, Alys found nothing but her leg, causing the faerie to grit her teeth in frustration. Goddammit. All she had left was her pistol, and firing that would surely alert more undead. She needed to free herself and get that fucking sword back into her hands.

The whip continued to dig into her skin, and within a second, the slack on the whip tightened, tugging her towards the blonde necromancer. Alys counteracted the movement, not wanting to get any closer, but the action inadvertently caused an increase of tension around her wrist. Her skin began to shred beneath the contraption made of bone, causing blood to spill and stain the off-white colour of the small vertebrae. Alys cried out in pain, her free hand connecting with the trap, desperately trying to break the hold. It felt like she was attempting to break the fingers of an assailant; one who could very well cause enough damage to sever her hand.
 
UMBRASIGHT

That...

Well that was easy.

Nessa blinked as the girl’s skeletal hand handed over the robe with scarcely a struggle before she hurried over to Hester’s side. The shock didn’t linger long, however, as her attention turned to Naveen. The young vampire edged her way backwards, her own cloak still covering her dagger, until Lucien was back in his place as the rapier’s point. She had the cloak so this fight wasn’t her problem anymore.

Once the distance seemed enough, Nessa slid her dagger back in its sheath, undid the broch at her neck before unceremoniously dumping the heavy fabric onto Pris’ back. Deals a deal. She slid the old cloak over her shoulders, she might have to hunch some to get the look right but it would work. Or it wouldn’t work in the slightest.

Probably the second one, that’s why she brought the knives.

“I’ll go see to it, unless you need me here.” Nessa said, the dagger neatly returning to her hand under the shifting of the robe.
 
ILLIRICA

Introductions didn't go so well, did they? Oh, Emma had been lovely, but the rest of them just seemed so terribly uncultured. Why, one of them even lowered her head and ran at him like a beast!

She'd gone and impaled herself, too, it seemed, horns piercing his slouching robes and tearing into the cold flesh of his abdomen. There wasn't any blood, of course, that would have been terribly messy.

"Oh, ohhhh! Feisty!" He patted her on the head, once-twice, while she was still impaled, and she'd feel something in that same abdomen writhing.

The next thing she would likely feel was a face full of iron nails, the same kind piercing his own flesh - through eyes, through cheekbones, through anything that dared be close enough to the great Solus Khai.

He raised a leg and kicked what was left of her off, his fingers beginning to twirl the rat in front of him once more - just in time, too, for another new friend had come out to play, unleashing a ball of fire that caught on the spinning rat, filling the air with the scent of singed hair and flesh.

"Oh, dear. Now that wasn't nice, not nice at all." Solus Khai sighed, displeased, and released the spinning - flaming - corpse, back at the fire caster, screaming once more.

"Oh, no no no.... my Emma is ruined. Now I shall have to get another one."
 
THIMBLE

In the moment of decision, Sliocht froze. All his bravado and thoughts of revenge evaporated in the face of the colossal ogre and cruel-looking woman standing before them in the hall. For long moments, he stood, stunned, as his colleagues rushed forwards into battle.

What was wrong with him? This wasn't his purview, he was just a barber.

The woman's whip shot forwards, striking Alys' cutlass from her hand. It clattered to the floor with a ring. In fact, he wasn't even a real barber, just a man who had some skill with a razor and a passion for stylings. Thankfully, most of the people he dealt with weren't fussy about proper credentials.

Small specks of blood trickled onto the floor from Alys' wrist, the gleaming white bone wrapped around her hand staining as it pulled her forwards. He could hear her strained panting, trying to free herself. He'd only really gotten as far as he had by staying out of harm's way, leaving the danger to other people.

He could hear her skin shred.



Sliocht would have loved to claim that it was heroism that finally pushed him to action, the imminent threat of Alys' vivisection. In truth, he just didn't fancy the thought of squaring off against the ogre.

