Slouching Towards Ettermire

[Ashiakin]

((Closed.))

Three days had passed since the Koscheinoy had departed from the docks of the Nieman delta, the ship's wooden frame bloated and awkward under the stress of its captain's insatiable greed. Although Ashiakin had encountered the merchant sailor in the sprawling port-lands around Radasanth, he had quickly surmised that the ship hailed from Salvar. The captain's thick accent and the craft's outlandish name made that clear. After dropping a few lazily patriotic remarks about their shared homeland and bribing the man with a few drinks, purchasing a place on the ship had almost been a non-issue. He found that the boat, loaded down with trade goods, was headed for Anebrelith. Ashiakin had given no more than a sardonic grin at the mention of that city. He cared little for Raiaera, with its anemic pretensions and its coy, meritocratic cabal of minstrel dictators. But he had bought passage on the Koscheinoy all the same. He had his reasons.

Ashiakin closed the log book he had been writing in with a sharp glance toward his cabin's door. He placed it carefully into a drawer under a sheath of papers and locked it away. It was not like anyone would be able to read his bizarre combination of shorthand and ancient Salvic glyphs if they found it, but it never hurt to be cautious. He cracked his neck loudly and yawned, stretching his feet out so that his chair knocked against his bed.

It was truly awful lodging. The cabin was scarcely bigger than a cabin and normally contained nothing but a bed and a chamber pot. He had been forced to fight for the luxury of a desk, which the captain had grudgingly acquiesced to after his insistence that it was his right as an official diplomat of Salvar. But that small comfort did not stop the incessant clack and clatter of the ship's Aleraran steam engine from seeming through the thin walls of brackish wood at all hours of the night. The Koscheinoy was a merchant vessel and its blinding lack of amenities made that clear.

The demon stepped out of his cabin and closed the door behind him. He weaved his way through the skeletal forest of wooden pillars that dominated the ship's only lower level, walking past the cargo hold and the engine room to the stairs that lead to the deck. Around the stairwell daylight poured into the darkness of the hull like a myth come to life. He stared up into the empty sky from the bottom. It had been three days since the ship had rode the dribbling currents out of the Nieman delta. Today glared at him like the sunrise. Soon it would be a day that the Koscheinoy would remember.

Graceful steps brought him up the stairs and onto the deck. He quickly surveyed everyone walking the sodden, flat planks--the ship had no sails as it was powered entirely by Dark Elven machinery. The captain, a corpulent man with a haphazard beard was smoking a pipe and scrubbing the grime off of one of his jeweled rings. The first mate was at the tiller, eyes glassy from some substance he had likely scrounged up at the last port. The rest of the crew--three humans, an elf, a drow, and a dwarf--were a bawdy lot of mercenary seamen that Ashiakin cared little for. There were two additional drow in the engine room, but he had rarely seen them above. Besides himself, the ship had four other passengers. In the days since his departure he had scarcely spoken a word to any of them. It wasn't that he had meant to shirk them. He had just had plans to make.

"How far are we from Anebrilith?" he asked the captain as a way of greeting.

The captain looked up from scouring his ring and pulled his pipe out of his mouth, holding it betwixt his fingers. He spat over the deck and mumbled, "Oh, we should be dockin' in three days time or so. Maybe four if we run inta bad weather. Not long, though. Pretty skies like this, no' long at all."

"Thank you," Ashiakin said, turning away from the captain and walking toward the rails. The captain eyed the demon carefully as he walked away. Even if they both hailed from Salvar, the merchant wasn't sure he trusted the fellow. He was always polite, cordial even, but he had a glib sense of self-satisfaction that made the captain wary. Ever sense the Rathaxeans had taken the Salvic monarchy, he'd been cautious of his land's rulers. If Ashiakin worked for them as he claimed, it would do him well to be cautious.

Ashiakin leaned against the railings of the ship and gazed out into the sea. He seemed very content, despite the fact that it was noon and the sun was raining heat on the wooden deck. Ashiakin could only smile as he looked out toward the empty ocean. Everything was blue, with the sea almost blurring into the skyline at the horizon. No sign of land, no other ships marred the pristine image. The Koscheinoy was alone.

[Letho]

He didn’t mind the inadequate accommodations that the Koscheinoy catered for their journey. He didn’t mind the motley crew and the hardy-har-har captain that seemed one wooden leg short of the buccaneer stereotype. He didn’t even mind the transcendental construction of the vessel that replaced the power of the frivolous tempest with the contrived steam that propelled it over the humdrum azure of the ocean. But the ceaseless whumpa-whumpa-whumpa-whumpa of the innumerous cylinders that rattled in the bowels of the ship like a tribal drummer were slowly breaching the limits of his patience. He was caught in a maledict state of fatigue caused by sleep deprivation, and yet every time he tried to remedy that ailment, the rhythmic mechanics of the ship reminded him that he was a terribly light sleeper.

Unlike him, Myrhia was having a ball. She would hover around the main deck like a sprite, prodding the crewmen with her questions, listening attentively at the technical replies that were forgotten by day’s end. And once they made their way to their quarters, she would curl up in his arms and sink into sopor in a matter of minutes. From that point Letho was relatively certain that elephants and axes could start raining outside and it would fail to affect her blissful torpid state. Letho didn’t mind much. He would light up the oil lantern that swung above their heads like a pendulum, inertly following the momentum of Koscheinoy, and just spend his time looking over her cherubic face. And suddenly the sound of the machinery down below didn’t seem like a bad thing.

It was because of her that they were there in the first place. “That one looks interesting.” she squealed in profound excitement when she picked what Letho thought of as the ugliest ship he ever came across. And during his wandering days he encountered quite a few. But against her smile he was as defenseless as a blind man with his hands tied behind his back. For some reason beyond the swordsman, Myrhia loved ships. Before she chose Koscheinoy as the transport that would take them on their deserved vacation in the marvelous grandeur of Raiarea, they spent four hours just browsing the docks, passing single-sail barges, refined merchants frigates and titanic warships with more cannons then she could count. He tagged along, cosseted her whims and just let her be the usual jocund self. That was the point of their vacation after all; to break free of the taxing monotony of the everyday life.

However, she had her doubts in the beginning of the voyage and Letho couldn’t really hold that against her. Last time he proposed that they should take some time away from Willowtown, he took her to Serenti just so he could compete in some inane tournament and the consequences of that little endeavor were so disastrous neither of them wanted to recollect them. Equivocation, betrayal, adultery, all of it tangled into a web that nearly separated them and broke their affection like a piece of stained glass. She demanded that he rids himself of all his weapons and armor, even checked his backpack for a concealed dagger or three that he could neatly pack with the rest of the provisions. But Letho didn’t mind. He had no secret agenda this time around, no other goal save to make her happy and keep her that way as long as possible.

Raiaera was the logical destination. It was the region that awestruck Myrhia the most during the little “tour” the two did some time ago, covering most of the known areas of Althanas. The lissome helix towers, gallant manors with myriad of refined details, fair folk with fair voices and fair manners... It was a dream compared to the majority of places. Especially Salvar. Gods, how they both hated Salvar.

With the third day of seafaring nearing noon, Myrhia and Letho pertained their usual roles for that time of the day; she was sleeping and he was counting the swings of the lamp above, trying to fit its rhythm into the guttural sounds below. They were both vampires, and though their tolerance towards the sunlight was almost complete, their metabolism still insisted on their nocturnal nature. Well, at least Myrhia’s metabolism did. Letho’s lost the battle with his fragile slumber and ultimately made the man squeeze out of the lank arms of the teenager and head for the main deck. The hallways were sullen and the air was as stale as an interior of a forgotten potato sack, but the swordsman merely shrugged off these inconveniences and doddered his way to the stairs that led to the main deck.

The sun slapped him like a scorned wife, making his vision blur and his hands move with an attempt to parry the vengeful jabs. It took him almost a minute to assimilate to the outside environment, accepting the fierce illumination of the day together with the salty but fresh air into his lungs. And like on the previous occasions when he emerged from below, the sight was less then attractive. He ascertained the situation, nodded towards the captain who might have responded (or might have had just one of his minute reflexive muscle spasms that made him strain his neck sideways ever once in a while), and sighed at the realization that the sun was still hot and discomforting, the crew was still silent and indifferent and the sea was still vast and endless. It was a mesmerizing sight, the kind that put men in their rightful place, reminding him how minute he was when compared to the nature. It was like gazing into a night sky and realizing that you are nothing but a grain of sand.

Further ahead, leant on the wooden fence of the starboard side, stood a man that Letho saw a number of times during the voyage. He was a gaunt pale fellow, looking positively sickly to the swordsman, dressed in a rather gallant attire. Letho never spoke to him during the three days; they both seemed to share a couple of traits, opting for seclusion and minimizing the natter. Seeing no reason to break the “relationship” that was going well so far, the sullen knight moved to the other side of the deck and propped his back against one of the puffing chimneys. The brattle was somewhat more silent here. Perhaps he could even catch forty winks if he was lucky and undisturbed.

