Closed Pirates of the Hard Nox [archive]

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SHODDYPRODUCT

A sullen, quiet nod was all they could manage in response. Words escaped them now, with the flames extinguished. They clutched the body- no, Poppy's body, to their chest, and following the direction of Emryk, proceeded towards the stairs, unbothered by the remaining fire. They felt numb, which they knew was bad, all things considered, but it was largely out of their control. The aches from the stab wounds, the few burns they suffered from the molten metal merely background noise now. Each step was heavy during their ascent, the toll of their explosion felt now.

Poppy's cloak was singed. It brought a frown to Juniper's face, knowing it was their fault. 'Maybe I can get Emer to fix it for her... I should have been more careful. It won't happen again.' Their eyes trailed over the cloak, taking in every detail. Fashioned after verdant grasslands, likely meant to bring to mind the very life that Poppy had strove so vigorously to protect.

Like their own, for some goddamn reason.

Their lip quivered, only slightly, and they quickly buried it beneath a façade of determination. Another step, another thought. Would Soren make it back? He was hurt badly, and they had left a lot of fire in the way in the brig. They hoped he made it back safely, so that Emer could set him right.

They wanted to look so badly.

Surely Emryk was exaggerating. It couldn't have been that bad, right? They knew better, of course. They had seen what happened, and yet some foolish part of them thought that maybe they saw incorrectly. Their arm twitched, and the cloak shifted. Another step as they stiffened, fixing their gaze at the top step. As long as they focused on these stairs, they wouldn't look. Another step. And another. And one more.

Eventually, the stairs ran out, and they were left with their thoughts. In a pitiful attempt to stop their gaze, they called out. "Leo? Leo, we need to go. Before more people show up. We need to- we have to..."

Alas, Juniper had never been all that great at controlling their impulses. Their eyes drifted downwards, almost of their own accord, and in their arms was what was left. A mangled mess of meat and bone, iron nails stained red with crimson blood shining in the little light below decks. A face was hardly recognizable, and what was, was singed and burned, from their own actions. They broke, the tears welling, with no fire to burn them away. They continued walking as they let the tears fall, with no words left for Leo, no concern left for Leo.
 
FANG

Leo paced the room a moment before his base instinct took over. As he ripped the cloth from what was left of his hem Leo knelt and began scrubbing at the strange circles, mind retreating into itself as he thought through what had just happened. Events played in reverse in his mind, each moment restoring life and relative sanity. The metallic taste of blood soon left his tongue as he spit on the dried red circles and scrubbed them silently. The blood on his body fell away as he scrubbed, leaving more of the rust colored pigment that colored the seasoned timber.

”Leo?”

His name brought him to his senses, his precious lifeline to who he was. Names were important. Did the Rat-Swinger have a name? Did the serpent? He had a name for their victim. Poppy had a name.

” Leo we need to go. Before more people show up. We need to- we have to-“

Juniper had a name. Leo had not asked it yet but he knew as he knew Poppy’s. Would she meet the same fate? If more people came she might. Leo steeled himself, casting aside his confused feelings along with his rag. The flame had its due and he had someone asking for help. This was not killing. These floors were not worth scrubbing.

He stood and found Juniper cradling Poppy’s corpse, an echo from his past sending pain jolting through his chest. The way her tears soaked the fabric of Poppy’s cloak, the way her face was half covered in a thwarted attempt to hide her state. Leo couldn’t bear it. The flame called to Juniper as it called to him, but instead of living within them it escaped from their body and caused death. Leo could see it, written on their face as clearly as if it were his own mere moments before. The flame did not rest well with humanity, and Juniper was not a beast like him.

Leo silently padded to Juniper and covered Poppy’s face again, tucking the fabric so it would not come loose so easily. As he removed his hand he wiped a falling tear from the fire mage’s cheek in a tender gesture he vaguely remembered in some hazy recollection.

“We must wait for Emryk,” he said quietly, kneeling next to Juniper. “I am here. You are here. What is your name?” He wouldn’t forget to ask anyone ever again.
 
SOMEGUY500

"Aha, but I should not trouble you so. Besides, I currently want for a broom, in any case." Now may not have been the time to tell Emer that Fionn could taste her tea no better than any water or plank of wood. Nevertheless, he took stock of the debris and glass shards strewn across the ground of the clinic. It would take some work, but he was used to cleaning up after his old creator before his retirement. "Wouldst thou happen to know where I may procure one?"

