Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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QUIRBLES

The wizened flesh tore, and the amalgam abated. Twin husks tore from one another like alabaster sheets of linen beneath his grip, and the feat had been enough to buy him a moment's respite. Dropping the corpses to the ground, Emryk pushed himself to the door, leaning upon its frame as the infernal crescendo of Juniper's ire welled upon them; far greater than any swell, far more stifling than any storm, it burned free around them all, scalding the few weak prisoners who had been too slow to avoid the flames. Her hatred flickered in their eyes as they stared; it reflected upon Leo's body, in the sweat of his form, in the blood that had bathed it with every clawing strike upon the dead cultist's form. She was unmoving, now, and the Baron thundered to his unlikely ally's side, socking one of the undead guards in the face as he passed to buy him a few moments. His hands clapped upon each shoulder, and Emryk tore the frenzied Leo from his feast, stepping back to avoid becoming a new target.

"SHE IS DEAD." Did he mean the cultist, or the girl? Whatever the case, his condemnation was clarion above the roar of the inferno. "KILL THE UNDEAD." And then, with no words left to spare the boy, he turned and gave a right cross to the guard he had punched moments earlier, renewing his assault before grabbing its skull in both hands, grunting with gnarled teeth, and pressing his hands together to crush its head between his hands. He slammed the body against the cell a final time for good measure, and then set his sights once more upon Juniper, who had been grabbed and impaled by the gibbering murderer she fought to incinerate. The flames consumed all; they wreathed her, burning away flesh and blood that came too close. Solus, to his minimal credit, seemed to care not for his own condition and continued the assault, shoved up against the wall and bathed in the fury that threatened to kill them all.

Poppy.

Emryk fell to her side, kneeling with an outstretched hand to pull the verdant cloak around her form. The flames had touched her already; the cape was browned, irreparably burnt. It felt like sandpaper upon the hands, ash staining his fingers and arms and face as he hefted the covered form of the satyr to his chest and curled her inward, towards his chest as he turned away from the flames and bared the heat upon his back. The smoke washed over him, and he gave a cough; his hand cradled her head, so small in his palm, and he felt the nails which had embedded themselves deep into the visage, veiled as it was. He did not think he could bear to look. His other arm wrapped upon her calves, holding them up as if to carry her like a child to bed. Sleep. She could sleep now, quiet as she was. Wherever she had gone, he prayed her soul to be at peace.

But she was here no longer, as they were soon to be if this madness continued, and so he tore his mind away towards matters of the living. His gaze found Juniper, alight with the dolorous rage, and he could only speak to the inferno which stared back at him.

"JUNIPER!" He roared, voice hoarse, stolen from the smoke and wind and pain. "YOU WILL DOOM US ALL-- !"

Would she listen, in her state? No, not to him. Not for him, not for anyone...

... but perhaps for her, the fire would listen. Emryk clutched Poppy closer, grit his teeth, and spoke once more. Confident. Stern. Pleading. Desperate.

"YOU'RE BURNING HER-- PLEASE!"
 
THIMBLE

Sliocht just had time to wedge two fingers in below the whip before it tightened with a sickening crack. So much for the easier fight, he thought, gasping for air as he wrestled with the rogue vertebrae.

Hurt. Couldn't breathe. No breath. No air. The world tightened, a tunnel surrounded by sheer black.

Shit. No air. Alys was busy, couldn't hear his pleading gasps.

Still couldn't breathe. His fingers were numb now. Choking was not a fun sensation. It was hard to stand.

Sliocht's gasping was almost inaudible. The world outside seemed dull, muted somehow. Colours disappeared, replaced with vague grey. Sound died.

Ciaran couldn't hear him pleading for help. The deck below him seemed to fall away. He felt weightless, like he was flying. He was on his knees, now, but couldn't feel them.

Last chance. Sliocht slipped the earring from his right ear. It was vaguely cylindrical, maybe gold or tin. He didn't remember where he'd gotten it, it was all so fuzzy now.

It was hollow, though.

With all the strength he had left, Sliocht pressed the metal cylinder perpendicular to his neck, around where Emer had showed him.

The Barber let himself fall forwards.

Or was it supposed to be lower than that, more towards the chest? Ah well, no going back now, he thought, as the world around him finally faded into pitch black.

He hit the deck with a wet slick as the earring slid through his neck and into his throat.

