To Caleb, if someone didn't want to compete that meant they recognized their inability to beat him, and that's what he'd gathered from Alys' reaction. He chose not to continue the bickering as she was right in one thing: they had shit to do, and after Juniper's fireball and the incentive from Sinead, they'd better take the loot to the ship before the town turned to ashes. It didn't mean he wouldn't keep the smug smirk on his face as he shot a few other guards on his way to the stockpile.
It seemed as though their defenses had already been killed off or were already being dealt with, and not a single drop had fallen from the sky yet. He picked up one of the heavier boxes, deciding on taking it up to the ship before reinforcements arrived, even though he doubted it'd change the outcome of things. They'd just get more people killed, which was just stupid, and a waste of time and ammunition.
"Watch my back, will ya? Can't fight with both hands busy." He asked Alys, floating towards where the rest of the crew were.
Fighting was a lot like dancing. Balance, flexibility, precise movements; and after years of practice, Alys had grown confident in those abilities. Her movements were fluid and calculated as she slashed and parried towards the gleaming bounty. Soon enough, her concentration would shift away from incoming guards, and towards the navigation of headless bodies and pools of crimson. But by the time she reached the pile, her boots would inevitably be layered with red grime.
Her free hand grabbed a small sack of coins, which she hastily stuffed into the pocket of her coat. Before she could grab another, Caleb did something completely out of character; two things actually. Ask for help, and admit he couldn't do something. Alys smiled to herself, but gave him a curt nod. The cutlass was swapped for a pistol, whereas a smaller box was quickly tucked beneath her free arm. She lifted off, drifting slightly higher than Caleb to ensure an adequate vantage point.
Encouragement was likely the last thing they needed, and as such, it was exactly what the captain provided. Between Lucien, the captain's previous threat, her emotions teetering dangerously on the edge of control, and the snowballing sensation of power, creating a hallway of flame using the nearby homes and businesses as kindling wouldn't be all that difficult. In fact, it would be therapeutic for Juniper, a release of energy badly needed. Goddess knows she wouldn't be venting to any of her crewmates anytime soon, after all, and setting fire to their singular means of transportation would not be wise.
Her left hand, the one that had lobbed the fireball, was still alight, small flames dancing harmlessly across their skin, reds and yellows flickering, feeding on the air and the magic as fuel. Setting their jaw and gritting her teeth, the changeling shoved her staff to the ground, leaving it standing erect next to her as fire jumped to life on the other arm as well.
"Telling me what to do... Fucker, I'll show you- everyone just who they're dealing with." With a utterance under their breath, hardly more than a whisper, she stoked the flames, building them to a fever pitch, to match the turmoil she felt currently.
'Why are you even working with them? They do this all the time, you know that. They won't change either. So why, Juniper, why sail with the Hard Nox?' The rational part of her brain made a good point, but it was soon drowned out by the image of the poor girls face, just before and after the gunshot. She was young. She deserved a life. And it was gone. So too would more be lost.
With a scream of frustration, they let the flames free, orange-yellow light spilling from her outstretched arms to the buildings nearby. They caught quickly, and spread as well, down towards the manor and back behind her, forming the requested hallway. The sorceress could feel the strain in her arms and chest, and soon dropped the gout of flames, extinguishing herself, and through grit teeth and tears of anger and frustration welling in their eyes, they spoke, curtly and directly, to the two near her. "Lets get this over with."
She snatched her staff from its freestanding position, and walked towards the stockpile.
The job was going well, so far. The worst of the splinters were sanded down, and the breach was ready to receive its repairs. Fionn simply needed to measure and cut out a few replacement planks, but was interrupted by a shout and the cracking of breaking wood. Was it the shipmaster? The shouting and swearing certainly indicated so. Fionn quickly put away his file and tried to placate them. "Pray do not misunderstand, I merely--" He was seized by a surprisingly strong grip, and he could just barely secure his tools before being dragged away. It would be best if he complied, for now, even if the suggestion of a bonesaw was troubling. He stumbled behind the shipmaster, trying to keep up as he was dragged. "T'was not mine intent to vandalize, I assure thee!"