The clanking of metal chains drew his attention away before Emer could respond, however. Its source was a grotesque walking corpse, no doubt descended from the deck above. Missing both arms but clearly undeterred by this, it charged them with rotting maw open in some silent battlecry. How it made it below deck was a question that would have to wait; for now, Fionn moved to defend himself and his compatriot. Inexperienced in combat as he was, the fates promised bounty and freedom in spite of his travails, and they would scarce be denied. Confident that his own fate had yet to transpire, Fionn evenly stomped towards the intruder and mimicked the shipmaster's motion from when he himself intruded upon the ship, grasping at its head and neck instead. "Pray keep thy grievances to thyself."
 
ANNASIEL

"I think -" Emer began, but whether she was going to press on the tea, or tell Fionn where he could find a broom, would never come to pass. Instead, the rattle of a chain interrupted her. Turning quickly, her eyes went wide, feet shifting back into the mat she'd just risen from. It was undead. One of the ones from the Truth Teller, most likely, by the talk of that foul crew. A rotting behemoth, it shambles forward at an anxious pace, armless stumps waggling from side to side as it charged them down the hall.

"Fionn, get back."

Run? These sorts of things weren't mortal, they couldn't be reasoned with or pardoned. She took another step back, glancing at Fionn - but the carpenter wasn't turning to run. Instead, with the same measured poise that he'd had when she'd first found him, he strode forward towards the monster, grabbing it tightly with a muttered rebuke.

Emer could only stare, unsure - yet again - if she was watching bravery or utter lunacy.

"Sky bless. Do you - have it under control?"

She reached out a foot and gave the leg of the creature a tentative poke.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Their name? What good would their name do? Poppy was dead, ruined and mangled and lost to the life she so coveted, her precious cloak blackened and burned by their flames. Emryk was struggling with Soren, likely struggling once more through their flames. Everything Juniper had fought for in Fen Manor, that being this poor woman's life, was for naught. She was gone. Juniper hardly knew her, but they knew she was a kind soul. They knew she deserved better. Better than this, whatever hell she had been brought to in her final hours. Their arms, shaking and soaked in the satyr's blood, curled tightly around her body, dipping their head downwards as Leo's words brought them to a stop. It was a struggle to speak, through the tremors shaking their form, and with a quiet, shaky whisper, they forced their lamentable name from their lips.

"... Juniper."

It was a grim reminder, the last bit of themself they held on to once they had left home. They had tried to change it in the past, but it came back to them regardless. They fell to their knees, holding the ravaged form of someone who one day may have been called a friend, unsure of where to go, what to do. Their goal of making it back to the Nox remained, though they were still unsure how they would ever find the ship again. Perhaps this was Poppy's blessing, a chance to break free from their self imposed punishment aboard the ship, a way out, at sacrifice of her own life.

"... Go help Emryk... He needs... Someone."

They lacked conviction, but their message held true. If they were to make it out of here, he needed someone to help him move Soren. The other prisoners had either left them or been burned, just as Poppy's murderer had been. It was up to them to get each other out, to protect each other, to save each other.

If only Juniper had been able to save her.
 
PAPERBAG FILL

Jötunn do not dream like most living or unliving folk do. These dreams, if one could remember them, often gave a glimpse into one's past, one's future, and even one's own present. Other times it provided a method of communicating with those long deceased. Perhaps such dreams provides more questions than answers or it will indeed provide a light towards the path needed to be walked. Other dreams were random and meaningless. Draumskrok. Dream nonsense that mattered little. After all, not all dreams were of prophecy. No matter the case, Soren--for as long as he could remember--had never dreamed in a long time. He despised them.

Never were they pleasant dreams. Never.
The Jotunn could not breath, could not move. Every limb under the ice. His lungs trapped with a singular breath. A drowning sensation that seemed endless overtook him. Cold. He never felt the cold before like this. It was too cold. His muscles strained against the ice. Nothing. Little whispers, like flames licking against his ears, echoed throughout the ice.

So much noise reverberating through the ice. Slowly, the ice cracked. Warmth began to spread. Before a black, inky figure began to spread its shadow over him. All the light filtered through ice found itself blacked out. Then a shaking even fiercer than the whispers shook the entirety of the ice. It was trying to break through. Get to him. And there was nothing he could do.

The ice fell away. A cold hand wrapped around his neck. A cold froze the entirety of his being. It gripped his throat in a vice the had need not use. He could not breath. A pain gripped his heart as he choked then and there. He closed his eyes, unable to look, to endure.

