Steel Skies [IC]

[HotCider]

The City of Balthos
The First Chamber

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v252/HlySd/bb1a5341-1aca-41ae-9837-ee1199d9336f_zpseb6lckqc.jpg​

Balthos was one of the largest cities on the Pangea continent. It was deemed The First Chamber due to it being one of the main chambers of the continent’s industrial and technological heart. Nobles were plentiful and frequented the place always eager to buy the latest steamship or pilot car for their luxury locomotives. The poor stuck to the darker and drearier looking areas where neglected and forsaken industrial projects were left to rust. Similar to its description, the largest city would have the largest ghetto called, Shanty Town.

Human life thrived in the pollution that permeated the air of the surface but below, simply named The Underground was where crime festered. Drug-, human-/beast-, and weapons-trafficking it all went down in the underground. Barehanded brawls and secret waterways out of the city could be found below. One famous spot for bandits, cutthroats, and those who just wish to disappear is a pub called, The Gutter. Some say The Gutter is where people go to die. It is a true story for some unfortunate folks, but it is actually a place where one can go to hide from the law and savor The Gutter’s most infamous and dirtiest of hot dogs, The Gutter Dog! Eat at your own risk!

Balthos is home of the Balthos Imperial Army under Noble Lord Jacque Beaudroix. He managed to become so rich that he bought his own town and built it into the most technologically influential cities in the world. Statues of his beauty and greatness can be seen scattered throughout the city to demonstrate to the citizens that their beloved lord is always watching, mwuah! Kisses!

Current Events

The Execution of Captain Kraken – Extra! Extra! Read all about it! It started as a rumor that the notorious sea captain, Captain Kraken had been captured by the Capricorn Navy. Because the sea battle had happened off the shores of Balthos, there was a trial between the Capricorn Lord Mathim Reinhart and Lord Beaudroix. According to Balthos law, the spoils of any sea battle that happened in Balthosian waters became Balthosian property, which was to include Captain Rackham and his ship The Kraken. However, Capricorn Admiral Yelena Sabitovena had a strong desire to claim the ship. She was able to convince Lord Reinhart to buy it for her, and after much debate, Lord Reinhart was able to fatten Lord Beaudroix’s pocket and pry the ship from his greedy fingers. Captain Kraken is set to hang noon today!

NPCs & Places

If you guys create any NPCs that are reoccurring or create places other characters are more than likely to meet you at, then their names will go here.

• Hangmen's Square

IC Rules

1. Do not OOC in the IC. OOC in the OOC. That’s why it’s there.
2. Do not use crazy enormous pictures. Size them down.
3. Do not post ahead of other players. If you’re waiting on someone, then be courteous.
4. If you want to create trouble, then use common sense. There are guards in this city and you will get arrested. Do we want anyone getting arrested? No, we don’t. We want to be able to snag the captain and move on with the story. That is your goal!
5. Every time we come across a city, town, island, hole-in-the-wall, I will always post an overall description of the place to give you guys a visual and some knowledge of the city’s background. So, enjoy!
6. I just added a tag. Use it so everyone knows where your character is. We'll keep the time simple since we'll be moving through this game together: Morning, Noon, Afternoon, and Evening.

Tagging

[B]Character Name:[/b] The name of your character. 
[b]Rank:[/b] Your character's job on the ship or job to be on the ship.
[B]Time:[/b] Morning, Noon, Afternoon, or Evening.
[B]Location:[/b] Where is your character in the post. Be specific if necessary.
[B]Tagging:[/b] Who is your character talking to directly? You will list the names of those characters even if they're NPCs. [B]Mentioned:[/b] This is where you write the names of characters your character may be thinking about or mentioning indirectly such as in a thought.

 

[HotCider]

Ode to Captain Kraken

Character Name: Captain Brandt Rackham
Rank: Captain
Time: Morning
Location: Balthos Prison Guard House - Dungeons
Tagging: NPCs Mentioned: N/A


What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor,
What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor,
What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor,
EARLY IN THA’ MORNIN!’

