Closed [Baroque Bay] Fire and Oil

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

He couldn't believe that one of those bastards actually got one on him, damnit that ass sure packed a punch, one could say that it was equalevent to Seng's own. As the desert skinned warrior occupied himself with his mouth, his tongue moved about each one of his teeth to inspect anything out of pick, his stern eyes unshifting from the only woman in the trio, it was until he struck a one of the teeth in back that she struck a vein in his subconscious. At her words it seemed as if the beast within beared its teeth, the contours of its lips curled into a macabre grin, its saturated silhouette so visible within the pools of his ebony eyes that nothing could ebb away. Seng rolled his shoulders, each of his joints springing back into place as he looked down at the woman, blows had been traded, a teeth more have been beat off its axis yet one thing that Sunberth needed to know was that he and Noven were tired of this cities shit, for far too long have they've been wiping the asses of gang leaders, and anyone who had the authority, 'authority', a piss poor excuse for oppressors. The large warrior sighed and looked down at the woman once again, his nostrils flared as he sniffed the cold winter air, the aggression still lingering in the body of winter could only be defined as his own, he knew it all too well, the beast wanted blood, he wanted it. As his globes came to life and somewhat glowed, he did something he'd never do in the company of strangers, he smirked. "Let's make history, shall we?" he challenged as he brought together his knuckles, their agonizing song whipped with the wind as he cracked them. His muscles eased as he allowed the beast within to speak on his behalf, the berserk was ready and born once more and it was ready to let the seas burn...

[Fallon]

”Tonight. We start under darkness and will be done by dawn.”

Fallon looked between the pair of them. Both were ready in one form or another, and it was that readiness that she liked. They wanted that change; they wanted that moment in the light to prove their worth. Her lips broke into a curl, approval seeping in. Yes, they would be suitable. She knew that now. Rough around the edges, but definitely good for the Scars.

And it excited her to the core.

There was that final look between them, the plan solidifying right before her eyes, ”Then here is the plan. Grab your fire. Grab your oil. Grab a mask to, unless you want your pretty face known and hunted.” She sucked in the air, the exhaled a plume of hot, ”Bring your arms too. I expect there will be a bit of a scuffle; not that I think the two of you would object to such a thing. More so for filth like that.” Her head inclined back up to the ship at that point, ”We will be quick and quiet. Unexpected and gone before they even knew what had hit them.”

Pausing she looked turned away, her eyes focusing firmly on the boat, ”I’m sure I’ll have your cooperation with this then? It would make our lives so much easier. Because if either of you petch up, I can’t guarantee your safety. Still up for that risk?”

Of course they would be, they had the taste of blood now – it was just the case of luring them in with it. Her weight shifted from one foot to the other, her mind calculating what exactly she may need. Weapons obviously, oil to burn as well. She would have to forgo the bulky layers and dress in the minimum. Orvin would have to stay behind too – he would be too much of a risk at present.

Turning she raised her hand to point at an alley entrance, ”Meet me here towards midnight, that is when we will strike. Any questions?”

oocSorry for the delay, wanted to see what the boss wanted us to do. Okay? You guys know the plan.

[Noven]

As he listened to Bitzer outline what they needed to bring in preparation, Nov's eyes widened a little in growing surprise. The reality of what they were about to do hadn't quite sunk in until her final words. He had thought, at first, that their wolf girl had been displeased with their short lived brawl. But now, they were about to take out an entire Daggerhand-run ship. Gut them right where it would hurt and bleed the most.

If this wasn't worth risking his neck, he wasn't sure what was.

Oil, fire, mask, weapons...Noven formed the short, mental list while keep his ears glued on what Bitzer said next. Covert operations weren't exactly his forte, but it was the most logical and efficient method for a feat as immense as this. Besides, he still had every intention of rescuing the boy. And he couldn't very well do that without a good deal of cover. Perhaps, in the confusion of the flames, he would be able to cut Derin free...

"...Because if either of you petch up, I can’t guarantee your safety. Still up for that risk?”