[skyler manfield]

"Once you've cleaned up the galley, make sure the decks are swabbed, check the bilges and pump them if there's water in 'em, and then you can eat. If I catch yer ass eatin' and any of that's not done, you can consider yerself sharkbait," a brawny man with a low forehead and a ruddy tan warned Skyler, who nodded obediently and silently turned away to complete the tasks at hand. She knew he wouldn't throw her overboard, she was the only one of the crew who actually did what she was told.

With sweat dripping in rivulets down her back, she headed for the galley, humming quietly to herself as she snagged a broom and swung through the doorway. The cramped kitchen-area smelled of moldy bread and half-rotted fish, and the food that came out of its gigantic stew pots was barely edible. Holding her breath, Skyler began to sweep the onion peels and bread crumbs into a pile, moving the broom to the rhythmic pounding of the steam engines.

"Oh, and Davie lad," the first mate stuck his head through the doorway, and it took Skyler a moment to register that he was talking to her, "Make sure none of the landlubbers cabins smell like vomit - they may need cleaning as well."

"Aye, sir," she said, nodding curtly and flashing a toothy grin that betrayed how very tired she was. She'd not slept more than three hours since she'd joined the crew of this malodorous ship at Radasanth. It was challenging to always remember that she was pretending to be a boy - David Michael MacMurray, or Davie as she said her "mum" called her. She had to relieve herself in private, bathe in private, and be sure to keep her mannerisms boyish. It wasn't too hard, except when she was tired - like now.

After over four hours, she finished her chores, and grabbed an apple from one of the buckets, a crust of bread, and a cup of water. Her lunch in hand, she headed to the railing hoping for a few moments of peaceful alone time before heading to her hammock to sleep until she was up for the night, cleaning and taking her shift on watch.

But the railing was occupied by two of their passengers - a strange fellow who seemed to be a diplomat, and some sort of warrior who'd come on board with a rather willowy young girl at his side. Sighing loudly, she glared at the two before turning away to find a different railing at which to eat her meager dinner.

[Osato]

A gruff laugh barely caught the young sell-swords attention before his head was once more tossed over the side of the railing. Loudly Osato released the contents of his bowels into the dark ocean. Behind him he could once again hear the amusement of one of the humans that manned the abomination that the mercenary had come to know as the Koscheinoy. Osato thought of it as the very darkness of Salvar afloat.

As he turned around, looping his arms around the railing for support, the man thought of how he had found himself on such a blasted trip. His head was spinning, but it was quite clear why he had come. Either it was the Salvarian ship or quite a beating from another angry group of people. Osato could remember quite clearly the fight that he had started and then the friends and family that had come to exact revenge.

But what had pulled the man towards the ship was not just a way of escape, for the dirt and grime of a ship was the last way he would have freed himself. Instead it was a sense of adventure, the very need to travel and escape not his situation but life itself. His age and the maturity that played across his visage made him seem about twenty in human years. His eyes showed something different. His maturity was still younger, but understanding and strength were held deep at heart more often then not.

“Ye need annoder sho’?” the man, his name having slipped the sell-swords mind, asked with a toothy grin. Well, Osato could only think of the grin as what would be a toothy grin if the man’s grill had not been so rotten. Teeth were missing in some places, and the young man thought it for the better. Osato passed a slim, rather shaky hand through his long hair, pulling out small knots that had begun to form. His deep blue, almost black eyes passed over the filthy crew-hand as he watched him pull in a coil of rope.

Filthy men, all of them. Even the captain was a good deal more disgusting then most Osato had encountered. What made the captain worse was not his appearance, but the deep greed that he seemed to hold most deer. Osato was far from impressed, but if they were going to get him somewhere with the other passengers (very interesting passengers too) then he was more then willing to go.

Another hand passed through silky amethyst hair before the young man cared to respond. Osato was disgruntled to say the least. He was a pretty boy at heart, needed to look good and be presentable before all else, but the very aura of the ship was fighting against that. “Well dear sir,” he started with a chuckle. Harrian, his name had come back finally, was anything but deserving of the title sir. “If you think I would accept anything from you ever again, especially if you say it is a form of alcohol… it will not happen. Though, I would like to inquire as to how far we are from Anebrilith?”

“Ha,” Harrian’s guff seemed on the verge of emerging once again. But instead he shook his head and finished up his chore of wrapping the rope. Once again he flashed an empty smile, caught and reflected by Osato’s own, nearly-patented smirk. “Aneebrith’ll be her’ shorly. Mayhaps annoder fower or five days.”

“Great,” Osato mumbled as he looked away from the man. Another four or five days of travel, and that information was probably wrong due to the fact that Harrian was in no position of leadership. The ostentatious captain would be the only one with such information, and the young man had barely spoken to him. His only interaction with the captain had been seeking passage, which had been granted. “Speak of the devil,” Osato said as his eyes rose from a busy deckhand to the rather sordid man.

By him was one of the other passengers, given certain liberties though why Osato did not know. The passenger was paler then a human and Osato only gave him a slight look before turning back to the captain. With a shake of his head he looked instead towards the horizon. Even with the hum of the odd engines of Alerar in the backdrop of his pounding head the sun on the water was as beautiful as always. The young sell-sword moved away from the railing, once again working on his pacing of the ship and waiting for the young woman that ran about at night. He was interested in speaking to her, engaging her in a conversation perhaps, and finally understanding at least one other of the ship’s passengers.

[Ashiakin]

Ashiakin ran his fingers over the salt-stained wood of the gunwales. He was no nautical authority, but it was obvious that the Koscheinoy was in a state of disrepair. It was a merchant's sailing vessel that had traded its masts for Aleraran pistons and flywheels well into its twilight years. The retrofitting had cost the ship cargo space, but the captain had told him that the loss was more than made up for by the increase in speed. He had also insisted that its dependable headway and relatively compact size rendered it undesirable to corsairs and sea monsters. Ashiakin, amidst the smoky haze of the sailor's bar where they'd meet, might have smiled at that.

"How many battles would you say you've been in, captain?" he asked without turning around. The question had been posed carefully, his voice casual and meandering. Ashiakin knew that he had been rather inquisitive since he had become acquainted with the Koshcheinoy's owner. He hoped that the captain thought no more of his subtly probing questions than he did of the touristic queries of that young man's companion.

"Well, a few," the captain said, eyeing the demon's back. A swift, cool breeze stole over the bow of the ship, catching Ashiakin's white hair and silky jacket in its current. The sailor shuddered. "I was in the navy afore I took up business. Sailed under Anrekva's banner from Knife's Edge. Fought me my fair share of pirates, you could say. I was in the Battle of Azdaar Bay, too. Back when the Darfeans tried to conquer Testhan." He spat on his ring and continued rubbing it with a well-worn rag. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's probably nothing," Ashiakin said, still not turning around. "I'm not as well-versed as you in these matters, it would seem." Although his words were sarcastic, he spoke without venom or contempt, not allowing the sailor to ascertain his feelings. "But I think I just saw a dragonfish."

The captain's head perked up at the diplomat's last word. "What?" he asked stupidly. He strode over to the gunwales and stood next to Ashiakin, quickly scanning the calm of the sea. "Where?" The sailor pulled a spyglass from one of his pockets and extended it, examining a place where the surface was marred by a recent accumulation of foam. Nothing stirred.

"It was likely nothing," Ashiakin repeated softly. He turned and walked away from the captain, who held his vigil despite the demon's dismissive attitude. Though he was usually careful about maintaining a neutral appearance, Ashiakin almost seemed excited. He strode across the deck with a light gait that contrasted harshly with the steady plodding of the nearby crewmen. The demon vanished down the stairwell to the vessel's dark interior ith only a general nod of acknowledgement to those that he passed. He stepped into his miniature cabin and unlocked a large chest he had stored there with a key from his pocket. It was there that he found his weapons.

He opted to leave his long sword and his cache of shurikens behind. The blade's length would make it awkward in close-quarters combat and the mass of bodies milling about the Koscheinoy would make it difficult to select proper targets with his throwing stars. Instead, he strung his recurved bow, slung a quiver of arrows around his waist, and attached two long daggers to his belt. It was unlikely that he would have to battle the elementalists on the decks of the ship, but if he did, the daggers would fair better than a sword.

The sea breeze was crisp when he again emerged into the daylight. Most of the crewmen were loosening their swords in their scabbards, stringing bows and priming flintlocks. The elf amongst them had his eyes closed and was chanting something softly, almost singing. None of them looked nervous. They were all experienced seamen. Likely everyone of them had been a pirate at some point in their lives. They had done this before. It did not seem that the captain had given any orders or made an announcement, but they had sailed on his ship long enough to gauge his mannerisms. Ashiakin only wondered how the passengers were taking this. Surely they had known that it would be no Radasanthian pleasure boat when bought passage, but he was curious to see how they would react with their lives now in danger.

