Sanctuary Raid

[Yari Rafanas]

((Closed. Supplement. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=872)))

The port town of Jadet bustled with the routine’s early-morning business, feet pitter-pattering against the hardwood floor down by the docks. A cool breeze rolled in from the gentle waters of the sea, carrying away the sticky heat and the unpleasant smell of dead fish. Adventurers hustled back and forth, preparing their designated ships for gods know what journeys lay in wait for them, all the while trying their best not to cause any trouble with the busy locals. Corone’s armed forces were present in the crowd, but were currently occupied with some rather disgruntled drow hailing from Alerar. They didn’t have their “papers.”

Eyes were off the dark alley behind one of the less savory inns. Hidden there in the almost-too-convenient shadows, were about a dozen members of the forgotten group rogues and brigands on the uprising: the Bandit Brotherhood. Their leader, the young Yari Rafanas, stood at the front of the group, hugging the wall’s edge. Though a bit short, the bandit king carried with him an enormous aura of arrogance and pride, evident in his ever-present smirk. What little of his form that was not covered by his dark cloak was wrapped in the blackest leather, riddled with metal studs of prevalida, as if the most unforgettable night sky hugged the young man’s slender body. Comfortably hidden from view, the youth’s sharp blue eyes surveyed the port.

A beautifully-carved, single-mast sloop and its crew rested at arm’s reach of the bandits. Men and women neatly dressed hurried up and down the deck, tossing ropes and hollering orders back and forth between one another while the captain and what appeared to be a middle-aged nobleman discussed business matters. Yari assumed that the owner, the nobleman in white, must have been the sporty type. Why else would a man of obvious importance be up so early, or own a ship so sleek in design? The ship had to be fast, as well. Its name, “Impulse,” even implied it. Seeing this ship, the Bandit King decided no other boat in the harbor deserved to be his more than this one.

Rafanas turned his head to his family, flashing a wild grin and pointing calmly at the docked sloop. “That’s the one I want. That one,” he said with hushed excitement. “While the guards are busy, we’re taking that boat and sailing to the Sanctuary. Any questions?”

Yari looked over the group, doing his best to suppress a chuckle when his eyes met with Dan, the muscle.

“Oh, almost forgot. I know you’re big and everything, Dan, but try not to step on any kids. I think that’d be bad for the group’s image.”

[Slayer of the Rot]

Maybe three years ago he would have wondered why he'd be here, but these days, he didn't have to.

The ideal of freedom was constantly sought out by many men, in particular his ancestors, who had driven King's soldiers from their homes to live how they wanted. Always, freedom was difficult to acquire. Too many years of it can leave a person forgetting it's truth. In Althanas, freedom was far more so than his original home, and this was the only clan to fight for the ideal called freedom. However, freedom could be a corrupt thing; as they passed, he could count on the faces of each person, on their smiles, what sort of crimes they were walking scot free from. While it did indeed bother him, to see the girl huddled in the corner of the inn, a blanket draped over his shoulders, memories of some terrible deed visited upon her still fresh, it wasn't his right to take life anymore. He wasn't the judge, the jury, or the executioner, with the things he'd done in the past, he wasn't fit to abide in any of those positions. And with the crimes he was accused off, no one would listen to his old ways of an ignorant justice.

Mass murder.

Arson.

Kidnapping.

Crimes against humanity.

He could still feel the icy cold knife that had dug itself into his belly when he'd heard that soldier call out the list. Fallien was too sparse and lost for him to have done those things...but it hadn't taken him long to put two and two together and get four when they'd described the "maniac". Same build, same voice, same face, but had shorter hair combed neatly, and always clean shaven. Black business suit. He'd always had a flair for the dramatic. 'Delirion,' he thought, glancing up at
the rooftops edging the alley.

Unlike the others, who he'd for the most part tuned out, Dan wasn't garbed and shadowed in a cloak of any kind. His long hair, that he'd failed to cut yet, spilled down in straight black waves past his shoulders and down his back, almost hiding the revolver stored in the dark leather holster strapped to his shoulders. The brass shells of iron bullets winked in the straying sunlight that dared wander down the alley. Realizing that Yari's eyes were on him, he turned his attention back to the assembled bandits, and crossed his arms over his broad chest. Perhaps a less perceptive man wouldn't have caught the irony, but the enforcer, turned his eyes to the sky and grinned a bit. "Yeah, no worries. After all, our image is so spic and span," he replied, a bit surprised at his own cynicism.

The enforcer put a hand on the breast of his white button down shirt, marked with charcoal gray pinstripes, his head swiveling the other way, glancing out towards the "Impulse". The craftsmanship of it's hull, the elegant carved desings, suggested elven hands had been at work upon it. It was streamlined and sleek, all the sorts of things that would suggest speed, something that would be rather befitting for the man that was known as one of the quickest on Althanas. The crew milled around on the deck silently, under the direction of the nobleman who owned the craft. Nothing he couldn't handle. The soldiers as well, dealing with the identification-less drow weren't able or strong enough to take an end to him.

This was the easy part of the journey though. Sanctuary's golems were undoubtedly prowling the lost city, and he could remember well how strong his own, Grant, had been. Sighing, he turned his head back and drew a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, lighting it with the dented metal lighter that he'd owned since he was quite a young man. At this moment, he'd usually tell the others to stop talking and start walking, but he had far more patience than that. "I remember about where the vault was where the stuff is," he announced through a thin cloud of smoke. "But I'm sure the other ones do, too. I have a bit of business to take care of on the island when we get there, but I won't be too long, in case the vault's still locked."

[Dissinger]

"I have a question, why isn't it ours yet?" Seth asked calmly as he looked out form under his hood. It was a calm voice; one could be sure, yet still held a bit of the Lavinian pride that was deeply embedded. With all that had happened in his life, he had figured his pride lost. Yet here Yari Rafanas had resurrected it, the phoenix once again rising form the ashes as it burned clean the impurities that had once plagued it.

The arrogance was almost infectious, as it radiated off the Bandit King. Still Seth knew why he was here. Despite the whispers and the talk about him, and he was pretty damn sure it was there. It was for one sole reason. He was a thief at heart, and the opportunity to rediscover his roots of thiefdom, was far to dear a chance to pass up. There was a time when he had toted out that he was the Thief Extraordinaire. When the Scourge of Scara Brae was more than just a memory.

