PM to join [Baroque Bay] Blub Blub

[Fallon]

5th Autumn 514AV

There was nothing more unpleasant than being tied up, Fallon concluded after being bound tightly for possibly several bells now - or longer. She was not sure and had largely lost track of time. There was a rough sack pulled over her head, her hands tightly bound behind her and restricting her movement. She gave a testing pull, a firm tug against the bindings and then relaxing. Her head was still far too sluggish to really focus properly, the dull throb of bruising tracing its way across her temple. Teeth broke into a slither of white, a deep inhale as she tried to focus herself through it and the gentle rocking motion that commanded her.

Lip were licked, a roll up onto her shoulder and the tired blink out into the mesh of the sack. Just beyond she could see the swinging shadows, her ears straining and hearing the groaning of wood and lapping water. A boat? That was a predicament in itself. Another groan of effort, she wriggled her knees beneath her and pressed herself upwards until she was finally sitting. Just beyond there was the whistle cry of boats, the cawing of gulls - Sunberth's bay perhaps? Flexing her fingers she plucked upon awareness once more. Before she acted however, she needed to gain an understanding of what exactly was going on.

Her mind gave a flicker, a purse of lips as she recalled the events that lead her to here. She had been lurking about the city in the early hours - she remembered that much - the colours had barely grown in their warm orange hues that marked the coming of autumn. Her eyes gave another blink. The docks, she had been lurking around there, searching and hunting for a clue for a job she had been granted. Fallon frowned, jaw going slack as she relaxed it - hoping almost to relieve the growing tension that was forming there.

Cheeks puffed, a steady inhale as she fought the shifting levels of panic that were settling within. An attack, of some form or another. She had been caught unawares regardless, snuck up upon and ambushed with ease. She still felt sluggish however, numbed and dulled - too dulled almost. Her head gave a swim, a deep inhale as she tried to clear her head and focus through it. That was another difficulty, it was hard to clearly think - the edges almost seemed to blur and mix together whenever she attempted to work through it. A sickly taste rested in the back of her throat, the numbing sensation crawling through her veins.

A rough hand grasped her by the collar, a strong tug up onto her feet that barely seemed able to behave. There was a shout, and a growl in her ear. She barely registered the fact she was considerably lighter than she normally would be - weapons and leathers were absent. Her head rolled, and the sack was whipped off. The deck of a sailing vessel greeted her, the displeased faces of others there falling into sight. Her feet barely grounded themselves, her body weak as it tried to steady itself up the rocking water and the city of Sunberth a small distance away from her perspective - fifty yards or so, she reckoned with her unfocused mind. Around them the bay greeted them, the vessels coming and going with ease, whilst they themselves had paused just off of the docks.

"Oi, she's still drugged," one of them muttered. She barely managed a frown as she tried to work through the words. Her head turned, the feeling sickening within her pit. Drugged? Or did they mean poisoned somehow? Regardless, part of her managed to register that she was not feeling quite right - how it would affect her was still questionable. Eyes blinked, a glance down to her feet, or more over the shoddy bound bandage that was wrapped around her thigh. That was not a good sign, she mused if only briefly before her attention was snapped back round.

"Seems like your friend won't be coming to save you this time Bitzer," the captain gave a laugh from his position at the mast. Her eyes blinked, "Obviously didn't take the wedging of the kukri in your door as a big enough hint then, eh? Seems your spider isn't tied up everywhere." Fallon frowned at that point, her head tilting to one side, she went to speak, and found herself rolling and stumbling over noises instead, "Shame, bet she would have loved to watch you sink. Still, least we get a show."
"What?" She managed to croak. A firm shove sent her stumbling forward across the deck to the gang plank. A wobble, a push of uneven footing, a wince almost as her bandaged side seemed to rebel being stood upon. Below the depths of the water greeted her as she stared down, and her jaw opened and closed a few times, "I... wait... please?"
"What? You have manners Bitzer?" One of them snorted, she did not know which one - nor did she really care. Another snapped, "Get on with it, she's just trying to buy time."
"Wait, what?" she objected, the growing realisation building up to greet her rapidly.