Rushing forwards, he swung his blade in a downwards arc, aiming where he hoped was far enough from her wrist to sever the whip without causing accidental amputation.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Juniper ran towards this odd individual, flames rising, a smirk creeping on their face as they felt the flames grow. They felt confident, in control, powerful, and it was only growing with each step. Enough to have their hands engulfed at first, then enough to create a small ball of fire, then enough to be able to throw it. It felt nice, and they timed their throw to follow Poppy best they could, hoping to catch this odd man off guard.

Their step, and confidence, faltered with the satyr's impact. He seemed unbothered, and almost amused, at what had just happened. He shouldn't have been amused, he should have been dead. Something was wrong, but Juniper let fly regardless, hoping a bit of fire would change his tune. Instead, he started laughing. The smile fell away, replaced by terrified apprehension.

It was soon replaced with abject horror.

That feeling of control, that confidence, vanished in the blink of an eye, as Juniper watched helplessly as nails, metal nails, fired out from the puncture wounds in his body and tore into Poppy's face, her shoulders, everywhere that could be reached. It rent the flesh and embedded in bone, tearing her to shreds in the blink of an eye. With a laugh, this vile man kicked Poppy aside, and almost casually deflected her initial assault, using the dead rat to prevent it from making contact.

The next step the sorceress took felt as if it lasted an eternity. In near slow motion, they watched as a form only vaguely reminiscent of Poppy, the woman who had been so kind and considerate to her despite their circumstantial meeting fell to the wayside, life already long gone, the very type of life she had cherished and wished to protect. Everything had been lost for that woman in a matter of days. None of it was deserved, but fate did love its cruelties. 'I could have stopped this, I could have saved her, I never wanted this, I wanted her to run, I wanted her t-to live, why was she so kind to me, I can't help this she's-'

All thoughts stopped in an instant, as something new came to the forefront. Some part of Juniper was gone in that moment, buried, taken shelter deep within their mind to wait out the blaze. The fire roared within, free from its bindings, fighting against the spell surrounding them. The energy Poppy has taken so much care to transfer into them fanned and fueled the blaze, helped in part by the same fire they felt in Leo, and raged to an inferno.

Tears would have welled in their eyes, if that were possible in this moment. Instead, though, they evaporated, turned to mist once they were free of their body, as the heat rose and their body became the flame, engulfed wholly. They launched themself like a meteor at the vile, horrid, inhuman man, sending a gout of flame in front of them to lead the way, their voice becoming the roar of a forest fire long out of control, tearing at the air much as they intended to tear her new opponent to shreds and spread his ashes in hell.
 
QUIRBLES

What was he to do?

Too much fighting. Too much noise. Too much anger, fear, bravery. A man, a newcomer-- part of the Truth Teller, mutilated and insane. Something in his eyes spoke to an indulgent horror deep within the mind, and Emryk felt himself arrested in his momentum, glaring at the figure with as much bravery as he could afford. Poppy ran, braver than he, and the Baron reached out a hand to stop her-- but his fingers grazed the verdant cloak atop her back, and it slipped through his hand all the same. Damn. Grass, it felt like-- freshly-trimmed grass, smooth and graceful to the touch. His outstretched palm curled into a fist, and he looked to Juniper as she stepped by him, gesturing towards the cell gate. "Of course." He replied, snapping out of the moment of hesitation before turning his attention back to the undead as the fight spilled beyond the scope of the prison cell. Juniper would-- keep them both safe. They could rely on one another. Leo was well-trained, and he would need to be trusted to handle the snake-woman. And Emryk, well...

... other matters required his attention.

