The Unknown: A Game of Fear, Ignorance, and Adventure

[Flying-Emu]

A tempest of ideas and half-baked plots whistled through Ticky's mind. The footprint, the faded rust... something happened here, and only one would know who.

"Derlan. We have work to do. Down the ladder, swiftly! Go! Use a hat, a goblet, anything; I need a small amount of the seawater." Ticky flicked an eyebrow upwards as Derlan stared at him blankly. "Go, Gods damn you! Time is not on our side!"

With that, Ticky prepared. Sitting and crossing his legs, he breathed through his nose, allowed the salt on the wind to overcome his senses. The light sea breeze wafted over him, through him, until it became one with him. Silently, he prayed. This could not fail.

Derlan returned shortly, the water held in what Ticky strongly suggested was his favorite hat. "Elves..." He thought derisively before motioning for Derlan to toss the water to him. "Drawn in salt..." Ticky muttered, holding the seawater before him. "Derlan. You know the drill. No one hears of this."

Oh, how he hated trusting the elf.

~~~

The hat was gone, regrettably, although the salt remained from the vaporized seawater remained. Ticky sucked absentmindedly on a lightly-burned finger, drawing an ancient symbol into the warehouse roof tile. Salt, and a few tricks.

Derlan leaned over Ticky's shoulder and laughed "Ticky, we don't have time for doodling!"

"Quiet, Elf!" Ticky snapped, his gaze remaining on the symbol's nearly finished form. A final dash of salt through the third region of the triangle, and the job was complete. He stood and motioned for Derlan to step backwards. "Now. Derlan. I feel it is only fair to warn you. What I'm about to do has only a slight chance of salvaging our pla-"

"What's going to happen?!" Derlan broke in, allowing his excitement to take over.

"Most likely? We're going to die a horribly painful death."

Derlan fell silent as Ticky began the ritual. Drawing wind through his body, Ticky allowed words to spill from his lips. As far as Derlan could tell, it was utter gibberish. Perfectly acceptable; to many, that's all it was. That's all it need be, as far as Ticky was concerned. The less who knew, the better. A few hand motions, a snap of the wrist and a sharp whistle, and the ritual was complete.

The wind whistled louder. Or, at the very least, it did in Ticky's mind.

 

[BoVinE]

Spoiler: ooc

so, I feel like jumping into the fray now would be a mistake. Am I right, because I'd really like to do something.

 

[Zemalac]

In a small room lit only by moonlight and the reflected gleam of blades, Jacien Criver and the tattooed man circled. Each had a dagger, and each held their weapon with confident skill: each struck and danced, weaving around their opponent's knife, seeking to kill and not be killed.

Or at least that's what Criver was doing. The tattooed man moved the same way, hand like a serpent with a steel tongue, but only one eye was on his enemy. He was focused on the dead hand of the man Criver had killed, the hand the clutched a corrugated sphere of iron in loose, bloodless fingers. Such a simple device, that could be but to such devastating use, if only he could get his hands on it...

Behind Criver, Doctor Nexaddo was staring incredulously through the hole where Raven had vanished. The wizard must be crazy, was his foremost thought, followed swiftly by worry for his patients.

"Are you all right down there?" he shouted down.

There was a pause, filled with the sound of feet shuffling for advantage in the knife-fight and the advancing pace of black-masked men.

"I think so," a voice called up from the darkness, sounding strained.

"Well then," Nexaddo muttered. He glanced over at the physician. "I'll need your help patching up these fools, so I guess we're jumping. Down we go." He seized the man by his belt and leapt into the dark, pulling the physician behind him.

The tattooed man saw all this as he tried to move Criver away from the body, circling and striking with little flurries of feints and half-serious slashes. No use: Criver knew what he was doing too well, and it was all the tattooed man could do to keep himself away from his enemy's blade.

The stalemate was broken, as such things usually are, by the arrival of others combatants. A black-masked man rose behind Criver, sword in hand, ready to cut him down from behind. Not a flicker of recognition showed in the tattooed man's eyes, but Criver whirled anyway, dagger slashing through dark cloth and the flesh beneath. The swordsman tumbled to the ground, and the tattooed man moved while Criver's back was to him.

