Round 2: Team Devil's Outcasts v Super Awesome Fun Time, Best Pals Go!

[Logan]

Round 2 will begin 4/8 at midnight Eastern. Please note additions to the rules and regulations, and good luck.

Due to my forgetful ass, you get an extra 12 hours to post. You will have until 4/22 at noon EST to complete your thread!

[Revenant]

Heavy waves rolled past the entrance to the bay, each longer and more ferocious than the last. Conditions were getting so bad that the Cudlitz Pride had been forced to emergency anchorage only two hours from Lyridia. William glared at the sea, watching as yet another wave smashed into the breakwater. Ripples from the broken wave caught the Pride and tossed the ship beneath his feet. It angered him. But then, everything seemed to anger him nowadays.

A pop beneath his hand told William that his fingers had tightened enough to crack the railing, but he didn’t release it. Instead, he turned and eyed the cliffs of Southern Lornius which stood only a few hundred yards away. He could easily swim the distance, even in these turbulent waters, though the smashing tidal surge could prove problematic. But leaving the ship meant leaving Talen. William held no love for the boy shadowmancer, but Talen was the only one with any lead toward finding their puppet masters.

The duo at the fair, as William expected, had had nothing to offer. There was only one thing that he had Talen had been able to glean.

A single name.

Lornius.

Booking passage from Scarae Brae to Radasanth had been easy. It’d been more difficult to get passage from there to Lornius however, given the xenophobic, isolated nature of the island. But a week of rattling the docks and a ridiculous amount of money had found passage aboard the Cudlitz Pride for the two of them. And now, after two months of travel, William found himself idly anchored a few scant hours from his destination.

“Shit luck, eh mate?” said a man, one of the Pride’s deckhands. William glanced at the man, annoyed at the intrusion. He’d been so lost in his own thoughts that hadn’t heard the man approach. “Storm whipping up like this with port being so close you can almost see it.”

William frowned at the man, not bothering to keep the hatred out of his burning eyes.

“I, uh, sorry,” the sailor muttered, visibly paling. He stumbled backwards several steps before turning and retreating across the bobbing desk at full speed. William watched him flee with obvious hatred. He had come to hate humans. He hated their endless need to fill their lives with trivialities. He hated the forced social chattering. Most of all, he hated the tedious monotony that they brought to his life.

He’d been a human once. But years of living as a monster had burned the humanity from him. Countless hours had been spent to hone him into a living weapon, which had left him as nothing more than a hollow shell filled with burning rage. And now that he was what they had made him into, William was done being a tool to be used and discarded, as these puppeteers would soon find out.

He turned back to look out over the ocean, his burning eyes hard and utterly without mercy. There was a storm coming alright, and everything that got in his way would feel it.

[Skie and Avery]

“You're hurting me.” she whimpered. Skie's voice came out like a choke, muffled by her own heavy breath and the warm shoulder pressed against her mouth. Almost immediately, Seth shifted above her. His hand moved from where it had been gripped too tightly on her hip, the fingers digging into the joint, and slid down her thigh. He might have relieved the pain but he continued just as roughly, shoving her legs further apart and nearly spilling her off the pallid pillow of straw-stuffed cotton.

They'd waited all day at the jail along the frontier of Alerar. As the morning pressed further into afternoon, they didn't see so much of a shadow of the Lornius Corporation. Skie moved from the roof to the shade of the cells, while Seth paced the yard. He'd run a track in the tall grass, leaving a wake as broken and angry as his mood. The fight they had bet would come to them left them alone together.

Seth decided then that they wouldn't wait for Lornius or thieves, which ever Skie's training would have been pointed towards. Instead, they would take their training to the Corporation's home island. It was an unnecessary tangent, Skie had argued but Seth in his foul mood would hear nothing of it. So they had traveled to the Raiaeran coast and found a boat that was too afraid to bar passage to the Lavinian Demon.

A rough bite on her shoulder rolled upward to her neck, becoming more careful. Skie wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling her face into the lee of his jaw. He was like a tide in the bedroom, pulling back only to throw himself back in, and any gentle kiss brought her to dig in her nails to the sinewy muscle of his back in preparation of the waves.

Instead of the crash of the hex mage, the boat rocked, pitching them towards the wall and she could feel him tense and stop. The swordswoman frowned; had she endured the strong taste of ginger on his kisses for nothing? A pale demon pulled back and stood, raking his fingers through his hair as he swore and clutched at the side of the bunk.