The undead that he had stomped quickly began to twitch with life anew. Quite the resilient sort, it seemed, which only bode further problems as the two women began to fuse into a twin-headed monstrosity. The Baron's eyes couldn't help but widen at the indecency; it was made of man, appeared as one, but was clearly not. It made a beeline for the front of the cage, reaching out to pin Leo--

-- until an arm wrapped tight around both necks, yanking it backwards with all of his might. His free arm wound under the amalgam's arm and came up, steadying itself upon the other hand's wrist and effectively forming the most rudimentary of twin-headlocks. To hold back an undead while weakened and starved was a feat of strength. To hold back two was another matter entirely, even for a build of the Baron's stature; and so he was dragged, boots skidding along the floor of the cage to try and halt himself before he lifted one leg and pressed it against the bars, leveraging himself against the cell to stem the tide of undead. The muscles of his arms strained as he pulled, brow furrowing in extraordinary effort as his foot began to slip. It would not hold. He knew that. Emryk needed to act, and the weakness of his form prevented him from doing anything other than holding, pulling, straining, the burn in his arms second only to the great guttural roar he unleashed from his cragged maw.

What was he to do?

Poppy had made her charge. The man from earlier, whom Emryk had shoved from his mind in his strenuous task, was speared by her horns. Too fast, too aggressive, too--

-- something in the man's stomach moved. He could see the cloak shift, underclothes pulsating with imminent release. He wanted to reach out. Wanted to bend the bars, shatter the metal, step between, throw himself-- but all he could do was stare, locked in the grapple as he was, while the inevitable unfolded before his eyes. The warmth was felt before the noise reached his ears-- hot ichor splattered across the face, staining his neckerchief and scales. Her cloak felt like grass upon the fingers. Red. Green, verdant grass, stained a blossoming crimson as metal cracked the jaw, shredded the flesh. He wanted to tear the bars apart, and then the man. He had never killed before-- would he now? She had been young. She had been kind.

And now, in a fit of spasms upon the floor as the metal and shrapnel and nails and hate tore into her mind, she was dead.

Juniper's rage followed not soon after. As Emryk held back the twin-headed beast, the space beyond the cage was filled with a brilliant light, and fire erupted towards Poppy's killer. Whether it would consume him or be met with further macabre deceit, Emryk did not know. He willed it to be painful, ached for it to be long. But he could not think of hate. Not now. He could not let himself be angered.

What am I to do?

As the fire raged on beside him, threatening to scald his jacket through the bars, Emryk breathed. He breathed, and he pulled.

For her.

"I am quite sorry," He whispered to his grappled adversary, tone low. "But I have had quite enough of this."

Guided by Poppy's courage, he would not let her sacrifice be in vain. They would escape. They would live, if not to remember her, quick as his time was with her gentility. He did not wish to hurt. He did not ask for this, any of this, and neither had she. For her sake, he would not cower. He would not falter. Instead, his hands released the headlock and he leaned forward, grabbing at the space between the two necks of the undead that had been stitched together not moments ago. It pained him, this violence, but they were in his way.

With a heavy gaze, Emryk gripped each neck and pulled. Not towards him, not away-- but apart, ripping the amalgam down the middle with as much strength as he could muster to sever it in twain.
 
FANG

The serpent raised the rotting women’s bodies and combined them to a monstrosity sent after Leo with voracious intent and clasping, clawing fingers, the twisted words hanging in the air like a miasma that threatened to choke Leo with their foulness. A bitter taste coated his tongue at his refused offer to give quarter and safety, and the flames within Leo spoke to him of fool’s errands and grilled snake. Leo raised his blade slightly, intending to sever the combined thrall’s greedy hands from their wrists before they could ensnare him within their cold grasp.

Time crawled as the little satyr charged past the serpent, the dead, and Leo. A cool wind brushed his body as she passed, cloak billowing valiantly in her haste and tracing a verdant ribbon through the air, the breeze relieving the wrath of the flames within Leo for the barest of moments. Enough to provide Leo clarity. Clarity to see, to feel the next few moments with agonizing intensity, agonizing humanity.

He had watched her toil to heal, felt her touch upon his chest and smelled her soothing scent so unfamiliar and yet so comforting. She was so like that child, so like Sylvael in her purity only so recently tarnished by whatever fate had led her to Leo’s acquaintance. He had not spoken to her, had never even given her his name.