The merc blinked and refocused his attentions on Bitzer. "Never been readier," he responded without hesitance. Granted, that wasn't wholly true. His mind was plagued with paranoid thoughts and doubts and his limbs trembling a little in anticipation. But Nov pushed all irrelevant elements out of his consciousness. It was now or never, and he was choosing now.

As their wolf girl pointed to an alley as their meeting place, he committed it to memory as best he could. Then he shook his head at her question. Their objective was clear, as were the risks.

Tonight, he was going to make his first true step in avenging Nona and Henry's deaths. And it was to be a step built with fire, pain, and death.

---Much, much later, near midnight---

Noven waited in the shadows with his hood over his eyes and a dark scarf hanging around his neck. There was also over a gallon of oil and five or so torches lying at his feet, bundled and obscured by a ragged looking cloak he had fished from some dingy corner of the orphanage.

It had been difficult acquiring the items. Not so much because of the items themselves, but more so because of the sheer quantity. He didn't want to raise any suspicion through buying in bulk--that would have been a dead giveaway--so he bided his time. Moved from one stall and seller to the next at intervals, and keeping his face hidden from most of them whenever possible. Since the lantern oil came in flasks, he had to purchase eight different flasks from eight different sellers. Then one or two torches at a time in the same fashion. Luckily, he managed to "borrow" some cooking oil from the kitchens to total his collection to a little over a gallon, but it was a process he would gladly not repeat.

"Come on, guys..." he muttered under his breath, arms crossed, brow low, knee bouncing anxiously as his foot leaned against the wall.

This was why he hated being early.

receipt-1 gm

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

The Vilhjalmr listened in on the woman's plan attentively and found himself enjoying the idea of setting alight some Daggerhands. The bastards took from Sunberth like scavengers, they fed off the carcasses of the weak and still had the balls to like it live after taking off great portions of it, so obviously Senghor was intrigued with where this would lead. He turned to Noven and looked at his face, a bit of uncertainty but after seeing him get another friend for his 'Orphan Collection'... Yeah, Orphan Collection!, he knew he could back out now, the two of the mercenaries and friends were bound together like glue, what one did the other supported with a blade at his side. For the first time that night, Seng saw how serious this matter was, if joining the Hound in his pursuit meant he'd have to sacrifice another great part of himself to a cause, to bring honor back to himself, to find the power and resources to find out more about himself equally as he knew Noven wanted too that he'd be there with his brother by battle every step of the way. "Let's burn some Daggerhand scum" he said as he placed his fist by his heart, a way to show that he was equally ready. - Near Midnight - The battle with the cold beat off whatever exposed bit of his face as he pulled the dark scarf over his nose, his eyes graced with a winters glow, he felt at ease with the winter's air, how the snow fell reminded him of the home he had and how spending the nights by the dancing fire with his mother who read too him the history of their world, the stories of warriors that fought within the bosom of the cold. "Relax, I'm here" Senghor said as walked into the darkness of the alley Bitzer told them to meet, strapped to him were Noven's blades and upon his back, his own longsword. When they departed the two men broke up, Noven would go fetch the torches and oil and Senghor went to retrieve any weaponry the men kept. Senghor knew that if he went with the smaller man it would have been obvious who he was (due to his height) and connection would have been made with the items he bought, to eliminate any affiliation Senghor went the other way, he strapped on their weapons until the bells sang and he left, mentally preparing for the fight ahead as he sat by the table. For the first time in a long time, Senghor actually bowed his head and felt a stab of uncertainty lurking in the innermost confines of his heart, death was inevitable here and that he knew... "Ready to die?" he joked darkly as he unstrapped Noven's weapons and passed them over, the only out of a people to actually see a smirk and smile from Seng was Noven, and even underneath the cloth that covered over his mouth it was there, sly and grim as it always was. He saw the oil, the torches and became serious once again, it was indeed time...

[Fallon]

And so the plan began to unfold.