It was the time before the last Gisela, now what seemed like Centuries ago. Before Aien Tatsujin had forced him to bow his head in shame and admit defeat. A feat only one other had produced in a twisted game of lust and power. It was all this, bottled up and put on the shelf long ago, that popped its cork and fell off the shelf. Shattering and seeping into his blood. He almost felt human again. Almost.

He had returned to the thoughts of how his magic could be used to steal rather than kill, returned to thoughts on how to learn how to finally lock pick. It returned to thoughts he never though he would have again. It made him feel young again, made him willing to play the game. While he was only a third the normal lifespan of a human, he felt far more ancient than those of his age. Perhaps it was the magic, making him feel it, but it was refreshing to know that the thoughts of murder didn't excite him anymore.

Perhaps it was a coincidence considering the memories of his past, but he finally felt he could move on. He was trusted, and he would be loathe to break that trust. The Hex Magi was already contemplating on who to stop if anyone, so he could ensure the boat would be secured by the Brotherhood.

Bandit Brotherhood, he chided himself. Gild Sorrain’s Brotherhood had been a disaster. The Bandit Brotherhood was a dream come true. He felt so powerful, he was certain had Yari not instilled it in him, had he naturally produced this arrogance; he could have beaten the Bandit King for ego. Still he now waited silently for the answer to his question. He had found his light, now he was going to chase it for all he was worth.

[Slavegirl]

In the shadows of the alley, Natalya felt safe. Crouching next to the wall, her head tilted upward to the conversation between the other Bandits, the former slave breathed in deeply the salt air as well as the muffled excitement of her brothers.

Her part in this was easy enough - use her psionic abilities to distract the crew long enough to get the rest of the Bandit Brotherhood onto the "Impulse", and give the crew reason to leave the ship. She'd considered several ways to do this, and had decided that a mass hallucination of a fire on board the beautifully sleek sloop would be sufficient.

They were an interesting group, and Natalya found she had a special kinship with each of them - even Yari. But especially Dan, whom she'd shared the risk of life and limb with, and also Seth with whom she had a special familial love instilled by their former leader, Ghaun. Rising to her feet, Natalya stood between the thief and the enforcer, the sea breeze rippling her blue-black hair around her like a banner.

"I'm going to try something," she told them finally, wanting them to be fully aware of what she'd be doing, "You already know I have to distract the crew so that you can board the ship without notice or trouble. The only surefire way to do this, is for me to convince them that the 'Impulse' is a dangerous place for them to remain. If you see fire, or smoke, ignore it. It is simply a trick. Take the ship, and be prepared for me to board at the very last moment."

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Natalya looked back and forth between the men gathered around her, her brilliant azure gaze striking home the point she was trying to make. Without waiting for affirmation, the former slave looked down from their faces, and smoothed her black leather vest, adjusted the crossbow that hung across her back, and settled her daggers more soundly in her boots.

[Storm Veritas]

Yari. Dan. Seth. Natalya. Time to get moving, cause hell’s leaving port.

Although he was far too old for such juvenile antics, Storm couldn’t help but feel a little giddy as he strolled up the dock. He had a swagger that was unmistakable, but looked a deep departure from his usual self. In the place of what would normally be a finely cut herringbone suit and tie, Storm was born in simple black cottons, taut and clean against his tall, athletic physique. His hair was pulled back slick against his head, and his long face cut a sharp jawline, freshly shaven and marked with brightly shining teeth. With two very different but equally lethal daggers sheathed safely at his hip, he couldn’t contain his excitement.

The Sanctuary was a dangerous place; a crazed, unreal hospice that just couldn’t possibly be made of human hands. With living walls, stone golems of nearly infinite strength, there was no clear weakness. It was alive, unbreachable, impenetrable and invincible.

It was perfect.

He moved up the dock and found the young Rafanas waiting. He had only known him for a few days, but the infectious personality and lack of moral highground assumed by the young man was quite alluring. There weren’t many men on Althanas that Veritas would lend an ounce of trust to. At one time, in a life no seeming quite removed, he had trusted the executor of Sanctuary, Damon Kaosi. Putting himself in the hands of young Yari would change all this, closing the circle and completing the turn of the tide.

“Evening handsome. You’d better know what the fuck you’re doing.”

A smile, and he hopped to the deck. There was little else that had to be said today. This was a time for action, not words.

[Yari Rafanas]

I know.

“You will get what you need, Dan,” he reassured the brute and gave his bandits another grin. “We all will.”

Rafanas waved over a few of the brigands in the back and they came slinking over immediately. Though mostly men who looked a bit rough around the edges and like they had seen a fair share of battles, one of them was a young woman. The way she winked at her leader and brushed a hand through her short-cut, dirty-blonde hair suggested that she had known Yari in the past, in one way or another. She grinned, a suggestive smile only offset in its beauty by the small scar under her chin. “Yeah?”

“Melody,” he called her, a hint of discipline in his voice, as if he was not amused by her advances. Something personal, perhaps. “I need you to get the boys going as soon as we’re on board.” He turned his eyes to Natalya with a smile. “You, do what it is that’ll get us on there, but be careful. The rest of you, hop on, but leave the captain for me. No more wasting time.”

His sentence was punctuated by the snickering of the greedy group as they dispersed into the crowded dock. Their cloaks, black and brown clothing, and careful steps made it easy for them to slip by unnoticed. As Yari followed and weaved through the sea of shoulders, he glanced at his brethren, making sure they were doing as they were told. Melody waited on her queue while some of the more caring bandits whispered to women and children, warning them of potential violence or deadly commotion that could come at any moment. There was a timer now on their actions. It would be only a handful of minutes before one of the forewarned citizens of Jadet took it upon themselves to alert Corone’s soldiers. However, as fate would have it, they were still dealing with the drow problem.

Hmph, dark elves.

The King of Thieves was in position now, standing arrogantly at the base of the ramp leading up to the Impulse. The crew of the ship paid him no mind, as they were far too busy trying to appease their rich employer, and the captain himself was about to draw his sword and cut his wrist, it seemed. The ship was practically grabbing at Yari, squirming, begging, yearning for the bandit to take it. Steal me. Take me. They do not deserve me.