Yet still he felt an inflation of exuberance within him at her charge, a cry of exaltation at her crushing blow. So small, and so gentle despite the rage he had scented hidden within her barely defiled luminance, and yet her attack was one of power and necessity. Flame did not want the child, nor did Leo want to subject her to his violence, he realized. A regret formed so quickly it staggered Leo bodily as it hit, timed perfectly with the impaling spikes that ravaged the brave druid’s body.

Emryk grabbed the recombinant zombie and dragged it away from Leo with Herculean effort, his eyes drawing to the same grisly scene that unfolded before Leo’s, before Juniper’s who had followed just after Poppy through the gate and summoned fire to bear. Both now seemed lost to Leo, and as Poppy’s spirit slipped away from the ship’s hull so too did Leo’s restraint. As flames roared within so did they roar without, pouring from the bespectacled sorceress in a torrent of rage that echoed within Leo’s breast. As flames surrounded Juniper so too did the flames race through Leo’s veins, dance behind his eyes and curl within his breath. Juniper’s flame burned toward the rat swinger, a torrent too cool to embody the pain that fueled it.

Their flames called to Leo, pulled against his own as if seeking to coax a spark from his flesh as well; but that was not how Leo’s flame behaved. Instead it was Leo who was driven, fanned by the searing heat upon his skin and within his flesh both to end the charade of humanity he had so recently begun enacting. Instead the beast returned, and among the roar of Juniper’s attack a different roar rang out of beastial ferocity. The sword fell to the timber below as it was released from fingers curled into claws, legs pumped instantly toward the black garbed serpentine cultist in a flash of unrestrained speed. Instantly Leo crashed into Sapphire, golden eyes empty of mind, possessed of nothing but the intent to kill.

Fingers ripped at scaly throat, tore at black fabric and silver pendant and bashed at face and body tirelessly, repeatedly. Deep growls and strong teeth snapped around the serpent’s head and face, knees drove toward cultist torso, anything, everything focused on destroying the unnatural being that dared to spit in the face of attempted humanity, dared to wish the fate Poppy met upon anyone. An unheard whisper within the yawning bonfire of Juniper’s sorcery and Leo’s chest spoke of mercy, of the true culprit behind the butchery of Sylvael…

No, not Sylvael. Poppy. Leo was too consumed by his flame to bury their hold, too overwhelmed by the combined might of his fire’s screams and Juniper’s roaring pain. Did he truly want to feed this flame, to burn and rip this young white serpent into oblivion to satisfy those greedy tongues? He could not answer, could not retain that part of him that thought in words, that tried to be more than a killer. He was the predator and this frightened worm had made the mistake of showing fear even as it had lashed out. The flame would be fed, the beast satisfied before words and mercy be granted.
 
DELFI

"Aren't you too old to be playing with toys?" Naveen said, acknowledging the construct she undoubtedly intended to surprise him with. A small centipede with cursed nails. Solus might have been proud, if the circumstances were any different.

A man took a step forward with rapier in hand - vampire, he noticed - challenging Naveen. Despite looking like a nobleman he moved like an animal, and stared at him as if he were prey. One of those consumed by hunger and violence. A beast, a disgrace to their race, the kind that gave vampires a bad name and by his side, the Whore of the Horizon. The Good Captain would want her alive, if only to kill her with his own hands.

"Step back, Pris." Naveen warned, but the youngling had already been persuaded by Hester and the smaller vampire to hand over her cloak. His brows furrowed in frustration as he watched her approach the traitor - there were two now.

With a swift movement of his arm, the water molecules in the air froze up, creating dozens of ice spikes, sent forward towards the group. If it didn't kill them, it would at least pierce through Pris' cloak, ruining whatever plan the female vampire had in mind.