Emer's ears twitched. Despite their size, she couldn't hear better than a human, and in recent years even that had started to become a stretch. Too much time around shouting and gunfire, she supposed. Still, after a bit of straining, she heard it.
A gentle sound, but a loud one, something rubbing on the side of the ship.
Mal took off before Emer had a chance to respond, and - tea still in hand and feeling very put-upon - a flustered Emer followed after.
"Mal, wait -"
No use. The hodgepodge caretaker was climbing up and out, moving to confront the intruder in the act. An intruder that, as Emer paused a few feet away, looked quite odd. A smooth face, wide eyes, and a flat nose, if it could even be called a nose at all. Certainly inhuman, but also certainly something Emer had never encountered before.
Mal didn't care about that, of course. They only cared about whatever had been done to the ship. Grabbing the creature, they set upon them, while the other desperately tried to explain its innocence.
Emer stepped in, forcing herself been them, placing one hand on Mal's chest and the other in front of the newcomer.
"Mal, please," she chastised, not harshly in the slightest, simply stating her words to be heard. "Don't fry your eggs before they're laid, hm? There will be no use for a bonesaw, there's bloodshed here enough."
Her eyes shifted to the intruder, curious - if a little cautious.
"What were you doing here? This is a dangerous place to be, child. There are monsters about."
The captain shouted, adding a weight to Lucien’s threat and scolding that the two could not argue with. Not for a lack of want, however. Juniper called into question his use of the term ‘prey’, to which Lucien flashed his fangs in an expression that was halfway between a smirk and a grimace. Any other argument they had died in their throat. The oaf spoke, a miracle in and of itself, ordering them to capture one of the guards sent for reinforcements. While it was not a bad plan, Lucien loathed the idea of being ordered around by a meager cook.
Fortunately, he was saved from that dilemma by the pyromancer taking their role a bit too eagerly, incinerating the man and leaving naught but a charred corpse. At the very least he would not be sending for aid anytime soon. Caleb and Alys swooped in, and Lucien raised a bloody hand in greeting.
“Delighted you could finally join us, quartermaster,” Lucien remarked, watching the two begin to take loot from the pile. “ Glad to see the fighting has died down enough so you can descend from your perch.” The captain shouted once more, encouraging Juniper, who took to it eagerly. A scream tore from their throat, flames pouring from their outstretched arms, coating the nearby buildings in shades of flickering orange and yellow. Lucien laughed darkly. “We may make a beast of you yet, sorcerer. I trust you and the oaf can handle the loot.”
With that, Lucien surged forward, away from the loot pile, seeking the last dregs of defense the city had set up. The battlefield was bathed in dancing firelight, the heat rising as Lucien continued his dance of death. His rapier danced out, stabbing here and there, leaving wounds that wept red, lashing out with his free hand to tear them wider, bits of flesh and blood clinging underneath his nails. Some even surrendered, thinking he would let them live. For those he merely sank his fangs into them, a greedy draught of blood pulled before pushing them to the ground.
This stranger was heavy, Mal noted- a struggle even for them to drag. His skin, as well—if you could even call it that—was notably cold, like grasping at the arm of a statue, albeit one with some give. Perhaps the bonesaw wouldn't be needed. Perhaps all Mal needed to get was a chisel.
Of course, Emer stepped in before any of that could manifest.
"Your naïveté has vexed me for the last time, Emer." They growled, "Look- he brought tools with him. This isn't a case of a lost child; he knows what he's doing- don't you, eh?"
Mal shot a glare at the stranger before returning their gaze to Emer.
"We're taking him inside." They stated firmly, "You can ask your questions only when I'm within sculpting distance."
They pushed past Emer to grab the stranger again- and, if successful, would continue pulling him into the ship, muttering under their breath.
"Oooh, there are monsters about- there are monsters about, alright. I'll show you bloody... bloody monsters about..."