Rafanas grinned. There came the sensation again, the one he had felt before he had died—that irresistible urge to move, to act, to live. It overwhelmed him, and he excitedly gripped his curved daggers strapped to his thighs. He was close now, closer than he had been a very long while. Life and all its thrills were right there, ready to be played out and bring him one step closer to his goal.

And then, the fires started.

[Slavegirl]

This was going to take a lot of concentration, and a dangerous amount of energy to pull off, but Natalya was fairly certain she could manage. She'd never tried it before, but she'd heard of it being done from her mother in stories she'd heard as a child. As she settled into a corner, partially hidden by a fruit cart, the former slave meditated on these stories as a way to clear her mind.

First, to search out all those people who were members of the crew. Natalya carefully sent her mind out through the crowd and onto the boat, her psyche creeping like a naughty child through the thoughts of those going about their daily routine. It was easy to find the crew, and one by one she tied the mental equivalent of a rope around their thoughts, her grasp on them tight enough to hold their attention when she was ready, and loose enough that she could jerk free when the need arose.

Anyone else who's mind lingered over the Impulse came next. A fishmonger here, a so-called fortune teller there, a group of children sent to buy ribbons and lace for their mother who were staring wide-eyed at the beautiful yacht, anyone who thought for more than a moment about the ship was a target for her noose. The former slave was no respecter of persons. Once each and every one of them had been secured, Natalya opened her eyes and smiled.

"Oh my god!" yelled the fortune teller, "Smoke!"

The crew began to gasp and rush around in a panic looking for buckets and water. In their minds, and in the eyes of the nobleman who owned the vessel, the flames only grew as they tried to extinguish them.

Natalya's face grew pale, and a trickle of blood ran from her nose; the noise was so distracting, couldn't these people shut up? Slumping against the wall, she let the hallucinations weaken only for a moment. She only needed enough time to gather her strength to make a run for the ship. The rest of the bandits had already made it aboard, and she knew that they would leave her if they must.

[Slayer of the Rot]

Panic spread just as well as the fire that manifested in their minds, and without hesitation, the stone faced enforcer darted forward. He had one purpose, and one purpose only; the deck of the "Impulse". Plus, he imagined it wouldn't be so awfully frowned upon if he took care of some of the posted soldiers...as though he had much of a choice. As the cloaked bandits slipped easily through the rabble, Dan stuck out like a sore thumb, his white shirt stark against the rest of the crowd, his long black hair whipping with his rapid pace. He was a target, a distraction, and deservedly so; Yari had business on the ship ahead of him, and Dan was more than a match for these men.

They cleared the way by waving their crossbows, which they leveled at Dan, who emerged from the parting, shrieking crowd, and paused with a grin, reaching into the lapels of his shirt. Before they had a chance to pull the triggers, little black knives slashed through the air and buried themselves deep into the dark wood, slicing their drawstrings. In an heartbeat, and without a hope to re string the weapons, Dan was on them, snatching them up by the collars of their tunics and launching them high and far, throwing thick jets of water up into the air as they plunged into the ocean.

By the time he'd leapt up onto the well washed hardwood deck of the "Impulse", the ship was swarming with dark garbed figures, men and women hidden beyond the shadows of a hood, milling about, holding weapons forward and urging the crew to do as they say. It was all just as simplistic as the picture the King of Thieves had painted for his family, and Dan crossed his arms slowly over his chest, slowly grinning with satisfaction...satisfaction and a smile that didn't last as he saw the faces in the cloaks, and a memory flashed by. Mouth set with a deep and troubled frown, he whipped around, eyes scanning the crowd frantically, his hands gripping the railing of the ship so hard that it left visible dents.

'C'mon Natlya....c'mon...c'mon, Natalya...'

And then like Fate the crowd parted and he saw an exhausted former slave slumped down against the wall in the alley that the bandits had emerged from, and to the west, the platoon of soldiers that were marching dutifully down the packed city street. Without a second thought to his well being, he hopped up onto the damaged railing and lunge out into the open air with one push from his powerful legs, sailing high over the crowd, slamming to the ground and stumbling slightly only a few feet from Natalya. Quarrels stuck his back, but he set aside the pain for a time in the future, and bent to sling Natalya's arm over his shoulders, lifting the woman up with both arms. Her head lolled against his chest, her dizzy eyes stared up numbly, perhaps unaware of the blood he was once again shedding for her sake, taking another bolt in his shoulder before he leapt from the ground, taking to the air again like a hawk.

"Impressive," he said once they were both on the ship, setting her down so that her back reclined against the outside walls of the Captain's Quarters. "A mass hallucination's not easy, or that's what I've been told," he said, making idle talk as he drew his gun from it's shoulder holster and wiped the blood from her upper lip with the tail of his shirt. "Now then..." Over his head, he lifted the revolver, pulled the trigger, and let the little lead breathing dragon roar. The crew that continued to resist froze in their tracks, and looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. "We've got places to go, people to see, stone to smash. I expect you all to cooperate, or I'll shoot you in the knees."

[Storm Veritas]

The power of confusion was not something that was new to Storm; he had used it at every stage of his career to manipulate, swindle, and survive. Confusion made the masses crazy, and it was patently obvious that while every man had the capacity for brilliance, the mob could do no better than a brainless idiocy. Capitalizing on this entropy was the key to success. It was terrible, dastardly stuff to some, but to Storm it was merely opportunistic and entrepreneurial.

Laying his eyes on the mighty Impulse, the carefully clad stranger couldn’t help but notice that none had procured a boat. Here, docked, broad and well wrought, the ship would be perfect. It was tethered to the oaken dock by only a few scarce ropes. Veritas cut the first as he walked, only an errant call from one of the few hands on deck taking notice. Not breaking stride, he pinched his fingers around the second tether instants later, smiling as his fingers flickered to an electric blue livelihood. The well-dried rope burst quickly, a gentle flame fast forming and propagating toward the dock.. One more flip of the wrist, and he severed the second rope, the ship now free floating from the soon-blazing dock.