***

The woman laughed as she pulled Alys close to her, enjoying every second of the girl's panic. She stopped to take a breath when one of her friends stepped in, slicing through her whip that fell back to the floor. The smile didn't leave her face, she was clearly amused by all of this.

The few vertebrae that remained around Alys' wrist released itself from its grip and, like a snake on the hunt, jumped up to form a choker around Sliocht's neck. The two ends of the tip of her whip would snap together, and when it did it shouldn't take long for him to run out of breath.

***

Caleb hesitated for a moment when the blonde woman made her first move on Alys, but relaxed when Sliocht stepped in to her aid. It was a relief, he could count on the two of them to deal with her, while he focused on the ogre.

The Quartermaster rushed forward, using his wings to help him gain speed. He was ready for an encounter but before that happened, Snot raised his weapon and Caleb was pushed back by an invisible force that emanated from his staff, like a powerful wave crashing into shore.

"Fuck!" He muttered, getting ready to strike again. But how? He would certainly be sent back again, and he had a feeling if he tried his pistol the outcome would be way worse.


***

Sapphire's eyes widened as they saw all odds turn against them. Solus killed one of the most powerful assets, something the Good Captain wouldn't be happy about, and their death was the fuel the others needed to let out their strength, despite the suppression spell they worked so hard on maintaining.

One of them set themselves on fire and attacked their colleague, and Sapphire was so completely stunned by how the taller one destroyed her creation that they weren't able to react when the beast jumped on them.

King's apprentice screamed as their throat was dilacerated by Leo's teeth. It was a slow, painful death, but a death nonetheless. And without their master, the undead cumbled. All except the two who were not in their control, assigned to guard the cage at all times.
 
GHOSTLY

With Sliocht alongside the trio, Ciarán was confident they could hold their own against the undead - but when they came about into the fine dining hall and met the terrible twosome, Ciarán's tactical mind shifted back towards realism. Four of them against two? Numbers were on their side, and Caleb seemed to agree.

That was until the blonde woman's whip flashed towards Alys and caught her wrist, it's true nature revealed. A spine - bone stripped from a man's back and reshaped for the user's sick will. As the blood dripped from Alys's wrist and her attacker stood with the upper hand, his instincts told him to rush her, but Sliocht - the reliable ol' chap, had his wits about him and severed the whip. Perhaps things were looking up?

Not quite, as Caleb rushed the ogre only to be send flying back with a powerful blast, nearly knocking over Ciarán. He heard the man curse, then Ciarán reached out to help steady him. "Just our fucking luck, mate." Ciarán sized up the ogre then looked to his comrade. "Flank him, let's hope if he hits one, the other gets through." Ciarán said hushed and low by Caleb's shoulder before he tore off to the left side of Snot, hoping Caleb would take the right. His sword stayed in a reverse grip in his right hand, Ciarán hoped to steady himself with his left if the ogre hit him with a blast and to save himself from being run through on his own blade if he fell back.
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Leave it to the Captain to put things in black and white. He didn’t react to the part of the threat that concerned him, his eyes looked on Naveen, sizing him up. He was aware of Nessa and Pris moving, an exchange of cloaks. Nessa clearly had a plan to achieve the task the Captain set for her, something the other vampire wasn’t pleased with. Lucien watched as his arm moved, droplets of water in the air condensing, crystalizing, shards of ice forming.

Of course Naveen was a cowardly magician.

The frozen daggers launched themselves towards the group, and Lucien moved with inhuman speed, placing himself between the projectiles and as much of the group as he could manage, giving priority to covering Nessa’s escape. Lucien threw his arm over his face, protecting his eyes as the spikes embedded themselves in his chest and arm, a grunt escaping him from the impact. He dropped his arm, eyes boring holes into Naveen.

“Are you truly so weak that you rely on magic instead of your own instinct? How pitiful.” Lucien bore his fangs at Naveen in a sadistic grin, letting out a hiss as frozen spikes clattered to the floor. “Such a waste.”