A guard snorted awake. He and his buddy had passed out at a watch table drinking ale and playing cards. The guard groaned rubbing the crust from his eyes before his palm went to cup his forehead.

“By the Mother…” he groaned. His head felt like it was going to split open.

Throw’im in tha’ cabin witha’ captain’s daughter,
Throw’im in tha’ cabin witha’ captain’s daughter,
Throw’im in tha’ cabin witha’ captain’s daughter,
ER-ER-EARLY IN THA’ MOORNIN’

“That son of a bitch is singing again!” the guard hissed, fingers looking as though they were just about ready to dig into his brain. “SOMEBODY KILL HIM ALREADY! (he screamed it loud enough hoping that the prisoner would hear him)”

The other guard who had been resting his eyes uncrossed his arms, pushed back his chair, and grabbed his spear.

“I’ll go shut him up again,” he muttered. He wasn’t feeling any better than his friend. He raised a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. What a shitty duty this was. And this was supposed to be Captain Kraken? He refused to believe it. The guy hadn’t looked at all like the stories and he was more annoying than scary. As the guard came before the bars, he peered inside the cell through narrowed eyes and saw the man swinging his hips and tilting his head back and forth to his chanty tune. He was wearing only some trousers and stitched shoes. His back was completely covered in scars and his left arm marred by what could have only been fire. If he wasn’t a captain, then there was one thing the guard knew for sure, he was a lunatic.

Banging on the cell with his spear, the guard yelled, “Hey, shut your fucking hole in there! It’s too early in the morning to hear your fucking voice!”

WAY-‘EY-UP SHE RISES,
WAY-‘EY-UP SHE RISES,
WAY-‘EY-UP SHE RISES,
EARLY IN THA’ MORNIN’!

Drawing his keys, the guard opened the cell and barged inside. The captain suddenly leaned backward, the shackles keeping a good hold on his wrists. He startled the guard with his merry smile as he asked him:

What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor,
What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor…

Growling, he set his spear aside and grasped the captain by his ash-white hair and drove his forehead against the brick wall.

“I said shut it!” the guard growled.

Brandt thrust out with his hips, his rear ramming the guard in the pelvis, causing him to bend over as a harsh breath exploded from his lips. The captain then jerked backwards until his arms went taught, sending the back of his skull careening into the face of the guard to send him staggering backwards. The guard caught his balance, grasping the cell bars as he soothingly rubbed his nose. His face flushed over in anger.

“You fucking…” the enraged guard began.

Brandt turned an eye over his shoulder, cocking a white brow at the man.

“Fuckin’? Ain’t that tha’ reason ah’m turned this way? Usually, tha’ prisona’ faces tha’ bars and not tha’ woll,” Brandt enlightened. He then thrust his hips out again to shake his ass at the guard. “Ye wanna sticka’ dick in me, mate?”

The guard growled and charged over to Brandt raising his booted foot to drive it up the prisoner’s ass. Brandt drew his hips briefly inward to avoid the kick and then thrust his bottom back out to meet with the sole of the guard’s outstretched foot and throw his balance. Again the guard staggered backwards as Brandt laughed at how pathetic the guy was.

“Ah like y’mate. Y’should join me ship. Ah don’ think ah ‘ava’ jesta’. Y’d make fo’ some funny entertainment, ha, ha, ha!”

“Why would I join the ship of a man whose gonna die in a few hours?”

“Huh, die? Who said anythin’ ‘bout dyin’?”

“Are you an idiot or something? You’re in a fucking prison awaiting execution!”

“Is that whot this place is?” Brandt jerked on his shackles. “Ah thought this was one of ‘em…masta’ slave dungeons. Since y’know y’ave me turned against tha’ woll.”

“And you’re gonna stay against the wall so nobody has to gaze at your dog-chewed mug!”