“Fresh air,” he growled and stalked from the room. On the straw mattress, Skie frowned but started to slowly fish for her clothes and mend her disheveled raven hair. The open door and the sudden feeling of being alone made the room suddenly cold where before they'd put more than enough heat in the small space.

Dressed, she laid back down and covered her face in her hands. Alerar was far behind, Lornius just in reach and electricity stirred in the air. A storm was coming, she could feel it. Only she wasn't so sure if it was in the grey and rain-burdened clouds swirling ahead, in the crashing waves that rocked them to and fro, or in Seth Dahlios. All Skie knew was it was up to her to weather it, and get them both through alive.

[Hysteria]

“I’ve got you this time runt!” spat harsh words edged with plenty of drink.

The air was filled with the roar of excitement as the first mate sat down opposite Talen. The man had a barrel chest and thick log-like arms. A native of Salavar at some point, he had soaked in so much salt over the years that his skin was a leathery tan more akin to Fallien. The only hint of his icy-cold heritage was the hair that had navigated from the top of his head to his chest and proud tufts poked out of his shirt.

Talen was nearly completely overshadowed by the giant of the man opposite him. This was the fourth time the first mate had challenged the diminutive warrior. The first time was meant as a joke, but had quickly turned sour after being easily defeated. The initial roars of excitement died to a tense hush as sailor and child lifted arms. In a normal competition both men would clasp hands, but with the child’s so much smaller it was simply swallowed by the hamfisted firstmate.

“Another 20 gold?” Asked Talen.

The youth’s face was etched with a wiry smile and framed by the mess of long dark hair. His skin was a sickly pale and drastically different to that of the sailor. Only his blue eyes carried a hint of colour.

“I have to ask of course, because at this rate I might be able to pay off the debt for this trip through winnings alone,” said Talen. In truth the cost for the voyage was far in excess of the small gambling sum. The spectacle was enough to keep the crew engaged while they ancored. In their current state only a small number needed to remain on deck, the rest burned through their rum allowance and waited for the seas to calm.

Another sailor grabbed their hands and pressed tight. It was at his release that the two surged with strength. The first mate was strong, stronger than nearly everyone on the ship. Talen however, he was much stronger. The youth slowly moved the firstmate’s arm back amid the torrent of curses and howls.

“Out!” Cried the sailor acting as referee as the firstmate’s hand touched the table.

“Arrrgh! Dammit boy not again!”

The firstmate dropped the coins on the table and slapped Talen on the shoulder. The youth spread the grin on his face and laughed in return.

“You’ve got some talent there boy!” roared the firstmate, “heck of a job well done!”

“You were much stronger that time,” lied Talen, “I had to really push to get you down.”

The off-duty crew resumed their drinking. Some played cards, others flipped coins or read. Despite the roll of the ship amid the waves, all seemed comfortable and at ease.

I can’t wait to kill these bastards.

[Dissinger]

Hands trailed on the walls of the hallways, ever pushing forward through the tangled mess of cloth, hair, and nausea the Demon pitched forward. Finally, it breached out into the open air, pushing past men without any regard. More than one gave him a sympathetic look, having seen this scene play out more than once on the trip. The stop in Radasanth had seen the Demon invest quite a bit into a local ginger farmer, but much like every attempt to stem it, the Sea Sickness had gripped the Demon the moment the boat had hit the open seas. Where he usually used the window, occasionally he had to use a railing in his wait for the coasts of Lornius to show their ugly edifice.

He almost reached the railing, he could have saved it, giving the contents of his stomach to the gods of the seas, but in the end he failed. He saw a pair of boots, and he was quite sure the scent of half digested ginger on them was not an attractive quality. The boots were a worn and beaten leather, mistreated through years of abuse. A world traveler of sorts it seemed, these boots too held the dust of a dozen countries. Another retch saw more stomach contents cover the aged leather, as he resorted to dry heaves. A hand gripped the railing, his stomach finally settling to a rest. The back of his hand drawn across lips even as he spit over the side of the ship, trying to erase the taste of his vomit.

He looked about him, his eyes slowly coming back into focus. This wasn't the disorientation of a drunkard, but of a man well accustomed to the curse of Sea Sickness. Nothing he ever did seemed to change the fact he would get sick, and much like his life had become, he fought through it. Taking in his surroundings, his hand twitched almost reflexively when he spied the first signs of a man he had longed to gut. His eyes narrowed, as hate filled his frame, burning nausea and the ensuing weakness from his system.