He snatched the sphere of iron from the floor and flicked the arming mechanism. Those monks on Verdan made some wonderful devices, they really did...

The tattooed man laughed and tossed the grenade towards the hole in the floor, and Criver turned slightly and reached out with one hand, and for an impossible moment it looked like he would catch it. His palm slapped into the sphere and his fingers closed, and you know, it's really hard to tell if a Verdan flayer is set on timed detonation or impact.

The impact trigger struck a tiny chip of flint against steel, sending a spark down into the black powder in the ignition chamber, which ignited with all the force that science and alchemy could provide. The explosion was disappointing--a pop and a burst of smoke--but that wasn't what mattered. It flayed the air with shards of metal, the corrugated iron bursting apart into individual segments that tore skin and shattered bone.

Criver's hand vanished in a red mist and he spun fully around, one side of his body a wreck pockmarked with craters where shrapnel had pierced his skin. His face, surprisingly untouched by the destruction, sneered at the tattooed man, not comprehending what had happened, or perhaps seeing more than everyone else.

"Heh," he said, and when he tried to speak further all that emerged was a red froth. His tattered leg buckled beneath him, and as he fell the light vanished from his eyes.

And as his heart went still for the first time in its existence, something nestled close beside it went click.

_______________________________________​

How do you turn a man into a bomb?

If you ask an archmage, he will give you some philosophical bullshit that doesn't actually tell you anything (archmages know the danger of answering questions like that, you see). If you ask a scientist, he will tell you that it can't be done. If you ask an alchemist, he will feed you some disgusting potion that will turn your blood to phosphorus and your spit to acid, and forget to make sure you can survive the change.

If you go to Veras, though, and ask a mage-tinker in his workshop, this is what he will tell you:

First, you need to know what kind of effect you're going for. You can't put a bomb in the human body that does its damage through force: there simply isn't enough room for the necessary ingredients and all the important organs. Incendiaries are also out, for obvious reasons. Your best bet is to go with shrapnel damage. The ribcage is an obvious choice for that: you can add thin metal bands along their edges and put watertight tubes of black powder on the inside edge, enchanted with the best force-multiplier enchantments that the structure can support. And when you get right down to it you only really need one kidney, and the appendix--that doesn't do anything useful. Take them out and put in more explosives, packed tight in waterproof seals. Whatever else you do, don't skimp on the waterproofing.

The detonator is arguably the most important part of the whole mechanism. You don't want everything going off prematurely, so there must be failsafe after failsafe built in. One to check if the heart is still beating, one to check if the lungs are still taking in air, and a final one to check for electrical activity in the brain. It takes exactly 2.8910 seconds for all three triggers to run their checks and confirm that the body the mechanism is occupying is, indeed, permanently deceased.

And then the fun starts.

_______________________________________​

Click

Click

Click

BOOM

Criver's chest exploded, sending shards of bone and metal careening around the room. The detonation shattered the floor where he lay in a pool of blood, tore through the body of the tattooed man who was kneeling over him with a knife and sent shrapnel ricocheting everywhere around the room, some of it going so far as the corridor outside and the deck below, where it embedded itself in crates and the flesh of those who had escaped the carnage above. Jonas Thrace gritted his teeth against the pain as a fragment of Criver's ribcage pierced his already aching leg: Raven del Cid stared at a piece of metal jutting from wood not even an inch from his face: and Keil made no sound as a ruptured floorboard struck and cracked bone in his unmoving arm.

Doctor Nexaddo looked up, staring at the sudden appearance of a second hole in the ceiling. His vision was interrupted by the face of the human physician, who clutched at his chest, mouth gaping, and collapsed.

In the room upstairs, Marneus Calgar stepped through the smoke in the doorway, one hand following the line of the wall and one hand holding his sword. There was no one standing in the cabin that he could see: smoke drifted over everything, collapsed bodies and destroyed furniture. Criver lay in the middle of it all, only his head, legs, and left arm still intact: where the rest should have been there was a disturbing pile of shredded flesh, and a hole in the floor. His head lay on one side of the new gap, and his legs on the other, and the wood all around was painted red.

