[Baroque Bay] Fire and Oil

by **Fallon** on May 8th, 2014, 6:25 pm

The groan of wood, the cry of voices as the men came to her aid. Either side of her the men came, the heavy heave up of reluctant limbs pressed. Somewhere beyond the flames ignited, the laid out oil and fire crackling to life. A rolling roar, the stench of wet and heat clawing at the air. Below the cries of the slaves, shrieking and frightened in their rattling chains. A strain, a gasp, there was a thud as the wood clunked upon the deck, her gaze immediately looking upwards to the handiwork of the two men. Chaos had been created, and now it was time to bring it all to the climax of the inferno. Eyes flickered to the glimmer of the key, a curl of the lips into a wolfish grin in reciprocation to the cheers from the chained. She gave a snort to Noven, "I'm no lady, you better get to learning that one good gentleman."

Hands reached down, pulling upon the arms that reached up. Gloves held onto flesh, limbs pulling and hauling those who grasped upon that slither of freedom. She watched the faces of the men, judging and weighing up the reactions as the cries of alarm sounded out. There was no time for stopping, not now, not whilst there was still so much to do. Teeth gritted, attention splitting between all that was there as the ships guards became alive with animation. She hauled the slave out, a blink as she felt the inhale of the smoke that laced the air.

Coughing she looked upon the approaching force, the sailors torn between saving their ship or going for those who started it in the first place. There was a pull up to her feet, shoulders hunched in, the hand resting upon the hilt of the tulwar once more. She watched the swinging of the torch, the scream of pain and surprise as it smashed upon the side of the sailor's head. Her mind blinked, looking and searching for the answer. Plans and ideas flooded in, lips twitching as she tried to calculate the best answer to the problem before her. For that was what it was.

A glance, a check as she saw the questioning glance of Noven as he looked for guidance. Somewhere just behind her she heard the mumble of Senghor, the tone of uncertainty and reluctance within his voice. They had done their part, there was no point in holding them back any more. And now was as good of time as any to start running. Her head snapped to the both of them, a grind of steel as she made her decision, voicing what little else needed to be done. The last task of the night, "You two. I need you to lead who you can of the once chained into the city proper. From there, scatter. Last task. Last duty for this night. Think you can do that?" She gave a point to the sailors, the rumblings of a growl pressing upon the back of her throat, "I'll give them a distraction. Give you a few chimes to get out of the docks if you hit the ground running. Don't worry, I'll be fine... just going to take a swimming lesson."

Of course, she did not really give them much of a chance to object. There was a lurch forward, right shoulder crashing into an approaching sailor, a warning slash outwards of the tulwar. An angry snap, followed by a snarl as she raised her voice, "Come on your petchers! Can't take a little woman?"

It was only her head that gave an inclining nod to the others as the attention shifted onto her. A step away from the gang plank and towards the stern. Fingers raised to her lips, the high pitched, piercing whistle designed to hold their attention as she retreated, a quick step aside. Feet clunked on the back of the galley, a duck as she moved away from the oncoming. A pivot, followed by a twist as she took a leap backwards, the shadows of the growing flames crackling up into the night sky. Whether or not it would be a success was another question altogether, but that did not matter right now. They had come and they had left their mark, they had made their presence known to the city and no more were they left to be little more than a rumour of speculation. Whether or not Noven and Senghor made their escape was not known to her - she had her own priorities to deal with.

There was a single step up onto the stern of the boat, a balance upon the edge as she brought the attention backing down into dark depths of the water below. It was not too high of a drop - that much she knew - and it had to be deep if the boat was able to keep afloat. She felt the flickering of her youth rise in her mind, the falling of a higher height into the cold water depths below. The tulwar was slid away, a wolfish grin sprouting out upon her lips. Features twisted within the fire light, the tearing between urgencies as she stared back into the eyes of the sailors.

"We are the reminders of the past! Of things we loved and lost," the howling cry escaped from her lips, the arms spread out wide in taunting, a flash of white teeth upon the orange glow, "We hunt our foes, we pick our targets. We learned our lessons long ago from things that have received, and strive to do better than the past," A cackle, a laugh she let herself lean out, and gave them a wink, "Sorry gentlemen, but we are the Scars, and you," she gave a single point down to them in gesture, "Have just been swatted by Hound's little bitch."