Looks like it’s time to ship out. Let’s not delay any further.

He was sure he had been seen by only one, and used the rope to hop quickly to the starboard rail. The dock was heating now, a smoke coming from the thick wooden pillar that steadied the platform. Soon, the entire deck would be burning, and the ship would sail, whether or not the Bandit Brotherhood was aboard.

The rest would likely join, and all the civilian, plebian idiots would panic. Assuming the ship was sinking, Veritas found it not-too-unlikely that some of the shipmates would test their swimming ability. He walked quickly to the far side of the ship, settling in amongst a set of anonymous barrels and crates. He sat to smoke before a frightening realization crossed his mind.

What if Yari actually PAID for this ship? How’s it going to go over if you just stole a purchased ship? At some point, you really should begin thinking things through before you get crazy, you dumb shit.

[Yari Rafanas]

The ropes were cut.

An excited Dan leaped pass Yari, back into the fray, back into action like was expected. The bandit king did not even bother to turn his head, he just kept marching, one step at a time up the ramp to the deck. Frightened sailors scrambled off the edges of the boat, jumping through plumes of smoke and screaming like terrified children as bandit after brigand crawled all over their ship to take their place. There were small skirmishes, though no lives were taken. That was not the thieves’ objective—their prize was already won. Pointless death was not in their agenda.

Melody and another bandit dragged the body of the unconscious noble to Yari’s feet, snickering at the large bump on the man’s head. “What do you want done with him, boss?” Melody asked in that flirtatious tone of hers, and Yari simply smirked in reply.

“Release him!” came a shout from the flames, belonging to a rather adamant captain. He threw away his jacket, seeing through the illusions and snarling in the direction of his employer and his capturers. A flintlock pistol made its way to his hand, the hammer pulled back and the barrel tipped threateningly towards the bandits.

It took Yari only a second.

The firearm was cut right in two—dissected by the legendary shark blades of the Brotherhood. Stunned at his sudden disarmed state, the captain looked straight at his attacker—the sleek, confident bandit king was practically chuckling, one hand carrying a curved mythril blade, the other glowing unnaturally with a malicious intent. Another heartbeat, and the fist was slammed violently into the captain’s ribs, energy transferring from the sailor to the king in a magnificent display of raw, magical prowess. A shred of the man’s soul sunk into Yari’s hand, and the memories followed.

The Impulse suddenly felt like home. Its inner workings, its layout, its adventures of the past, they all became clear to Yari. The captain’s most prevalent and recent memories flooded the foreground of the youthful bandit’s mind. At first, it was too much of a rush, none of them felt real. At last, however, a solid image of a holding bay etched itself into his eyes. Bars, a small prison, in the belly of the ship. But they were not empty—the Impulse had a prisoner—a strong, beautiful woman. Where had she come from?

The thunderous boom of a firearm woke Yari from his thoughts. The captain lay unconscious at his feet, the deck frozen still in fear. Dan was back, wasn’t he? Dan was back and he had things under control, all eyes were on him. Meradith looked towards Rafanas, the young man who stood quietly grinning. Yari gave her a glance in return, and finally spoke an order.

“Alright, Melody, get the boys working on getting us the hell out of here, quickly. Dan!” he shouted, turning his attention to the brute. Ah, good, he has Natalya. Everyone is here. “Grab every one of these fools who won’t cooperate and bring them inside with me. We’ll lock them up.”

Rafanas grabbed the captain by his collar and dragged the unconscious body away. A bandit followed his leader holding the frail noble in his arms, and the prisoners were lead away.

The Impulse cut into the fresh morning waters, still burning in the eyes of Jadet. None pursued the lost cause.

[Jolie Fairchild]

Pacing angrily in the hold, the young entrepreneur kicked randomly at a steel bar, part of the cage that prevented her escape to freedom. Damn it... Hot and stuffy in the stale, humid air, her eyes had only just accustomed themselves to the darkness, not that there was much to see. The only prisoner, there wasn't even anyone to talk to.

All this over a stupid set-up. Fucking bastards... Remembering the greasy mob-boss, the request of an easy hit for professional cash, made her stomach knot with fury. In her mind, she could still see the merchant, if that's what he really was, folding his stand for the night, his wares already packed into his cart. Approaching him, she hadn't noticed the shadows of men behind her, not until it was too late. After a quick tussle, mainly them grappling her and her biting, kicking, and stabbing at their hands, she managed to free herself. Running far and fast, she found herself at the docks, where she chose her bed in the coiled ropes on the deck of The Impulse. At dawn, she awoke in the cell, where she'd been pacing like a caged animal for the better part of the day.

Above her, the sounds of screaming, orders made and ignored, and a skirmish met her ears, though it seemed muffled and distant from this far down. Smirking to herself, she hoped the bastards all died. A crack of bright light nearly blinded her as the door to the hold opened. Once the spots cleared, Jolie could see the forms of two sailors seeking refuge from the battle. Chuckling a little, she took the liberty of ribbing them a little. "You chicken? Can't take a little fighting? Or you just crawling back into the dark where you belong?"

Turning sharply toward her, their expressions quickly changed from fearful to wrathful, their features splotched and ruddy with the darkness of the emotion. Stalking toward her, she was irritated to see one of them remove a key from his dirty vest. Shit... Stepping backwards, she crouched slightly as though for battle. Sneering at her, the key-man slid the silver object into place, turned it, and with an objecting squeal from the door hinges, opened the portal that would give him access to the mouthy girl.

Weathered, grimey hands reached for her, which she batted away with her own cleaner ones. "Get out of here, fatty. You don't know who you're dealing with!" Her eyes were the only thing that gave away that she was nervous, the dark orbs darting from man to man. In answer, they both chuckled, their faces reminding her of cocky bastards that had hit on her in every bar she'd ever entered. Holding her fists up, her elbows tucked close to her body, her form was excellent - in more way than one - though the foolish sailors would never know the difference.