She landed on the top of the wall at a crouch, with no other missile having found its way into her flesh. Which was, in her position in any case, a good outcome. Did the guard who took his opportunity spread the word to others? If the raid was going how she expected it was, the man likely died not long after he took that shot. A waste of good effort and energy, that, sometimes your lift is better spent running. Still, it didn’t matter none, she was where she wanted to be.
Nessa slipped down over the edge, with another impact she could feel in her knees as she hit the ground. She glanced the way of the guardsmen, but they seemed more preoccupied with the fight going on outside the gates than they were watching the walls. Still, no reason to keep out in the open where she could be spotted, so keeping low Nessa slid around the backside of what she assumed to be some form of smithy, before picking her way forward to the building she had seen with the garden from her perch up in the tree.
She crept forward, weight on the balls of her feet and practically soundless save for the gentle swish of cloth. She didn’t bother with the door as she circled her way around the building, the window on the side would serve her needs well enough, and was harder to jam a chair under. She peered inside the building, as she drew a thin blade. Movement, but none looking her way. With a well practiced hand Nessa slid the blade between the window and the still, moving it carefully until she felt the latch ’click’. No time to grease anything to make it open quietly.
In one smooth movement Nessa pushed the window open, before grabbing the bottom of the sill and pulling herself through. She dropped down to the floor of the apothecary, her blade raised and amber eyes scanning.
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
The lord had sent the best on his personal guard to battle. Mercenaries who earned a high amount to keep him safe, and were now in charge of keeping his belongings from being taken by filthy pirates.
The air smelled of smoke when the group made their way down the manor, led by a dark haired man covered in a purple cloak. Crow was his name, and a smile crept onto his lips as he got to the townsquare, past the corridor of flames.
From a quick glance at the group, he could easily tell who was in charge.
"Leave the captain to me," he told the others. "You can take care of the rest." With a hand resting on his sword's handle he calmly walked forward, locking eyes with the woman with blonde hair.
***
From afar, Brandon was certainly the easiest to spot. A 9 feet tall giant covered in heavy metal armor pointed at the largest target from the bunch - a man who'd already been pierced through by a number of arrows.
"YOU." He grunted. The ginger giant certainly wasn't the brightest, but was great at smashing things. He screamed while running towards Soren, fist ready for the encounter.
***
To say Poppy was mad would be an understatement. The female satyr was a fierce fighter but a gardener first, and to see everything in flames was enough to put her on edge; in fact, she was furious. She waited behind as Crow and Brandon walked past her, searching for the culprit of all that mayhem. Then she saw her.
Poppy clutched her fingers, feeling the roots under the ground beneath her feet. She could feel it as it moved towards Juniper, breaking through the cobblestones and attempting to wrap itself around the changeling's limbs.
***
Further from the rest of the Elite Guard of Fen Manor, Beck prepared her bow for an avalanche of arrows. She shot three at the pirates rushing towards the stockpile, led by a handsome man without an arm. She'd deal with Ciarán later, after putting all his men to permanent sleep.
He had not been in a fight in a long time. There had been fights at home, but those were troll fights. Troll fights were different. Sometimes you had to pound your words into someones. These other races did not understand the words even if he pounded them in. They had other words, made of strange sounds. The way a word was formed made it mean something else.
Troll words were not like that. Troll speech was a rhythmic thing. It did not matter what the sounds were, it only mattered when they were. They spoke with their feet as often as anything else, great stomping debates. They spoke with their hands put together in thundering conversation. Sometimes they sang their any-shaped words across the mountains.
He had a name, in the speech of trolls, but the ones here did not know much of the speech of trolls, and when he had come here he had not known much of the speech of others. Someone had greeted him the first day with "Watch where you're going, Mate!" and now that was his name here.
He did not mind. There were many things to see. Mate was not a mountain troll or a cave troll. He was a swamp troll, with great moss upon his back. His people cultivated small flowers and plants upon themselves. He had found many interesting plants here. A thistle blossomed behind his right ear, and he was growing a very respectable blackberry bramble on his left shoulder, with long thorny tendrils reaching down nearly to his knees. Some of the berries were beginning to turn red. He was quite proud of that.