"Aye!" the captain shouted from his post, pulling away from the spyglass to address the Koscheinoy's human cargo. "A pair o' dragonfish. Fourteen feet long each. Two riders, an elf woman and a human man. Bloody elemtalists, it looks like. If you won't fight, get down below. Now!"

As the captain turned back to the sea with his spyglass, the junior member of the crew piped up. "Dragonfish? What the hell does that mean?"

"Dragonfish elementalists," Ashiakin said. "Mage pirates."

[Letho]

After about fifteen minutes of rather restless nodding on the board side of the Koscheinoy, Letho realized that even a snooze would be nothing but a ludicrous idea. Between the revolting sound of regurgitation, the lame sailor jokes, the raucous curses and the constant busy pitter-patter of feet, the main deck was a chaos that even the pacifying sloshing of the sea assaulting the outer hull couldn’t rectify. So in the end the swordsman had to settle for the next best thing; resting the body while his mind was kept busy by the menial task of ascertaining the environment through its auditory component.

It was no wonder that Letho caught the bawdy voice of the sailor conversing with the fellow fatigued from emptying his stomach a couple of seconds earlier and the dialogue between the captain and the peculiar sallow man. And while the first one inadvertently provided him with the estimate on the length of the journey, it was rather trivial when compared to the conclusion of the second one. The sarcastic sly tone was enough to pique the knight’s attention. The wan man didn’t seem like somebody who wasted his words on a mere jest and Letho was certain there was a reason for it.

And indeed there was. As soon as something called a dragonfish was mentioned, the usually assertive tone of the captain was converted to one filled with concern. Whatever these dragonfishes were, it wasn’t something that the rambunctious captain wanted in the vicinity of his vessel. Less then a minute passed after the guileful mention of the obscure beast before the main deck became a beehive. As if the fleet footsteps and the clatter of brandished armaments weren’t enough of a warning, the captain issued his own, separating the men from boys, preparing for a clash with these elemental sorcerers. Letho merely sighed in regret, seeing his hopes for an uneventful journey shattered by these uncanny pirates, as he rose from his spot in perfect equanimity.

Most of the crewmen were lined up at the starboard side, hands shadowing their eyes as they strained them in an attempt to distinguish the assailers from the miry waves in the distance. Most of them saw their share of battles and had the scars and the experience to prove it, but even in such a company, the tension was as prominent as the salt in the ocean air. Because there were always bigger fish in the sea, even Letho knew that. Regardless of how strong or skillful or even lucky you are, if you keep pushing it, the world pushes back and serves you somebody stronger, quicker... better. Most of them hoped that today wasn’t that day.

With a mere squint of his brown eyes, Letho managed to focus his vision enough to recognize the twin riders. Mounted on aquatic behemoths whose tail fins ripped the azure ocean surface like jagged blades, the two mages were astonishingly placid, as if their dominance was so inviolable that it allowed them pristine solemnity. It was a silent statement, a message that they were the masters of these waters and that Koscheinoy was a thorn in their side. Their cockiness annoyed Letho. He hated mages for their inability to fight with honor, and his dislike was only further amplified by the fact that these two were set on ruining his vacation.

“Only two of them?” Letho spoke to no-one in particular as he made his way through the armed buccaneers, his tone genuinely derisive. Beside him, the white-skinned man was eerily calm, his eyes closed as his lips pronounced a mysterious chant. “Song magic?” a thought passed through his mind. His senses couldn’t confirm it though. There was no prominent effect around them and truth be told, Letho didn’t want to wait for the man to pull the rabbit out of his magician hat.

“Could I borrow that?” the swordsman asked one of the crewmen who held his spear rather confidently. Now, Letho’s physique was impressive, but this man was a juggernaut. Easily half a foot taller then Letho, with his bronze chest muscles bursting from his sleeveless linen shirt, the man looked like a genuine barbarian that got lost on his way back to his tribe and ventured on board of the Koscheinoy.

“Watcha gonna do widit?” he asked, showing that the vocabulary fit the archetype perfectly.

“Just give it to him, son.” the captain interjected. He wasn’t certain whether or not he liked the sullen brooding man that lurked in the bowels of the ship during the day and roamed the main deck during the night, but he had enough wits to differentiate a warrior from a farmer. The husky seaman handed the spear over to Letho reluctantly.

Taking a pair of steps away from the ledge, the knight pulled his arm backwards, his eyes locking onto the female part of the duo in the distance. To most the two attackers were still just specks in the distance.

“Ya cant hidit from ovr’ere!”

Letho merely smirked. The two steps that took the man back to the wale were blistering fast, the sound of the muscular arm rifling the spear almost a snap as the weapon went airborne. It whistled unnaturally, scudding above the sea surface at an almost supersonic speed, its shaft trembling at an unseen frequency from the might of the throw. But the most important detail was that the aim was immaculate.

The rogue mage in the distance merely lifted her pale hand nonchalantly. The spear, bound to pass straight through her ample chest, stopped in mid air for half a second before it fell on the carapace of the monster she was riding. Letho shook his head wearily, muttering under his breath.

“I hate mages.”

[skyler manfield]

Her chores finished, her meager meal wolfed down, Skyler had finally collapsed into her hammock in the stern for a much needed hour or two of sleep. Never in her life had she worked so hard. But her eyes had barely closed before the crew started bustling loudly around, and preparing for a defensive stand against something. Groaning, she put her arm over her eyes, hoping they would ignore her for the moment, and it would turn out to be nothing.

"Davie, lad, you'd best be up and armed - there's dragonfish about, and that means danger lad," one of the younger men on the crew warned her, tugging her out of her hammock and onto her feet. Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, she raised an eyebrow at the sailor.

"Wha' in the 'ell is a dragonfish, mate? I've ne'er 'eard of one of them," she admitted, making a conscious effort to maintain her false accent even in the midst of this new distraction. Reaching beneath her hammock, she pulled two stilletos from her backpack, and looked up at the man.

"You've never heard of a dragonfish? Well, look over there, and you'll see one. Better stay out of the way if you've never done this before, it could get messy," and the sailor nodded to the starboard side, drawing Skyler's gaze to a pair of fish mounted by what appeared to be people.

"Who would ride a fish?" she asked, her accent fading away with her confusion. She received a sharp glance from the sailor, but it wasn't for her accent.

"Elementalists."

It was as though someone had dropped a lead weight into the young assassin's gut. The sailor wandered off to prepare for the attack, and Skyler looked around for somewhere to hide. She could defend herself if need be, but she wasn't a skilled fighter, and she knew it well. Killing people who weren't expecting it was one thing, but fending off an attack from a mage was something else entirely. It was altogether possible that even her stealth wouldn't protect her now.

Hoping she was wrong, Skyler carefully passed by the passengers, and skirted the rest of the crew. With utmost care, she crouched in the prow of the ship, and relaxed a bit, hoping that with enough concentration none but the most attentive would see her hiding here.

[Osato]

Pacing the deck did little for the young man’s interest. It was only a matter of time before the beauty of the small waves, glowing a golden color with the sun’s light was once again boring. It seemed the ship was nowhere near large enough to keep the sell-sword interested and the monotony of the sea was always too strong. Osato gripped the handle of his sword, gripped it tight with the thought of the trip. What had convinced him to do such a stupid act as jump on another ship, hoping it would take him to adventure?

In the back of his him he thought of the times he had spent on ships. The life he lived had seemed more of a series of events taken place from ship to ship. He smirked as he thought of his first voyage, leaning against the railing with the other marines. It was the first time he had seen combat too, the first time the thrill of battle had over-taken him in a fit and he had let himself loose. There had been many more battles, some even between boats while still sailing. However the number of battles Osato had taken part in, and differentiating between a battle and a skirmish, meant that keeping track was nearly out of the question.

With the shift of the ship the sell-sword was once again brought back to the harsh reality of the boat underfoot. To the rear he could see the plume of smoke that spoke of the dark elven technology and directly behind it was the muffled call of machinery under the oceans waves. Both worked brilliantly, for Osato had never before seen a machine powered ship. Any form of water craft that moved without the use of sails or paddles was something of interest, though the Koscheinoy seemed hardly worthy of the great future crafts.

Osato slunk away from the center of the ship, weaseling his way towards the bow of the wretched merchant’s ship. It was the shift of the waves and a simple judging of the ships true speed that he was interested in. He stepped carefully, watching his footing for loose rope and the grime that seemed to nearly fester on the deck. But as he made his way a commotion broke out behind him. It seemed some sort of attack was at hand, for the sulking ship-hands were suddenly armed and looking rather intimidating.

The sell-sword looked towards the direction that the large man, a warrior of some sort, and the crew were peering. It was while he was watching the sea creatures move towards them that the passenger threw the spear. Such a throw! Osato had never seen anything like such a performance. And such aim! It was as true as an arrow at twenty-five paces, a very easy shot.