When his breathing returned normal, when the hand no longer pressed its clawed fingers into his throat, his eyes opened. All the ice was gone. Now he stood atop water. Pools of spring water. Clear and leading to depths far below. Coral and fish swam along its depths. Life teemed even where it should not. Deer and moose walked along its bottom, even walking along the underside of the surface of the water. It was light. Everything felt so light.

His eyes cast up and saw a tree through narrowed eyelids as the sunlight struck his face from no discernable source. Someone was sitting there. He began to take a step forward. Then another. And another. Each footstep fell lower and lower, sinking into the water like mud. Like clay before it became harder and harder like brick. His entire body drowned as everything else simply swam around his form, patterned and looping clockwise and counter-clockwise. Before he felt out from the bottom.

On his knees as nothing but fire and death rained down around him. Large comets of fire simply striking at the ground, striking friend and foe alike. Only contrasted by the dark skies and storming rains. Soren simply looked up before a blade clashed against his face. A cut that tore into his lip and cheek. A grunt followed before he fell. And fell. And fell. Deeper until landing amongst the piles of bodies. His arms slowly pushed himself up. The faces blurred and warped. All the names and faces. He could not recall any of them.

Before they all became his face. His eyes staring back into him. Dead. Lifeless. Gone.

Incomplete.

You've had all this time. Wasted. So many lifetimes in one little spirit.

Soren found himself atop the roots of the tree. Every root spreading into the waters, into the life down below. His eyes looked up. All he could see was her. Reading a book and sitting atop the lap of the figure. The giant. The giant and the druid. Sitting together and simply reading before the book closed and they looked at him. Eyes blank, lacking irises or any color. Dead. Ghoulish. Gone.

Incomplete. Life taken too soon. Taken by him, whether he knew it or not.

"They will mourn me. Will they mourn you. You have lived too long," the giant spoke. Brandon. Whispers of life and death came from his voice. A change in his usual energy and force of character from before. Or Soren would guess. He wouldn't know, would he? He carved the man into two, speaking no words while the fellow giant spoke a few.

"You believe death will be your just punishment, Soren of the Jotunn," the druid spoke. Poppy. The two were friends, "For you are lost. No people. No land. No one."

Soren raised himself up. Tried to raise himself up more accurately. His leg failed him, leaning on one. His arms clawing to raise him slowly, like climbing through sickening tar. His breath caught in his chest and he could not speak. Short gasps fell through him. His entire body shook with pain. His heart beating wildly in his chest and his ears before slowing into a monotonous tone.

"You thought you'd fine purpose? Comrades? In this life?" Brandon spoke. His gaze never wavering and tone never changing. But it felt so much like thousands of eyes looked upon his with disappointment. Like his father looking upon him with that almost . . . sad disappointment. His family. All of them. Looking at him. He had not written a letter to them in so long. They'd never know how his story ended.

That was important in these lands, right? Almost like his own. Not knowing the ending to a story was one of the greatest secrets pains.

Poppy followed, echoing the giant's words, "You think you make something when you are surrounded by killers? Murderers? Thieves and liars?"

Flashes of memory. Brandon's torn body. Thrown at Poppy. Out of need. Necessity. His eyes angrily rose to meet theirs. He did what needed to be done. To keep Juniper alive. To keep everyone alive. Alive and moving forward. It needed to be done.

"You have become that which you surround yourself. No better. You have become death. And there will be no peace for it."

His heart stopped. Cold. The cold spreading across his body and burning like a fire dancing upon his skin. The heat, the sudden stopping of everything. His body fell upon the surface. His eyes stuck and unable to move away from the visages of the dead. Before slowly closing. Everything felt raw. Unfinished. Nothing but whispers and pain and hate burned and etched their marks across his body. He did not expect forgiveness. He asked not of it. Death could have him. He lived long enough.

All that time wasted. He should have stayed home. He should have gone home.

Never see home again.
Perhaps the others could feel it, even from the distance or how they pressed forward ahead of Emryk as he carried Soren's body. Feel the flame begin to flicker out until it was gone. Snuffed. Simply dashed away as there was simply no more left to burn. Nothing at all. Like a candle with no more wick or wax to give.

Emryk may have felt it too, through his reptilian senses. Or perhaps it would simple enough to feel how Soren's entire body relaxed too much upon his shoulders or how there was no more breath to be drawn into his lungs.