Lucien surged forward, his rapier drawn back as he lashed out at Naveen. His free hand arced overhead, his claws begging for purchase on that beautiful face. His sword thrust forward, flickering in the low light as it sought to penetrate the meat of the vampire’s thigh.
 
PAPERWORK

Hester's instincts were hardly as honed as the dead man's, and though she'd tried to keep her eyes on Naveen, most of her attention had been fixed on Pris. She'd thought for a moment that Nessa was about to try something, had thought about doing she didn’t know what to stop her–but they'd just traded cloaks, as she'd promised, and then Pris was almost out of it. For a split second she let herself relax, which had been stupid. And then Naveen's hands were moving, as Pris reached out for her, and Hester took the two of them to the ground, rolling to put herself between Pris and the cold. Something sharp dug into her back.

Not too bad. She'd expected far worse. No time now to wonder why it hadn’t been.

The centipede construct leapt, treating the shoulder of the captain's pet abomination as a springboard from which to launch itself at Naveen’s eyes. The second it was airborne, she wrenched her focus away from it, leaving torn-out pieces of herself behind with the force of it. The second construct, no longer in need of secrecy now that Naveen had spotted it, skittered fully to life, darting erratically across the floor, its metal spines oriented towards his ankles.

She doubted the double-assault would be enough to hurt Naveen, really, but it might at least give her own friendly monster an opening to strike. And once that was done, and Pris was probably safe, maybe she could lose consciousness for a little bit. That would be nice.
 
GOLDEN

One second the pain and pressure was unyielding, and the next, it had disappeared. Taking its place was a dull, throbbing sensation, accompanied by a steady stream of blood that escaped the shredded circumference of her wrist. Beyond the uneven cuts, Alys could already see the bruising, which extended down her right hand and up her forearm. Thankfully, Sliocht had intervened before the whip had gone through deeper layers of muscle and bone. Still, the hand felt awfully warm and numb; potentially signalling blood loss, or worse, nerve damage. While flexing and extending her fingers, her gaze met Sliocht's and she gave him a firm nod meant to convey her gratitude. Suddenly, before she had the chance to look away, she watched as the severed segment snapped up and wrapped itself around the barber's throat. The vertebrae squeezed, just as they had around Alys' wrist, and jerkily moved to reunite itself with the other end of the whip.

In that moment, Alys saw red, which was further heightened when her head snapped back towards the necromancer, who wasn't bothering to hide her sadistic glee. Left hand or right, the faerie had enough experience to put up a fight with either side. So she picked up the cutlass with her left hand, not trusting her right to keep a firm grip, and launched forward. The physical momentum of pushing off the ground, paired with the flutter of wings gave her a speed advantage, and within a matter of moments, she was upon the blonde woman. As she had done a day earlier, Alys slashed her blade at her perceived opponent. But unlike what the woman had done to her, Alys targeted a much more vital part of the body, the very same part that her twisted weapon was squeezing just a few feet away.

Alys wondered if her new friend Hester could make a new whip, curtesy of this psychotic bitch.
 
ILLIRICA

Sarus Khai loved the word casualty. It truly encompassed how easily these things happened. One moment, you were talking to your friend, the next moment, they were a corpse! So very casual!

He had two excellent examples of that right away. The first was the Satyr girl, whatever her name had been - the second was dear Emma. She was the first to be engulfed in the fire witch's aura, and the screaming suddenly stopped.

Now he really was going to have to get another Emma. Perhaps the fire witch would make a nice Emma? He opened his arms as they rushed towards him, a single fiery inferno that collided with his physical body. The robes caught fire first, of course, then the hair, then the thin skin, starting to burn away like paper. The nails he had driven through himself were all the more visible as the rest started to burn away.