There was a pushing hand, the jabs that tipped her closer and closer to the edge, the mind sobering up as she wobbled there. Still tied, eyes wide as she registered what they were going to do through her dazed state. A final shove, little more than full suspension in the air, a firm twist as she contorted wrong. An angry shout barely escaped, racing up whilst she plummeted down into the cool bay waters below, "MOTHER PETCHER!"

[Pulren Marsh]

Sunberth had lived up to the rumors so far, Pulren thought to himself as he sat on the docks. Their state of disrepair said plenty, that the docks of the battlefield called a city were made for the strictest of use. It gave him a small pang of homesickness, but not enough to turn tail. Too late for that in the season anyway. He had chosen to follow his instincts and those instincts told him to wait out the Winter. While he had spent most of his time at the Hot Springs enjoying himself and practicing his new and growing talents, when he had decided to venture into the stinking arse of the city, the docks were his first idea.

He knew better, just as a grown person who had been poor, not to flash any Mizas or wear all of his fighting gear. He wanted to blend in as much as he could, though his leather pants and fitted high boots would probably give him away before anything else. He did choose to carry his trident, as it had saved his life multiple times. Be it the time of day or some other reason, there was almost no activity to be had at the seaside, which suited Pulren fine. "Palaren!", he uttered to himself, as he tried to keep at the newly created alias in the forefront of his mind. Wouldn't work if someone was calling him by the alias and he just stared off, ignorant of his own name. Palaren Marshall of Zeltiva. It wasn't a huge stretch and he found it funny to call himself Pal for short. Every time he thought to say that, he had a fit of giggles. Uncle Pal would've despised his use of the name and that suited Pulren well too.

The only thing of interest was a small sailing vessel in the inlet. With no real docks to speak of and the amount of activity that Pulren was used to, the ship stuck out very clearly. It wasn't more than fifty yards out, so the raucous laughter and some of the words could be heard rather clearly. The crew seemed very interested in someone on the deck. They were having a go at them, for sure. Not wanting to be too obvious, it was second nature for Pulren to sit on the edge and slide into the murky waters, trident in hand. He held on to the wood, his legs treading as he watched the scene unfold. Bitcher? Strange name. The gentle lapping of waves so close to his ears chopped the words, though they were definitely easier heard near the water's surface. Pushing off, Pulren began to slowly move his body with the bow of the ship, keeping himself out of sight as best as he could as he swam closer.

"Shame, bet she would have loved to watch you sink. Still, least we get a show." That sounded like plank talk. Uncle Pal had spoken of it before, when a sailor had to leave the ship for some dastardly and cowardly reason, at least by Uncle Pal's standards. He had nearly reached the bow of the ship when he heard something troubling.

"Get on with it, she's just trying to buy time." They were throwing a woman off into the water? Pulren's sense of duty kicked in as h did finally find purchase of slimy wood as he spotted her. She was small and tied. Hardly a fair shake. He would have to save her, regardless. But first, she would have to hit the water. Swimming out to her aid immediately would invite a stray arrow or three. No, he would wait for her to sink or splash and make his move. If her head came above and spied him, he would motion for her to swim toward him, as much as one could when bound. If no recognition came, he would have to swim under the boat and take her under with him. Not much of a choice, but it beat the shyke out of her current options.

[Fallon]

It came as a rush, a cold, clawing embrace that shot up through her legs and traced quickly up her torso to her head. Above the world fell into muteness, her mouth having snapped shut with her cheeks puffed. Air barely filled her, a mad thrash of a struggle. Legs were kicked, a firm jerking twist as she fought off the throbbing sense of shock and disorientation that was granted to her. Eyes burned, the sting of salt as it rushed up her nose and looked only to smother. Another forced kick, muscles straining as she focused on throwing herself up to the surface. Eyes blinked at the bright colours of the day, mouth opening and gasping at the air. She snapped it shut once more as she submerged beneath the rippling surf.