But today there would be fighting, and fighting was not good for blackberries. He stopped at the side of the road and gently untangled the roots, digging a hole for them with a thick hand the size of a shovel and patting the dirt down once more before rising. He was twice the height of most of the people here, and must be careful where he put his feet.
A small fairy man was shooting people with a gun. Mate understood that guns were dangerous to most people. They did not do much against his thick troll hide, though they stung very fiercely. He had been shot once, but the person had apologized. "I'm sorry, Mate, I won't do it again!"
He wondered sometimes how they all knew his name even though they had never met.
Still, this man could not be allowed to shoot the other people. Mate would have to convince him otherwise. He bent down and picked up a large rock, a good size for his hands, and threw it at the little fairy man to introduce himself and open discussion.
For a moment, Alys had been alone. There were always moments like that, in a fight, where things went quiet. Sometimes it happened more often than others, especially if one tended to take to the skies. It wasn't unusual.
No, what was unusual was that suddenly she was not alone. Not in the manner of someone rushing up to fight her, but rather in the manner of there being no one and then there being some one - or, at least, something.
It began with a voice in her ear, a very cheerful "Hello!"
The word echoed, repeated, from all directions around her: "Hello!"
"Hello!
"Hello!"
Several somethings. Wherever she looked, she would see one - not much more than a bright smile, wreathed in darkness. They flitted around in the air, tiny little things - perhaps a dozen, perhaps half a dozen. It was almost impossible to count, as they seemed to move in and out depending on where she was looking. They didn't seem to attack, her, though - only laugh brightly, even as it seemed to grow darker around them.
"Hahaha!"
"Are you a friend?!"
"Come play with us!"
So, it had come to this, had it?
Torven Winmere gave a sigh, running a weathered hand over a beard that was more silver than black. These days, finding those specks that were still black took some effort. Not so with the hair on his head - that had left him many years ago, about the same time he'd given up the wandering life.
Fen Manor had been good to him, these years. He had a room of his own, meals when he wanted them, a little alcove for prayer and quiet contemplation. He'd been satisfied to hang his sword up on the mantle and leave his armor on the mannequin. He got them out every few months, to impress the children at the festivals.
Mostly, he prayed. Father Sky, above us all, look down on us kindly.
There were running footsteps in the manor corridor now, shouts of fire, of pirates. Nothing that Torven had not faced in a time long ago, but he had not thought to face it again. Still, a man knew when he was called upon. He bowed to the altar, taking the time for one more prayer, and donned his armor once more with the smell of incense wafting in the air.
He walked down calmly, while the young men and women rushed ahead. How many of them had he proudly told stories to? How many had he let hold his sheathed blade? How many would live to tell their own stories, after today? Some would certainly fall.
The battle came to them, with bloodshed aplenty. Much of it, from one alone - a mockery of a man, something twisted and foul, just as likely to sink his teeth into those poor children as his blade.
Torven did not rush in. He made his way towards the vampire with gravity and calm, his blade drawn and shining.
Soren simply watched as flames ignited around him from the corner of his eyes. Juniper. Lucien and Sinead had both riled their resident sorcerer enough to expend her reserves of magic. A foolish errand. While they may hold the advantage now with these flames, it would mean nothing in the long run if the battle changed course in less than their favor. While Soren found respect in the druids and wizards and all manner of magic folk, it was not an unlimited resource. A living body can only work to convert so much of that ethereum into an effect.
Soren began walking towards Juniper, moving slowly to watch for arrows or any other manner of enemy attack. And while he spotted several new combatants, they were not coming for him. Soren simply narrowed his eyes in thought. Had an adventuring party been hired or were these mercenaries? The difference did not matter much, but the former acted more like a team or unit while the latter acted as a bunch of individual units.
Guess which was easier to fight off.