Fallon left most of her bulky equipment behind; favouring speed and silence in the crisp night air. The darker garbs were donned, the cape left behind as it would only serve as a hindrance to movement – much like the armour she had also left behind. The leather hood was brought up around her face. She had rummaged through her own belongings for the oil, going for the lantern fluid within its flask and a few other little important articles that would be needed to set things ablaze – flint and steel among them.

It was a surprise to see both of them before her arrival – if anything it showed their dedication to this now they had agreed to it. Good, the Scars needed people like that within their foundations. Of course, they would need to learn not only to cooperate with each other, but the other members of the Scars. And it was through this that their true worth would be revealed. No one had time for those who were bent on making risks throughout. Nodding to both, the Mercenary spoke, ”And there was me being put to shame for arriving last. Oh woe.”

Snorting she hitched the oil in flask in one hand up, whilst letting the other rest upon the hilt of the tulwar, ”Nice of you gentlemen to come along though to the cremation. Very honourable of you to pay respects in such a wonderful manner. I digress.” Looking out across from the alley mouth, her eyes fell upon the ship guard and his own glowing lantern. Her eyes scanned the docks, a chew on her lip as she carefully thought to herself, ”Firstly we need to get close. Follow the shadows up to the boat itself, and then we need to take out the guard as quietly as possible. If he makes even a peep- you get the idea, you’re both smart lads. Think I’ve got an idea for that,” her fingers gave a flex, her djed already gently prickling. It was a possible option, it was just doing it right without arousing suspicion, ”Anyway, ready? Yes? Let’s do this.”

Even if they weren’t she begun to make a move. With a wave of the hand she stepped out from the mouth, her shoulders curling inwards as she gave a dash behind a stack of crates. Eyes peeled, she strained her neck to look over them and to the ship guard who was pacing about on the deck. For a chime she watched, and then dipped back into a crouch. Weight shuffled, the pint flask of oil being gently placed upon the ground the left arm resting across her knees.

For a tick she stared back at them, her lids pinching in focus before she turned back down to the arm. Could she do that? Really? It was the crusade of change that commanded her, to start the slow take down of the previously settled systems and slip in their own. Sucking in the air she felt the strings of her astral pull and tense, the layer rippling as it pulled itself free. Her head gave a peak around once more, finding and locating the guard in her sights. Whatever the men decided to do was for them to play out; she had a plan in her head – and it was perhaps then that she silently prayed.

”Come on, let’s see what you do,” she breathed as the ethereal snake slid its way round next to her. She paused, craning round to watch her surroundings, and then sent the projected limb slowly forward.

[Noven]

"Ready as ever, brother," Nov responded with a hidden grin of his own, accepting the bundle from his partner in crime as though they were merely gearing up for a trip to the Foot, and not preparing to set fire to entire ship full of Daggerhand personnel and merchandise.

His humor curdled, however, as such thoughts reminded him of the boy. Nov grimaced, then stuck his Tamo into his belt and hefted the rest of the supplies, dividing an even share of oil and torches between the two mercenaries. They were almost good to go, and midnight was fast upon them. Just needed their wolf girl, now, to lead them into the fray.

She came not long after Seng, carrying supplies and weapons of her own. The cook noted her wolf was conspicuously missing and tucked the information away for a later time. So, she didn't always attend functions with her flesh-rending companion in tow. Interesting to know.

They listened as she greeted them with her usual dry humor before moving on to relaying the plan. Nov wondered if it was just human to face insanely dangerous tasks with a joke. Perhaps it was. He'd never given it much thought before now.

The plan seemed fairly simple. Get close, stay in the shadows, take down the guards, wreak havoc. That last part Noven had taken the liberty of adding in himself, figuring it was more or less implied. In any case, he had plans of his own. It was a given that, as outnumbered as they were, the group would need to split up to complete their mission. The boat was big, and they had only three pairs of hands to be doing the deed. Once they separated, he would carve his own, silent path through guards and drunken sailors.

Straight to the boy.

This meant he and Seng would have to decide which parts of the ship they would each handle. "Got it," he responded once Bitzer was done speaking, then turned to his dark skinned friend. "So we'll do the usual then, eh? I take the main hold down below, you take the top?"