Above the echoed laughter cried, the faint groans of wood and the vessels. The long sluggish stillness of beneath the waves once more greeted her, another firm kick of the feet as the world seemed to swirl around her. It begun as a mad flail, the faint glimmers of any lesson she had previously had racing into her mind. Surface, reach, tread the water, force to float - how was that even done again? Her teeth gritted, a firmer kick as she gave another thrash. Legs kicked again, a firm pull at what was restraining her, a full throw upwards the best she could through the pressing weight. It seeped, it grabbed, it locked but she broke the surface again. Ears barely registered the laughter, a splay of the wet fringe as she turned her gaze and looked for the shore.

Barely a blur, her neck twisted, the eyes blinked and caught the faint shape of the docks that small distance away - and then sunk once more. Footing she had to find some footing, somehow, her instincts demanded that as she tried to find some solid ground. She gave a shove in the general direction of the shore. Another rise up, the rushing echo racing on past her ears once more. A splash, she rolled herself onto her back, another flounder as once more the sinking feeling took in. Another kick, another fight to keep to the surface.

Muscles strained, the bitter taste forming in her mouth. Another grab at the air once more, before the depths called. A final struggle, a grinding of teeth as her eyes clenched shut once more. She tried to force her arms apart, to pull and tug upon her bindings. That final act of defiance, that struggling will to achieve something that seemed to be momentarily out of reach. Lungs strained, burning in sensation as the pull downwards took her once more. The mind screamed to survive, to breathe, to float - pure instinct in its simplest form. And so, she continued her weakening flailing, the strength sapping from her with every passing tick - wishing that she had more time before the encroaching darkness of the oblivion came and consumed her whole.

[Pulren Marsh]

Pulren hated watching the sick dance of drowning. Living in Zeltiva promised that each citizen would see the dance at least once in their life. It was rare, however, that any were saved from their fate. So many believed in Laviku and His sacrifices. Pulren held reverence for the Sea Father, but his own blood over a plate of coins was loss enough in his opinion. Treading water and pressing against the bow as it drifted lazily, he had little choice but to watch the maiden thrash about, her focus placed firmly on her own survival. No surprise there, really.

It was the third and final gasp that pulled a little at his heartstrings. It was also the curtain coming down on the play for those bastards above, as bets were called and laughter continued. Footsteps scoured the deck as they would soon prepare to take sail. Pulren and his hopeful survivor would have to be clear by then. The only thing working for Pulren at this point was the fact that the drama had let the ship drift about ten yards closer to the docks. He didn't know how much space existed beneath the ancient and decrepit wooden planks, but he was about to surely find out.

Pushing off from the ship, he relaxed himself, his trident raised above his head in a vertical position. He was preparing to take a great lungful of air and make his move. Pushing the air out of his lungs, his body sank with its own weight and the weight of the weapon, though just before breaching the surface, Pulren took a greater inhalation, his body rising nearly to his waistline. Pushing his body forward and downward, he could see the slowing of the thrashing in his survivor. She would survive. He would see to it. His legs kicked strong as he let the trident carry him with its weight and angle. He had one opportunity to catch her, as the bottom wasn't clearly visible and he couldn't get another gulp without losing her.

His free hand reached out and, by Laviku's Grace, caught the lady by her wrist bindings. Once he felt the added weight, he pushed some air from his lungs and kicked as hard as he could, his trident pointing his focus toward the approaching underbelly of the docks. Looking back, he could see the ship turning slowly. He had no choice but to push on, the movements of his survivor slowing to a nerve wracking tempo. He pushed her shaking body up above his own so she would catch air first. Once he also broke the surface, he would use the trident as anchorage and leverage. While he didn't want to alarm such a dangerous target, alarming her captors was a worse idea. Once breaths were taken, he slapped his hand over her mouth. Not to suffocate, but to silence.