“But seriously, you wanna join me ship, mate?”

“NO!”

The guard with the headache groaned loudly in irritation. “I don’t know whose more annoyin’, you or the prisoner.”

“Oy, you gotta ‘ang ova’?”

“A…what?”

“Huh, huh, ha-ng o-vurrr,” Brandt carefully pronounced.

“What do you care?”

“Y’got grog! Why wouldn’t ah care? This me last day. Ah wanna get some drinks in.”

“There isn’t any more left. We finished it.”

“Find some fuckin’ mo’ then!”

“We’re not getting you booze you fucking lunatic.”

“An’ why not? Y’know who ah am? Ah’m the Grog King. Drink a pub dry ah would.”

“You’re The Grog King?” the guard in his cell asked in disbelief.

“One an’ only, mate. Empty tha’ ocean if it were made ov’ booze.”

“He’s a liar. Stop listening to that rubbish.”

“Ah’ll prove it! Bring me a keg, and ah’ll drink it.”

The guard in the cell frowned. “You know what I’d rather do?”

“Join me ship? Fuck me in tha’ arse? Beat me?” the captain questioned.

The guard used his spear to cut a strip of his own clothing. He then walked over to Brandt, unfurling the piece of cloth and snapping it to make sure it was strong. Brandt peeked over his shoulder at the guard and then grinned.

“Oh! Yer gaggin’ me!”

The guard struggled with the captain, receiving several headbutts for his trouble as he tried to get the strip around his head. He even made sure to stay somewhat to the side so that he couldn’t ram him with his bottom again. Brandt bit the cloth before he could get it around his head and the two got into a tug of war.

“You looney bastard! Mace!” the guard cried to his friend.

The guard with the headache lowered his hand from his face. “What?”

“Help me with him! I’m trying to shut him up!”

Mace groaned and rose from his chair to join the other guard in the cell. How many numbskulls did it take to silence one idiot? Apparently more than two. The guard forgot to tell Mace about the…

“Watch out for his-”

Brandt thrust his bum right into Mace’s crotch and sent him staggering backwards with his hands between his legs. He then bit the hand of the distracted guard, sinking his teeth into his flesh before he managed to wrench it away. Gripping his hand against his stomach, the guard stared daggers at Brandt.

“YOU WANT ME TO FUCK YOU IN THE ASS? FINE!”

Mace was leaning back against the bars with his hands over his crotch. “Just fucking kill him,” he rasped. It was a shame that they couldn’t. They would have both violated a law and been executed in his place.

The guard grasped Brandt by the back of his pants and yanked them down to expose his sun-deprived ass. Fidgeting with his pants, the guard managed to whip his limp dick out. Right when the daughter of Lord Beaudroix, Lady Colette, her bodyguard Sir Nathan, and The Captain of the Guard Sir Janx approached the cell. The guard captain’s eyes near bulged in shock and Sir Nathan quickly clapped a hand over Colette’s eyes.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!?” the guard captain screamed.

The guard froze in mortification, his cock still in his hand. Mace whirled and straightened to attention, his face pale in horror to see the guard captain.

Brandt peered over his shoulder with a long impish smile. “Whatta’ turn off, and ‘ee woz’ justa’ ‘bout to put it in me. Uaagh! Now what am ah supposed ta do? Ah’m so ‘orny!”

The guard quickly adjusted his pants and faced the guard captain. “It’s not what it looks like, Sir!”

Mace then defended. “He’s a liar, Sir. We entered his cell to shut him up!”

“So ‘orny, uaaagh, stick it in me!”

Sir Janx’s face was flushed in anger and humiliation. He did not want the lady to see her guard like this. “You two return to the barracks and swap out with the other shift. No rations! When I’m through here, I’ll decide both of your punishments! GET OUT!”

“But sir!”

“OUT!”

The guards grabbed their spears and quickly fled the cell.