Weightlessness came next, a flick of the wrist in a salute and the quick curl up into a ball. Icy water, the holding of breath as let the submerging start. A sink, a push up of arms through the liquid and onto the surface. Legs kicked, a flail as she took in the air, arms rebelled, eyes looking up to the boat for only a tick before she wasted no more time. A crawl, a slow steady flail of arms splashing in the dark around the boats and to the docks. Shore, she had to get to shore. And from there, somewhere warm and dry.

oocAnd this, gentlemen, is my exit!

by **Noven** on May 14th, 2014, 4:01 am

"I'd obey that request," Nov grunted in kind, knocking the loud mouthed sailor good and unconscious, "only, two problems."

He took a step back from the immobile body while another, far more animated one came pelting straight for him. "One," Nov listed, gripping the torch in both hands as he waited for the sailor to draw near enough, "I'm a shyke learner." He gave a cry and swung just as the man lunged for him. A sickening snap could be heard as the torch made contact with a scruffy jaw, breaking clean in half and sending the idiot reeling backwards.

Nov loomed over his attacker with grim conviction. "And two," he continued, raising the torch above his head before slamming it down to ensure the sailor wouldn't be coming after them again. "I'm no gentleman either."

Once wolf girl gave her commands, the cook tossed aside the remaining half of his torch and added it to the growing flames. "Course," was his only reply, followed by a nod in Seng's direction. This was not nearly as horrific as that night they had both burst from their rooms to find the world afire and burning in every direction. The two mercs had carried several tykes on their backs, in their arms, and around their necks and somehow made it out safely; this would be a walk in the park in comparison, assuming all of these flea bitten slaves could still run.

When she explained the part about her creating a distraction, however, Noven felt a spike of concern. Bitzer was lighter on her feet and probably smarter than both men combined, but that didn't make leaving the most dangerous part of this escape plan to a slim lass of no more than twenty some years any more reassuring. Could she even swim?

Wolf girl gave them no time to object though as she dove into the fray, taunting and jeering as she went. With a silent salute of good luck, Nov returned his attentions back to the slaves, most of whom had, unsurprisingly, remained huddled beside the open hatch like a bunch of hapless babes. Some had jumped overboard or ran for the docks; not much smarter in terms of choices, but at least that meant they had a chance at surviving and there were less people for the two mercs to deal with.

It was quick working finding Derin amongst the lot. Though, it seemed like he had stayed behind not out of fear or confusion, but because there was now a young, frail looking boy holding his hand. "He twisted his foot the other day and can't run," the older boy told Noven in a somber voice.

No frustrated sighs, only stern deliberation. "Can you carry him?"

Derin shook his head. His other arm, which he cradled close to his chest, seemed a bit swollen. "I think I pulled something when we were getting off the chains. It was a mess down there. Couldn't be helped."

Without so much as blinking, Nov crouched and motioned for the kid to get on his back. "Hurry up, no time to waste." The boy did as he was told and clambered on with single minded determination. With a bit of effort, the cook managed to stand up and address the others. "We need to get out of here, and the only way off the ship is the docks. It's probably clogged with people trying to get off. Not all of them will be happy to see us go."

He looked at Seng with a bleak expression. "We'll have to fight."

Their ragged group didn't so much play follow the leader as heave forward like a giant mass of human desperation, squeezing through the narrow and sometimes flaming confines of the ship's deck. The main exit toward the docks was not too far away but there were still many perils to be avoided; falling debris, blocked off pathways, plumes of smoke billowing forth as doors or walls caved into piles of ash, and angry, terrified slavers running amok aboard the ship. It was hard enough just being able to breath. And with a kid on his back, Nov wasn't in much of a position to fight.

But Seng was. Their lives were in his hands now.

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on May 18th, 2014, 5:57 pm

"We'll have to fight"

Those words stirred something in Senghor that akin to the dancing of the fires and the plumes of smoke, the fiery interwoven emission of ash that now culminated with the ivory snow fell from the blackened sky that loomed over the docks.

If a person took a moment to listen, not to the screams of confusion and sorrow but to the sounds of the world around them shift in their minds a vivid imagery of freedom would linger in the canvas of their for a time.

"Let's get everybody outta here" Senghor commanded the obvious as he stepped in front of Noven, leading the march to salvation.