His heart simply ceased to beat anymore. Death had caught up to him at last.
 
ILLIRICA

There he was: the captain of the vessel. A visit would have been incomplete without seeing him, after all - Sinéad would have been horribly disappointed. More likely to survive, perhaps, and more likely to be in the same number of pieces she'd started with, but certainly disappointed. He was courteous, in the manner of someone who knew that they held all the power and could afford to be so. All of the time here was his, after all, and every moment was merely entertainment for him.

Well and good - let it be entertainment for them both.

"What an honor. Planning to get out the bone china?" If she could keep him talking, that might give Nessa the time she needed to get that map and leave. Sinéad leaned down, not to bow, but to pick up another book off the floor, one among many. "Ah, 'The Chamberlain's Changeling Concubine' - truly, King, you are a connoisseur of fine works."

In all likelihood, it was something he'd picked up off of the taxation pile in Fen Manor, something that had been slipped in as a tax portion by someone who hadn't looked too closely or thought it good enough for a jest. Sinéad flipped it open, her thumb flipping through a few pages. "'O good milord, pray let me tell you a secret from my time in the terrible slums. Do you know that those men who employ the largest of guards often have the smallest of-'" Her eyes looked up, to King, then between his two giant flesh monstrosities.

"Ah, perhaps we should read a different book. Unless you think there's something to it?"
 
ILLIRICA

Hester wasn't doing well at all. Pris knew the symptoms: Hester was moving her bone-things around and overdoing it. Maybe some day when she was as good at all this as Hester was, she could help, but she really only had Lady Fingers, and half the time Lady Fingers didn't listen anyway.

She tried to make Hester as comfortable as possible, unsure about what to do with the help them load instruction. That was a little less like helping Hester and a little more like helping the other people, and Mr. King wasn't going to like that at all.

Of course, the others were pretty insistent about being helped. Mr. King got like that sometimes, too. Pris was trying to figure out her next step when there was a hint of movement and she realized that Mr. King was right there, along with two of his constructs - the big ones, too, Pris had never managed to do something that big on her own.

She started forward out of habit, but Lady Fingers moved between her and the rest of them, pressing her back against the wall beside Hester. Pris frowned - Lady Fingers just wasn't listening again, and she didn't know how to fix that. She'd meant to ask Hester, but there just hadn't been time.

"You're supposed to do what I say," she whispered irritably. Lady Fingers didn't seem impressed, the construct just dropped to the floor, picked up a jeweled ring, slipped it over the bone of the index finger, and moved back in front of Pris, tracing lines in the air.


Pris sighed, and lacking something better to do, echoed the lines with her own fingertip. The lines stayed in the air, glyphs and sigils of some sort. She had no idea what they were supposed to do, but it certainly wasn't getting Lady Fingers to listen.

"I knew I needed to fix that phalange..."
 
GHOSTLY

Ciarán's plan had worked, and an almost proud look crossed his face as Caleb landed a successful slash on the ogre. Even the smallest victories still deserved to be recognized. If even for a moment, he looked at Caleb with some modicum of admiration for his quick thinking. Ciarán would take this moment to make a vital stab or slash with his sabre, whichever he could manage with the opening he had. Before he could determine a best strike, he heard a heavy thud against the floor and shifted his eyes over at Sliocht.

He hadn't seen the whip on his throat, but now he was on his knees. Ciarán's feet wanted to rush to his friend's side and help him, he couldn't breathe. Emer had saved Torrel, Sliocht's wounds couldn't be nearly as bad right.

Sliocht slumped forward, then straightened himself and took a shaky breath. The tough old bastard.

Ciarán's attention came back to the ogre and Caleb. Sliocht would live for now, but not if their enemies were still standing. He rushed towards the ogre as it swung for Caleb and jabbed forward with his sabre, trying to land a deep blow under his arm if he could land it
 
REYN

More noise. More company. Such was often the case; that whore of a captain had made more enemies than lovers, and ran through them all just the same. Mal was just glad they only had to clean up one type of aftermath, glorified janitor that they were.

This one- oh, dear. They had already got to this one, it seemed. Armless and harmless. Useless. Mal stifled a sigh. It seemed the resident pacifists were in need of some intervention.

A silent figure drifted through the shadows of the lower deck, practiced in its swiftness. An arm was raised, needlepoint fingers attacking itself unseen- an entry-wound. A stitch. Then, in a flash of lilac, a needle was brought down, seeking its mark in the creature's upper back; a faerie-spun puppet string trailing behind.
 