Head and heart are a good place to start, as he and Hester had always rhymed. He liked to put the first in top-down, under the mess of hair. The heart was always messy business, but he'd found a little coldness helped it along. Joints, of course. Shoulders, knees, elbows, wrists, hips, neck, ankles. Only need eight to accelerate decay.

He'd done them all, of course, to get the rotting done with. There wasn't much left besides skin and bones and nails, any more - and some of those weren't very important.

"Very good!" His voice was overjoyed, in Juniper's burning ear. His arms enfolded them even as the skin was burning away, and the nails driven through his hands and arms seemed to glow for a moment, then press through, out from his body and into the delightful creature he held. Nothing fatal, of course. He didn't want them to die quite so soon... but it was always best to get things nailed down right from the start.

"You may make the best Emma yet!"
 
ILLIRICA

Pris felt a weight lift off her shoulders as the strange woman took the cloak, but another soon took its place. Naveen was angry - really angry, and Pris knew that wasn't good. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that they weren't betraying Mr. King, they were just...

She didn't actually know what they were doing. That wasn't all that out of the ordinary, though, and Pris supposed no one really wanted her opinions anyway. They usually didn't. No one except Hester, anyway.

Hester's arms were around her, but instead of the embrace she'd expected, they were suddenly rolling onto the ground. She felt the chill in the air, the sudden cold sharpness that meant Naveen was doing his magic again. Behind her, Lady Fingers wrapped skeletal bones around one of the ice spikes that had been heading towards her.

Pris disentangled herself from Hester as best as she could, watching the fight that was starting between Naveen and this new vampire. There wasn't really anything she could do for that.

"Are you okay?" she whispered to Hester, unsure of the answer. Hester was strong, though, she always had been. Lady Fingers held the ice spike between the two of them and Naveen, a bit like a sword that she probably knew better how to use than Pris did.

"I think maybe we should move away. If your friend doesn't have to worry about hurting us, and Naveen doesn't have to worry about hurting us..." She didn't know where that went either. Pris didn't know what side she was supposed to be on. She'd always been on Mr. King's side, from the moment she'd been born, but...

Well, Hester had always been on her side, and that had to count for something. "What do we do, Hester? Mr. King is going to be mad."
 
DELFI

There was a time for animosity and this wasn’t it. Caleb accepted Ciarán’s help, putting a hand on his chest as he stood up, checking if the wound hadn’t reopened. After making sure he was fine, he nodded at the master gunner’s suggestion and they both attacked in synchrony, Caleb by the ogre’s right and Ciarán to his left. He lifted his staff up once again.

“Go low!” Caleb shouted, sliding down the wooden floor to slice the enemy’s ankle. As he’d suspected, With the ogre standing at least 3 feet over his head and with the staff in the air, whatever energy coming out of it would take longer to reach the ground - longer than he needed to get to his target. The ogre cried in pain, using the staff to try and knock Caleb in the head, but he wasn’t fast enough.


***

The vampire was really trying to provoke Naveen, unsuccessfully so. A man like him fed his anger to fight, but Naveen knew better. He’d been trained to control his emotions, annalize his surroundings and use his brain to his advantage - He’d learned it from King. As Lucien rushed towards the blonde with his rapier in hand and bloodlust in his eyes, Naveen let out a sigh, dodging his claws, that barely touched his shiny hair.

“Animals rely on instinct.” He answered, conjuring his own sword made of dense ice, in time to meet his opponent’s blade. Hester’s toys attacked simultaneously, but he’d already expected it to happen, being familiar with the necromancer’s style. He moved his feet in time to avoid the construct that aimed for his ankle and froze the centipede the moment it jumped up from Lucien’s shoulder. “And cowards rely on tricks.”

***

The laughter died in time for the necromancer to lift her whip once more, clashing it against Alys’ cutlass in time to protect her neck.

“Don’t be so angry, we’re just having fun!” She said, taking a step back from the impact. The woman looked at Aly's right wrist and the smile returned to her lips while she admired her work, and the blood that dripped from it. Her gaze slid up her arm, shoulder and finally stopped at the pair of wings behind her back. Beautiful wings.