Soren heard a thunderous voice yelling. He shifted his feet, turning slowly towards his combatant. A giant. Not one from Soren's lands, however, but Soren had no clue what this cousin's heritage could be. Instead, Soren put one foot front and another back before adjusting the blade in his hands before pulling his arms back and keeping the handle closer to his chest, but about eight inches away. His blade pointed forward as the giant charged straight at him. Nine foot tall giant, Soren might add. Bigger than himself but less skilled.
If this giant expected the two to box or duel honorably, he should have said something. This was a battlefield, and honor most definitely got one killed, even in private duels. Besides, he had Juniper to worry about, and last he checked someone of the druid sort was attacking her. Dividing his focus now or trying to run to Juniper's aid would get them both killed. He needed to end his bout quick before rushing to her.
Soren waited until his giant opponent closed the gap himself and instead of swinging, Soren thrusted his blade forward towards the ginger oaf's throat. No matter how large the giant's arms were, they couldn't be longer than Soren's arms and the length of the blade held within their grasp. Soren sought to sink the blade as deep into the man's throat as possible. If it worked, Soren would kick the dead giant's body off his blade.
If not, Soren could only brace for impact and ready himself for a close-quarters fight.
Last Edit: Feb 4, 2023 22:58:48 GMT by Paperbag Fill
While the box was heavier than he’d expected it to be, Caleb hid the fact the best he could. Pride was probably his worst of sins, though he indulged on the others as well once in a while.
He didn’t know what had happened while he was gone, but Juniper seemed furious - furious enough to burn the entire city down in seconds, bringing a chill down his spine. Caleb didn’t like fire, at all. He flew up higher to get away from the flames, but was called back down by Lucien’s disturbing voice.
“Delighted you could finally join us, quartermaster. Glad to see the fighting has died down enough so you can descend from your perch.” The fairy rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he hated more than being bossed around it was dealing with Sinéad’s condescending bitch. He noticed the vampire’s crimson lips and the small goblin’s body by his side. It made him nauseous.
“I see you’ve been busy as well. Did you help clear the area or was the child all you could handle?” He spat back, holding back from throwing that box on the vampire’s face. Perhaps he would’ve done it, if it hadn’t been for the giant rock thrown his way.
Despite being knocked down and losing the box that broke into pieces a few meters ahead, the Quartermaster of the High Nox considered himself lucky for managing to escape before the rock crushed him against the wall it crashed through.
“What the fuck?!” He looked up, trying to find where it came from.
Caleb had seen a troll before, but never a swamp troll. He couldn’t tell what it was but it looked disgusting, so he wouldn’t mind piercing a few holes through the creature. He pulled out the rifle that hanged from his shoulder and shot at it. Three shots should be enough.
***
The apothecary had heard the gunshots and explosions outside, and pushed every furniture he could to barricade the door. The window to his shop was small so he didn’t bother barricading it but he should have, he realized, when a teenage looking vampire crawled through it. The old man got to his knees.
“Please, don’t hurt me!” He cried. “You can have everything you want, just let me live, please! I beg you…”
***
Brandon saw his enemy raise his blades and when it got closer, he raised his arm to protect his throat.
The steel that covered most of Brandon’s body was his weapon in itself. Soren’s blades would’ve gotten stuck in between his spikes, and with a single pull, Brandon intended on disarming completely his opponent.
“YOU DIE!” The giant screamed and his terrible breath filled up Soren’s nostrils, that would be hit by a punch strong enough to deviate his septum.
It had all happened so quickly. Like the arrival of the crew, the calvary seemed to appear out of thin air, eager to defend what was left of the burning village. From below, Alys hadn't seen the extent of the damage. But now, from the air, it was certainly grim. Juniper's hungry flames ate away at buildings, sending billows of smoke into the air, filling her lungs and leaving behind a taste of ash and decay. Burning bodies writhed and eventually toppled over, their charred remains mixing sweetly with puddles of blood. Buildings and citizens gone, but not the pile of riches. The lord had sent the calvary to protect his wealth, not the people who supplied it. Of course, Alys couldn't preach about right and wrong, not anymore. But she still used the fact to support her future actions.