He resisted a crude joke and adjusted the burdens on his back one last time. Bitzer was on the move already and they had little choice but to follow, keeping to shadows as agreed and being as silent as possible. Nov wasn't the subtle, sneaking time. He was more of the show up, break a chair or two, and limp home with a new array of bruises type. But he understood the clear need for stealth under these circumstances and did the best he could to keep his footsteps quiet.

The cook was so focused, in fact, that he almost bumped into their wolf girl. Thankfully, he stopped himself just in time and glanced around to assess their bearings. It looked like Bitzer was intent on plans of her own, so he nodded to the other direction to Seng and crept along the stacks of crates. If the girl was going to take care of the first guard, then they would need to handle the others.

With a final nod and smirk to his friend, Nov split from their path and snaked around to find another guard, leaving it up to Seng to locate more. Trusting his companions to take care of their ends, he snuck about for what seemed to be another handful of chimes before he began to hear the crass, unmistakable sounds of bantering sailors.

"Y'owe me more than that, ye salt lickin' scum."
"Oi owe you nuffin', noice enough 'o me to even be entertainin' this petchin' bull shyke story 'o yers."

He listened to them bicker for a while, trying his best to contain his own frustration. It'd be best to take down one at a time, Nov reasoned. Or let them start a drunken brawl and attract their briny brethren like moths to flame. Either way, he would need to bide his time and be absolutely sure of his next course of action.

"Ey, what 'ave we got 'ere? A stow--"

Nov looked up in alarm, just in time to catch the wide eyed recognition of one of the sailors from the fight before, looming over him with stains all over the front of his yellowed shirt and unshaven whiskers littered across his craggy features. Without thinking, the mercenary reached up at the stunned, inebriated and pulled him into a deadlock, one muscled forearm hooked beneath his hairy chin and the other smothering his mouth to keep him silent.

"Shut up," Nov growled, "And stop struggling. Or I'll gut you right here and leave you for the fucking dogs."

"Oy," one of the bickering couple slurred, "what's that you said, Bert?"

Realizing he wasn't getting his throat slit right away--and that he would be the first to go if his brothers caught wind of something afoul--the grimy sailor eased into reluctant stillness, panting from exertion but otherwise silent. Nov allowed him a little more breathing space before hissing, "Tell him you're just takin' a piss. Do it, and I'll let you go."

"I-I, eh, just-hic-takin' a piss, mate," Bert managed once his captor uncovered his mouth.

"Don't fall in, then," someone snorted.
"But if ya do, remember to keep yer mouth shut!" another added, and those within earshot burst into raucous laughter.

Well, everyone except Bert and Nov, of course. With that taken care of, the mercenary loosened his grip, letting his captive believe he was about to be freed. Then Nov contracted his muscles without warning and twisted the man's head with a quiet, sickening crack.

The body fell limp against him. He quelled the bile that rose to his throat, all the while convincing himself of the necessity of his actions. The man was dead, anyway. Better to kill him now. Quietly, without pain. No point in risking him running off to alert the others and endangering their entire plan. It was better this way. Had to be. Needed to be.

Nov took a moment to stuff the corpse behind a few innocuous barrels. It would be a while before they became concerned--if they bothered to at all--and came looking for Bert. By then, they should be far enough into their task for it not to matter. The sailors would have far more pressing issues to face.

He took a breath, steeling his will and calming his nerves, adrenaline coursing through his veins like a wildfire. Then he moved on, determined to find Derin before all hell broke loose.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