A man with black tattoos strangling his throat rose from the gore and grinned at Marneus. One eye gleamed with madness, and the other was a crimson ruin: the body that stood there was torn and broken, but the hands that held the knife were steady as a rock.

"So much death," he said, blood flecking his lips with every word. "Have you seen such before, I wonder? Is it man or is it stone within this suit of metal?" His eyes betrayed nothing of reason. "Let us cut between the seams and find out, shall we?"

 

[Flying-Emu]

There was something, where a moment before there had been nothing. There was speech, where a moment before there had been silence. What are words if not air, after all?

Hey, hey, heeeeeyyyyy... the wind whispered in Ticky's ear. Helloooo little gnome, little friend with gifts of salt. The voice was warm, breathy, a sylph riding island winds born of spices and sand. Little wizard with songs so sweet, calling a breeze to his ear...what have you today, little gnome? A gift of salt to buy the wind?

Ticky bowed his head to the elemental reverently. "Greetings, my friend. I seek your assistance in a small endeavour, for I know that your wind, your spirit knows all that passes through the air. A man, or something humanoid, stood on this very rooftop and proclaimed death against me and mine. I beg of you; assist us in finding this individual. Name your price."

The wind laughed. A price, my price? Any price, little gnome? Not any, surely, only what you can pay...

You have a gift of salt, little mage, and this is good: this has called the wind to your ear. For the wind to find a man, now, that is a thing of a different feather. The sylph muttered in Ticky's ear, swirling around his head, the voice spinning around him like a circus act.

To find a man...what needs has the wind? the sylph mused. A need for water in the cloud, perhaps? Yesssss.... Ticky got the impression of a smile in the shape of leaves blown from the rooftop. A gift of blood to pay the wind, little wizard, it said. Drop, drop, and drop makes three, and the wind becomes fat with crimson rain.

Ticky raised an eyebrow. "A gift of blood, you say? Do you mean mine... or the man we seek? If you mean the man we seek, once I am done with him, you may have however much you wish."

Three drops to seek a man, the wind said. Three to make a cloud.

Three crimson drops fell from Ticky's arm, and the wind swirled and snatched them before they hit the ground. They hung in the air for a moment, looking like raindrops that had frozen mid-fall, and then they burst apart into a fine mist, joining the fog of the night.

For the briefest of moments the air tasted of blood, and then the sylph was spinning away, chuckling over the roof tiles.

To seek a man, it mused. A man who spoke of death from the rooftops, words that filled the air...does the air remember? Does the wind from a mouth recall the words it formed?

Ah...here we are, and there he was...

Come along, little gnome, little mage of blood and salt. Your man of death swims through air, and the air remembers his passing.

The wind spun and streaked down the ladder, blowing flecks of rust off the bars as it passed.

 

[Kaboose the Moose]

The sound of the explosion was barely a muffle in his ears. Raven didn't have time to react and even if he did, he was powerless to intervene against the actions set in motion on the above deck. He groaned loudly half in pain and half in self-doubt about his rash decision, but he had little choice now, other than seeing it through till the end. Dust and debris began to rain down on him. He opened his mouth to speak to those near him but a piece of hurtling metal diverted his thoughts.

Whap!. It landed barely inches from Raven's head.

"We have to get moving" he tried to say through clenched teeth and falling timber. The pain was excruciating. Both he and Keil had landed on the hard wooden floor of the lower deck, visibility was poor but he could hear the scuffling of feet nearby. Presumably the doctor and physician was nearby.

"Hello?" Raven called out into the fast encroaching darkness.
"A little help here!"

 

[Dragonrabbit]

Reeko slid down back to the floor cradling his arm's cut, he muttered to himself, "If only these dammed crew members knew real pain. Blasted oafs getting me hurt with their inabilities. Why me? Why me? Why me?"

He reached into his vest and pulled out a small green berry. He rolled it in his hands, considering its form, its taste, its after effects. He tossed it from one hand to the other, then back. He stared at it awhile longer, then returned it to his vest, "Maybe later... maybe later." He slid his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, "Long night."

boom

"Sounds like it just go-"

BOOM!