Deep within his chest he felt the first gears of the wrath engine begin their rotation. The machine that was chained by his patience slowly gaining momentum, given birth by the rage at seeing the man who betrayed him wholly before him. He instinctively reached for knives he knew weren't there, and realized he was woefully unprepared for the engagement he had just committed himself to. His eyes growing dead and colder with each moment he drank in the details of a name that burned its way from his lips, “William Arcus...”

Fire kindled in his chest, burning away at his patience, logic, and sanity. The man that had underhandedly disoriented the Ixian Knights enough to see his daughter kidnapped from their Castle, stood before him. The man many had faithfully called General, and followed with absolute loyalty stood without a care. Seth Dahlios blamed few people for that night, himself included, for failing to ensure his family, for trusting Sei Orlouge, for letting Cassandra Remi live when he had the chance to gut her without repercussion. How many times he had wanted to bleed the bitch, he couldn't keep straight anymore. He had grown tired of counting.

William Arcus however, was perhaps the largest player in that night.

The former General had sown chaos by giving conflicting orders, and in doing so allowed Cassandra Remi to re-enter Castle Ixia, the results of which caused him to lose Samantha to that vile woman. If blame could be laid at the feet of any one man for the dreaded Night of Debauchery, it could be William Arcus. That night would never have gone so badly, had he not seen it so. And with the rage shaking his frame he hissed, “I wondered if you would ever crawl out of whatever rock you hid under. Glad to see you finally did. Now I can make you pay for that night, and cross one more person off my list of souls I'm going to drag to hell with me...”

He hand no equipment, he had no way of making this fight even. He wasn't being cunning, nor was he being clever. The heat of his chest has infused him with a raw energy that saw the punch he threw at William Arcus held no elegance, or efficiency. In a world where Seth Dahlios was considered a deadly opponent, any who saw that punch would surely have laughed.

It certainly made Seth feel better.

[Revenant]

Approaching footsteps intruded on William’s meditation. This was the third time that he’d been approached since taking up his watch at the bow of Cudlitz Pride and he was quickly growing frustrated with all the intrusions. It would have been less irritating if the others wanted to watch the coming storm in silence as William was doing, but all of them tried to engage him in conversation about petty things. Two months of travel left him itching to lash out at these creatures, but he’d held himself in check. There was nothing to be gained from violence, after all.

“Nothing but peace and quiet,” he grumbled to himself at this latest intruder’s approach. He’d planned on simply glaring at the man until he left, as he had with all the others. But instead of greeting William with some useless platitude, the intruder vomited on him. Twice.

A moment of angry shock paralyzed William. The man was saying something to him, likely an apology, but William wasn’t paying attention. He’d done his best to keep his violence in check through the months he and Talen had spent at sea, but this was too much. This man had just killed himself. William looked at him with murder in his eyes, but to his surprise found himself face-to-face with an old acquaintance.

A murderous old acquaintance.

A murderous old acquaintance who was throwing a punch at him.

Surprised, William took Seth’s punch squarely on the jaw. Seth was a deadly fighter but skill wasn’t as important in a fist fight as raw strength, and Seth was not nearly as strong as William. The blow rocked William’s head to one side, but little more than that. A trickle of blood fell from William’s lip where Seth’s fist had connected with a sharp tooth, but the split lip was already healing.

Anger burned through William like a wildfire. When he’d though it was just another passenger that’d vomited on him, William had intended to draw out the violence in as painful a manner as possible. But this was Seth Dahlios, and even though he hit like a pillow he was still dangerous. It wouldn’t do to underestimate him.

“Dahlios,” William growled in acknowledgment. Human features burned away in the blink of an eye as William assumed his war form. Heat billowed off his charred skin, and blackened lips pulled back to in a vicious grin. Bone claws shot forward in a flash, fingers splayed to grab Seth’s throat and tear it out.

[Skie and Avery]

The pain twisted through her gut, worse than any of the aches her monthly visitor paid upon her. With each slow, rusted crank of the Wrath Engine, Skie felt it deep inside. It hurt. It killed. There’d been more than a few times she’d regretted linking her soul with the Lavinian’s, and once again the ‘never should haves’ were flooding her as she scrambled off the mattress where she’d thought she’d take a nap.