A sly smirk seemed to play upon the darker features of Senghor beneath the shroud as he heard through Nov's little joke, 'Smartass...' he thought, as he recalled what Bitzer had already said he wasn't worried with taking the top it only meant more broken bones and bruises on his behalf and if luck was on his side, he'd snag a little prize or two. "I'll keep count of many happen to die along the way," he joked darkly in Noven's direction as they watched the only female between them disappear into the shadows... The darkness it embraced him with the sweet melodic shroud that settled well with him as he leaned against a slab of wood that kindly suited his physique Senghor listened to the footsteps that echoed in the darkness. It didn't take long for the echo to speak in a gruff, hoarse and illiterate tone. "Damn, fuckin' dogs I'needa piss" the patrol said as he stopped right beside the slab, Senghor looked down and saw the man's shadow and eased his breathing, the cold couldn't play his enemy just yet. The wood of ship creaked under the man's weight and Senghor known that on mistep could cause panic. "Argh, gods I hate dis job" the figure said as it turned around and walked back, Senghor stood there with a mediated ease momentarily before pursuing his lips, a lowly blown whistle left his lips. "Huh?" the guards paused when he heard it turning around and facing the slab, silently he began to creep with a great caution. Senghor lowly whistled again and heard the screech of wood as the figure of the guard appeared around the corner. A great pain caused the throat of the guard to swell, Senghor placed a sly shot to the man's throat and before he could come to his senses, the shadows devoured him. Holding the guard in a chokehold, a mere shrug and a crack of death silently left the guard the dead. "I fucking hate this..." Senghor whispered to himself as he laid down the guard in the shadow of where he died, a mere taps on the dead man's body revealed a dagger and this brought some ease to Senghor. Sure the little blade wasn't much to look at but in such an occasion, it was a gift from the heavens. He sheathed the blade and looked around the corner to see if another guard may have been patrolling, when he saw none, the tallest amongst the three took the chance and followed the shadows that the Daggerhand ship conjured. His limited skill in reconnaissance and stealth made the job harder than it would have been, 'Why couldn't we just go up, burn the fucking the ship... It's as simple as that' he thought as he paused once again, the stairs leading to the top weren't far ahead. 'Let's get this done...' Seng thought as he moved once again, unknowing of what his comrades were doing...

[Fallon]

As the men slip on past and onwards to the other dithering of guards, Fallon continued her focus upon the one pacing about on deck. By the sounds of things the other two were not far behind, Noven darting past her and her watchful gaze. The air was sucked in, her right hand gently leading the limp left round behind her and tucking it into the belt, with the flask of oil quickly being looped in to it. From there the etheral hand gave a flex, her gaze leaning out and peaking behind the boxes. It snaked its way forward, her eyes narrowing as they quickly darted in the direction the others went. Obviously they had their own targets to deal with and thus, she stuck to her own.

The right hand drew the tulwar, a gentle crouch and step forward through the shadows. The projected hand shot itself forward, the limb wrapping itself quickly around the neck of the watcher. The lantern he was holding gave a clatter, the tiny flame inside being snuffed out in an instant. He gave a choke and a stagger, his fingers clawing at what ever had struck and wrapped itself around his throat. And in the silence of the air, that was all Fallon heard. Keeping herself low she dashed foward, feet pattering up the gang plank to the target.

Steel glinted in the air, her left shoulder leading a barge into him, the choking astral still grasped around it as he writhed and struggled against some invisble force. A clatter, a pause of movement as she continued her advance towards him. Dipping into the shadow of the mast, her eyes focused upon him barely a blinking as she was upon him. Tip poised and ready to pierce she watched him struggle up, the last few gargling breaths as he was sufforcated. A crunch, the widening of eyes in those final quivering moments of pain and torment. It was perhaps only due to a strange sense of mercy that she ran the blade through him.

Lips quivered, sucking in the air as the ships watch slumped to the floor. There was a quick step around once more, the blade sliding free after a firm tug. Ducking once more into shadow she glanced about for the men, her ethereal hand flexing and twidling in the air. She released a whistle, a low note racing out between her lips and then raised her better hand in signal to the low shadows moving about. No time to loose.

"Come on you petchers. Unless you fancy taking a dip in the drink," she hissed between chattering teeth. Eyes flickred to the tall shadow of Senghor, his frame having been distorted by the low light. Nostrils gave a flare, her eyes scanning the deck for the entrance into the underbelly of the ship - in particular the large flap that would open out into the slave pen. There was a quick step, her form emerging into the light and then ducking once more into the shade of the boat edge. Her first concern was getting it up and open, the next would then be figuring out how to release the slaves. Sure, going about the boat may have been one option but it was not one she really wanted to do.