“Tell me… What does flying feel like?”
 
ILLIRICA

Ice swarmed the hallway, an unpleasant complication. Sinéad would have liked it to be easier, but she supposed that if all King had going for him was a group of undead, he wouldn't have gotten very far. Additional talent was required, and a man like him could probably have his pick of whatever unsavory characters he encountered.

Regrettably, she was going to have to leave them behind. Lucien had engaged, though, and Hester was still sorting things out with the child, which left herself and Nessa to move forward and actually do something useful with their time while the enemy was busy. She had been far enough back to move behind the wall when the ice storm hit, so it was merely a matter of stepping out once more, catching Nessa's eye, and slipping off to the side to try to find their way to King's treasure trove. It would have been easier with Hester leading the way again so that she could take the brunt of any more ice spikes, but she would just have to catch up later, once she decided whose side she was on - or not at all.

Hopefully she could make it where she was going without any more little interruptions. The ship was large by ship standards, but it wasn't the size of a city - they couldn't be that far away.

Time to see what he's squirreled away over the years.
 
PAPERWORK

She felt the centipede construct freeze, which did very little to soothe the feeling that some vital part of her had been taken hold of and yanked loose. Then the second construct--Cecil's remains--skittered right under the man's feet. Once, twice, three times, after which she gave up; he'd be able to dodge forever without ever losing sight of Lucien. How had he worked out her plan? She'd never done anything like that before. It was probably the most self-destructive thing she'd ever tried, barring Rowe, and at least murdering Rowe had worked, godsdammit. She'd been hoping to surprise him at least a little, but there the idiot was, dancing around Lucien's blade without a care in the world.

"After the captain," she muttered to Pris, forcing herself to get up and stumble towards the exit, shepherding Pris in front of her. Was not the time to let her get a good look at her back. Or to think about her back, either, now that she thought about it. Oops. "We make ourselves useful to their captain; that's how we survive this. King's betrayed us already." Gates, she was slurring so hard she could barely understand herself. Hopefully the kid could make out what she was saying. Just had to get there before Naveen killed his opponent and came after them; maybe there'd be something she could use in the treasure vault.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

This fool, this monster, did he not know what he was now facing? Sarus embraced Juniper, his joy palpable, taking the full brunt of the flames. His skin peeled as what little hair he had turned to ash in an instant, exposing bone and metal, the nails that comprised most of his form, the weapons used to bring an end to Poppy's life. In his arms now, he held what amounted to a demon, a child of fire, a burning rage that had yet to consume all it had made contact with.

Juniper didn't quite feel the nails piercing their shoulders and back. More accurately, they felt, but they no longer cared, not in this moment. They fought the embrace, pushing their arms forward amidst a roar of fury, feeling the metal tear the skin and fabric, as a hand came up from their side and grasped at Sarus' throat. An arm wreathed in fire, one would be mistaken if they felt they saw long, coiled fingers of flame reaching out for the necromancer, a terrifying form taking shape, flickering away in the following moment, as flames do.

The sorceress' momentum carried the pair into a wall as their hand found purchase, taking a firm grip of dry, cold skin, but not without retaliation. A nail, just like the ones used against the satyr, broke out from beneath this monsters skin, piercing Juniper's hand, drawing blood, drawing their ire, pushing the flames further. Their other hand raised, the inferno blazing bright with righteous justice, and came for Sarus' head, flames belching towards him. Juniper, or what was left of them, had very little to say, save for what many would in their situation.

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Very rarely did the changeling say what they truly meant. There had been a few occasions in the past, one being when speaking to Poppy just mere minutes ago. This, was unbridled truth.

They would not grieve for this lost soul, once it was said and done. All they hoped was that his ashes found a fitting place in the depths of hell, where their fire could torment him forever more.
 
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