Sweet, sensual air flowed through the cylinder like a whistle, rocketing the Barber back into consciousness.

And a hell of a lot of pain.
 
SOMEGUY500

It seemed only a moment ago the Hard Nox intruded upon the gloomy sky over the town, yet the ship was already inbound to another mark. Fionn had simply sat in the timber stores below deck where there was space, his wide eyes stared into nothing. He pondered whether to seekk additional guidance on this next leg of his journey. Perhaps he could even inquire about the chisel the shipmaster had oh-so-kindly borrowed. Enough of that, though; the fighting had started in earnest. The ship shuddered and shook as it unloaded shot and man alike onto the hostile ship, and Fionn could feel the reverberation throughout his earthen frame. It was not uncomfortable, and if he focused, maybe he could glean some insight into--

THOOM

CRACK

Stars above, what a horrid noise. Perhaps another time he would look for signs, for now duty called. Picking up the stack of planks he was using as a bench, he hoisted it upon his back and picked up his toolbox, hurriedly stomping towards the source of such a crashing noise. When he arrived, the good apothecary was moving supplies into the hall. Her clinic had been thrown into a different kind of chaos. Where there was once the sight of blood and injured bodies, now the clinic itself was wounded, a sucking wound that invited infection. Smoke and spilled medicines hung in the air, and Fionn didn't doubt that it must have made for a strange scent, even without a sense of smell. Laying his toolbox aside, he propped the timber onto the opposite wall. He mimicked Emer, helping to remove the remaining medicines and setting them in the hall, clearing the way for his own work. "I had hoped to meet again under less dire circumstances, but I suppose 'tis but the nature of our work."
 
UMBRASIGHT

Best laid plans and all that.

Nessa’s dagger flashed out quickly as she sliced through one of the spikes of ice that had made it past Lucien. The ice shattered as it met steel, crunching against the wall as its momentum was redirected. Nessa retreated another step, avoiding stepping on Hester and the girl. The last thing she needed was to be on her back when another volley of ice came. There was a raw smell between those two, sickly sour like milk that had been left open to the air for too long. A glance told her that Hester had taken a shard of ice to the shoulder, which was a problem, but unfortunately not Nessa’s current problem so there wasn’t much she could do to help.

She had a pocket she needed to go pick.

The vampire looked Sinéad’s way, catching the Captain’s eye for a moment before she slipped down a hallway. A better use of time to follow or not? Wasn’t like she had a clue for where Solomon was on this forsaken ship, so going Sinéad’s way was as good as any for the time being. Perhaps Solomon would come checking on his treasure? What self respecting captain wouldn’t when the Nox came knocking?

Goddessdamn did it feel like the wheels were starting to roll off this wagon.

Nessa cast a quick glance back over her shoulder. That bone centipede was frozen in the air, and the other vampire seemed to be evading Lucien’s sword thrusts, then she was around the corner and quick on Sinéad’s heel.

Fuck, if the best laid plans couldn’t survive, then what the hell were they in the middle of?
 
ANNASIEL

"Thank you, dear," Emer replied. "I must say, that's the first time the clinic's been hit, and it gave me quite a scare. It took me a few moments to realize my limbs were all intact."

Her voice was muffled by the shawl - now pulled high over her mouth and nose in a makeshift mask - and in the wake of her rag-wrapped feet she left tiny red-dotted footprints. Still, her voice decidedly calm given the circumstances. She still felt an inner quake like a leaf in a storm, but she'd managed to settle herself enough in the meantime, and focusing on the work helped keep her mind active.

"Do be careful in there. I doubt the dust is safe to breathe, and the floor is a mess of glass and splinters. Besides - they hit this spot once, I trust they can hit it again. I wouldn't want you risking your head to patch a hole that can wait til safety."
 
SOMEGUY500

Fionn shook his head as he laid another bowl of medicine on the mat. "'Tis plain that you wouldst have need of thy clinic soon. The crew will require ministration upon their return, and I would have the clinic in some working order ere they do. Worry not, t'would be a poor woodworker who would be dissuaded by splinters and debris, and one I am not. I have felt little from the dust and thus far, either." As if to emphasize his point, Fionn stepped aside and brushed off the dust that had settled his shoulders. Besides, however good an impression he made on the captain to be allowed to stay aboard the ship, such goodwill would no doubt dissipate quickly were he to shirk his duty. Well, the issue can wait, anyway. He shrugged and returned to recovering items from the ruined clinic.