Her boots slid on the damp floor in her panic and she all but crash landed into their things. Their bags were thick burlap and she clawed at the olive cloth to pull at the laces. Seth Dahlios was in trouble, and while she didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into the churning in her stomach gave her a good idea that the fact that he’d walked out in just his pants and boots wasn’t going to be his best idea.

Somewhere in this godsforsaken bag, his gauntlets were packed away. Another turn of the Engine hit and she doubled over, her face pressed into the thick, rough bag. The faint reek of must and bilgewater mostly masked the scent of Seth’s clothes within. For a moment she was dizzy from pain, remembering the way she felt when she’d peeked into his soul in Alerar. A ghostly shred of a man chained down, the march of a machine forever drawing closer. Skie had seen that the Engine would eventually rip him apart, use him as cogs and leave him for dead. Seth knew it too, and he had accepted it, a means that justified the end.

Not today

Cursing their pick-pocket-proof packing job, Skie left the idea of the gauntlets. His belt and daggers had been cast off in their foolish fumbling and was right at hand. Grabbing her father’s sword and her lover’s blades, she turned and flew through the door of their tiny cabin. The hallways were mostly bare and she hardly ran into anyone as she raced along the wet corridors. Not sure where to turn she blindly followed intuition.

A left turn, a right, and another right and she spilled through a swinging door. It wasn’t the deck, as she’d expected. Instead, she was greeted with lamps and laughter. Men were clutching mugs and talking animatedly. A few quietly looked her way when she burst into the room in a panic, but most paid her no mind.

“Where’ya off’n so?” The first mate asked, laughing. She was face to tuft with his leathery skin and the peer of body hair over the unbuttoned vee of his shirt, trying to look around him for the way to the deck.

“Looking for someone,” she said, noticing how the first mate had already looked at the plethora of steel and edges that she was carrying. His body language had changed, the relaxation and jest melting away. The crew had sailed with him long enough to catch up on it and like a ripple along the surface of a still pond, the tension stretched out among them. Most were smart enough not to let on.

“Who abouts?” he asked, still barring her way. The smaller woman stared him down, wondering if she should just push past and search herself but something stilled her.

“Scary guy, brown hair, no shirt, probably green at the gills.” It was the best description of Seth Dahlios she could muster. “Seen him?”

[Hysteria]

Talen’s eyes flicked up to the face of the woman, then to the crew. Tension was thick in the air, sticking to the crew and making their movements hard and jerky. A ball of white light flickered besides Talen’s head and cast its glow upon him for just a moment. Then it twisted into the shape of a cat, long white tail and pure white eyes. Snacks shot across the room and out the door before anyone could react.

“Oh?” Said Talen to no one in particular as he rose from his seat and stepped up onto the table. “It seems as though our trip may be coming to an end.”

Talen’s eyes flashed a malevolent blue as the shreds of a cheery facade drained away. His smile broadened just as his eyes widened. Above the room Snacks had taken the exit the woman had missed and emerged onto the deck. It perched on the rail not far from William and Seth, close enough that it could know what was happening. It was an odd sight; the white cat sitting on the edge of the rail above the wave ridden sea. Snacks didn’t move, it’s eyes were stuck fast on the pair.

The burgeoning fight meant that something was going to happen to finally break the uneasy trip for the dark youth. Talen didn’t bother waiting for it, he was going to ride it. The youth lifted his hands to the roof as he let energy flow through him. It had been too long in the child’s mind since he had been able to release even a fraction of his power. This time he was going to enjoy himself. Three dark pools spread out from near Talen’s feet. Dark, skeletal limbs lifted from within the shadowy portals and pulled and yanked themselves out. Cracked and open ribcages, black dead eye sockets and toothless grins, the three skeletons lurched forwards. Talen lowed his hands and pointed towards them.

“Bang.”

The skeletons ignited. The first fell upon the shocked firstmate. His flesh singed and burned as the boney hands clawed through the flesh on his arms. The other two skeletons fell upon the closest crew and chaos erupted. Sailors grabbed chairs and knives and tried to free their fellows as smoke and the smell of burnt flesh filled the cabin. Talen stepped off the table and around the struggling firstmate. In his hand where none had been before, was his sword. He lifted towards Skie as he stepped towards her.

“Wanna play?”

[Dissinger]

First, there was heat.