[Fallon]

Lungs burst, water rushed. It was a choke as the liquid seeped its way in and the mouth was left to gasp. Eyes left wide and then relaxing, the seeping feeling of nothingness - other than that sensation of floating. She had experienced it before, and whilst it was one of danger and risk, it brought a steady level of calm. A slow blink, the edges of her vision darkening as the numbness begun to take its firm grasp. Her head bowed slightly, barely a flickering of thought as the lingering survival instinct peeled away in shreds.

And then there was movement. A grasp, a pull, something that stirred as the sensation of being moved trembled against the mind. It rocked, rose, the rushing sound growing louder, the bubbling racing against her ears. Shadows moved. A glug, the faintest of movement as legs weakly kicked using the last of their strength to get to the surface. She did not register completely that it was another that had grabbed her, or even the fact of being saved - it was movement, nothing more or less.

She broke the surface gasping. Sea water escaped her mouth, large coughing and spluttering rivulets, the eyes blinking as colour and brightness readjusted in her vision. Another cough, another hack up of swallowed water as the starved body adjusted to the sensation of floating. Fingers barely twitched, the blurred mind still craving the much needed oxygen, the quickening of the pulse, the heart speeding up in its pumping. Her temple throbbed, her eyes turned and darted about to the world around her - the docks, the low light of the morning, greeting her. Pupils contracted and relaxed, the head rolling back as the chill of the water hit her properly.

The clapping of the hand over the mouth caused her to stiffen, the instinct to thrash and struggle piercing through her blurred mind. Shoulders gave a struggled roll, the sense of alarm as she tried to crane her neck back to whoever had grabbed her, the eyes wide before finally settling on to focus on properly. Even through the sluggishness she managed to form the outline of the saviour - damp, scruffy and distinctly male. Cheeks puffed, a kick of the legs as she spurred life into them. It was only slowly that she nodded, the urge to squirm subsiding. There was little she could do anyway, to continue to be difficult would result only a definite demise - obeying for now left her a chance of survival, so it was a gamble she would have to take.

Fallon attempted to relax herself, focusing on keeping a steady level of breathing and the sensation of simply staying afloat. She would behave, for now at least.

[Pulren Marsh]

Taking his survivor by the bindings, Pulren grabbed hold of the leading edge of the docks and pulled the pair of them beneath the surface a moment so that they were concealed by the planks, air returning and the bottom sloping up to the point that it could be partially seen through the choppiness of the water. He could tell that she did not like his hand over her mouth, so with her nod of assent, he released his grip. It would only hurt her to call out until the ship was gone. Of course, he hadn't accounted for any of her own people in the vicinity, but that was just a possibility that he would have to live with. Pushing the tines of his trident down into the muck below, he leaned against it for support as he worked the ropes that tied her wrists securely.

"Sailor's knots, for sure.", he mubled, partially to himself, as he slowly freed her from the rope, allowing her movement. He suspected she was probably a dangerous person for an entire shipful of men to be so apt to kill her in such a manner, but again, these were just things that came with the territory in Sunberth, it seemed. Once she was free, Pulren could tell that she was not the most graceful of swimmers, if she was one at all. "Hold on to my trident until you find the bank. Sorry for the rough handling, but it was that or let you become fish food." Moving so that the weapon was between them, he kept a firm grip on the shaft and waited for her to regain her bearings.

"So, what gets a girl such fine treatment in Sunberth? I thought this was more the 'stab and drop' kind of place than such a fancy show." Polite conversation was sort of alien in the current environment, but he had to hope she had a sense of humor. People who cheated Dira usually did.

[Fallon]

Feet gave a kick against the water, a momentary sinking as they dipped beneath the docks once more. Another splutter, as the ropes were pulled at her wrists. Her sodden form continued to shudder beneath the water. A weak kick, she was nowhere near as capable as him when it came to staying afloat it seemed, bur regardless she tried her best regardless. Wrists gave a twist, the quiet mumbling as she felt herself dip beneath the surface of the water once more despite the support. Rising up she took another mouthful of air, her gaze lifting to look back up to the dock side. Another tying pull, the low grunt as it promptly slipped free.