"As for the cannon, naught for it but to trust the fates and our comrades, no? But that may be a while yet. We may wait until after the medicines are accounted for, perhaps they will have disabled our foe's cannon, by then."
 
ANNASIEL

"Quite useful," Emer replied with a slight smile, settling down on one of the mats for a moment's breather. "I do think it'd be best to stay away from the walls, at least, until the threat of another volley has passed. Though -"

She glanced at the open door.

"Would you be kind enough to help me with clearing the floor in the meantime? I'm afraid glass and splinters are far more of a bother for me than you, and I'd like to get the rest of these supplies moved inward in case we get hit again."

She pulled herself back up to her feet.

"Once it's a bit safer to move around, I'll put on another kettle of tea as motivation, hm?"
 
DELFI

Kill it. Kill it. Kill it.

The master’s orders were simple. After losing both his arms in the fight, the late Fir Bolg managed to sneak past the defense lines and go below deck, searching for enemies to kill.

Kill it. Kill it. Kill it.

It was empty. Most of the crew had boarded the Truth Teller or were fighting the undead up top, but he felt something, he heard something. The mutilated undead followed the voices, revealing himself by tripping over a heavy chain on the floor.

Kill it. Kill it.
He stood up, rushing over to the two figures. Without arms, he attacked with the only weapon he had: His teeth.
 
ILLIRICA

Emma hadn't learned to behave yet. It always took a while, he found, when he needed a new Emma. They didn't always listen at first, but they would learn. They always learned.

This Emma was already screaming. They did a lot of that, the Emmas. The words weren't anything new, but they wouldn't last. The words always went away after a while, and then poof! - there was Emma! Just like magic, really.

This one burned, though - oh, how Emma burned! His skin was gone into ash, but Emma just kept getting hotter and hotter. Sorus Khai didn't sweat - he didn't have the glands for it, any more - but as the temperature climbed further and further, there was a moment where he truly began to be concerned: When the fire burned hot enough to begin to melt the iron.

The nails turned red first, then orange, then white, and then somewhere in that white-hot range they stopped being nails at all and started being more of a blob of amorphous goo with the remnants of nails stuck through it, pouring itself together onto the floor as if ready to be molded. No mold was there to hold the shape, though, not this time, and the last nail fell from the space that had once been his ear and landed atop the oozing pile.

Feisty, indeed.
 
FANG

Blood and flesh, heat and sweat mingled together as Leo ended the serpent, rage boiling within him as if he were the one set alight by the sorcerer’s flames instead of their enemy. Words were lost, flame consuming his humanity and leaving only the beast he had become in his darkest hours. The cultists life was splattered across his body, ground into his fingernails and caught between his teeth as chunks of white scales skittered away from the butchery.

Soft scales pressed around Leo’s shoulders and tore him away from his prize, shouted words lost upon the feral mind of flame but action freeing him from the repetitive ripping and gnashing. Emryk left Leo there, staring at his latest victim with greedy flame left far from satiated. His eyes took in the flame, the frantic prisoners trying to escape the confines of the cage, the grasp of the remaining undead, and the ire of those prisoners who had caused this ungodly scene. Almost stiffly Leo made his way back to Sapphire’s corpse, kneeling down for but a moment to grasp a scaled ankle.

Dragging her corpse behind him Leo walked through the cell door, eyes fixated on the witch’s furious blaze and her victim as his nails began to glow red hot. A rotten hand grasped for Leo’s throat, the remaining undead guard stalwart in his orders despite the embers fanning to small fires within its decaying garments. The beast pulled away from the zombie’s grasp and brought to bear his weapon; swinging the serpent cultist’s dead frame around like a rag-doll club to swat the zombie with the full force of strength and weight against the bars of the cage.

Bones snapped beneath Leo’s fingers and against metal bars, the zombie’s broken limbs far worse than the snapped fibula of the corpse Leo held. Still the zombie shakily shambled to reach Leo again, earning another slap with the macabre weapon he sported. This time rotten head parted from putrid neck and the zombie crumpled to the floor.