As one of them grabbed at her, Jolie took a swing at him, her auburn hair flinging around her shoulder in a wave of silk with the motion. He was ready, though, and grasped her wrist tightly in his meaty grip. Cursing under her breath, the girl kicked him, hard. This he wasn't expecting, and his knees hit the floor as he dropped his hands to cover his precious jewels, which had just been punished. Undeterred, the other sailor grabbed her from behind, his thick arms like small trees around her slender waist. Pushing her feet against the floor, she threw her weight back, slamming the surprised man back against the bars of the cell. Dazed, his grip loosened, but quickly regained strength, foiling her attempt.

"I'm gonna teach ya fer mouthin' off, bitch," he hissed into her ear, the menace almost palpable in the words. Of all the days to leave my bodice-dagger at the inn... Irritated and beginning to worry about her fate, the novice assassin tried to reach the Bitch, but her fingers didn't quite make it before she was dropped heavily to the floor, face first. Unprepared for the fall, she did not have time to put her hands down, and she took a bruising, her left eyebrow splitting painfully, a trickle of blood rolling along the ridge to her cheek.

"Now then, lessee wha this girl can do!" Staring at the planked floor, Jolie panicked momentarily, not sure what to do. Reaching again for the knife at her thigh, one of them yanked at her hand, flipping her to her back. Quarters were tight, and space was at a premium, leaving one man standing above her, and the other pulling himself up angrily from the floor. His continued pain gave her some satisfaction, but when the uninjured one took her dagger away, she despaired. Jolie, girl, you really need to learn when to shut up!

[Yari Rafanas]

Thud.

The poor captain’s drained and battered body fell limply against the hardwood floor of the hold, Rafanas hovering over it. He had just entered the room half-expecting to find another prize, but he was sorely disappointed to see two men doing their best to take something they did not deserve. Disappointed, and enraged. This pair of greasy goons, though garbed in the uniform of the Impulse, were obviously nothing more than hired muscle gone array. Like cowards, they sought out a dark corner, and now they were taking out their aggression in the innocent. Everyone aboard the Impulse would be spared except for these men.

There was a sickly whistle as Yari’s membership dagger cut through the air, between the iron bar doors of the cell where the entanglement was occurring, and imbedded itself violently into the back of one of the attackers. He gagged and screamed, falling off of Jolie. The other of the two, still red in the face from having his privates kicked in, looked over to see who had just interrupted their play session. Seeing the arrogant smirk of Rafanas, the goon began crawling away, towards the back of the ship, as if burying himself deeper into the hold was somehow beneficial. He was just digging a deeper grave.

Deftly, the bandit king leaped onto his fleeing form to knock him down, straddling it from behind. He tugged at the man’s slick and nasty head of hair, snarling. A mythril blade flashed in the dim light, carving a new disgusting grin into his throat and spilling warm blood onto the ships clean floors.

How does it feel to die?

Yari sat upright, wiping clean the blood from his shark dagger and setting it into its rightful place at his thigh.

While raping another?

An annoyed “hmph” escaped Yari’s lips as he stood up and walked into the cage. His eyes avoided Jolie for a moment as he plucked his weapon out of the other man’s back and slid it into his boot. He took a deep breath and then looked over her, and asked with a simple grin, “You alright?”

[Storm Veritas]

The deck of the Impulse had recently burst into chaos, people running and jumping and fighting and kicking and clawing. He was expecting some reaction, but this level of bedlam was more than Storm Veritas had hoped to encounter. Crouched silently, he was amused for some time as he waited in darkness. Wearing his black garb, the cotton cloth merely absorbed flickers of torchlight and moonlight evenly, not disclosing his position as the others ravaged each other.

The numbers were growing, however. Many bandits were aboard, and some of them the haughty type that he supposed weren’t generally inclined to fight alongside him. Most were rather opposed to such a premise, and were attacking other members of the Bandit Brotherhood.

More than capable of fending for themselves…

While his inclination was to sit, wait, and allow the pot to fester, he knew that this organization was not immune to politics. Were he to simply wait, he would likely be viewed as weak. He needed to produce something here, in the first major melee, as Yari Rafanas seared through countless unencumbered goons. He needed a spectacle.

Fair enough. Might as well earn my keep early, because I’m not cleaning this f*cking deck.

Two of the young men, the crazy brave defenders of this loathsome ship, lurched forward towards the stern. Storm was silent, moving behind them in a creep, a crouching run that was simple, elegant, and effortless. He caught the first one in stride, his left hand fast cupping the mouth of the clean-shaven young man. A single swipe of his dagger brought a brilliant spray of what looked like oil through the air, the sickening silching sound drawing the attention of his partner. The blade was stuck in some cartilage or bone, and the wild-eyed youth was infuriated with the action of the stalking Storm Veritas.

The boy drew a sidearm, a growing snarl that was trying to morph into a verbal assault. It would never get that far. Veritas was well traveled and vicious, and flipped the second blade from his belt to the right hand more quickly than he had drawn the first. Sliding forward in a low dive, he scissored the legs of the boy with a scary-fast twist and brought the lad down on his back, a single shot jettisoned into the night sky. Spinning over the felled youth, he drove the dagger through a stunned, widened eye. The boy wouldn’t suffer, nor could he struggle any longer.

Standing quickly, the long hair whipped about, shining in the moonlight as he scanned. Most of the damage was done, and Veritas wrenched the knives from their lethal new sheathes. The pull from the head was exceptionally gruesome, a terrible squishing sound that was altogether stomach-turning. His mind was distant now, looking for assaulters, scanning for attackers.

No one wants to jump at me and volunteer? Come on motherf*ckers… this is getting fun!

[Slayer of the Rot]

Despite the hustle and shuffle of the struggle raging all around, the enforcer's heavy footsteps on the dark wood of the deck seemed to be the loudest as he walked forward to meet the few remaining guardians of the ship. The majority thhat had been intent on taking him down had shrunk away partly because they recognized his face, and partly because of the black iron in his hand, but the six that came either had too much to drink that morning or had titanium nerves. "C'mon now, it's a little late for that kind of bravado," he said as he holstered his gun, holding his hands out in front of him. Reason probably wasn't one of the things their father had taught them when they were younger. Two were several steps ahead of the other four, and he grabbed the wrists of either man's occupied hands and twisted, yanking them off their feet and slamming into the deck, polished steel swords clattering to the wood minutes after their skulls pounded soundly against it.