QUIRBLES

As he moved up the last flight of stairs to his compatriots, the body of Soren stirred-- and then relaxed, a breath passing along Emryk's ear. A moment later, there was only silence.

"No," He muttered, looking up at the ceiling as he pushed up the last step. He paused in his step, listening for any further breath, any rise and fall upon his back as he teetered upon the stoop, eyes closed. "Please. Hold on." But there was no cold that brushed along his form; only the stillness and chill of a corpse, not a jotunn. He was dead, wasn't he? Or dying. First the girl, and now the giant. His gaze fell from the ceiling to Juniper and Leo, distant as they were, and his stare lingered upon them for a good long second.

No more.

His gaze was cast in shadow, eyes relegated to the abyss of smoke that climbed the stairwell. Flames licked at his form as he stepped up to the floor, breaking free from the fire and dancing amber tones upon his scales. No more. There was still time. Soren could be saved. He would be saved.

"BOY." His voice boomed, tone a low rasp that could almost be mistaken for the creak of the boards beneath his boots. It carried smoke in its tone, and burned clearer than any flame at their backs. "Go above decks. Scout. Find anyone... who will help. A lifeboat, a turncoat. Find someone. J-June--" His gaze fell upon the girl next, name shorter in his strained voice. Words were too much, now. Only actions. "-- the other ship-- are they here for you? Go with the boy. Find them. If they are not, find a lifeboat." Emryk had already crested the steps towards the upper floor, gritting his teeth as he went up one step, then another. Too slow. Too damn SLOW--

"-- and do not WAIT FOR ME. REPEAT IT BACK TO ME, SO THAT YOU UNDERSTAND." He grunted out, voice breaking into a roar as he began to push himself up the steps, one by one, at a faster pace. His tone, jarring as it was, was not directed at them. When he reached the top of the flight, he stepped forward, leaned, and then began to run-- more a brisk jog, at his rate, but it was faster nonetheless. His footsteps rang out along the deck like thunderclaps, boards creaking under the combined weight of the two men; whether the two had pushed past him or remained, his voice would ring out all the same.

"GO! SOREN IS DEAD-- DO NOT FALTER..." Then, quieter, a whisper fell from his snout, solemn and pained. "... lest we join him... in oblivion." A momentary squat, to push the man's weight further up along his back. His arms tightened like vices along the giant's form, and he set off once more, leaning one shoulder down as he tore through the ship with thundering footfalls. Those who saw him would do well to get out of his way, for he would not stop. Not for anyone. Not until the body was saved. Not until Soren was alive.

One step after another. Crates were barreled through, obstacles shunted aside. As he jogged, he did not speak-- only panted, drawing deep billows of air into his lungs to hiss out from his nostrils. Would he die, carrying this man? Would it kill him to save Soren's life? Perhaps. Was it a fool's gambit? Surely. But he would not give up. He would not show pain, he would not show weakness. Defiance guided every step across the ship, his pace slowly hastening as his momentum began to turn him into a barreling object of unstoppable force. Only then did his voice creep out, pressed betwixt the ragged heaving of his chest.

"H-heart... loam. Hands... stone."

He would not rest until he reached the decks. Slowly, his eyes watered with tears-- of pain, of strain, or perhaps of dolor, he did not know. Perhaps it was because he could see the slivers of light creeping through the decks, the evening sun setting upon the horizon. Perhaps it was because freedom was so within reach, at the cost of so much. Perhaps it was the agony that wracked his form, the stress of carrying the weight of the lost so exhausting that he could do little else but weep. But he did not weep. He did not cry.

Emryk Vakaan pushed, because it was the only thing for him to do.
 
DELFI

Helen seemed to have hit a nerve. The fairy rushed over her with a series of offensive attacks that the necromancer was able to deflect, albeit, not without difficulty. One hit managed to slash through her thigh and Helen let out a cry - or was it a moan? Before getting hit once again, falling against the corner of the room.

***


Snot was distracted with the little bug by his feet, and didn’t see Ciarán’s strike coming. The Fir Bolg managed to slice his saber across his rib cage, and in a fit of pain the ogre let out a roar, swinging his staff forward and releasing another - more powerful - wave.

***

The energy emanating from the ogre mage’s weapon sent Caleb flying once again, but this time it didn’t affect just him and Ciarán but everything in the room, including the table and the chairs, that were pushed back and crashed against the wall.