The quicker this was over and dealt with, the better. The ghostly fingers gave a tap upon the wood grill, a sudden hiss of surprised voices echoing out below. Dashing over, it was the hooded face of Fallon that peered down into the dull depths. The clink of chains, the faint scuffling of bodies as they looked upwards. Her good hand raised to her lips, a slow exhale, "Hush... soon. Soon."

Eyes once more lifted, her thoughts turning. So, they were chained below. That means she would have to find a key of some form - or find a way to break them. Petch, was the thought as she chewed on her lip. Sliding the blade away she looped a hand around one of the grates, her fingers wriggling as she tightened her grasp and begun to pull, "Tiny and Huge? Give me a hand will you?" She gave a heave, "Once this is up, make sure its fixed in place and lower me down. We've got some chains to break. What you guys do well... go nuts. Preferably without burning be alive though."

This better be worth it.

[Noven]

Two more bodies found themselves stuffed behind barrels, limbs akimbo and breasts eternally still. The first went down without incident; Nov had simply grabbed him as the careless guard walked past reeking of brine and booze. There was a bit of a tussle but the young mercenary silenced his target with a quick knee to the gut and fatal jab to the nasion.

The second put up more of a fight. He had been less drunk and more wary when his bumbling companion didn't return from a quick piss and nearly plowed right into Nov as the merc was shoving Old Pete's grimy foot out of sight. A moment of stupefied staring ensued before Noven came to first and hooked his boot around the sailor's bare ankle. The man went down like a log but was caught at the very last tick to avoid any incriminating noise, a dark arm muffling his screams of fury. Nov felt his victim attempt to bite in retaliation and tightened his grip, muscles straining and bulging to cut off as much of the man's air as possible.

It was hard, resisting the urge to use his mark. Sometimes the merc suspected the goddess enjoyed baiting her chosen to grow much too dependent--and even, perhaps, addicted--to her gifted powers. But it was too great a risk, sending one of the sailors into a fit of pain, since this particular mission required that they remain unnoticed for as long as possible.

Eventually, the man stopped struggling and Nov let go with a wave of relief. Turning the corpse over, he was mildly surprised to see that the sailor he'd just murdered had been that ugly petcher holding Derin's chains. A quick pat down rewarded the merc with the jingling sound of keys. Well, well. He had a good guess what these babies were for.

Bodies stowed more or less safely away and keys stuffed into his pockets, Nov retrieved his torches and oil and set to work. The destination he had chosen was the galley, reasoning that there ought to be enough flammable shyke lying around and the area itself was nestled snugly inside the ship. He made quick work of dousing every wooden surface he could reach with oil before retreating back outside to light one of his torches. It took a good bit before he managed to get the flint and steel to spark, but manage he did. Torch alight, Nov took one last look at his handiwork. It was only a matter of time now before the whole ship exploded in chaos.

With a shrug, he tossed the torch in.

Flames burst to life and licked up along the walls. For a moment, the sight sent him reeling back to that day that his home had burned to ash. The day he had lost Calyn and met Senghor. Strange, Nov mused, how the lines of fate chose to cross one another sometimes.

Turning his back to the fiery scene, he made a beeline for the slaveholds. Those poor sods down there would never make it out alive on their own, and they also happened to be the least culpable of the whole lot. Plus, there was still the small matter of a certain, grey eyed boy whose brother Nov owed his very life to.

The heavy thuds of his boots pounded across the deck as he removed his gloves and threw them in his pack. Then he stopped once he was close enough and tossed the whole bundle onto the docks, reasoning that they were safer there than on him and keeping only one last torch. He would light the rest once he got the boy to safety.

The pack landed somewhere amongst stacked crates as Nov skidded to a halt, rust colored eyes wide with surprise at what he had barged into. Their wolf girl had beaten him to the punch and was giving the slaves instructions, fingers wrapped around the gate shutting them in and heaving with all her might. Wasting no time, the merc set down his torch and jumped in to help, sparing Bitzer a wry glance before adding his strength to hers.