Those two wouldn't be getting up for a while, leaving him to deal with their four remaining comrades. It would have have probably been ten times easier to simply remove their heads from the shoulders with one sharp pull of his hands, or gut them with the combat knife at his thigh, but that was a man a world away. Instead, he braved the steel swords they brandished and lunged at one of the men, a blonde needing a shave, worse than himself, lifted a forearm to block an overhead slash, and dove his fist into his stomach. He whipped to face another as that one slumped to the deck, his boot lashing up and connecting solidly with a chin, launching him back a few feet, head over heels, knocking his forehead against the wood painfully. The two that still stood against him were driven to the floor with a blow to either knee, and a heartbeat later, Dan's knuckles rapped hard against their temples, sending them to an uncomfortable sleep.

He moved slowly and stoicly over the Impulse's deck, scowling at the sudden slickness of it, knocking weapons from the hands of resister's and lashing rope around their arms, knotting them quickly and leading them on with the muzzle of a revolver wedged into their ribs. Sixteen men he lead once the battle had began to wind down (mostly in thanks to threats of pulverised bone and torn off heads), prodding them on as he followed the bandit king down into the hold.

He smelled the blood first before he saw the kill. Cussing under his breath, he pushed his way through the Bandit Brotherhood's bound captives, stumbling out into the open in time to see Rafanas drive his feet into the back of a hefty man, grab a handful of his hair, and slit his throat. Dan grimaced, his arm falling limply to his side, the revolver just as heavy as that bitter pill of guilt stuck in his throat. "They might have been wastes of life, but you didn't have to kill them..." the enforcer sighed, crossing the body of the first dead, kicking it over gently so that it's dead, wide eyes stared up at the ceiling. As he stared down at the dead man, he reminded himself who he was speaking to, and added, "Sir."

With a wave of the gun, the captives grudgingly lined up at the back of of the hold and sat down, staring up at Dan hatefully. He lifted the bodies up off the floor with little effort, and turned to face the bandit king. "These were the few that resisted cooperation....or weren't killed by the others." He sighed and resisted the urge to cuss Yari up one wall and down the other. "The struggle on the deck has been halted. I'm going up to clean off the deck of the bodies."

And so he set to his gruesome work under a cloudy sky, the bodies falling into the ocean for a grim dinner for any oceanic carnivore, silent, his face stern. The whole thing put a bad taste in his mouth, oversensitive senses drawing in the blood and waste evicted from the corpses upon death, and placed a heavy stone in his chest, despite the fact that he was one of the few bandits who hadn't spilt blood today.

'I'm keeping my promise, Meredith,' he thought, turning his eyes to the sky as he finished his work, wiping his hands off with a clean rag before returning to where Natalya rested.

[Jolie Fairchild]

Just as the grimy hands of the sailor that hadn't been kicked met with her skin, a ruffian that looked out of place and yet at home on the ship burst through the door, dispatching both sailors with gruesome precision. Shock was not quite the word to describe the surprise that numbed Jolie's mind, though somewhere in the depths it registered that she should relace her top. A deep voice filled the small space, reporting the end of a battle, presumably the takeover of the ship. Looking around, she watched a huge mass of muscle leave the hold as she tied the last loop of her bodice into place. With the closing of the door, she turned to see gore spewed copiously against the surrounds and the kind face of the man who caused it peering down at her with a grin.

“You alright?”

Shaking a little from the experience, the girl nodded her head, the disheveled, deep auburn mass of hair shifting along the floor as she did. Despite the trembling of her flesh, her jade eyes were steady, a testament to the jaded soul behind them. Realizing suddenly that she'd just been rescued, or more importantly, that she'd needed rescue, a self-loathing grimace curled her lips upward. Me and my big mouth... Feeling her cheeks warm, she concentrated quickly on moving from the floor. Using her elbows, she pushed up to a lounging position, then turned to her right side, folding her legs under her body as she pushed up with her hands.

Finally kneeling, she faced her savior once again, studying his features. Though a bit rough around the edges, and more scruffy than most of the men she'd thought handsome, he had a quality that drew attention. What is it about him? Smiling at him semi-sarcastically, the assassin shook off what little remained of her fear. "Thank you for stopping them. I don't know how I let it get that bad, but I'll leave that for later." Running a hand through her hair, she realized how badly knotted it was when a finger snagged, pulling at her scalp. Wincing a little, she lifted the hand out of the mass, grinning apologetically, as though to say 'sorry for not being much of a damsel in distress'.

"I, uh, hope you don't mind having a stow-away on your crew. I can't exactly stay here, not now, and there's not much left on land for me but handcuffs." Her brazenness had always gotten her into trouble, and she expected the same to happen now as she spilled her plight to the bandit. A bit nervous about the potential outcome of the conversation, she ran her hands over the tight leather that stretched over her slender but powerful thighs. Without noticing, she caught her lower lip in her teeth, a gesture that drew attention to the full, soft flesh. Whatever gods are up there, I hope you're listening. I'll do just about anything if you get me out of this mess!

[Dissinger]

Seth meanwhile had gotten on the ship, managed to dispatch a few of the guards, then immediately threw up over the edge when the ship had gotten underway. That’s not to say he had no stomach for banditry, no, quite the opposite, he had made his name in banditry. It was the damn sea legs, he would often times find himself in a similar position when the ships were in the dock or already underway and the sooner he took care of business the faster he would recover.

Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt he sighed as he leaned against the rail and breathed in deeply trying to focus on something stationary rather than on something moving. His pick of targets wasn't varied but his boot seemed to do fine as he grumbled about being sea sick. He had vomited the entire contents of his stomach courtesy for the fish and the seagulls to pick at, and now he would probably need to get something to eat while they made their way to Sanctuary.

Moving straight to go below decks were the there would be less noticeable signs of movement he sighed as he passed by Dan on his way out, not even bothering to talk to the large man. He was still unsure of his feelings towards Dan, there was always the feeling of a fight left undone. That one fight that would break out and the two of them would finally be able to put the past behind them. Still he didn't dare evoke it here, nor would he at Sanctuary.