A glub she brought her arms before her out of reflex, a firm swish as she clawed at the water and gave a kick. It did not take much incentive for her to listen to him, hands reaching out to grasp the trident shaft without a second thought. Arms gave a wrap, a small kick of the water once more as she tried to float. That pause, she sucked in the air as she tried to catch her breath once more - succeeding this time as she took the momentary pause. A glance at what was around her, the look back to the ship as it continued on its slow bobbing journey. Her brow creased, a licking of the lips as she gathered her bearings and ensured she was at least afloat - if not in a unskilled manner.

"Had rougher," she barely mumbled, adjusting her hands around the grip. There was a blow of the damp fringe from her eyes, the seeping away of the pulse of adrenal and near death as the body simply shook. Eyes winced, the paled skin releasing a tremble, "Thanks for that stranger... Could have been interesting otherwise. Very interesting." Her brow rose, and there was a shake of the head, "Guess you're not a local, huh?" A blink, she glanced beneath the docks once more to check what was going on, but her voice for the meanwhile remained low, "Sunberth can be. But some people also like to be entertained - and prove that something happened to the masses." Nodding her head towards the rest of the docks she spied those few who had been watching and had seen her disappear beneath the waves, "Which means, people think I'm dead. Kind of an advantage in this current climate."

Already thoughts were turning, spinning and spiralling off into the possibilities. Rumours and words spread like wild fire, and if the people truly believed Sunberth's Red Wolf was dead, then it was certainly a small advantage - if not a dark one. It meant for little while she was under the detection of those who were over confident - and no doubt others would begin making their move against the small holdings they had. Fallon released a sigh, "Enemies gets me that treatment. Being on the wrong side of their engenders, not in their gang, being a threat to their flesh trade. Usual stuff. Friendly rivalry if you will. Just more deadly."

Cheeks puffed, another deep inhale as she gave him a sliding glance as the pair bobbed in the water, "So, Fisher King, if you just swum out to net a morsel, what did you do it for? Not to eat me I hope, sounds cannibalistic. Coin? Returned favour? A pat on the back? Services?"

[Pulren Marsh]

Was it so clear that he wasn't local? It seemed that everyone Pulren had met could pick up on it a mile away. It brought a smirk to his face as his eyes occasionally looked out to monitor the ship's position. A few more moments and it would be safe to get out of the water, which it looked like the lady could use, her shivering apparent. " An excellent guess. I am from Zeltiva, actually. Palaren Marshall is the name, but my friends call me Uncle Pal." The grin remained as he could see the old fishmongering beast laughing from beyond the grave at Pulren's choice for names.

Listening to her recounting of her apparent stature among the underbelly of Sunberth, the information only solidified Pulren's opinion that he had definitely saved the right person. Once she finished speaking of the state of things, he looked out and could only barely see the stern of the ship, making it safe to exit from their submerged hiding place. "I hate slavers of all kinds. We occasionally had them visit Zeltiva for resupplies. Their stays were short and unwelcome, I can assure you." He listened to her final question and seemed to chew over each morsel of possibility as she offered compensation. The mention of services left Pulren shaking his head and snickering. She wasn't hard on the eyes, but a little skinny for his liking. He expected most in the starving town would be that way.

"We can probably get out of the water now. It looks like they are gone. Sounds quiet enough above. "I'll tell you my price up on dry land. Fair?" Whether it was or not, he dunked himself beneath the surface once more, surfacing and holding his trident out for her on the other side. Once she was free as well, he would aid her in getting out and up on the dock. The breezes were chilly with his state of wetness. He could imagine she was freezing as well. "My price is this. First, your name. You know mine and if we have that, we can no longer be strangers. Second, be my guide here in the city. Introduce me to the right people, don't let me be so much of a mark." When they stood on the dock, he stretched out his hand. "Deal?"

[Fallon]

"Uncle," There was a rise of the eyebrow, the subtle turn of the corner of her mouth in amusement. Shaking her head she looked upon him, and turned her gaze upwards to the docks above her. There was a firm pushing down of her shivering, a deep inhale inwards as she steeled her focus for what was next - the journey upwards, "You make people call you that? Or do you let them call you that out of choice?" Regardless he seemed to be making a move before she could even consider answering properly. There was a pull through the water, that dip as she held her breath once more then promptly appeared once more on the other side.