Shoulda’ joined me ship, Brandt thought with an egotistical smile.

“Fix his pants,” Sir Nathan told the captain.

The guard captain sighed and entered the cell to right Brandt’s pants as Lady Colette and her bodyguard stepped in behind him. When Sir Nathan felt that it was safe for his lady’s eyes, he removed his hand. Lady Colette blinked her pink and green eyes as she gazed up and down Brandt’s scarred back.

“The fearsome Captain Kraken. You don’t look frightening at all?” she observed.

Brandt turned a blue eye over his shoulder and his eye widened at the sight of the beauty.

“Y’not so bad lookin’ y’self, dove,” he complimented. She looked like a little green tulip in her big poofy gown.

Sir Nathan scowled and moved in front of Lady Colette to shield her from the captain’s lecherous gaze. Lady Colette stood on her toes to peek over her bodyguard’s shoulder and then pouted:

“Oh please, like I haven’t heard such cat calls before. Nathan, calm yourself. He is to be executed, yes?”

The bodyguard held his ground and she simply walked around him to stand directly behind the captain to his discomfort. The guard captain and Sir Nathan both held their hands out in warning, while their other hands rested on the hilts of their blades. Lady Colette looked Brandt up and down and how he was shackled to the wall.

“Is this a house for erotic pleasures or is this a dungeon? Can you please turn this man around?”

“Oh, oh! Ah told’em!” he exclaimed in excitement. Someone agreed with his observation!

Sir Janx kept the sigh that he wanted to escape to himself. With the assistance of Sir Nathan’s flintlock, the two were able to turn Brandt around and lock him back up again with little issue. The bodyguard pushed the muzzle of his gun off Brandt’s cheek as he stepped away from him.

“My finger was itching,” he threatened.

“Scratch it then,” said the captain innocently.

“I didn’t mean…” Sir Nathan fell silent. He wasn’t going to get pulled into that nonsense.

Lady Colette giggled. “You’re a funny one.” She then looked to Sir Nathan and Sir Janx. “Are you sure he’s the captain?”

Sir Janx crossed his arms before his chest. “I saw him on the day of the trial. It’s him.”

“Y’sure? Ah could ‘ave switched wit’ me twin at tha’ last second,” Brandt explained.

“He is a liar,” Sir Nathan grumbled in irritation.

Even so, Sir Janx didn’t even know how his men were going to explain the situation they had walked in on. The man had his dick out for crying out loud! While the men were finding him annoying, Lady Colette was enjoying his sense of humor.

“Oh my, he is absolutely droll,” she laughed further. “I wasn’t expecting a sea captain to be so funny.”

He’s not funny, Sir Nathan thought enviously.

“That’s only one side ov’ me, dove,” he flirted.

Sir Nathan bristled. “You lecherous piece of-”

Lady Colette peered back at her bodyguard with an unamused frown. “Nathan, leave us please.”

“Lady Colette, your father has entrusted me with your safety.”

“You can keep me safe from outside the cell.”

“But, my lady!”

“Out or I’ll tell father that my bodyguard has such feelings for me to be jealous.”

Sir Nathan tensed and bowed his head. “Yes, m’lady.”

Brandt watched Sir Nathan step outside and grinned.

“Ooh, y’gotta captain’s spirit over ‘ere.”

Sir Janx frowned and walked over to rest against the wall. He didn’t want to say anything that would have him thrown out like the bodyguard.

“You’re calm for someone about to be executed in a few hours.”

“When Ah woz free Ah woz expectin’ to be executed every day.”

Lady Colette tilted her head curiously. “Tell me more about yourself Captain Rackham. I came here to learn about your travels—about the life of a fearsome sea captain. I want to hear the true story. When you’re dead, I fear that the minstrels will sing different songs.”

Brandt peered up at the ceiling as though he were peering back at his thoughts. “Hm…Ah like t’sing.”

Lady Colette blinked in surprise. “Do you?”