At floor level, Caleb’s elbow grated on the uneven wood and he hit his head as well as his upper back against the wall in the back of the room, but that would be the least of his concerns for a dark spot appeared on his shirt, slowly growing bigger. Who'd had the brilliant idea of invading a ship when they’d just gotten out of a fight anyway?
 
FANG

”… Juniper.”

Leo nodded at the witch’s answer and straightened, lifting Juniper by the elbow gently as he did so. They were still sobbing, still broken by the loss of their friend. Leo could do nothing but place his hand upon their shoulder.

”…Go help Emryk… He needs… Someone.” Broken words from a broken heart, but Leo nodded again and patted Juniper’s curly hair twice. He leaned around to face them, his nose inches from theirs for a moment, making sure their tear blurred eyes were locked upon his golden ones before he spoke.

“Juniper is Juniper. Juniper is not the flame. The flame does not want you. Do not let the fires take you or your friend.” He blinked slowly, glancing downward before returning his gaze to theirs. “If the flames want to feed Leo will handle it. Juniper has done more than enough for them.” It was little comfort, he knew, but the best he could offer them in the moment.

Leo stepped past Juniper, back toward the stairs that led to their burning prison as he gave them a small push with two fingers to their back. “Go, I will catch you with-“

His words were interrupted by a roar of smoke laden hoarseness that carried in the moment of silence like another cannon.

”BOY.” Emryk called, his heavy footfalls announcement enough without the help of his voice. Leo spotted his hulking, burdened frame as it pulled free of the flaming depth of the brig below. Smoke billowed after the lizard as he continued to shout, "Go above decks. Scout. Find anyone... who will help. A lifeboat, a turncoat. Find someone. J-June--"

Leo stepped into pace next to him as the man struggled with Soren’s body on his shoulders. He reached out tentatively, thinking to help Emryk shoulder the giant in some way as he continued trudging. "-- the other ship-- are they here for you? Go with the boy. Find them. If they are not, find a lifeboat." Leo lowered his hand and looked ahead to Juniper. Another ship, for them?

The darkness of the room after the brilliance of the fire below, the weight of Emryk’s burden and perhaps the exhaustion from his captivity seemed to have narrowed Emryk’s focus to a pinpoint, a single foot in front of the other, each step a touch slower than the last. Leo stalked silently next to him, his footfalls lost among the scaled man’s own.

"-- and do not WAIT FOR ME. REPEAT IT BACK TO ME, SO THAT YOU UNDERSTAND." They cleared the last few stairs, agonizingly slow reaching the room with strange circles and flickering candles gasping their last dance upon their wicks. Leo’s head shook and he opened his mouth to speak, to make his presence known to the determined man, but again Emryk spoke, voice tight with some emotion Leo could not quite place.

"GO! SOREN IS DEAD-- DO NOT FALTER..." Leo glanced to Soren, the way his limp arms flopped against Emryk’s side, the lack of movement so bare when Leo had left him in the cell a sign of the truth to Emryk’s words. Leo pushed his guilt away, that feeling that he had not done enough bringing weight to his heart equal to that borne by Emryk’s shoulders. "... lest we join him... in oblivion." A whisper Leo barely caught from the lizards tongue.

Finally Leo spoke as he unwrapped the chain still looped about his right arm. In his fiery rage it had been forgotten, but now it seemed the most important thing he possessed.

“No,” Leo said firmly, responding to all of the orders barked with the single word. He stepped in front of Emryk, forcing that narrowed gaze to see him as he matched Emryk’s pace with a backward stride. “Juniper carries their friend Poppy. You carry our friend Soren. None will be left behind.” His eyes were fierce, determined to match the steeled gaze of the larger man in force of will. Emryk’s pace had quickened to the fastest he could manage, and backwards Leo could barely match. He turned around again, jogging lightly at Emryk’s side as he lifted the chain to Emryk’s shoulder.

“Situate your burden properly with this while I look for escape. Help Juniper arrange theirs as well. When your movement is less exhausting we should move together.” Leo wasn’t generally one for giving commands, so the words sounded half question as they fell from his lips. “We will join our friends when the flame calls, but that is not this day. Together three are much more than one.” He ran ahead, not waiting for Emryk’s reply as the man pushed past barrels and broke through crates.