But it was stopped short by the wave of a hand. The soulless fighter drew his longsword from its sheath, knowing on such a small ship it would do so little. But if he was called upon to enter into the battle, or found an opening, he would lung in without so much as a word of notice. Osato continued watching the things approach, listening to Harrian as he mumbled about the dragonfish and elementalists.

Osato had heard of neither, and was not all to curious as to either. But the bitter taste of both, being that they were each a different entity, was all to close off to the side of the ship. He stepped away from the prow of the ship, walking right past a slim ship hand without giving any note, and up to the center of those assembled. “What is an elementalist?” he asked quietly, mumbling it to any who would hear him and answer him. The sell-sword pushed through the crewmembers and stood nearly a shoulders length from the large warrior who had thrown the spear. “Or for that matter, what is a dragonfish? Is it what those… people are riding, or some class or type of people?”

[Ashiakin]

The Koscheinoy was gaining speed. Below the deck, the clamor and hiss of the mechanical engines sounded in rapid, nervous succession, like the beating of some sea beast's heart. The ship's course veered under the direction of the officer at the tiller, wooden planks creaking under stress.

It did nothing to discourage their pursuers. The two were clearly visible now, an elven woman and a human man, clad in suits of gleaming fibers. Their mounts, the dragonfish, appeared far more formidable. They were gray-green creatures fourteen feet long with carapace that acted like armor. Their fins were massive, bony and clawed, their dead yellow eyes the size of serving plates. Their jaws, massive and decorated with crooked fangs, looked as if they could easily tear into the Koscheinoy's elderly hull.

Ashiakin was standing behind the gang of sailor-mercenaries as they prepared for battle. Either they were eager for action or they had decided that the ship was not going to escape the elementalists. Most of the crew were arming themselves with long bows and crossbows, but the captain was loading an ornate flintlock musket from Alerar. Only the elf among the sailors had not taken up arms, continuing to chant his bizarre song magic to himself. Ashiakin had nocked an arrow to his recurved bow and was watching the approaching elementalists with a passive stare. Though his clear skin was unmarred by battle scars, he seemed even calmer than the sailors.

It was only when the seasick pretty boy pushed through the crowd to stand next to the spear-thrower that Ashiakin stirred. "They're pirates that wield elemental magic," he said, eyes turning toward the man. "They capture their mounts off the coast of Berevar, shark-like creatures that tear open ships and eat what's alive inside them. The mages can travel underwater with their magic. They create pockets of air to breathe in. You don't usually see them this far south... They're probably controlling the water temperature to appease the dragonfish. So they're determined."

A loud musket crack and the hiss of arrows snapped Ashiakin's attention back to the sea. The captain's lead ball had flown wide, crashing harmlessly into the ocean. Some of the sailors' arrows had been on target, but the elementalists swatted them harmless away with gusts of wind. "Reload, nock arrows," the captain cried as he hastily slammed a ramrod down the barrel of his gun. "Prepare for some kind of a bloody counter-attack." Ashiakin did not bother loosing his arrow. It would not have done them any good.

The ocean stirred before the elementalists. First it was only a few bubbles that broke through the surface, but the disturbance soon grew to a wave that rushed towards the Koscheinoy's hull. Some strange, glowing creature stood astride the wave at its crest. A man-like figure that seemed to be crafted entirely out of flames. A fire golem. Ashiakin sneered at the sight of it and quickly moved to the other side of the ship, watching the crew scatter as the captain bellowed that they better move their asses if they did not want to be burned alive. His eyes again went to the sea.

He looked just in time to see the wave crest short of the Koscheinoy, slamming into its hull and rocking it violently, but not spilling over the deck. The fire elemental, however, leapt from the wave and landed smoothly in the center of the ship. Wooden planks crackled as flames began to inch from its feet. The thing swung its burning arms and let out an unearthly wail. Ashiakin stood calmly and took aim, letting his arrow fly straight for the golem's flaming head. In flight, the arrow became encrusted with ice. There was a crack and flash as the projectile connected with its target.

The creature staggered back and roared from its burning mouth, sound waves visible as dragon's breath. Ashiakin began to circle the creature, nocking another arrow and trying to keep his distance. "There's barrels of sand along the railings!" he shouted to no one in particular. "Someone put out the deck fires before they eat through to the bottom!" His voice held an unusual tone of nervousness. Ashiakin was terrified of fire.

When no one answered his call, he glanced away to see why. It was a smooth swivel of his head toward the side of the ship that lay opposite from the dragonfish elementalists, a gesture that lacked his previous jitters. It was then that they saw them. Pirates. Not mages, but fighters, armed with cutlasses and sabers, flintlock pistols and miniature crossbows. Strange, fleshy tentacles were wrapped around the railings of the Koscheinoy and these new assailants were climbing up them and jumping onto the deck. Firearms cracked and arrows flew as the sailor-mercenaries rushed to other side of the ship to face their enemies. The situation was worsening.

Ashiakin looked out to the sea where the pirate elementalists had been, seeing them gone. And why not? They had done what they needed. A realization was creeping across the ship at the speed of the wailing golem's fires. The mages had not been the main attack, but only a diversion.

[Letho]

Despite his strong dislike of the mages, Letho had to admit that the show they put up inspired a certain dose of respect in him. It was like looking a well greased perfectly tuned piece of machinery that clinked and clanked and spun and did its job with faultless precision. In a way, the two mages and their modus operandi reminded him of the restless engine below that even now drummed and propelled Koscheinoy over the ocean floor; he hated it, but couldn’t deny its genius. But there was more to their geniality. They were tricksters as well, illusionists standing on an azure stage, dissembling all onboard the ship into not seeing the great pink elephant that appeared behind their back. In this case, the elephant was a legion of sea robbers, armed to their scarce teeth, climbing their board side. And the golem? The golem was the firework to top it all off. Letho almost felt inclined to clap his hands and take of his hat.

Unfortunately, he had no hat and there was not time for the theatrics. The crewmen engaged the advancing pirates instantly, bawling inarticulate curses from their foul mouths and receiving the same in return, before their flimsy weapons clashed and clattered, turning the main deck into pandemonium. The Song Magic man, however, opted to attack the fire behemoth that certainly seemed like a more potent threat at the time, firing his magic arrows at the golem from the distance. It was only a matter of time before the artificial beast answered, spewing fire like a disfigured wyrm. The polished deck of the Koscheinoy seemed almost too eager to be devoured by flames.

Letho, however, didn’t obey the call for extinguishing the fires... yet. His mind did the rugged two second calculus, weighed and measured the options, taking into account all the factors (including his utter lack of armaments at this time and his aversion towards the flames) and coming up with the usually simple plan. Instead of engaging either of the two threats, Letho made the run towards the stern of the vessel. He ducked under a feeble swipe of a cutlass, countering with a shoulder tackle that sent his attacker overboard, then proceeded to punch the next one in the back lower back, possibly breaking his spine judging by the shriek of agony that followed.

Once he finally mugged his way to the back of the ship, his eyes scanned the area for the massive chain connected to the massive iron anchor. It was humongous, a titanic pendulum that even he could lift with his bare hands. He needed to unhook it and...

SZOCK!

The wet nauseating sound came from below, caused by the curved sword that passed through the side of Letho’s back and emerged out in front bathed in burgundy blood. The pain exploded like a fireball, resonating through his torso, making his knees quiver, but the dark man did not crumble. Instead he turned sharply, tugging the blade out of the hand of his impaler and outstretching his arm in a sweeping motion that caught the man at the side of his face. It nearly unscrewed the head from his neck. Letho yanked the blade out with a prominent wince of pain; this vampirism was at least good for something.

Securing the blade around his waist, Letho proceeded with his initial intention. The screws that held the anchor adhered to the chain were rusty, old and corroded by the sea salt. The swordsman had to close his eyes and bring forth his Righteous Might in order to undo them. The change was instantaneous, the already husky figure of a warrior grew even further, his muscles growing like wet yeast, and in a matter of seconds the screws were undone and he threw the cumbersome chains over his shoulder.

By the time he was back at the center of a ship, the flames became significantly fiercer then a couple of minutes ago, esurient to eat the wooden body of the ship. Letho decided to put an end to it. Myrhia was down below and a golem crashing into her room would certainly disturb her sleep. Bathed in an ivory aura, the overly-muscled Letho grabbed a hold of one of the sand barrels that the Pale Skin mentioned, rifling it at the center of the blazing inferno in a bombardier arch. The barrel crashed, sending an explosion of dust and forming a compact grayish cloud for a couple of seconds. But a couple of seconds was all that the swordsman needed.

Scudding right through the devised fog with the chain rolled over his shoulder, Letho covered the ground between himself and the blazing golem fleetly, sliding between the two stalwart legs that seemed on the verge of eroding the floor planks with their flame tongues. Once his empowered body came to a full stop, he grabbed a hold of his makeshift rope, swinging it once, twice, thrice above his head like a cowboy. By the time the third circle above his head was done, the golem half-turned towards him, eyeing him with those piercing eyes of liquid magma. He wasn’t certain could these colossuses express emotions, but to Letho the golem looked furious.