Brilliant heat clawed at the Lavinian Demon, even as the splayed hand came for him. Seth knew he was out of his depth, when he had gone through every mental exercise based on the thorough ravaging that Jensen had gone through fighting the man, none of them involved letting Arcus get close to him. Already he had broken rule one of the plan to beat the Revenant. He should have been mentally kicking himself for even letting things get this bad to begin with, had the wrath that burned in his chest not overwritten his more logical half.

The heat did wonders for keeping him from freezing his ass off, being sans shirt, weapons, and gear. The only thing that even remotely resembling his old equipment on him was the necklace about his neck, though for some reason, it seemed to be pressing into Seth's chest. Had Seth been more rational, he would have seen this as a sign of troubling times ahead. Already his mouth was running, a hiss escaping his lips, “I see you don't change, always get hot and bothered so quickly.”

The words committed him to action, his arm going up to deflect the incoming hand, even as he could see his skin beginning to redden. Sunburns were forming on his skin, which told him all he needed to know, even as a rancid stench began to emanate from his opponent. He knew that scent, if only because his boat ride in had been suffused with it. The scent of vomit, now cooked and caked to William's boots was wafting from the demon, causing Seth to fight back a gag. His skin began to blister from the close contact with the Revenant's claws, and that was all Seth needed to press back, putting room between him and the half demon.

His eyes quickly scanned the area. There was plenty of rope, rope fast drying out from the intense heat that radiated from his opponent. Seth was in a rough way for options. If the briefest of contacts with William Arcus caused his skin to blister, he could only imagine how useless rope would be in the field of battle. He needed to get Arcus unbalanced, and then devise a way. None of the Sailors seemed keen on coming to the bow, as cries erupted from behind him, possibly from some raucous carousing that was going on below decks. He couldn't even ask for a knife to face death armed.

The Revenant was going to kill him here like this, so he figured he'd get in what he figured was the best pot shot he had, “Bet your wife is real proud of you now. William Arcus, Kidnapper Extraordinaire, Traitor of the Ixian Knights, kicker of puppies, and slayer of babies...oh yeah, that's the shit that makes anyone proud to watch from the afterlife...”

If he was going to die, he was going to earn it.

[Revenant]

Thunder crashed, and the storm broke around Cudlitz Pride. William watched Seth’s retreat with a certain amount of disappointment. This was far from the fight with the so-called “Lavinian Demon” that he’d yearned for all those years ago. Seth Dahlios was supposed to be a creature of fear and wrath, much like William himself was. He wasn’t supposed to be a man of desperation. Yet that was exactly what stood opposite William. Weaponless and without aid, Seth had maneuvered himself in a deadly situation. They both knew it. The rising wind pulled on William’s ragged cloak and he allowed one low, snarling laugh to come out as it did so.

And then Seth started taunting him.

“How many times do I have to listen to this?” William thought as Seth spat his desperate words. People seemed to think that, at any given time, William was only ever one moment away from losing control. As if he was nothing more than a frothing beast constantly tearing at his own muzzle. But while that might have been the case when Seth had first met him, years of being Sei Orlouge’s weapon had forged the weakness from William’s resolve. He’d been baptized in blood and fire, and had come to terms with his violent urges. He no longer fought himself. He no longer dreaded the guilt that had once torn him apart. William wasn’t a lump of raw iron anymore, he was a thing of razor sharp steel.

But Seth didn’t know that.

“I’ll kill you!” William boomed, his voice thundering across the decks. Cudlitz Pride jerked as another wave made it past the breaker and slammed the ship, but William didn’t break his focus. Instead, the Revenant tore the clasp off his cloak and let the ragged thing fly into the rising wind. There was a madness in William’s eyes and an unbridled, single-minded violence in the way he moved. It was apparent that he would not rest this time, would not stop, until Seth was dead at his feet.

But William had one more thing to do before he attacked. Concentrating, the Revenant drew the heat from his molten core and focused it on his bone carapace. The awesome heat which surrounded him died off instantly, only to be replaced by a sheath liquid flame. Flame which now covered William’s arms and legs. He was ready.

A bolt of lightning rent the air, momentarily freezing William and Seth in contrast. Then William charged, flashing forward with all the speed his inhuman body could muster. Vomit covered boots exploded into cinders under the extreme force of the motion, and each of the Revenant’s steps left a glowing charcoal pock mark wherever his burning claws hammered into the deck. The distance between the two of them closed frightfully fast, but the instant before William got within reach he dropped the berserker façade and instead lashed out with a calculated, precise arcing kick intended to tear Seth in half and burn his guts to ash at the same time.