"Come on, you worthless sods!" he shouted, struggling to make his muscles obey after all they had been through in the course of a single day. "Let's get this petching thing op--"

The grate popped free and sent him stumbling back, but he braced himself and dropped his end to a noisy clatter. Fuck it. The galley was on fire now. No point in keeping up appearances. Besides, the slaves down below were working up a good bit of cacophony on their own, some panicking and others bickering, while still more simply stayed where they were, too defeated to believe in this insane glimmer of hope.

"We're still chained," one of them spoke, tone a mixture of desperation and exhilaration. "We need to break them to get outta here!"

"No need," Nov grinned and fished deep into his pockets before tossing something silvery down into the gaping hole. There was a bit of scrambling before someone finally clicked the key in place and gave a yelp of victory as their shackles clattered to the ground. The cook looked down with satisfaction and turned away before his nose got too good of a whiff. "Good thing your ladyship had no need to go down there," he spoke in half jest before pulling one of the ragged looking slaves out from the opening.

Before anyone could celebrate in earnest, however, shouts of alarm rose and bodies rushed forth from all manners of doors and hatches. "Fire, fire!" the voices cried, too distracted by the angry flames to take much note of what was happening with their main cargo.

Until, that is, Nov managed to pull Derin up and found his throat tighten with sorrow and guilt he had spent so many years trying to bury. The momentary stillness caught one of the sailor's attention and he reeled with recognition. "Oy, I know you!" he snarled, one grubby finger pointed in their direction. "And you too, wench! What the--"

An unlit torch to the face cut him short as Nov acted on instinct alone, hurling the thing at the sailor before shoving Derin aside and looking to Bitzer questioningly. "Should we fight, or run?"

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

The Captain's Quarters - it was within there that the sustenance of death was birth'd, the embers vehemently danced about the tips of the fiery crowns which danced with the cold winter air, it was not yet a fire that took from him everything. Senghor had plunged the dagger he'd pillaged from the corpse of one the men he'd killed deep within the flesh of another man, at acute angle he embedded it. The eyes of the man - probably the captain himself - rolled back into his skull as Dira took him with a swiftness so cold that the howling winds of winter outside the Quarters moaned in jealousy. As the flames grew and the fires deformed his stature by twisting his shadow upon the walls, he walked around momentarily within the heart of the slave ship, he smirked with a subtle chuckle as he looked at something he liked, and took it... As he stepped out the Quarters with a calmed stride he even had the courtesy to close the door to let the fires simmer and linger, raging and dancing exotically within itself before getting bored and wanting another partner - and surely they'd come en masse. It didn't take long for Bitzer to call for him and Noven, his eyes observed the deck of the ship and when he sure that his friend had lost all manner of sheath he felt that there was no need too, the fire had already began to grow and they had to move. His footsteps decked within his own ears as he moved beside both his companions for the evening and helped with the grate, mustering what strength his body gathered. "Drunk on job already?" he taunted Noven when he stumbled back, "Don't worry, Elisa will have a nice stiff one after this..." he said as he watch him rear back to the grate. A burst of flame erupted from the Captain's Quarters causing Senghor to rear back cautiously, he watched as the fires danced seductively, déjà vu omnipresent the entire time they were there. It seemed that that was what awoke all the guards there as a great clatter of confusion and howling came from the sailors, the conversation between those around them fell short to him because he was listening to the collective footsteps of the sailors. It didn't take long for one to find them, and it didn't take long for that one to fall unconscious at the hands or better yet - the torch of Noven. Senghor chuckled momentarily as he turned to his friend, "Haha, You knocked him - with a fuckin' torch!" It was so strange, it seemed that the demeanour of the Vilhjalmr had so quickly shifted in their time there and that was true, he was slowly enjoying his time there but sadly they all knew it had to end. He looked down the grate at the slaves and turned to Noven with his hand at the hilt of his longsword, one could hear the stiffening of his hand around handle as he bit down on his jaw, "We run..."

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