It didn’t matter though. The meaty hands let go of the chain that rolled around one of the legs of the massive automaton. And even as the chain clattered and secured itself around one of the limbs, Letho threw himself towards the sea below. The chain became tout, making the dark swordsman act like a pendulum gone loose, striking the outer hull once, twice before he managed to plant his feet on the wooden body of the ship. His hands pulled on the chain in hope to pull the gargantuan fire-breathing beast overboard.

“THE LEG!!! SHOOT THE BASTARD IN THE LEG!” he bawled in his mighty voice, hoping that the Song Magic man would hear him.

[skyler manfield]

Horrified, the girl watched wide eyed as mayhem unfolded before her. With a shudder, she gripped her stilletto more tightly as the fire golem manifested on the deck, leaving tongues of flame licking across the planks toward her. Never before had Skyler found herself frozen with terror, and with the realization that she was, the girl found the courage to move.

Skittering with care along the rail, Skyler watched as one of the passengers - a pale well dressed man - shot icy arrows at the golem, with apparently little effect. She was trying to get to the water barrels near the starboard prow and put out the fire, when the whole ship quaked, knocking her to her knees. A scaly sound hissed behind her, and she turned, almost afraid to see what made the sound. With a sickening crunch, several tentacles were crushing the ship, and over those tentacles came something just as bad - pirates. Two jumped over her head before she could react, but as a third launched over her, Skyler leapt to her feet, jamming her stilletto into his gut and using his momentum to shove him into the center of the burning deck, where he lay bleeding at the feet of the golem.

But something else was happening. Skyler stared confused at the chains around the golem's feet, and finally had the sense to follow them over the side of the ship. She ran across to the rail where she looked with panic over the side at a second passenger who hung from the anchor chain, dangerously swinging over the hungry waves below. He was screaming for someone to shoot the leg of the fire golem, but his grip couldn't last for long.

"What do you want me to do?!" she screamed at him, fighting down the beginnings of panic as she glanced around her at the pirates who were attacking her crewmates. One of them lunged at her with a short sword, which she ducked under. Coming up behind him, she jammed her stilletto into his neck where it stuck as he fell flailing to the planks below. Placing her foot in the center of the dead man's back, she jerked her weapon from his body and then turned back to the railing, hoping that the passenger still hung from the chain and hadn't been swallowed by the ocean.

[Osato]

Osato had continued to watch as the approaching elementalist grew closer and closer. A morbid sense of amusement and curiosity had dawned over him. His hands were both wrapped in a tight grip around the handle of his longsword. It would be impossible to fight in such a tight space with the weapon, but if the battle would come to the ship he was prepared to fall aside and find a more open aired area to fight in.

The demon’s tone, the sell-sword assumed he was a demon of some sort, seemed distant as he spoke. He was explaining the mages that rode the dragonfish, the elementalists of the sea. To the young man, who had grown up fighting both the Sud nation and pirates, the idea of such pirates was intense. Osato had suddenly felt something deep in his gut, something akin to deep apprehension.

The young sell-sword was in the way of the crew, who rudely pushed past him to take aim at the approaching mages. Osato took his place among those gathered on the ship, slipping towards the opposite railing and waiting. It would be easier for the others to start the fight, and continue it for that matter, with their smaller weapons. The ship was not large, and was not in too good of shape, but the mercenary thought it best to step aside for those used to its limitations.

For what must have only been a minute or two there was silence. Then the ranged weapons were loosed. None had any effect on the mages, much less the dragonfish they were riding. It seemed hopeless to continue volleying arrows at the approaching danger, but the captain seemed oblivious to the fact. He was not going to let his ship be taken, or perhaps it was whatever was in the bowels of the ship he was worried about. Osato did not underestimate the power of greed and the sedition it could bring with it.

Then he saw it. It was monstrous. Osato’s heart felt like it was crawling through his throat, trying to abandon post and make haste away from his body. There was first a bubbling wave, then a beast of flames. The sell-sword had never heard of such a maneuver, using an elemental of fire to attack a ship. It was brilliant though! However it was more then unfortunate that the tactic had come against him instead of being employed by him.

Even as the demon’s voice sprung into the ears of the young man, Osato was already moving. He had seen the barrels earlier, already assumed what they were for and how to utilize them. Time was of the essence. Let the demon deal with the elemental, using his control of ice magics. The sell-sword would wait for something he could do. It was then that he spotted the dual attack. With a bucket of sand in one hand, his sword in the other, the young man turned towards the crew.

“To the other side!” he cried. First the flames, then the pirates. The sell-sword tossed the bucket, letting the dry bottom layers spread across the flames. The second bucket went as well, this time not as well aimed though. It struck the base of the golem. Osato turned, no longer able to devote attention to the flames.

It was pirates he found before him. Each was holding their cutlasses and ranged weapons of choice. Osato picked out his first and charged, drowning out the man’s scream with his own cry. The long sword went through him to a foot before the mercenary drew it out and spun, hamstringing another. With more pirates joining the fray the area was becoming cramped though, the longsword had its place and the deck of the Koscheinoy was not it.

Before the hamstrung pirate had even time to roll over a steel gaiter caught him in the face, crushing teeth and nose alike. Osato tore from his grip the short cutlass and began working immediately again, no time to secure his sword but dropping it to the deck instead. Cleave a hand here, punch for a face there, let go of the sword plunged into a gut in favor of a loose one on the floor (Osato took no special liberties to keep the cutlass, his sword having been lost along the deck already). Battle was never pretty, especially when it was on board a ship against foes such as pirates, but Osato never took any precautions to make it any cleaner. Blood sprayed from the faces of those that did not see him coming, anger flooded from those that did. It was only a matter of seconds before the specific targets of the crew became less of a threat and the focus of the assailants was turned towards the young sell-sword.

[Ashiakin]

They had come from beneath. While the dragonfish elementalist had distracted the crew of the Koscheinoy with their steady advance and their golem attack, the pirates had been working. They had risen from the sea on the opposite side of the merchant ship in a curious vessel. It was an enormous sea turtle, its shell almost as large as the hull of the Koscheinoy, with a giant vessel of dark metal attached to its shell with cables and welding. The metallic hulk glistened darkly under the sun.

Circular doorways had opened on the top of this strange craft and the pirates had poured out of them. They carried weapons and writhing squid-like creatures with lolling tongues and tentacles. They had aimed these beasts and fired at the gunwales of the merchant ship, slimy limbs extending impossible lengths to smack loudly, to stick to the brine-crusted wood. Daggers in teeth, flintlocks in holsters, quivers on hips they had scaled their wormy ropes all the way up to the deck where the crew stood unaware.

Their initial attack had cut the ranks of the Koscheinoy's crew deep. As the first wave of pirates climbed over the railings, they had fired their pistols and loosed their arrows into the troop of sailors that was only beginning to realize they were under attack. Three of them, two of the humans and the only drow that worked on the deck, had been killed in the first volley. The crew had returned fire and split into two groups, one of which charged forward with swords in hand while they other set to work hastily knocking over boxes to create a barricade. Two more of the crew, the first mate and the dwarf, had been killed in the melee and the retreat to the crates.

While the crew had been able to establish a line they were capable of holding about halfway down the center of the ship, they were badly pinned down behind their makeshift wall. Only the captain, a human sailor, and the elven mage remained. The two dark elves that worked down in the engine room had come above deck with a curious weapon that had helped ease the stress on the Koscheinoy's crew, a rotating mounted firearm that they had set to firing bolts of gleaming light into the mass of pirates. But it was not enough. The corsairs continued to pile over the rails from their craft below. A charge on the merchant ship's last defense was inevitable.

Ashiakin had only been able to watch all this out of this out of the corner of the eye. The fire golem and the spreading deck fires were all that he could concern himself with right now. He continued to circle the beast gracefully, his cold eyes locked on the flaming goliath. With a shaking roar the thing lunged at him, waving its arm so a trail of flame blazed through the air in front of it. Ashiakin blanched and danced back, letting another arrow fly. It blossomed into an icicle midair and sank into the creature's chest, sending it stumbling back yet again. He didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

The area around him exploded into a cloud of dust. He shielded his eyes with one hand and stepped back as carefully as he could. Despite the gravity of the situation, he managed to smile. Glad someone finally remembered the barrels. It would have been nice for some sort of warning beforehand, though. As the dust began to abate, Ashiakin nocked yet another arrow to his bow and looked to where the fire golem stood amidst the gritty fog.

Biting his tongue gently, he took aim at the creature... just in time to see the warrior appear from the rear of the ship to lasso the golem. When the chain was secure he leapt over the railing, the weight causing the giant to stumble once more and smack into the side of the ship. Above the din of battle and the crackle of flames, he could just barely hear the warrior's cry for him to shoot the thing in the leg. Another man, seemingly a warrior himself, had heeded Ashiakin's earlier cry about the barrels and flung sand across the deck fires. The flames, except for those directly around the golem, were extinguished.