Hearing a conversation involving Yari he stopped only briefly to scan the holding area of the ship before he snorted at the young woman, who seemed to be trying to charm Yari, before he moved on sitting in the galley of the ship. It was the one place the crew could eat their meals in peace, and where he needed to go to get something in his system to get the vile taste of bile out of his mouth. Sitting down he brought his hand to his forehead as he felt the headache begin and waited for someone to show up so he could have someone to get his mind off the rocking...

[Slavegirl]

The fighting went on without her, and Natalya found that she was so tired she couldn't even care. The mass hallucination had exhausted her, and it was a damn good thing that Dan had seen fit to "rescue" her before the ship set sail for Sanctuary, or she'd still be lying in the alley like a drugged whore. She watched bemused as Storm managed with graceful ease to dispatch several attackers, with quite a bit of show.

"Nice one," she laughed hoarsely, barely loud enough to be heard.

Tucking herself into a quiet corner, she let her eyes follow the melee on deck, and let her mind wander. It wandered to a man who was some strange mix of brother and lover, a thief that had once been like her other half in the odd family known as the Shadow. Natalya focused her mind and her eyes on Seth, watching as he crossed the deck, dispatched what little resistance was left, and proceeded to empty his stomach into the water below. She'd forgotten how seasick he could get, and found enough energy to manage a wry smile.

With a great deal of effort, Natalya pushed herself to her feet, glancing at Dan with a weak grin and a wink. Seth had gone to the galley, and she thought he might like company, and besides, maybe a bit of nourishment might help her regain the energy she'd exerted to get them all here.

In her singlemindedness to reach the galley without collapsing, she completely disregarded the exchange taking place between her leader and the voluptuous woman he'd just rescued. She stumbled into the galley, and leaned heavily on the door, watching Seth for a moment before speaking. There was little need, she was sure he knew she was there, but it was amusing.

"You know, I can take care of that whole seasickness thing for you," she said, somewhat hoarsely.

Carefully, the former slave found a stool at a counter nearby and slumped onto it, resting her elbows on the countertop and her chin in her palms.

"That is, I can once I'm not so damn tired," she admitted, snagging an apple from the large barrel that stood tall on the floor less than two feet away. With a nod at Seth, she tossed him one too.

[Dissinger]

Seth remained there for gods knew how long. Just closing his eyes and trying to not repeat his purgation of bodily fluids. As he sat there he could feel eyes on him. Normally it would have been an act that would deserve a lung popper, but he didn't feel like it, and nor did he want to harm a brother, or in this case a sister. His eyes lifted as Natalya entered the galley and moved behind him.

He smirked at the offer to rid him of the sea sickness before he chuckled, his headache lessening with the act as he said, "You already know my answer to that. If I have to suffer, I might as well be a miserable bastard while doing so." He turned to look at her as she tossed the apple and without though he caught it and bit into the fruit. Eating a bit more he took it slowly so his body wouldn't reject the offering of sustenace.

"How are you doing Natalya? I haven't heard from you since Ghaun's death..." He said softly. The words were sincere and genuine. Perhaps the first in a long time as he relaxed against the table and looked at her for the first time. He had always seen Natalya, but now he was drinking in the details, looking for the signs of what had happened to her more than giving her the roving eyes. Much like a friend would do to another upon seeing them for the first time in awhile.

His hand gently brushed the hair from his face as he bit into the apple his eyes finally meeting hers with an expectant expression.

[Yari Rafanas]

With the combination of Natalya’s illusionary tactics and the skillful combatants they had within their ranks, the Bandit Brotherhood made off rather easily with the beautiful Impulse. Jadet and Corone’s navy hadn’t pursued them, luckily enough, giving the lovely Melody one less problem to worry about. She continued with her assigned task of getting the ship underway, yelling orders to the bandits left and right. The brigands fell in line, rigging the sails and preparing their newly acquired vessel.

One of the youngest of the troop—a boy with spiky green hair and oversized gloves—had taken it upon himself to help Dan clear the deck of bodies. When the youth approached a body slain by the wicked Storm Veritas, his brown eyes gazing into the bloodied hole in the dead man’s skull, he nearly tossed his lunch. He sighed, knowing well that this is the type of violence that was expected at times from the older, more experienced bandits, and then he dragged the corpse to Impulse’s edge and tossed it over.

Inside, some of the other brigands took what was left (and living) of the crew and shuffled them into the hold, brushing passed the strong woman with whom their leader seemed to be enthralled with. Others simply slid by Yari and the girl and followed Seth and Natalya into the galley, in search of a bite to eat or possibly something alcoholic.

The king of thieves watched carefully as Jolie pleaded her case, both confidently and with a hint of nervousness. The simple fact that his actions had caused such an amusing reaction was enough to cause Yari to swell with arrogance and pride, his charming grin flaring up in the dim light of the hull.

“It doesn’t matter how you got here, or why you were behind bars, because right now there is no turning back. We’ve left land and a girl like you really doesn’t deserve to be caged in with a nobleman, his ungrateful captain, and their pathetic, sex-starved crew.”

As Yari spoke to Jolie, he began walking passed his brothers and sisters, back up the steps to the deck, so that he could oversee how everything… perhaps even speak with Dan, as the brute had hinted that something was amiss. He continued up into the light of day, subtly waving for Jolie to follow.

“You’re stuck with us now. The Bandit Brotherhood.”

[Storm Veritas]

The fighting hadn’t lasted all that long, and to Storm it felt like seconds. Fleeting moments, vivid memories. He never forgot the feel of a kill, and no matter how callous others would take him, each death weighed on his shoulders with a tortuous burden. He wasn’t sure if it was the weight of a soul taken or the ease with which he had taken it that bothered him more.

He walked to the bow again, propping one long leg up on a step as he looked out over the skies. The fires were distant now, the screams of dying men still fresh in his head and living. They woke the memories of sins past, too many to count, too many to forget. He knew he had to put them behind him, but he also knew it was an unrealistic expectation. His only comfort came with a long, slow pull of a cigarette, one he had grabbed and lit without thinking.

Better. Better, but never good, right? S’posed to be good to be king.