“Aye.”

What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor,
What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor…

“Oh! I know this one!”

Both Sir Janx and Sir Nathan face-palmed when the dungeon became filled with pirate chanties.

 

[kittenofdeath]

Character Name: Mack
Rank: Helmsman
Time: Morning
Location: The Gutter bar
Tagging: Anyone, left intentionally open about who’s there Mentioned: N/A


Honestly Mack was still undecided, or at least he kept telling himself he was, keeping that one easy out in his mind in case he had to cut and run on this little escapade, an escapade that was quite likely to get himself killed even if it succeeds. Mack needed new friends. But hey, there had been a vote and the outcome was clear, and if Mack had any illusions of skipping out then he should have done it when everyone else did, namely right after the damn vote.

The task was simple, rescue the good Captain before the state sees fit to kill him in a matter of hours, the execution of stopping such an execution however was going to be tricky, this wasn’t some dinky little port where a show of force would cower the defenders, this was Balthos, even if they had the entire crew and the captain, they would be crushed in an open fight like an errant fly that decided to attack a bulls hoof with its face. No this was going to take finesse, planning and luck, finesse was a concept foreign to most of the crew, planning took time they didn’t have and luck was a fickle mistress that could screw them as likely as love them. The short version is the odds of this working sucked.

Sure was a shame he had already agreed to help.

Mack strolled in to the bar, a shithole called The Gutter that he had hated from the first moment he heard the name, but that was where they had agreed to meet up to plan, for all its faults The Gutter had a lovely habit of inflicting rapid onset steel poisoning upon any snitches who drank there. Mack looked chipper as he wandered in, ignoring the glares from the regulars and heading right for the table at the back where he recognised the small knot of his crewmates, but in truth he was tired and the smile was an act, one he saw mirrored in many of the crews faces. You see Mack hadn’t slept the night before, instead he had been doing research, history of the island, past executions and the attempts made to stop them, city layout, ect ect.

“Morning kids” Mack said with a faked grin and sat down, his voice having a distinct hollow tone to it “I brought presents” he dropped his bag on the table, a collection of rolled up paper and parchments sticking out of the top “maps of the city, execution square, and typical troop movements for the imperial army, everything we need to plan our little suicide charge.”

 

[kizkiz]

The Incredible Adventures of Mr Toad.

Character Name: Vallice the First
Rank: Cook
Time: Yesterday Evening until Today Morning
Location: Cliff's below Hangman's Square and then The Gutter bar
Tagging: Mack + other ship mates

Vallice blinked lazily up at the sheer bluff. A low croak echoed from his throat as another wave crashed over his head. The water was one degree warmer than freezing, but the Mother had seen fit to hold the sea's debilitating cold at bay. With the Maiden in Ascension, he was hopeful the blessing would last the day. It would make the escape attempt more pleasant. He tended to get sleepy when it was cold out, and his thoughts would drift upon sluggish currents. In fact, as he thought about it much like his his mind was wandering now but worse. He plodded through that thought as another wave crashed over his head and smashed his body into the rocks at the base of the bluff. His legs shot out, absorbing the worst of the impact. He croaked again in thought. His goal was to understood the currents of the water at the base of the cliff. He was patient. He counted the lazy thumps of his heart in between waves. He measured the undercurrent's attempts to drag him down into the depths. There were many other things to understand that had no direct words. Such as the Mother's Will and the Hand of Fate. He sought oracle in his surroundings.

He watched the sun rise from a sliver of dull copper far at the eastern edge of the world as it blossomed into tendrils of pink and orange. He got a sense of how the depths of the Mother responded to the transition of night into day. He made minor adjustments to his understanding.