Leo’s face was visage of rage, feral grin of teeth and blood soundlessly snarling as he drug his weapon behind him toward the searing heat and brilliant flame of Juniper’s battle. The rat swinger had been reduced to but a puddle, white hot iron covering the dusty floor and setting fire to the timber below even with the flames pouring from Juniper’s small frame. Leo was so close the robe he had won began to smoke, the blood and sweat on his body drying instantly even as new sweat attempted to cool him. With a growl Leo whipped Sapphire’s corpse around and into the flames, a small sense of satisfaction cooking the fires within him slightly as the scales body burst into conflagration atop the iron puddle that was their comrade.

The flames were fed, but Leo wanted more. Aboard this ship a great prize, a feast for his rage hid, the great unnatural captain waiting for the beast to rip out his throat and offer him the same cleansing he offered King’s apprentice. With mindless steps Leo made for the stairs, the scent of burning flash and scales twisting his snarling face into a pleasurable, twisted grin of satisfaction and anticipation. The plan was forgotten as the robe that finally released itself from his shoulder fluttered to the floor.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Their opponent had been reduced to slag, and rightfully so. Despite this, the fury remained, wishing to reduce him to nothing, Juniper buried underneath whatever was motivating their rage now. The flames fanned out, lashing at everything within reach, until a voice of reason spoke above the roar of the fire.

Deep in their mind, Juniper sat alone in the dark, lost. It had happened again, and Poppy had died for it. To say they were upset would be an understatement, though the changeling wouldn't have the ability to quantify their feelings for quite some time. As they sat, still in the silent darkness, they heard, far off, a voice that felt familiar. Emryk, calling out, telling them that... They we're burning her? How? They weren't...

Juniper came back to their body, and the flames receded, barely flickering across their body as they regained control. In front of them, a burned, unrecognizable corpse, atop a heap of molten metal, which they stepped away from quickly. They felt the puncture wounds now, and a burning sensation in their right hand and along their back and shoulders, where the nails had been and melted. The changeling would have worried about it more, if not for what Emryk had said just moments earlier. They slowly turned, face framed by smoldering embers in their hair, and through cracked glass and a weary, lost expression, they spoke, albeit barely, voice hoarse from the screaming and yelling from moments ago.

"I-... I'm sorry, we should... Is- Are-" and after a brief pause to collect their few thoughts, "Is... She okay?"

They had not noticed Leo darting for the exit, still only just coming back to themselves. Once they got their answer, they would collect themself and continue their escape.
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

Lucien knew that look, that expression. He had seen it before he had awoken, before he had become himself, from nobles and aristocrats whose lineage had existed far longer than he. It was a look of haughty derision, of displacement. Naveen saw himself above Lucien, merely slipping out of the way of his claws, a frozen blade slapping aside Lucien’s own with contempt. Hester had tried to help, her assistance falling woefully short as her constructs fell victim to the frost. Weak. Naveen did not even have the decency to strike back.

The others moved, Sinead and Nessa heading deeper into the ship to find the treasure, while Hester abandoned her post, the sense of bravado and wit draining from her as she fled with the child. Lucien had half a mind to shoot her then and there, but he had a bigger target to worry about.

“Then tell me, what are you? A frozen magician, a one-trick pony?” Lucien circled Naveen, the hallway just wide enough for that. “Or do you pretend that you are better than the rest simply because you can make ice?”

Lucien lashed out, his rapier seeking the left side of Nareev’s chest. In reality, it was a feint, he expected the vampire to dodge it or knock it out of the way with the same contempt he had shown earlier. He would use the momentum, spinning around in a backslash, his claws seeking to rip down his torso, the rapier hungering for flesh and blood, hunting for the sweet spot below the sternum.
 
FANG

The heat from below dissipated as Leo moved up the stairs, the heat in his chest cooling as well as he took in gulps of the fresher air. Vision cleared of the glare from the rage in his heart, the flames settled to the back of his throat once more, the call for King’s blood a steady whisper instead of a mighty roar. He looked at his hands with a fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach, the back of his throat tightening around the flames. They had denied his offer, but still he thought they might have lived if they had never crossed his path. A small white scale shimmered on the back of his thumb, the blood on it cleansed from a single drop that fell from his chin. He was capable of being so much more than a killer.

Leo wiped his hands on his already filthy trousers, freeing the scale to clatter to the floor with a jarring sound in the silence Leo now realized surrounded him. Candlelight flickered, the smell of blood and ash mingling with an older, more perverse scent. He noticed the floor, covered in strange circular symbols and melted wax sacrifices to whatever fell rituals were being practiced. The fire sprang higher, it’s insistent voice returning for but a single moment, their hiss a single word that formed perfectly in Leo’s soul.