Ashiakin was not quite sure what the man dangling off the side of the ship planned to do once he vanquished the golem, but he didn't feel it was a priority. In the midst of such a battle, concerning himself with the safety of an unarmed man--even one as resourceful as the warrior had been--would be foolish. I hope you can swim. He let the arrow fly. It struck the creature directly in the leg. The golem howled and stumbled for its last time, toppling over the gunwales and plummeting into the ocean in a splash and a plume of steam.

Hopefully he let go of the chain. Ashiakin wasn't about to get emotional, but the warrior had certainly been useful. He kicked sand on the few remaining flames. Seeing them die was more of a relief than he would ever admit to anyone.

It was only then that he could turn to the wall of crates. His blue eyes were cold and vacant. For a moment, he stood eerily still save for the wind toying with his hair and clothes. A teeming mass of pirates was surging forth toward the barricade. It was over. The Koscheinoy was going to lose.

[Letho]

Only when he heard the panicky voice of the spindly sailor from above, a question of what to do after the golem crashes over his head was roused in his mind. What would he do? His heartbeat screwball plans always focused on the now, on being the doer, and what occurred afterwards was left to improvisation and more often then not luck. Myrhia would usually made one of her subtle observations here, saying that the bludgeon manner of fixing problems more often got them in then out of a pickle. She was right, of course. But she didn’t mind when Letho’s sleeved ace won the day from time to time. He hoped the sailor above was that card and that fortune, after all, favored the bold.

“Rope, lad! Throw me a rope!” he bawled over the raucous noise of the strife above. Gunfire mixed with metallic clangs was the tune of the moment, setting the pace of the bedlam that raged on the main deck, messing up the harmony of the steam engine that puffed vigorously. Letho had no idea which party was having an upper hand, but if bets were on, he would put his money on the invaders. And for that reason he had to get back onboard as soon as humanly possible. If they overcame the crewmen, they would hack and slash their way down below, and it would be only matter of time before they found his sleeping beauty. That thought made him reiterate his shout.

“THE RO...” and then a line of rugged rope fell by him and into the water below. His left let go of the rusty chain and even as he did so the flaming giant toppled over the bulwark and freefell. His trajectory was so close to the body of the swordsman that the flames licked his skin, setting his coat on fire, before the golem crash-landed into the sea below. Letho allowed a swift glance at the boiling surface below, but only the mist of the rising steam looked back as the golem sunk like a rock. Swiftly and effortlessly, one hand over the other, he climbed the rope and reemerged on the deck of the Koscheinoy. His coat was discarded hastily, the fire more then eager to incinerate his vampiric flesh, his feet stomping on the clothing until the tendrils of smoke were the only traces of the flames. He liked this coat. He couldn’t just throw it overboard.

“That was too close.” he finally spoke, his body retaining the casual size as he turned to the brown-haired boy. He seemed like an emasculate lad, years away from the scruffy seaman appearance, lacking the uncouthness that was usually a denominator of all seafarers. But regardless, if it weren’t for him, Letho would be probably starting a log swim to Raiaera right about now.

“Thank you, lad.” he added, his hand striking the youth on the shoulder distantly as his eyes already escaped to the ruckus further ahead. The crewmen seemed resourceful enough to create a shabby rampart out of wooden crates and grain sacks, but it seemed as stable as an old man’s tooth. They held they ground, preventing the attackers from entering the bowels of the ship, but wouldn’t be able to do so for much longer. He needed to get to Myrhia and get her out of harms way, but the scarce crew of the Koscheinoy was getting scarcer by the second. Letho turned to the lad at his side again.

“Listen to me. There is a woman down below in the sleeping quarters. Tell her Letho sent you to get her out of there because there trouble afoot.” he instructed the young man, grabbing the cutlass that hung around his waist before he made a move towards the epicenter of the whirlwind that raged in their vicinity. He paused though, half-turning to the boy and adding with a minute benevolent smirk. “Oh, and tell her that I didn’t start the fight this time.”

He proceeded towards the makeshift barrier hastily, stopping beside the gaunt archer that took at least as much credit for the destruction of the golem as himself. He meant to ask him if he had one of those mass instant death spells handy, but he was rather certain that the only answer to that question would be a queer look at best or an insult if the man felt edgy. Letho wanted to suggest a charge, one final suicidal hurrah of the good guys, but the buccaneers overwhelmed the flimsy barrier like a swarm of locusts, relentless towards the crewmen. Whatever the Koscheinoy was carrying in its cargo bay, the wretched scum wanted it pretty bad.

“Well, this certainly doesn’t look good.” Letho commented distantly, the gleaming cutlass calm in his hand as his piercing eyes surveyed the pack of pirates that slowly moved in to surround the survivors. The handful of seamen that survived the charge gathered in the center as the swordsman moved slowly, positioning himself until he stood back-to-back with the bowman. “Any ideas? I’m not keen of giving up without a fight, so I say we take down as many as possible.” he spoke to all that stood in his vicinity. He hoped that the fortune would favor the bold once again.

[skyler manfield]

Skyler glanced around for a rope, but most of them were singed to the point of ashes. Skittering past a pair of seamen brawling on the main deck, she snagged the end of an extra cargo rope from a half-open bin and then dashed back across to the railing.

"I've got it, quit your bellowing," she cried, tossing one end to the man and securing the other to a metal loop. Skyler had no time to verify whether this would save the passenger hanging down the side of the ship though, because another of their attackers noticed her and lunged at her with a pair of nasty looking curved daggers. With a yelp, she dodged right and then back left under his arm. Getting behind him, she attracted his attention away from the man climbing over the side of the ship by screaming.

"Hey moron! Watch it! You're attacking a girl!" she hollered at him shrilly, and laughing as he paused and stared in horror at her. "That's right you idiot, what would your mother think of THAT?"

He wasn't impressed by this comment, and practically threw himself at the girl who simply held out her knife for him to impale himself upon with a sickening gurgle.

The man who'd asked for the rope was patting her on the shoulder, and still calling her a lad which made her chuckle, but she shook off her confusion and listened to his request. With a curt nod, she darted to the stairs that led belowdecks. Quickly she found the cabin she knew the man shared with a beautiful girl who'd introduced herself at the beginning of the trip to Skyler as Myrhia.

Hastily, she opened the door and barrelled across the tiny cabin to the bunk where a sleeping form lay curled. Skyler roused the girl, and dragged her with no explanation from the cabin. As she pulled her up the stairs by the hand, Skyler began to pant out a jumbled version of what the man had said.

"There's trouble.. and Letho said it isn't his fault... this time."

Sticking her head barely above the deck, Skyler groaned to see a group of pirates stampeding the crew like hungry cattle. Glancing back at Myrhia, she frowned.

"Perhaps we'd be better just to stay down here - a couple of girls are more likely just to make a mess, no matter how well we fight..."

[Osato]

Hair was flying everywhere. Blood was bathing those aboard. And amidst the center of the fight was the young man. His hands were a blur as he hectically threw them about, letting swords and random weapons he found stir through his foes. Instead of keeping to a specific plan the boy decided to act as wild as he could, take as many with him as he could. The plan seemed to work to a certain degree.

That was, until he was smashed across the face. It was a blind-sided blow. Osato swore later that the man was not even there, that he had to wrap his hand around someone else to slap him. But it struck nonetheless, and hard. The firm rap across his jaw tossed him to the floor; he was already on unsteady footing. And before he knew what was happening his hair was covered in blood and dirt, with a pinch of salt-water for good measure.

If the blood that was covering his face and once pristine clothes was not enough to make the pretty boy angry, his hair was now covered in a mix of everything. But even strict years of carefully pampered vanity were forgotten with the migraine that was settling across the young man’s forehead. Around him the scuffled of boots across the ground only added to the furry of his head, causing black spots to form across his line of site.

“Am’aleh protect me...”

The thought must have fallen on at the feet of the water deity instead of its ears. For not even a second later a boot of one of the sea bandits found the man’s face. Tears began to well up at the corners of his eyes. While one hand frantically searched for holds to pull Osato away from the battle (rather disappointingly), the other hand clutched the side of his face. Already the cheek was swelling, he could feel there were no broken bones, but the headache would only grow worse with the rise of pain. A mute curse rose from him as he slid away from the battle.

“Whoa,” the voice was one of surprise, and why not? How many of the pirates were expecting one of their opponents to come sliding along between their legs? Especially one who looked on the verge of crying, holding his face, and frantically searching for a way out. Osato allowed the man that single word before his plated boot rose and kicked him square in the gut, all he could reach from his place on the ground. The man toppled over, dropping his rather wicked looking knife as he did so.