The roar of an angry giant filled the air, but it was the childish greeting in her ear that sent a chill up her spine. Her grip on the box and the pistol tightened instinctively and she whirled around towards the initial source. Arm extended, finger on the trigger, expecting to face a being with wings. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes met nothing more than a gleaming smile surrounded by darkness. She fired a shot amd watched in horror as the bullet flew at and through the being, as if it had never been fired. No bullet hole - nothing. Nothing but a wider smile.
Then another voice spoke, once again causing Alys to swirl, pistol extended in front of her. They appeared from thin air and slowly began to surround her. Wherever she looked, they were there, smiling and chanting. Her heart began to race as their darkness, combined with the smoke, began to disorient her. Soon she heard nothing but their voices, saw nothing but hazy darkness and smiles.
"Oh fuck," she whispered, desperately trying to remain calm as time passed. They hadn't attacked her yet, but whatever they wanted to play, whatever game it was, Alys couldn't wait any longer. She couldn't stay there, suspended in the air, waiting for their game to begin.
"Come on," she whispered. Nothing. Then a little louder, a little more aggressively, she repeated herself. "Come on, let's play." Alys shot upwards, hoping she'd pass through them like her bullet. She needed to get out of this darkness and get back to that goddamn ship.
With the town ablaze, it wasn't going to be long at all before someone arrived from the manor. Sinéad thought they had gotten a decent start on things - most of the defenders cleared out, at least - though with the brightly burning signal of their presence, they might not have as much time to move the stockpiles as she had hoped for. Caleb and Alys swooped in, returning from their scouting to start loading up sacks of riches to take back to the ship.
"Good work." The Captain's ire might have been quickly raised, but it didn't tend to last long - not where the crew was concerned, anyway. She'd put all of her ability to hold grudges into one specific grudge, and everything else seemed to pale in comparison.
Besides, a compliment now and then would keep Caleb questioning things, keep him just a little off balance. That would be good for him, if he thought he was going to be Captain... or good for her, if he hesitated. He wouldn't get anywhere, though, if he hesitated. That was one of the first things she had learned.
"See if you can-" Her next directive was stopped, as a large rock hurled through the air and took Caleb somewhat by surprise. A quick glance at the oncoming forces and she could tell that they weren't going to be moving the stockpiles right away, after all. One of the newcomers already had his eyes locked on her, his words making her his target.
Fine with her. Sinéad responded with a quickfire grin, something between a smile and a smirk - undaunted, amused. A lover's grin, almost: well, then, let's see it.
Her arm twitched, and loosed the crossbow bolt that Lucien had spared her from needing to use on the girl. A quick shot, not likely to be as precisely aimed as one of Alys' - Sinéad doubted she'd put the man's eyes out, but perhaps she could manage a hit, or a distraction. She was already moving after the bolt, head low, cutlass at the ready, hoping she could get in and strike low across his kneecaps before he had a chance to do whatever he was planning in retaliation.
The giant was not as completely amateur as Soren at first thought. That charge, as sloppy as it may have been, did little to indicate any actual fighting style or thought behind the giant's actions. All Soren knew now was the giant had some amount of thought in that head and he was down one blade. Soren felt the muscles in his finger and palm tug in one direction while struggling towards the opposite. Eventually, Soren lost the tug of war and caught a deep breath of the brute's breath. All that could be done is Soren bring his arms up.
It was just enough to force the brute's arms to glance off of Soren's own before striking him in the face. Soren able to turn his head downwards and force the punch to strike the side of his forehead. It was enough to send the Jotunn on the backfoot and stumble back a few steps. He felt the bruise and scape begin to ooze a little with blood. But a few steps is all Soren needed. A fight not only was determined by who had the most will to see it through. Ferocity and adaptability. Discipline. All needed in this fight if he were to survive.
To win.
Soren moved to tackle the giant, wrapping one arm around the big guy, and simply pushing forward against the opponent before the other began moving Soren's hand towards the knife at the big brute's side. One Soren would pull free and begin to repeatedly shank into the side of his larger opponent. Whatever leather or skin that protected the brute would receive as much punishment as possible.