"got longer."

Reeko pushed himself up once more and looked around once more, there was figure lying nearby. He considered it for a moment, before leaving the room, heading towards the sound of the apparent explosion.

 

[Zemalac]

On the docks, Ticky and Derlan followed the path of an air elemental with more enthusiasm than sense. It was hard going: the elemental didn't see why pedestrians might be an obstacle to progress, and blew past them with casual ease that the gnome and the elf couldn't match.

On the ship, Keil's cabin was crowded with bodies, smoke and broken furniture. Marneus could barely make out the face of his enemy: the black tattoos set against the backdrop of shadows made the man's form seem broken, inhuman.

The tattooed man grinned in the darkness and twirled his knife in bloody fingers. The knight whispered a prayer for the suddenly deceased Jacien Criver and struck out, sword swinging in fast at a tattooed neck, and the man ducked under the blade with a movement that looked almost accidental. The tattooed man slashed at Marneus and cut a gleaming line along the edge of the metal breastplate. He didn't seem to care that he had hit steel instead of flesh--he laughed just the same, triumphantly, with an edge of crazed mania.

Behind him in the shadows, black-clad bodies stirred and moved. Shrapnel and the falling bodies of their comrades had knocked them to the floor, but they were not yet dead, and while they were not dead they would not be swayed from their mission. Hissing curses or grimly silent they pulled themselves up, five in all, with the tattooed man facing Marneus making six. Four were masked, one was not, but his face was a bland one that would not be remembered by any who would see it. He had tattoos on his throat, hands of jet curving along the edge of his jaw in weird, inhuman swirls of darkness. He stood above the hole where so many of those fighting him had vanished, contemplating the shadowed hold below as his comrade laughed and fought with Marneus.

The five black-clad men leaped into the darkness, vanishing down from the cabin and appearing from above in the hold. They landed scattered in the maze of crates and supplies: one atop a crate labeled "Salt Pork," two out of sight behind large piles, one almost on top of the Doctor and one, the tattooed one, right behind Raven del Cid. Knives gleamed in the darkness.

Destruction, chaos, death...it was all happening too fast for Doctor Nexaddo. At his feet the physician who had until recently been capably assisting him clutched his chest, face a picture of agony: and standing suddenly before him was a man with a knife and a killer's look in the eyes behind the black mask.

Something finally slipped in Nexaddo's mind. He was a doctor, a man of science. He was supposed to be studying new animals and plants on the Unknown Continent, not scrabbling with knives in the dark. He was no hero, just someone who wanted to discover new things, maybe write a book about them and enjoy a modest amount of envy from his colleagues at the University. That's what this was supposed to be about. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

The black-masked man slashed at the gnome, not with any murderous intent but rather just to get him out of the way, and the Doctor turned and ran into the darkness.

And nearby a reeking, crimson form stepped through the doorway of the hold. A crate was in the way: smash it aside, sending wood and coils of rope crashing to the ground, out of its path. It was a thing of death, bone and blood animated by malign purpose, and it walked through the hold in a straight line towards the circle of moonlight coming from the cabin above, brushing aside carefully-stacked supplies as it went.

Spoiler: OOC: Boston

I'm going to be in Boston for a few days, so any messages sent to me won't be answered as promptly as usual. Unless I can get the internet connection on my laptop working, which is about as plausible as suddenly finding gold under my desk.

 

[MintyNinja]

Spoiler: OOC

Damn guys, you sure can stretch a day! I'll be joining the RP after this night's events unfold, for better or for worse. Lookin' forward to being stuck on the open seas with all you secretive cutthroats, lol.

See ya soon, I hope.

 

[Kaboose the Moose]

Spoiler: The shape of things to come

- Reserving Post-​

Just a slight bump and a heads up for anyone that's planning on posting from here. Raven, our stalwart wizard has indeed seen better days througout his travels, but those days are quickly drawing to a close. His life thread now hangs frayed under the watchful gaze of the Moirae. If someone does not come to his aid, then the Elysian Fields will finally claim his immortal soul.

 

[Dragonearl]

Cepolada, aft section. Lower deck

A sudden clang rang out in the darkness of the lower deck followed by a short and sudden curse.