Finally the edge of the pirates was broken. Osato squirmed to the railing and as if a final blessing from Am’aleh found him his sword was not but two feet away. Unfortunately he had not escaped unnoticed. With hand, and attention, fully working on reaching the lost sword a boot caught him across the face. This time it was too much. His head was instantly taken by a sense of vertigo, his eyes lost focus, and that final fuzzy picture before loosing conscious was of a crew-member (supposedly a young man named Davie) popping her head out from under the deck. A final random thought found his mind before he was consumed by the black spots in his vision…

“I wonder what they’re doing?”

[Ashiakin]

((Did y'all see my response in LFG from several days ago...? No one posted in it, so I'm not sure anyone saw it. I would check it out if you didn't.))

Ashiakin turned from the battle to see that the ship's cabin boy had rescued the warrior from his predicament. The demon raised an eyebrow in surprise when the man identified himself as Letho to his rescuer. Letho? he wondered. Letho Ravenheart? It would seem that we have a ship full of celebrities. This will likely make the newspapers in at least three separate countries... How completely annoying. Although he had never met Letho, this man did seem to fit the descriptions that had trickled through his web of informers over the years. How strange it was to finally meet him now.

Gunshots rang out more sparsely now. The clatter and scrape of sword-fighting had ceased entirely. Most of the pirates were clustered around the far railings of the ship, having taken cover behind what spare crates and barrels that the crew had not used in making their defensive wall down the center of the ship. Still more pirates were climbing the slimy tentacles that led up to the decks of the Koscheinoy. Some could not find cover and were easy targets for the crew. But most found cover. They hid, primed their pistols and loaded their crossbows. They waited.

One of the dark elven engineers that had been firing the mounted spell-gun was dead, killed by a pirate's arrow that had struck his eye. Of all the ship's original crew, only five were still alive--the captain, a human, the elven song mage, one of the drow engineers, and the cabin boy that Letho had sent down below. All of the four still above deck had their fair share of injuries, but the captain's seemed the most serious. He had taken a musket ball to his right shoulder and looked blanched and feeble, no longer firing his ornate gun. The others did not look much better. They were arguing harshly amongst themselves. "Surrender, captain, fuckin' surrender," they said, threatening to kill him if he did not. The captain said nothing.

Ashiakin gave Letho a small nod as he stepped away from the railing. It was as much of an acknowledgement of equality or a thank you that he was likely to ever give anyone. With that, the mass of corsairs surged forth across the deck of the Koscheinoy. They moved like mechanical reapers. They fired flintlocks and loosed arrows to keep the heads of the crewmen down, destroying any how of a last defense. The line snapped. The pirates climbed over the crates and slipped through openings. The crew scattered, retreating to where Ashiakin and Letho now stood back to back. They seemed to be preparing for the end, but the pirates did not attack.

They moved with strategic grace, surrounding the survivors with a wall of grim warriors armed with maces, sabers, and cutlasses. About five of the pirates had stayed behind, using the broken wall of crates as cover so that they could train their muskets and bows on any who might resist the takeover. Ashiakin bit his lip at Letho's suggestion. Does the man play the hero in every predicatment he gets into? he wondered. If that's true, I wonder how he's still alive. But he did not voice these thoughts. "If you wish to, you may," he said with an air of offhand dismissal. "I don't think that would be our wisest course of action. We've clearly lost."

A wooden box had fallen near Ashiakin's feet when the pirates had broken through the makeshift wall. Quite aware that the eyes about twenty-five callous pirates were watching him, he knelt down and opened it. Inside there were many flags--the seafaring hawk of Salvar's merchant marines, the flag of Coronian traders, and several foreign oddities. But the flag that Ashiakin sought was the plain white one that signified surrender. He attached it to a short pole that he also found in the box and stood slowly. The demon extended the pole end-first toward the weary captain and said nothing, but his look was threatening. Don't be a greedy fool, he thought.

The captain timidly accepted the flag and held it high as he could. He waved it with his uninjured arm, shouting hoarsely, "We surrender! You brigands have th' advantage. Stan' down, crew. Passengers too if ya don't want to bloody die. Drop yer weapons." Ashiakin let out a quiet sigh of relief and the crew muttered comments of mollified curiosity. They'll probably all become pirates, he thought. The flag had maybe been a bit of show since it was likely that the pirates spoke Common, but this wasn't the best time to take any chances. Weapon after weapon struck the deck as the crew dropped their swords and their guns. The demon laid down his bow carefully before placing his quiver and his daggers neatly next to it.

As the corsairs moved forward to gather up the weapons and search the survivors for any hidden knives, Ashiakin realized that they were a strange lot. Around twenty-five in all, about half human, the other half a mixture of various other races. They wore no device, no insignia, no uniform. There was nothing to identify who they were. The demon held his tongue as one of the pirates searched him, although he was uncertain that it was really necessary. After all, he had been the one to initiate surrender.

One of the pirates, a shorter-than-usual, heavily tattooed dark elf was moving about the deck and giving orders. He told one group of the corsairs to head below deck and search all the rooms for anyone else onboard, another to head down to the cargo hold and stand guard, another to get the engines running again. Dressed in dull red, utilitarian clothes that almost passed for a uniform, this man was obviously the leader. He approached the Koscheinoy's disarmed crew and passengers with a broad smile on his face. "You have a lovely vessel, captain," he said. "It's a little old, but it'll suit our purposes nicely. It's not really your ship we're after, anyway."

"You're bloody fuckin' scum, you freak," the captain hissed. "When the Salvic gover'ment hears about this, they'll have a whole platoon of krakens an' aquamancers on yer ass. You'll never--" The dark elf shot the captain in the head with a flintlock pistol. The man crumpled on the deck, dead.

"Too patriotic," he said, turning to the survivors. "I'm sure you won't feel the same way. A pirate's life, eh? How about it? Show these gentlemen aboard the sub, if you would. Not the passengers, though. They'll be staying aboard the ship." Several of the pirates moved forward and escorted the surviving crewmen toward the far railing, telling them tales about the glorious new life they would lead. The crew seemed to possess a mixture of grim resolution and suppressed excitement as they disappeared down the tentacles that lead to the turtle-submarine. That's the last I'll ever see of them, he knew.

Still smiling, the drow captain moved closer to Letho and Ashiakin. "No need to fear for your lives," he said. "We may be pirates, but we're professionals. You will not be hurt if you stay out of our way. Your weapons will be returned to you when we put you off the ship. You may move about freely, but you may not enter the cargo hold, the engine room, or the captain's cabin. These will be strictly guarded at all times. Any violations, however, will result in your execution. Otherwise, gentlemen, I hope you enjoy your trip to Salvar." He chuckled and strode off without waiting for a reply.

Five of the pirates had departed with the crewmembers, leaving about twenty of the corsairs onboard the Koscheinoy. Several of them had gone down below to gather up the other passengers and set guards on the appropriate areas. The rest were milling about the deck, stripping the dead of their weapons and valuables and dumping the corpses overboard. The hisses and clacking of the Aleraran steam engine had started up again. There was a metallic click as the hatches on the turtle-sub slammed shut and it sunk beneath the ocean waves, setting out to train new pirates.

Ashiakin looked to the sea. It was vast and blue and empty. "It seems like we're going to Salvar," he said to Letho without looking at him. And then he thought: Better Salvar than that musical pixie kingdom, at least.

[Letho]

“Hey, hey! Let her go! She’s with me!” Myrhia shouted frantically in her mousy voice as her hand kept hitting the shoulder of one of the pirate invaders that descended down below. The man acted with indifference towards her, telling her she wouldn’t be harmed if she got her ass on the main deck promptly, but he had every intention to separate her from the tomboy girl that came to wake her up. He muttered something into his salt-and-pepper beard about crewmen getting a different treatment and Myrhia didn’t like the sound of that. So she decided to pester and annoy the pirate until he would buckle or swat her away like a horsefly. Fortunately, he didn’t do the latter. He seemed to deviate from the unreasonable kind of buccaneers with a short forehead, a dull empty look and the reek of sweat and grog following him like a mist, so he stopped and took a better look at the girl that he designated as one of the crew.

“She?” he said, peering into her face first, then letting his eyes trace the rather flat lines of her unwomanly figure. Truth was, she could easily pass for both, but with the annoying redhead constantly reassuring him with her seemingly veracious testimonies he could actually see a female in what stood before him. It was one of those peculiar things that you didn’t see until somebody pointed it out, and once that happened you couldn’t unsee it. He shrugged his shoulders in defeat, instigating a triumphant smile from Myrhia. “Fine, just get on the main deck.”

“Phew, that was close. Come on, let’s see what’s going on.” she said to the significantly taller female with a courteous smile as she led the way up the rapidly ascending stairs that led to the main deck.

***

Forfeit was not a game Letho liked to play. Defeats he could handle. Defeats left a bitter taste in one’s mouth, an ignominious ache of broken pride and failure to get the rightful accolade, but they left a taste. Forfeits were insipid, hollow, leaving unanswered questions and bunch of what ifs that made you recollect the whole predicament and feel a gapping hole where your actions should have been. They were like bread without added salt - they served the purpose, but you had to stuff it down your throat.