A blink of droplets, a hiss of a slither of white as she reached the hands out to grasp upon the dock edge. Arms strained, the legs kicking as she pulled and pressed her toes against the edge - that slow upward climb that was given aid by the timely boost of Palaren. Wet fabric stuck, the chill of the air hitting her as she rolled out on top of it. Eyes glanced to see the lacking eyes of locals, their forms hidden for the moment behind the low shadows of crates and long abandoned cargo. She gave a reach down to help in hauling her saviour in return - for that was what he was - and took the moment to simply breath in the air unrestrained from the ever conscious thought to push upwards.

"Surprised you even let them in for resupplies. Figured your lot would have sunk them out the water," she spoke dryly then, taking a perch as she gathered her bearings once more. She really needed to get better at swimming. Nostrils gave a flare, "Guess you're as not as anti-slavery as I first thought then." Cheeks puffed, her gaze lifting and looking up to the man as he offered his out stretched hand and the deal. The reluctant body forced itself up into standing. Her eyes gave a flicker down to the outstretched hand. She grasped it, firmly, the orbs locking as she met his, "Very well, you have a deal. I am Bitzer, the Red Wolf of Sunberth and Leader of the Scars. You picked the right one to fish for out the water, I give you that one, Uncle. You are owned one on that factor."

The hand was released, and she stepped on past him. Her attention once more was on her surroundings, ears listening past the wind and onto the voices. Steps, wood groans, she gave a peer onwards - she needed to locate her equipment and arm herself. No, painful as it would be she would slip once more into shadows and use this moment of freedom for free movement - act and use whatever she could to her advantage, even if it meant a few days sleeping rough. Her head gave an incline, "Be your guide? Understand that I cannot always guide you, I do have my own matters to attend to. Though, advice I can give that very easily and the right people... I'll see what I can do. It all depends on who you class as the right people. Which are... what sorts exactly?"

[Pulren Marsh]

It was a fiar question. The answer served the purpose of further creating the character that Pulren was pretending to be here. "I'm no blood uncle, but sometimes people need things and they call on Uncle to help them out in a pinch. Facilitation." It wasn't a giant lie. As a Wave Guard, Pulren had helped many people survive and flourish, but the way he was playing it, open ended answers left plenty to the imagination.Once they were free of Laviku's touch, the winds and the Autumn air cooled his bones, though it was a tropical breeze in relation to the Bonesnapper.

Her words about Zeltiva were equally cool, but again, left room for interpretation. "Well, while Zeltiva has the greatest harbor in Sylira, our warships are few and far between. Short of the local militia, the Wave Guard, and their ability to slow or board a vessel, we don't really have much in the way of actually sinking a vessel. Are there places that have that ability?"That was an actual curiosity of Pulren's. What kind of coastal defenses would that entail and where would a city exist that could fund such a defense? With a slight snort and sneer, Pulren thought of the West Streeters when continuing, so as to better amplify the snobbery. "There is actually a good deal of corruption in Zeltiva currently, I'm sad to say. Too many Nuits running things and a bargain with Sahova. It's truly distasteful. At least here, corruption looks you right in the eye and tries to stab you, rather than patting your back and putting you in a ledger."

Bitzer. Red Wolf of Sunberth. Scars. While looking back into her eyes, he pumped her grip, replying. "Well met, Bitzer." A wordless word of thanks went out as Pulren was unsure of which God allowed such graceful coincidence.The bond of hand broken, she stepped past him, giving him ample time to reconsider his first summation of her form. The work of wet fabric did its duty. Her words were straight and to the point, a fact Pulren appreciated. His answer would need to be as well crafted. "I'm sure you stay busy, Bitzer. I appreciate people of action, though words can do as much harm and good. I seek others who stand against corruption, those who seek independence. No one makes it in this world on their own. Family can run without blood and everyone needs a good Uncle."