"Blasted barrels!" Alexis muttered under his breath rubbing his stubbed knee. He paused and listened intently to his surroundings to gather his bearings. Above deck shouts and screams filled the air, the sound of bodies sickeningly hitting the floor and sound of flesh comping apart haunted the dwarf's ears. He cringed at the thought of the battlefield that was upstairs but he had a job to do below deck. The ghostly voice drifted into his memory again..

"You could ignore my threats," it said, "and leave Mark to die, but I have prepared for this. While you have been preoccupied dealing with my assassin my servants planted explosives at the bottom of your vessel--enough to destroy any hope of survival. You have mere hours to bring me the boy before you will be sent to your graves in flames."

Alexis shook his head to clear his thoughts, his breath the only sound accompanying him in the dark bowels of the ship. "Must find those explosives!" he muttered clutching his chest and feeling for his ammunition belt. "Must remove the explosives before...!". His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by the sounds of splintering wood. More screams penetrated the air but this time it was closer, much closer.

Alexis dropped to a defensive position and pulled out his crossbow. Someone or something had joined him on the lower deck!. He paused dousing the dull flame in his kerosene lantern and took cover behind an ale keg. Darkness engulfed him and all was silent for a while. The smell of brewed hops and malt drifted to his nose from the keg that made the makeshift barrier but for once Alexis did not lose his focus. He was a master of many arts and he had no greater friend that the element of surprise. He waited and watched.

A hundred feet or so ahead of him the ceiling seemed to have mysteriously opened. Through it two men in black robes had fallen through and landed hard next to some supply crates. Alexis knew the face of his enemy, he reached into his ammunition belt and pulled out a handful of iron darts. Quickly but efficiently he laid five darts beside him for easy access and slammed one into the crossbow's chamber silently and the other he held in place between his lips. He lowered the safety and dialed in his sights.

Pale light from the above deck streamed down through the mysterious holes in the roof and illuminated the path before the dwarf. In it he could see the still frames of the two robed figures. They still had made no effort in moving, a pool of dark red or possibly black liquid near their bodies told Alexis all he needed to know. He was about to sigh in relief and holster his crossbow when more commotion grabbed his attention. Several figures suddenly dropped down from the hole above, landing sporadically across the deck. Two of them the dwarf instantly recognized. The Mage, Raven and the fighter, Jonas.

"Oh thank the gods!" Alexis muttered to himself. The sudden and dramatic appearance of Raven, Jonas, and the two doctors would definitely make his quest to search the ship easier, provided they has survived the fall. Alexis was about to rush from his position and run to Raven when another explosion rocked the ship, sending him sprawling back to cover. The floor above shook sending splinters and dust in every direction. Even before the dust could settle more shadowy figures appeared. Three flurries of black cloaks crashed onto the lower deck barely a few feet away from the doctors.

Alexis ducked behind his cover and grabbed his weapon. The crossbow crosshairs leveled against the nearest cloaked figure's head. The dwarf mimicked his targets every move waiting for the optimum time to take the shot. One of the doctors turned and ran as the intruders approached him. The man in the lead however was making straight for Raven. The wizard did not appear to move.

Alexis squeezed the trigger, pulls the tension wire and snaps the second dart in, before the first dart lands home.

Blood splatters against the side of the wooden walls of the hull as the Iron dart embeds itself against the skull of the intruder. The cloak barely has time to hit the ground before Alexis fires the second dart, reloads and takes aim at target number three.

The second dart hits it's mark, right between the eyes. Blood trickles down along the black cloak, the figure drops to it's knees. Alexis maneuvers the crossbow to the last victim besides a stack of crates. He takes his aim...and begins to squeeze the trigger. However, something extraordinary happened interrupting his thoughts and precise aim.

The crate suddenly explodes, chunks and wood and debris begin to fly in every direction. The intruder reacts, Alexis's attention is diverted, his aim is askew but he fires nonetheless. The dart rips through the air, tears a gash against the black cloak and lands harmlessly against the far wall. Missed!.

Alexis cursed and scrambled to a new position. Raven will have to wait, hopefully the mage has enough time to deal with this foe.