On the deck was Dan Lagh’ratham, a massive brute who looked to be the embodiment of fury. Yari had come up here, too, but the wiry Veritas felt none too ready for chit-chat. The others, the small hands – they took apart the mess and broke it down, getting rid of the refuse, the bodies, and pouring buckets of swill salt water over the deck. It was cleansing on the whole, but largely unsatisfying. In the end, the brine would eat the Impulse, but that was a day in the distant future.

He hopped to the deck with the white twig of tobacco in his lips, easily and limberly draping himself across the support ropes that kept the drunk and sea-tossed from heading to the main deck. His blades were back at his hip, still soaked with the crimson stain of freshly killed possibly good men, still rubbing hard into his thighs as he sat on the ropes. He hadn’t wiped the blades, and it was no accident. The deaths of men could not be wiped clean so easily.

Stop feeling so f*cking sorry for yourself. No one forced you here. No one begged.

It was true. He was a killer, a man who belonged in groups like this to do the things that other men refused to do. He was vile and vicious, the lack of conscious the empowering voice that allowed his power to manifest. He was a beast in sheep’s clothing, a terror of a man, a cyclone.

And he was alone. Even the familiar faces were distant now, because they all remembered to stay their safe distances. Storm was “that one”, a bit touched, a bit off, and many bits dangerous. He was at arms reach to all, and suspected he’d be staying that way.

Another puff of the cigarette. That was just his lot in life; the one he had chosen. Too late to turn the tides and set right what a hundred men could not have wronged so terribly.

[Jolie Fairchild]

“It doesn’t matter how you got here, or why you were behind bars, because right now there is no turning back. We’ve left land and a girl like you really doesn’t deserve to be caged in with a nobleman, his ungrateful captain, and their pathetic, sex-starved crew.”

He was on the move. Not willing to be left behind, Jolie stood, then followed him out to the deck, listening to his every word just in case anything he said meant he was going to have her killed. Mid-morning sunlight reflected dully on the black leather that hugged her curves, the deep auburn of her hair like dark flames on her head. Realizing that she was not going to die, but in fact was being welcomed, a slow smile lifted her features, giving life to the full lips and displaying the white of her teeth.

“You’re stuck with us now. The Bandit Brotherhood.”

"Bandits, huh? Well, then, I suppose it's alright to tell you I'm not a terrible thief, myself! Though I may be a bit too trusting." Recalling her recent adventures, she laughed a little at her small fault, though it had nearly killed her. "I'm yours, for whatever part I can play. Out of curiosity, where are we going?" As she spoke, her emerald gaze swept over the deck, taking in the gruesome scene of post-violence without so much as a frown.

At one siderail a man of poor sea-capabilities tossed his lunch overboard while speaking to a beautiful but obviously exhausted female. At the bow, a strangely well-dressed man smoked a cigarette, his eyes low but alert. The brute that had come below earlier was aiding others on deck, and for a moment she simply watched him, wondering about his odd treatment of his so-called leader. "Interesting group you have here..."

[Yari Rafanas]

It was an interesting group—the beginning of a new generation of bandit and brigand built from the remains of the Old Ways and the Gild’s dreams. Yari knew his new Brotherhood was in no way as powerful or as respected as it once was, but he held with him hope that the upcoming trials would unite his new recruits and form a powerful family, regardless of circumstance. The journey would be a true test of might and character.

“We’re sailing to an island known as the Sanctuary,” replied the Bandit King as he stopped his nonchalant walk across the deck and turned to Jolie. “It is a dangerous place of living stone and breathing walls created by an old friend and brother of mine, one who I once trusted. From what I hear, it is no longer the amazing city it once was, but its treasures are still heavily guarded. It’ll be tough, but there’s nothing that will stop us. Though....”

The ruffian found himself looking long and hard over the young woman before him, tracing the edges of her clothes and the intricate tattoos that had been etched around her tan skin. She was a sight to be held, and a prize worth more than just the lives of the slain crewmen, but something worth protecting during this voyage. She seemed jovial enough, but there was a hint of cold seriousness in her voice and the way she moved. This, coupled with the fact that her curvy form had managed to silence the bandit king for more than a few seconds was proof enough that Yari had gotten into something good.

He cleared his throat and looked her in the face, noticing that his eyes had lingered far too long at her neckline, and chuckled.

“Name’s Taydrius Rafanas, but everybody calls me Yari. It’s less of a mouthful. What can I call you?”

[Jolie Fairchild]

“We’re sailing to an island known as the Sanctuary. It is a dangerous place of living stone and breathing walls created by an old friend and brother of mine, one who I once trusted. From what I hear, it is no longer the amazing city it once was, but its treasures are still heavily guarded. It’ll be tough, but there’s nothing that will stop us. Though....”

His words trailed to silence as his eyes roamed over her body, nearly scorching her flesh with the heat they contained. Unabashed, she waited for him to resume control over himself while she pondered his words. After all, she had endured looks from less interesting men before, and his was more welcomed to say the least. This road is dangerous, he says... There is strength in numbers, though, and this band is more than capable. It would probably be better for business if I had a hand once in a while, too. Yeah, I should definitely stick around. Risk and gain is better than safety and loss any day. Besides, the leader is kinda cute, if a little over-confident. A sea breeze chose that moment to float over the ship, lifting her dark red tresses and causing them to dance across her shoulders. A couple of strands slipped over her face, covering her eyes and sticking between her full lips. Squinting her eyes a little at the brightness of the sun, she tamed the strands back into place with a delicate hand. The bandit's eyes met hers and he coughed lightly, seeming a little embarassed, as she smiled warmly at him.

“Name’s Taydrius Rafanas, but everybody calls me Yari. It’s less of a mouthful. What can I call you?”

"Yari, hm? Well, my name is Jolie Fairchild, though you may be the first to have heard that name since I was a child." Chuckling to herself at the realization, she rested her hands lightly on her hips. "And I don't mind a little danger. Besides, I don't have anything better to do anyway." Tilting her head slightly to one side, she eyed the sky, briefly entertaining the idea of Fate dropping her here to this particular ship. Shaking her head and smiling, she dispelled the thought, knowing that no gods or superstitious nonsense mattered, only the actions of man. Lifting her eyes once more, she studied Yari briefly. "What would you have me do, oh great leader?" Her tone was mocking, her eyes laughing, but her question remained. I just hope he doesn't want me to clean the hold!