An hour after dawn, he started his ascent up the "unassable" side of Hangmen's Square. Vallice wasn't sure why the humans choose High Noon at the eastern most point of their port to murder their enemies, but it was Vallice's experience that the powerful enjoyed their eccentricities. His had never been to question only to respond as commanded. Climbing up the side of the cliff was easier this time. In the night, the cliff had been cold and slippery. He'd fallen five times back into the ocean. The currents had been unkind, drawing him tens of feet beneath the surface each time. He was sure no human could have survived unless the Mother willed it. Even with the endless drills of the Nagakadru Grandmasters and the blessings he'd learned from the Mother's Hierophants, this was challenging. His body was built for amphibious assaults. His powerful legs were all but useless walking horizontal, but they worked wonders leaping up the side of things. His sausage fingers were made to grasp and hold slippery things both above and below the water.

He counted the timing of the passage of the patrols atop the battlements when he reached the top. He compared this with the previous night as he hung on a purchase a few feet below the lip of the wall. His gray green skin blended well with the weather worn rock. None of the guards looked over the side. If they did pause, it was only to look far out to sea. It took another hour until he was comfortable with the patrol's routine. He leapt over the side when they were gone and peered down at Hangmen's Square. He watched the preparation for the captain's hanging. The distance was not impossible. With the height differential, he'd gain a little more range with the Shutka. He tasted the wind as it played around in the square below, and triple checked his sight lines. The Weapon Masters always said "Measure thrice, strike for the nonce."

He gave a low croak and hopped back over the side of the wall. He dropped straight down fifty feet into the water. His legs cut through the surface without a sound. He kept his arms folded over his body. He went deep. So deep when he looked up all he saw was blackness. He took his time. Now that he was below the worst of the surface currents, he let the buoyancy of his inflated throat sack and the deep current carry him further out to sea. Twenty minutes later he broke the surface a mile away. To any but the most keen of sight, he was just a grey smudge riding the waves. The surface currents carried him back to the shore.

His calculations were off. He spent another twenty minutes hopping along the shore a few miles out until he found where he'd stowed his kit. He changed back into his nice brown tweed suit. If he was going to die today, he might as well enjoy his favorite suit before he did.

Time was not on his side, so he hired a porter to ferrying him back into town. He kept glancing down at his pocket watch, clicking it open ever minute. It took thirty minutes to get back to town and find the agreed upon meeting place.

When he hopped off the porter's cart, he tipped the man another bit for discretion. Vallice dug out Cookie and unwrapped it. In this part of town wearing his nice suit, he needed to discourage confrontation. He tucked his pocket watch away with a sigh and hardened his eyes to angry squints. He inflated his neck sack whenever someone looked threatening or came too close. He only had to snap Cookie open once. It worked. He went unmolested the final two blocks to the Gutter.

By his estimate, he could spend an hour wallowing in the mud with the rest of the crew before he'd have to head back out. He gave an excited ribbet when he saw the helmsman. "Master Mack," Vallice said, ducking his snout down in deference. His eyes swiveled around independent of each other in a very toad-like manner. "The Mother is with us and the Maiden will stay her hand this noontime." He nodded his head up and down several times, croaking low. "Mhmm. So she does, I say true, so I do."

 

[heartofcourage]

Character Name: Zhou
Rank: First Mate
Time: Morning
Location: The Gutter Bar
Tagging: Ship Mates

Exhaustion had long since creeped into Zhou's mind, but she had practiced over the years a schooled mask that never showed her enemies a weakness. They had all agreed to meet there to plan, a place that she absolutely hated. It was too seedy, too loud, too dirty. Not the kind of place that she would have willingly given money to if she had a choice. Her dark eyes were closed as she heard Mack approach, dumping the contents of whatever bag he had on the table.

The bag knocked into her drink, the mug scraping across the scarred wooden tabletop. Slowly, Zhou let out a breath and opened her eyes, staring at him for a long moment before she glanced down at what he had brought. Casually, she brought her slender leg down towards the floor, pulling her black boot from the side of the table where she had been precariously balancing herself back in her chair on two legs. The front legs snapped forward with an audible snap as she straightened up and thought about the situation.