Spoiler: OOC

Some return eh?...

 

[Zemalac]

Amid the sounds of death and destruction that had broken the quiet in the hold, there was a command. Those who were magically inclined heard it brush against the edge of comprehension; a sibilant whisper that faded too quickly to understand but left behind the impression of imminent danger, like the half-heard and vaguely threatening mutterings of the man drinking himself to murder in the corner of the tavern.

Awake, said the command, and in a sturdy crate innocently labeled "Grappling Hooks," it awoke. There was a small noise, a quiet click that went unheard amid the tumult, and the crate exploded outward, sending pieces of wood shooting through the air, disrupting Alexis' otherwise clean shot. Something unfolded from the ruin of the crate with a complicated series of whirrs and clicks, sounding either insectile or mechanical. It flickered in the shadows for a moment, half-visible, giving an impression of razor edges in the dark, and then some enchantment bent shadow and light and it vanished.

It stood invisible before the red abomination that was advancing through the hold. The undead raised its hands and smashed a crate out of the way, fragments of wood bouncing off an unseen presence in the air.

Attack, came the command, information on targets and threats flowing through the ether, and the unseen thing leapt. It intercepted the undead abomination at the upper torso, and blood misted the air as invisible blades cut at dead flesh. The abomination made no sound. It was not bewildered as a mortal enemy would be by the invisible thing attacking it, for the dead have no need to see with eyes that rot out of their skulls. The abomination struck out, and sparks glittered in the air as some unseen carapace broke under the blow. A rune blazed in the air for the briefest of moments, outlining a thin razor limb: a burst of magic crashed over the abomination, energy that would have stopped its heart had it been mortal. But the dead have no need for hearts.

It had been all of five seconds since the crate exploded and the invisible killer had emerged in their midst, and most of those in the hold had their attention seized by the conflict. Two did not. A black-masked man slunk along a row of crates behind Raven del Cid, intent on only two things: the bloody knife in his hand and the poison that flowed in his veins, the poison of the Doctor's serpent. Through a crack in the wall of supplies he saw the man he had stabbed one floor above, the man who had dropped him through the floorboards, and upon his face appeared a hideous expression that might have been intended as a smile. He raised his knife, and behind him someone else raised another knife, and a moment later his body hit the floor, the burning of the poison cooling now as the blood stopped moving it through the veins.

The second man who was not watching the clash of the abomination and the invisible killer was the man with the slender tattoos on his neck. He had dived for cover when the steel dart from Alexis' bow had pierced his cloak, and watched now from a position crouched on top of a sturdy crate. His eyes were narrowed and thoughtful as he examined the scene. He couldn't reach his targets from here: the dwarf would put a bolt through his skull if he tried. He would have to be...cautious.

"Cat and mouse," he whispered. "Who is the hunter and who is the hunted, I wonder?" He slipped from his perch and crept through the shadows, trying to stay out of Alexis' line of sight, inching ever closer to his mark.

There was a third black-masked man still standing, but he wasn't doing much, being extremely unnerved by the sudden appearance of the invisible killer. He struck out at Jonas Thrace halfheartedly, and received an equally weak kick to the kneecap for his trouble. The man stood for a moment, swaying, and then Jonas was surprised as he collapsed forward, banging the swordsman's wounded leg against the floor and making the room go black for a moment as the pain surged across his nerves. When he could see again the black-masked man was lying on top of him, dripping blood from a neat wound in the back of his neck, though there was no one nearby who could have stabbed him.

There was a brief moment of almost silence, broken by the clash of blades from Keil's cabin directly overhead. Marneus had managed to fool the tattooed man with a quick feint to the right, intentionally leaving a hole in his defense. The man lunged with his knife, cackling wetly, and the knight slammed his sword into the hand holding the dagger. Bone snapped with nasty little crack upon the impact. The tattooed man didn't react, his laughter continuing unabated, and he didn't move as Marneus lunged. The sword went clean through the man's body, not stopping until the hilt slammed into his chest.