However, in the current situation, that seemed like not only the only plausible solution, but the one that would get them relative safety. The pirates seemed oblivious towards them, their focus on the new recruits and whatever rested in the bowels of the Koscheinoy. Letho find this breed of civilized pirates rather peculiar, their demeanor switching from bloodthirsty violent to serenely ignorant just because they were dealing with passengers. This seemed just a business to them; their trade was violence, their currency was stolen goods and their plan was a straight path with a discernable goal. If you stood away from their intentioned trajectory, you remained unharmed. It was a sound philosophy, much more reasonable then the usual plunder and kill and kill and plunder until you step on one toe too many and get your ugly mug one on wanted poster too many.

Letho stood with his back leant to the wooden fence, looking over the new crew of the Koscheinoy that lumbered the bodies and threw them overboard. At his side, the pale skinned archer spoke of their new destination, but the swordsman didn’t seem to react at first. That is, until he saw a familiar mahogany-haired head popping from down below. This made his lips curl in a smile. “Salvar is really not what I had in mind for a vacation.” was all he managed to say before Myrhia’s voice took reign on the main deck.

“Letho? Letho, what happened here?” she spoke in her high-pitched perplexed tone as she moved over the jumbled mess of the main deck. Her lissome feet carefully maneuvered around the blood puddles and wooden debris as she made her way to the swordsman. She was in her scarlet eye-catching attire, her short skirt revealing enough of her bare flesh to plague Letho’s face with a mild smirk. In a matter of seconds her lank pallid hands were around his neck and she held on to him as if she knew that he was a hair thread away from being cast overboard mere minutes ago. “I woke up and... and you were gone. And there was ruckus and... And this girl came to wake me up. Please don’t tell me we’re in trouble again.”

“Well, the good news is that we’re safe as long as we don’t try to get into any of the guarded areas of the ship.” he spoke, his hand finding its way around her scrawny waist and holding her tenderly. She lifted her eyes up to meet his – she didn’t like when he spoke of the good news first. It meant that the bad news overruled all the goodness of the first. “The bad news is that our new captain is heading for Salvar instead of Raiaera.”

Her head slumped back at his chest as she shuddered a little bit, as if a whiff of Salvar wind just passed over his figure. “I hate Salvar.” she said meekly. She needn’t to speak of the reasons why because Letho knew them well. She was a breath away from dying in his arms in the wintry wasteland of the northern realm and those moments of agony remained forever etched in her mind.

“I know.”

“Promise me we won’t stay there for long?”

“I promise.”

He couldn’t resist her plea, despite the uncertainty of what awaited for them once they parted ways with the Koscheinoy.

“Alright. So, why don’t you introduce me to your new friend?” she finally made peace with the realization that they would once again find themselves amidst the biting winds and endless whiteness, and turned to the man that stood beside them.

“This is... uh... I don’t know.” Letho realized that he didn’t know the name of the gaunt archer that the situation forced into a temporary alliance. It was sad that in the world today you can draw blades with a man before you knew his name.

“I see you’ve been friendly as always.” she commented before she squeezed out of his arms and approached the man whose hair didn’t seem harmonious with his appearance. She expected to see an old man with bushy eyebrows and ancient wrinkles, but instead the pale man seemed rather young. Her hand outstretched towards him innocently, her smile, semi-concealed by the hair that fell over the left side of her face, an earmark of her disposition. “I’m Myrhia. Nice to meet you, sir. The big lug over here is Letho if he forgot to mention it. And I’m pretty certain that he did. And that over there is Skyler.” she ended with her left forefinger pointed towards the unremarkable boyish female that stood in their vicinity.

[skyler manfield]

Skyler's heart stopped as one of the pirates emerged below deck even as she was trying to find the right plank to push that would reveal the secret compartment the captain kept for smuggling certain goods. She'd hoped to find it in time to hide Myrhia and herself in the tiny space before their attackers found the two young women. She knew the reputation pirates had, and that their appetite for women sometimes clouded their judgement and their pity for the "weaker sex". Unfortunately, the assassin hadn't found the right board yet, when a weasely looking pirate barged into the lower cabin and found the two.

The girl froze, and thank god that the woman she'd come to find was a quick thinker, or Skyler would have been a new recruit on the pirate's crew. That wasn't at all the career path she wanted, and she cast a grateful glance as the young woman revealed the secret that no one else had figured out.

The pirate left them alone, and Skyler scurried up the steps behind her savior, following the girl like a puppy. It seemed that the entire crew of the Koscheinoy had already been taken down in the turtle sub, and Skyler was by some stroke of luck the only one left. She stared around her at the pirate-infested deck, mostly ignoring the conversation taking place between the passengers. It wasn't until introductions started being made that she perked up and chose to listsen.

When Myrhia introduced the young assassin, she smiled crookedly and lifted a hand in greeting, not sure what to say. She felt painfully out of place among these people, and she knew it showed in her eyes. If they hadn't already noticed her, she'd have hidden once more and let herself disappear into the shadows. Frowning sullenly, she found a barrel, and hopped on top turning into a makeshift stool for her to listen doggedly to their plans.

If there was anything that scared her, it was the idea of going to Salvar. Deacon might as well be there instead of Radasanth, as many people as he knew there. She cursed quietly under her breath, shaking her head and finding herself regretting that the pirates hadn't taken her after all - at least she wouldn't be going to Salvar.

[Osato]

In the miasma of pain the young sell-sword was flooded by darkness. Around him the pounding and shuffling of the embattled pirates and crew was drumming hollowly at the rear of his mind. The images of fellow passengers and crew passed before him as his body assumed a near weightless impression. Behind him were the wounded and fallen brigands that he had alone felled, only about five had actually died or been given wounds deep enough to kill. Fighting on ships, or from ship to ship, had been his specialty, but it normally involved much more teamwork between him and the other fighters. During the battle behind him it had been more of a wild melee consisting of lost weapons and shallow wounds.

Perfectly manicured hands slipped across the broken and worn deck of the Koscheinoy. There was no strength behind them, no true will to move other then an attempt to revive himself. Osato had all but given up on his willpower and need to stay awake when he began to blink. At first it was to remove the salt, nothing more then to get the disgusting spray of water out of his eyes. Even as the captain called the surrender of the crew and the ship the young mercenary was slowly recovering from the heartless assault of black spots.

“Wajja joonin wivv,” the words of the sell-sword were lost still. His line of sight was wavering, like the rocking of a quickly moving ship, and all sounds sounded very distant and empty. To tell the truth the only thing that was actually concrete and actually stronger then normal was Osato’s sense of smell. Everything came to him in as if he was stuck in a void, watching himself from the outside. Overhead was two of the pirates, the people the words had been directed at in the first place.

They were dirty, smelt like raw fish, and had no identification to mark them. To the still struggling young mercenary they were disgusting. The first to catch his jumbled words and truly indiscernible diction nudged the second with a snicker. The second turned, leaned in close, and laughed at Osato. They seemed serious during a fight, who wasn’t really, but after words they were nothing more then overgrown kids. “Wha’ we got ‘ere?”

“Jusss leemu gaen…” but the man was cut off as one of the two, probably the bigger, grabbed him by his hair and dragged him towards the rest of the surviving passengers. Osato was bumped and battered as the deck of the ship skittered under his body, the loose boards and splintered wood giving him a good collection of scrapes he could only hope would not scar.

By the time the drow captain gave his warm farewell Osato had gained enough of his head to sit up against one of the fallen barrels behind him. To his flank was the rest of the crew, from the monolith of a man to the rather pale demon. If the young mercenary had been of like a normal being, a human male long since his last time bedding a female, he would have been ogling the woman named Myrhia. Instead he was a soulless being, one of an asexual nature. Urging of sexual gratification was not at the forefront of his mind, neither was the need to reproduce.

Instead Osato saw Myrhia as a thing of beauty, like a work of art. He could admire artwork without having to require a passionate embrace, couldn’t he? Of course he could, and that was how he saw the people of Althanas, especially the ones attractive by society’s standards. The sell-sword took the peoples ‘appreciation’ of him the same way, thinking him a display of art as well. But as his head was spinning a shaky hand ran through his thin, silky hair and found many random pieces of trash.

“My names Osato,” he said after the girl, Skyler, had taken a seat atop a barrel. He was slightly distracted by his hair, the dried blood on his face, and the dirt that was smeared across his clothes. If dizziness had not been a distraction enough than a deep-set vanity that Osato called comfort would have. A blank look of slight disgust had found its way into the old grooves of his visage and absently he heard the others talking. “Salvar, huh? I’ve never been there before… what’s the big problem with that? And who are these pirate people? I’ve never seen so many come out of nowhere, much less grant safe passage.”

As if a sudden realization had dawned over him, his eyes widened and his hands dropped. The motion made his head spin so much that he quickly, and rather roughly, found his seat again. “Where is my sword! Are we getting those back!”