Unnatural.
 
GOLDEN

After the chilling clang of steel against bone, a soft thud reached Alys' pointed ears. Due to her speed and the force behind the impact, she recoiled slightly, providing the perfect opportunity to glance towards the sound. Sliocht had fallen, first to his knees and then forward, sprawling onto the wooden surface with a second thud.

Fuck. She thought she'd have more time to go after the source, thus stopping the control of the whip. Maybe she'd underestimated the magnitude or the strength behind the whip, despite having experienced it a mere fifteen seconds earlier. No, surely that wasn't it, not when blood continued to drip down her hand, not when the dull, pounding pain continued to plague her wrist. Then perhaps she'd overestimated her skill? That couldn't be the case either because if she couldn't back herself now, when it mattered the most, what was the fucking point? Alys knew she was good with a blade and it was absurd that this pathetic woman, who hid behind the safety of an enchanted weapon, had even made her question that fact. So in the end, it came down to a bad judgement call or simply, an anomaly.

The woman appeared to take advantage of the recoil as well; her eyes admiring Alys' maimed wrist, flicking up over the curve of her arm, and finally landing on the silvery-blue wings behind her. She even had the nerve to initiate a conversation, likely buying herself more time as Sliocht choked just a few meters away.

Sometimes Alys thought her wings had a mind of their own. Now, beneath the piercing gaze of this woman, they felt restless, as if they were ready to take flight at any moment. After all, they were incredibly sensitive; the slightest touch from a lover caused chills to run up her spine, excessive exertion caused a dull ache to spread across her back, but worst of all, any sort of damage brought a heightened sense of pain. That's why she took such good care of them, why she was so comfortable with them. Dread washed over her like a wave. Alys had known that this raid would end badly.

Knowing that time was of the essence, Alys refused to engage in conversation, instead choosing to launch a series of offensive attacks on the woman hiding behind nothing but bone. She feigned an overhead stab at the neck once more, but instead ducked low, slashing at the woman's thigh. Should she connect, Alys would raise her leg and aim for her gut, sending her sprawling to the ground.
 
ILLIRICA

For moments like this, Lucien was worth every bit of discord he caused. King's crazy vampire mage might have been a challenge, but a challenge was never something that Lucien backed down from, and Sinéad was able to slip past the defender fairly easily, Nessa following along closely. Any sign of King himself and the thief would hopefully know to go after him - or, at least, after what was in his pockets.

Hester had come along as well, seeming much worse for the wear. The kid was trying to hold her up somewhat, though Sinéad had her doubts about how much that was actually helping. Hester wasn't very big, but she was still bigger than a half-nourished child. The skeletal hand was following along as well, brandishing the ice spike.

The treasure room was before them after only a few minutes, the door wide open. Sinéad didn't trust that in the slightest, but this was what they'd come here for, after all.

"Grab what you can. We get it and Hester back to the Hard Nox. Tell you what, kid - she can stay there and rest if you'll take her place and help out with everything else. Do your part and I'll let you become a pirate." By technicality, the kid was already a pirate, but Sinéad had the feeling she hadn't seen much of the piracy side of things. "It's a better offer than you'll get here," she added, pointedly, moving into the treasure room and scanning the heaps, starting to pick up likely items to throw in a sack. Anything that might be magical, and books. There was often more wealth in books than there was in gold. That, or they ended up being trashy romance novels, and Sinéad wasn't above valuing those as well.

"Take as much as you can carry, but don't overencumber yourself. We might need to move quickly."
 
DELFI

Hester, Pris and their new friends escaped, but Naveen didn't mind. The Hard Nox's vampire was bound to keep him busy for a while, and if the others didn't kill the intruders, he'd catch up with them when he was done with this one.

"You can't keep your mouth shut, can you?" He asked, following Lucien's movement and conjuring an ice plate over the area his rapier planned to hit, with more ice spyking out of it. His hand lifted up to get a hold of his wrist before his dirty nails touched his jacket, proving his strength to be commensurate to his opponent’s.

“I’m a scholar, and a follower of the greatest man who's ever lived, who’s gonna save us all.” Naveen said, deciding to entertain his guest during the short time they’d spend together. The ice of his sword expanded, engulfing Lucien’s rapier while keeping his cold grasp to his wrist, immobilizing him. “... And I don’t have to pretend.”