The tattooed man laughed once more and leaned his bare head against the helmet of his enemy. "Not...bad," he whispered, the words rattling through his throat, and with his last mustering of muscle and will he spat blood through the eye slits of the knight's helm. Marneus stumbled back with a curse, wiping at his helmet with one gauntleted hand and trying to blink the blood, mucus and spit out of his eyes, and the tattooed man spread his arms wide and slowly toppled backwards, pulling the knight's sword with him. He fell through the gaping hole where Criver's last laugh had blown away the floorboards, and was dead before he hit the crates below.

_________________________________________________​

"Make way! Make way for the Provost's Guard!"

The drunken crowd shattered at the cry as people incapable of thinking clearly tried to remember if they'd committed any crimes lately. They couldn't recall any, but you could never be sure, that was the thing. If the Provost decided that he didn't like your face, bam, the Guard has you in irons, because that's a crime punishable by having your features rearranged. Best to stay out of the way.

"Make way! Move, you louts! This is Dockhouse, and we are pissed!"

Somehow, despite the press of people obstructing progress, the crowd managed to move faster. The Provost's Guard was bad news, but Dockhouse patrol was something else entirely. They pounded down the street towards the docks, following the reports of explosions coming from the harbor, riot armor of dark hardened leather gleaming red in the light of the torches. And may the gods help any who stood in their way, because surely no one else was going to.

 

[Kaboose the Moose]

A surge of energy burst through Raven's veins. He was broken, exhausted and on the brink of death but now, facing his own demise he had never felt more alive, it was a force that sputtered him to life. His stab wound still ached, his lungs were filled with his own blood and his eyes robbed him of the truth but despite this, despite the wounds that would skewered an Orc he could still feel the loom of life churning his lifeline. He was meant to live through this.

He was still alive.

A mute sound rang across his bleeding ears. He turned just in time to see the second cloaked figure crumple under a force of a projectile weapon. Two were slain, one remained. Raven tried to get up but a sharp pain from his body resisted movement. He took a deep breath trying to control his energy for a spell, yet try as he might, he could not focus on anything besides the internal agony. The sudden exploding crate beside him didn't help matters either. He could feel the call of magic as the crate erupted, something stirred from within and quickly disappeared from Raven's grey vision. Meanwhile the third cloaked man clearly had taken cover from the unknown sniper, cleverly avoiding a clear line of sight between him and Raven. The wizard smiled at his predicament, this had brought him some time, at least till he could muster up the concentration to summon something delightful. He looked around in the gloom for something to defend himself with. To his East was most likely his mysterious sniper, to the west was the enemy, scattered throughout was Nexaddo, Jonas, Keil and the physician but nearby him something familiar gleamed. A dull metal blade, with a silver handle adorned with a single emerald at the hilt. His sword. It must have fallen from him when he fell through the hole.

He stretched gingerly towards the weapon, his feeble fingers wrapping around the hilt. A firm grasped obtained, he took a deep breath and used it as a makeshift walking stick to support himself on one knee. Cautiously and after some effort he got to his feet and turned to face the last position of the enemy.

Must bring him out to the open. Raven thought to himself. Even if he could muster the concentration for a spell he was weary in using it below deck. The multiple crates marked "munitions" made him nervous. A stray spark could set the whole ship ablaze or worse. It was hard to tell with Verdan munitions.

"Show yourself!" Raven finally yelled at the darkness. "It is blood you seek is it not?" he eyes the shadows suspiciously. The world was still a blur but he was not going down without a fight. "Come and claim my life if you dare!" Raven spat blood on the ground and took a defensive stance.

Raven was out in the open, hopefully the sniper would know a set-up when he sees one and would take the shot..if the man in the black cloak took the bait.

 

[MasterSqueak]

Marneus grunted, as he looked upon the hole that the man had fell into, and didn't bat an eyelash at the quiet thud of the corpse landing. He slumped slightly, leaning against a mostly-intact wall and allowing himself a moment of rest before he was reminded of the urgency of the situation.

"Show yourself! It is blood you seek is it not?"

The voice of the mage echoed up through the hole, directed at some unseen foe. Marneus, not willing to lose his sword or a useful ally, quickly turned and exited the cabin. If memory served, the hatch to the hold would be...

Marneus froze.

His horse was in the hold.