When Leo fell to Juniper’s side he smiled at them, an attempt to inspire confidence made horrific by the blood still coating his lips. “Friends,” he said simply as he ran past bounding up the stairs and into a hallway of doors. Leo paused a moment to look around, relieved to find himself alone. In a half crouch he darted, ignoring each door in favor of the end of the hallway, assuming the exit would not be behind the barred gateways on either side. As he neared the end he slowed, carefully placing his steps as he peered around the corner of the opening into a larger room beyond.

A long low table sat in the room’s center, flanked by cushioned benches and crowned with a flamboyant red throne the color of blood. At the far end of the room the clash of battle and blade rang out, drawing Leo’s attention from the spectacle of the dining hall and to the conflict at its farthest entrance, just beyond the stairs leading above. A large green man hefted a staff that sent table and chairs flying across the room while another large man and a small fairy battled it. Yet another large man lay prone, and near him two women dueled against one another, enraptured. Leo cursed silently, borrowing the word from one of Sylvael’s more heated rants. Keeping his silence he turned, darting back down the hallway to meet with his friends and inform them of the trouble ahead.
 
DELFI

Bite it. Chew it. Kill it.

The undead’s jaw moved relentlessly, trying to reach the golem. It kept leaning forward, letting out a shriek of frustration for not being able to succeed and after a moment it realized something was poking its upper back. The creature attempted to release its face from Fionn’s grasp, twisting to attempt to bite the person stitching themselves to him.


***
Naveen didn’t move in a hurry, in his mind, there was nothing to worry about. He could see Hester and Pris at the end of the hall and a smile made its way to his lips. The necromancer was wounded, and without her constructs she didn’t stand a chance on him. His nails grew into ice made claws, and his confidence blinded him to the point he didn’t notice the beast approaching his back.
 
SHODDYPRODUCT

Juniper only just barely heard Leo's words of encouragement, and mulled them over amidst the other relentless thoughts in their mind. How could their fire be separate from them, when it had always been there? This wasn't the first time this had happened, and they feared it wouldn't be the last either. Despite this, however, something in the way he spoke gave them a small amount of comfort, knowing he somewhat understood what was happening. After all, they had felt it in him, too, through Poppy. They hoped Poppy hadn't noticed.

Before they could say anything, and before Leo could go, Emryk escaped the brig, with horrible news to bear. Soren was dead, another soul lost to this infernal ship. They would miss Soren, despite having never spoken to him much, and his cooking as well. The Nox would feel emptier without him around, though they would have to find their way back before that loneliness could set in properly anyways.

Emryk sent Leo ahead, to search for anything to help them make their escape, and asked for Juniper to do the same. A goal was exactly what they needed, and wordlessly, despite their sorrow, they stood and began walking once more, heading for the way out. Ahead, as the changeling adjusted their grip on Poppy's frame, they saw Leo turn and begin to head back towards them, just as Emryk's longer stride caught him up to them. They didn't speak, instead looking down the hallway past him, trying to see what he had seen.

They could have sworn, in that moment, that they saw a flash of a very familiar, bright orange.
 
THIMBLE

In a state orphanage many years back, a young Sliocht had found himself on the wrong end of Sister Maribell's cane. He had let slip some unpleasant vocabulary regarding the day's cuisine, and she had taken offence. Sliocht hadn't been able to walk right for days after, and henceforth kept his culinary criticisms out of earshot.

Sister Mirabelle would have been like as not to kill him, if she could have heard him now. Sliocht wheezed out several very creative expletives regarding the necromancer's parentage, clothing, and affinity for bones.

"*wheeze* and your mother, too..."

He doubled over, hacking phlegm and blood out of the pipe stuck in his throat.

"...whole fist all the way *cough*"

Sliocht managed to steady himself, hefting his blade with one free hand. Slick blood pooled down the other arm, from the sharp point where his hand was still held fast by the whip. He limped forwards, wet spittle flowing from his open throat alongside a stream of angry curses.

"...with a face like a smacked arse, too."
 
FANG

Leo came upon Emryk and Juniper as their funeral marches connected, relieved to see the two together despite their differing paces. Emryk was still plodding along like a bull, scaled snout a mask of fierce determination. Juniper seemed a bit more aware, perhaps goaded to sense by the eld lizard in Leo’s absence. His frantic pace slowed to once again match Emryk’s as he turned to walk briskly next to him.

“There’s a room up ahead, very nice. There’s a throne and tables and a lot of spoons.” He placed a finger to his chin for a moment. The spoons clearly weren’t important. “There’s also some people. Two of them were in robes like the Rat-Swinger and Serpent, four others without robes were fighting with them.” The hallway seemed shorter now as they walked.