Ice was being formed under his feet as well, and slowly taking over Lucien’s legs. Once it was up to the vampire’s waist Naveen took a step back, away from his sword’s reach.

“You underestimate ice as a weapon, so let me tell you what’ll happen.” He said, tossing away the plaque from his torso and rounding up his enemy, while the ice kept spreading. “At first it’ll be your toes, your fingers… It’ll hurt. Then your lungs will stop functioning properly.” He smirked.

“There’ll be pain all over your body, but oh– it’ll get better. Until you start to lose your mind.” At that point, his arms had already started to freeze, and Naveen was able to approach him safely, whispering in his ear.

“You’ve probably heard about ice induced coma before. But you know what the fun part of being a vampire is? You’ll be awake through all of it.”

The ice was up to his shoulders when Naveen turned his back on Lucien, following after where Hester went. It’d been a shorter encounter than he had imagined, but it’d leave the vampire with a lot to think about.
 
PAPERWORK

"I'm fine; just... Give me a second," Hester mumbled, still trying to stand on her own, still more or less failing. She hated having to rely on Pris for this. She hated feeling this weak. She could still feel a part of herself back in the centipede, slowly freezing to death; another part of her was in the nail beast, trailing listlessly after them like a drunken rat. A third part of her had gotten stuck behind a door several meters back, and was only now managing to get it open.

The construct that was now strolling smoothly up the hallway towards them was, effectively, a cart on legs. No weapons, no tools, nothing to make it better at leaping or crawling or anything else. Just a big metal box, dressed up in a bony scaffold, and finished off with a set of four gangly limbs. Very simple. Not like she was up for a lot of precision work just now anyway.

"Pris, if you could just load this up for the Captain, I'll, um..." she took a step away, leaning hard against the wall. Hadn't really felt up for doing a lot of heavy lifting before the cart; now she felt like she was going to lose what little was left of her evening stew. "Just wait right here, I suppose. Keep watch." A rest would be nice. She could lean on the cart on the way back. Assuming they didn't run into Naveen again. Assuming Lucien survived. Assuming, assuming...
 
DELFI

“The Whore of the Horizon, stealing from my ship! What an honor.”

The voice came from the back of the room where an old elf stood, accompanied by two 9 ft tall monstrosities, made of scraps of bones, fat and meat sewn together. He held daggers in both hands, casually, as if he weren’t planning on using it.



The scratch on his face was almost entirely healed, and the beginning of a scar peaked over his neckline. There was definitelly something about him that commanded authority, a mystery so to speak. Some would call it a divine aura - Those who weren't faithful, would find it suspicious.

“What do you say we stop this and sit down for a cup of tea?”
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

His rapier slammed into solid ice, his hand caught in the viselike grip of the other vampire. A chill began to spread through Lucien, far greater than the chill of undeath. Ice crept along his blade, his feet, his wrist. It spread so quickly he barely had time to respond, spreading past his knees before he could attempt to pull his feet free.

Naveen preened, gloating to Lucien about how much this would hurt him. The vampire was used to pain, and had experienced far worse than a little cold. The ice crept to his waist, his torso, until it finally stopped around his shoulders. Neerav stepped away, admiring his handiwork before leaving Lucien a solid statue in the corridor, his head free.

He had been bested. Not just bested, but bested easily. Naveen had not even seemed to break a sweat. His reliance on magic had obviously not dulled his reflexes. Lucien’s head hung as the footsteps receded, eyes staring listlessly as Naveen headed off after Hester, Nessa, and the Captain. He had beaten Lucien. He was going to attack his Captain and the fledgeling.

He could not let that happen.

Lucien grit his teeth, shoulders twisting ever so slightly. There was barely any give from the ice, but still he twisted. Pressing, cracking, one way and then the other. His muscles tensed and flexed, struggling against the ice. Small cracks began to form, miniscule things, barely heard sounds signifying his struggle. But it gave him purpose.

He twisted, and flexed, and fought, a wolf who had pulled the chain taught and was trying to rip its iron hook from the wall. His shoulders had a little more give and Lucien pushed, pain shooting through him as he pressed against the solid ice before

CRACK

One shoulder came free. Lucien growled, attacking his prison with renewed vigor. His fangs dug into his lip, his own dark blood trickling down his chin, dripping on the floor. The pain gave him purpose, gave him power, gave him motivation. Another crack, the other shoulder free. More cracks, chunks of ice falling to the ground, Lucien’s breath becoming more ragged, panting, heaving. He attacked the ice that held him in a frenzy, his chest becoming free, his waist, he could twist his legs, his arms, using his rapier once he was able, his claws, anything, everything.