"An don't die on me, Jill would slaughter me faster than any of these Daggerhand bastards," he with an inclination of the head and a smirk plastered on his covered lips.

From the fire and smoke, where moans of sorrow and pain echoed in the embers the slaves and their saviors emerged as chaos rocked the ship and bodies fell whenever they stood before the entire group. Senghor tried his best to keep the slaughter of foe as unartistically bloody as he could, a simple swing and thrust to cut down any emerging Daggerhand worked just as well as a Dance of Roses whose petals were made of blood.

"Haha, pick up whatever you can off these bastards. Be it weapon or trinket, theses fuckers shouldn't leave this plain with anything to their worthless names!" the desert skinned warrior commanded, the callous slaves chose whatever worked for them.

As the entire perish was led to off the ship and onto the docks, Senghor paused as a dim sound whistled passed his ear, he cringed to the sounds of a choking and confusion. Turning to the sound of a slave hit by a crossbow bolt, the projectile pierced into the unsuspecting young man's throat and lodged itself deep within his wind pipe, tearing off his flesh as pain devoured him wholly.

Senghor turned back to where the sound came from, his eyes fell onto a small group of Daggerhands that had already made it off the ship and gathered there, waiting for whoever had caused their ship to burn.

As the crossbower cranked up his weapon, Senghor knew that he had to move. The clique of about four were an easy fight, they were Daggerhands, common scum picked up off the streets wanting power they could never attain no matter how much they tried.

With a little run into his step Seng closed the gap between them and himself, his longsworld became the instrument of rage and death as he struck it deep (diagonally) from the shoulder to the ribcage of the first assailant.

He stepped back, his eyes picking up the cranking of the crossbow as he heard the frantic sounds of its user, cursing at how slow the weapon was to reload.

With blade in hand and eyes on target, it didn't take long for another to join his friend in death as Senghor sidestepped, and embedded his blade down the man's throat. Before he could pull it out, a weight fell onto his back pushed him forward.

"Shit!" Seng cursed as he stumbled to his feet, unarmed. His opponent on the other hand held on his person studded gauntlets, obviously to inflict nothing but pain on whoever he fought.

It didn't take long for the man with the crossbow to joyous cry out for his partner to move out the way so he could lodge the bolt into Seng's skull and at times like that Senghor cursed his height, he was easily made a target to anybody wielding projectile weaponry.

As the man before the desert borne moved it taken long for Senghor to gaze down at his own death, the crossbow wielding Daggerhand licked his lips with ecstasy, knowing that he'd lodge the bolt deep into Senghor's skull and end the unknown assailants life.

Below his breath, one could see the intensity of his cursing as his eyes turned steely to an inevitable death. As the to-be's killer's finger teased the trigger his lips pursed as he warmed up a speech.

"I'int killed one as big as yer before, I'mma skin yer and make yer into my carpet" he taunted with ragged breath, Seng's eyes turned to his friend Noven, and somehow a smirk trailed on behind the scarf.

"Kill'im already!... Kill'im!" the shooter's friend encouraged as his eyes fell between the two men...

"I'm killin'im, rela-"

Whether by sheer luck, or courage coming from the slaves after so many seasons of slavery. It was their actions that saved the Vilhjalmr, two of the largest amongst them charged the would be killers out of nowhere, their actions distracting enough for Senghor to move and have the hilt of his blade back in his palm.

The first to die was the gauntlet wearing Daggerhand, by plunging his sword deep into the man's throat and tearing it violently off only to sway with adrenaline coursing through his system. Senghor brought down the longsword onto the skull on the would-be killer.

"Should have shot me when you had the chance," Senghor said from beneath his scarf as he watched the man's eyes roll back into his skull and he slumped forward in death...

Ripping his blade out the skull of the man who would have killed him, Senghor turned to the two slaves that were the bringers of luck that day. "Shit, I need more of you guys to appear out of nowhere like that to save my ass everytime"

As the calm of death sang in the snow and ash, Senghor turned back to his friend. "By Lhex, and here I was thinking I'd be burying you..."

by **Shai** on June 15th, 2014, 2:52 pm

However hopeless the situation appears to be

There yet always exists the possibility of putting up a stubborn resistance

Fallon :

Noven :

Senghor :

Check :

Closed [Baroque Bay] Fire and Oil