That horse had been with him through nearly every battle, through thick and thin, and now he was in danger as well as multiple allies. Marneus quickened his pace, metal boots stomping against the floorboards, and anyone who tried to stop him would get a nasty reward for their efforts.

After all, using a two-hander sword really works wonders for your physical strength.

Spoiler: OOC

You don't mess with a man's horse!

 

[Dragonrabbit]

Reeko worked his way through the labyrinth that was The Cepolada's lower decks. He muttered incomprehensibly to himself as he turned another corner. He kept going, then up a ladder, through a hatch, then a left turn, followed by a right turn, followed by another left turn, through a hatch down a ladder, he continued this for some time before giving up. He was clearly on a fool's errand anyway.

He examined his surroundings and groaned, he was lost, entirely and utterly lost. He pulled out his dagger from his pocket and twirled it in his hand. He thought for a moment. Somewhere he thought he heard the sound of cracking wood. He thought for another moment. He heard heavy footsteps pound on wood from somewhere else in the ship. He thought for a third equally sized moment. Then Reeko Jalbrook smiled, his decision was made.

He started stealthily down the halls of the ship once more. There were clearly enemies aboard, and if any of them happened to run into this half-drunk, half-awake, half-crazy, Painted Elf, they would be sure to get more acquainted with the pointer of the two ends on his blade. That was his plan at least.

 

[Dragonearl]

Alexis grimaced as he rolled behind another stack of crates and reloaded his weapon. Some very weird things were going on and he had no idea why. What was that monstrosity upstairs and what just jumped from that exploding crate?. He quietened his breathing to listen for the third intruder, his dwarvish senses working feverishly. Off in the distance he could hear footsteps and stumbling. Probably an elf by the sounds of things, Alexis shook his head in amusement. Nearby he could hear the sound of scuffling feet, he risked a peek from cover.

The mage had gotten to his feet and through the dim light Alexis could see that the he was not in a good shape.

"Show yourself!" the mage called out to the shadows. " "It is blood you seek is it not?"

"What is that fool doing?" Alexis cocked and eyebrow and then instantly the answer hit him. "He's luring the intruder out in the open for a shot", a smile appeared on the Dwarf's lips as he steadied his aim against the darkness. "There is hope for this mage yet" he muttered to himself.

 

[MasterSqueak]

Marneus arrived at the hatch to the hold without incident, and set down the ladder. It would take a bit to safely climb down while encased in his battered armor, time that he used to evaluate the situation.

Battle Situation.

The ship is under attack by an unknown, likely unholy force, in an attempt to capture an expedition member. At least one defender has been wounded, one captured, and one dead. The objective, Keil, is also heavily wounded after a foiled assassination attempt.

Personal Situation.

I am swordless, my armor is battered, but I remain capable of delivering justice upon these horrid mockeries of humankind. I am currently preparing to search the cargo hold, with three goals.

Goal one is to reclaim my blade.

Goal two is to assure the safety of Keil.

Goal three is to assure the safety of my horse.

Marneus' feet touched the floorboards, and he turned to survey the area.

It was dark. He felt likely to be eaten, though he could not tell why.

Spoiler: OOC

Obligatory recap post, mixed with a short look into Marneus' mind and a reference.

 

[Dragonearl]

Spoiler: OOC

Um, sorry but what happens now?. Is there an update coming or are we waiting for more people to post?.

 

[MasterSqueak]

Spoiler: OOC

I'm kind of waiting for Zem to do something. Or a Grue to eat me.

 

[Captainguy42]

Spoiler: OOC

Ya I'm kind at a lost as to what I should do next, my last venture into combat left Ko'el badly wounded, and I don't want to try it again and get him killed.

 

[Zemalac]

Spoiler: OOC

Waiting for one person to send me a message. If I don't hear back from him by tomorrow, I was planning on going ahead without him.

No, I can't tell you who it is, and no, I can't tell you why I've bothered to wait so long for him. I apologize for the delay and the mysteriousness: all I can give you as consolation is the knowledge that the long night will soon be over. Possibly with the accompaniment of pictures, since I've been waiting for long enough to make me start drawing some relevant things.