The last shards fell away. Lucien’s breath came out in ragged pants, his pupils pinpricks as dark veins shot through his eyes. His mouth hung open, fangs on full display, his own blood running down his chin. Lucien charged down the hallway, a low growl in his throat as he chased after Naveen, running as fast as his body could carry him.

Finally, Lucien caught sight of him. There was no calculated attack, no witty banter, no snide comments. There was just a beast, charging towards the vampire, his blade at the ready, looking to drive it through and tackle his prey.
 
QUIRBLES

She listened. Good. Emryk pushed himself to his feet, drawing a ragged breath of smoke into his lungs as he pushed towards Juniper and, lifting his hand from the back of Poppy's head, gently embraced the girl if not for a moment. Long enough for him to speak into her ear, voice pushing above the roar of the flames that spread around them.

"She is fine. I need you-- to hold her. I cannot carry... both her and Soren. Please." He withdrew from her for a moment, hand still pressed upon her shoulder as he knelt down. The Baron's eyes were weary, and his soul was burdened with an inconscienable weight-- and yet, he still put on a brave face, if not for her. A melancholy smile came across his face, and he adjusted the glasses upon her face, cracked as they were, to right her vision. "You're the only person I can trust to protect her. I need you to do this for me. In your moments of rage, think of who you stand to hurt the most, Juniper." He gestured to Solus' body, burnt as it was, then settled his hardened gaze-- smile now gone from his face-- upon her. "He is gone. Her body is not. Be its protector, and make sure her death is not in vain. She would want that from you. Carry her, but do not look down to her. Do not uncover her. I believe in you."

And then he stood, dusting the ash and soot from his coat before giving a mighty cough into his arm. He pressed Poppy into Juniper's arms, put both hands upon her shoulder, and maneuvered her body towards the stairs-- not forcefully, but firmly. "Now GO! Find the boy-- escape while you still can-- I will be right behind you. If you do not see me, keep moving. Do not stop moving!"

He needed to collect Soren, and he needed to find his things. Emryk set about accomplishing the former, barreling back into the cage with his kerchief clapped over the snout and his eyes narrowed to gaze through the blinding smoke. Still saddled in the corner was the large bloke, unresponsive and injured; the Baron slid to the jotunn and looped one arm around his shoulder, bracing himself and lifting with a struggling grunt as, with his other arm, he grabbed the back of Soren's thigh, looped his arm between the center of his legs, and lifted with the body slung over his back. His stance was low, knees bent, back straight. Lifting with his core and his legs, Emryk let out another roar of effort, raising to his feet after a moment of uncertain wavering-- if he dropped the man, he doubt he would ever get back up again. No, they needed to leave here, now--

--a gift to you, Emryk-- for your thoughts, your sketches--

"Hrrghh." He wheezed, chest heaving as he pushed sideways through the cell door and out into the open, fire-consumed space of the brig. The flames bit at his legs, threatening to scald his trousers and jacket; as fast as his pace allowed, he pressed forward, lurching with every step and keeping his back clenched tight to avoid collapsing into the ash.

"Heart of loam," He muttered to himself, vision fading upon the sides as he pushed up the steps. One after another. One at a time. Left, then right, then left again. Push. "Hands of stone." Juniper would be waiting. Would she go back for him, if he did not come? He hoped she did not. He hoped for her and the boy to leave, if they could manage it. Fire was a terrible thing. It consumed, it ate, it killed. It was a painful death, and it was not one he wished to experience. The threat of the fire kept him moving as it raged around him, his breath steady and practiced. Like the olden days. Like what they put you through. Like how your masters punished you. You do not gratify them with pain, Emryk. You defy them with strength.

"H-heart of loam." He rasped, pushing up the next flight, searching for the stockroom-- searching for the place where they kept their weapons, their wares, his belongings. His journal. He needed his damned journal, he wouldn't leave it. Not to these ignoble folk.

"Hands of stone."

And so he pushed. Emryk was carried not out of fear, not out of pain, but out of defiance.
 
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