He waited for response, giving in to the de facto leadership that Emryk had taken upon himself. A soft voice whispered like a dying candle’s flame, driving Leo to run ahead and engage in the fight, to feed the flame with more robed enemies. He ignored the whispers and stayed in step with Emryk. As the only one without a body to carry Leo felt it was his duty to fight on his first companions’ behalf.
 
GOLDEN

Alys had never felt so much satisfaction from blood spilt by her hand, even if it was just a flesh wound. She watched as the woman fell back; in pain or aroused, that much was unclear. Regardless, the faerie approached steadily, ready - no eager to finish the job, when suddenly, she was sent flying and not on her own accord. The blast had her suspended in the air, her wings tucking in tightly behind her back to prevent them from being unnaturally bent, or worse. She landed on her side, her shoulder and hip colliding with the floor, sending shockwaves of pain through the left side of her body. Due to her wrist injury, Alys was forced to use her right elbow to help lift herself off the ground, managing to pull her weight to one knee. She closed her eyes for a second or two; using this time to catch her breath and force herself to fight the pain.

When her eyes opened, she realized that she was on the opposite side of the room now, closer to Sliocht than her opponent. A part of her wanted to surge forward and hack away, but hell, Sliocht was very clearly still alive and struggling to breathe. Hoping that the woman was disorientated, or at least distracted enough to weaken the control of her weapon, Alys began to move toward the barber. She knelt beside him, quickly noticing the increase in blood flow as well as the angry sounds of wet wheezing... gods, what the hell was sticking out of his throat?

"Hey, listen to me - I'm going to try to help," she told him, her voice somewhat raspy after last using it to proclaim her pain. She figured it would be safer to announce herself, as her own bloodied hands shot out to the contraption around his neck. It was slick with blood now, acting as a natural lubricant, which made it easier for her to slip her thin fingers beneath the bone. Her fingernails dug into the material, desperately trying to get a good grip in order to pull at least two vertebrae apart. For a second she thought the grip had loosened, but it could've very well just been the wet sensation of blood and phlegm and spittle.

Two days in a row now, she was bent over one of their own, attempting to save a life.
 
HIGHVOLTAGE

There, his prey was there. A preening thing, fingers encased in sharpened ice, looking to attack his Captain, his fledgeling. Lucien wouldn’t give that prettyboy the satisfaction. A target with their back to the hunter was as good as dead. He charged forward, a low growl ripping through him as he pounced, his momentum driving his rapier through Naveen’s back, burying itself up to the hilt. Lucien didn’t stop, slamming into the bastard vampire, sending them both to the floor. Lucien didn’t bother with the rapier, using his claws, his teeth, biting, ripping, tearing at the target beneath him in a frenzied rage.

If animals relied on instinct, Naveen would face a fucking monster.
 
UMBRASIGHT

There were times you just hated to be right, and finding King waiting for them in the treasure room was certainly one of those times. Nessa pressed her back against the wall, hoping she was quick enough to have kept her presence hidden. She clutched the hilt of her dagger tight as she tried to decide on her next move. Only one door, so if she wanted to enter, that’d be how she’d need to go in. She had her robes, but would those survive full scrutiny? She had hoped to use them from a distance, not for something this brazen.

She could stand outside the door and wait and see if King would walk his way around the room, but what sort of plan was that? No, she could hear Sinéad drawing King’s attention away from the door.

Nessa released a breath, and she let her shoulders relax. She reached up and pulled the hood of the robe over her head and allowed her posture to slip forward as she returned her dagger to its sheath. Nothing worth worrying about, she had her job and her target was there, so she became the dormouse. A silent little thing that huddled itself against notice because that is how it had always been. Nessa stepped away from the wall and appeared in the doorway, where she allowed uncertainty to still her step as if she didn’t know if she was allowed to enter, before she slid silently into the room.

She offered no voice, no opinion for who aboard this ship would care to ask for it. She scarcely paid heed to the stitchwork monstrosities, because that was what this ship was, so why would she look twice? Perhaps King’s attention would be too busy with Sinéad for him to recognize her as an imposter, perhaps he would feel so assured in his own ownership of this moment and space that he would let her play out her ruse just for the amusement of it. Both would be fine, really, as they both would grant her another step closer, and she was more than willing to take whatever was given to her.
 
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