She had tried to negotiate for the Captain's release. Going to every crooked judge and law practitioner in the city had been fruitless. No one could help, especially given Brandt's reputation and former deeds. No one wanted to believe that this might simply be a set up. It had left Zhou with a sour taste in her mouth and deep dislike for the city. Briefly she had considered bribing someone in power, but she had convinced herself that there might be another way.

"Mack, do you seriously think that we haven't thought of this already?" Zhou asked him in her soft, slightly husky voice. "Knowing the Captain, he already has something in mind. We simply need to be patient."

 

[kittenofdeath]

Character Name: Mack
Rank: Helmsman
Time: Morning
Location: The Gutter bar
Tagging: Zhou, Vallice, shipmates

Despite the rather distinctive appearance of their cook, Mack still managed to hear him before he saw him, the noises his kind could make were quite unmistakeable, not to mention freaky as hell, Mack had gotten used to how Vallice looked a long time ago, but he doubted he would ever get used to the way he sounded. But regardless, he nodded back and listened to what he had to say, which might as well been gibberish for all that he understood of it, but he got the feeling that it was some variant of 'signs point to good.' And while Mack had no idea how the frogmans superstitions worked, he wasn’t above taking the free helping hand if he could get it, with what he was considering they were going to need all the good luck they could get.

Speaking of what he had planned, Zhou was already setting up to shoot it down, typical “Zhou please, you wound me, you know I have as much faith as you in our illustrious Captain.” That was a lie, and not a well hidden one either “I just feel that having backup plans never really hurts, besides” he smirked “my plan is less a rescue and more a kidnapping which may or may not help the aforementioned rescue.”

Mack pulled out yet another scroll from his bag, this time unrolling it to reveal a hastily done but none the less quite well made drawing of a noble woman “just imagine I painted it green instead of leaving it as raw pencil and you'll have a splitting image of Lady Colette, daughter of one Lord Beaudroix, whom I assume needs no introductions.” He leaned back in his chair and let a smug look show on his face “there’s no better hostage in the city, her standard guard is only two strong, and if the gossip I overheard from some noble scholars is to be believed, she is likely to be in attendance at the hanging, so while everyone is getting in to position to off the captain, we take the little lady as insurance.”

 

[heartofcourage]

Character Name: Zhou
Rank: First Mate
Time: Morning
Location: The Gutter Bar
Tagging: Mack, Vallice

The loathing in Mack's voice made Zhou pause, her blonde head tilting to one side slowly as she regarded him as if he had just spoken the most horrible of blasphemies. Her eyes slowly moved towards Vallice, regarding him as well before she lowered her gaze to her black and gold silk brocade sleeves.

"Careful, Mack. You might make me think you are considering a mutany with that tone." She murmured quietly, her fingers moving to play abesently with the hilt of her sword. "And I don't take kindly to talk of that nature."

Her slender fingers continued to play with the tassel of her sword as he laid out his plans. Kidnapping. The most powerful man in the city's daughter. That was a suicide mission if she had ever heard one before.

"And you would ensure that we could never come back to this port ever again. Think about that. A bounty on your head and the threat of a noose around your own neck. I think I would rather keep my neck just the way it is." She murmured, glancing back at him again.

 

[sodalitas]

Character Name: Rudyard Faraday
Rank: Master Engineer
Time: Evening, the night before the execution
Location: Balthos, The Bentall Society Social Club, Pearson Railway
Tagging: Thomas Hall (NPC), Ezekial Pearson (NPC) Mentioned: Captain Rackham

He couldn't remember the song but he could remember the tune, and he hummed it loudly as he navigated the streets.

Dusk had settled on Balthos like coal dust and Rudyard was revelling in it. The night air filled his lungs and smelled of copper and salt. He tipped his hat to a passerby with a wink as he practically skipped down the cobblestone street, glad to be alive. Sure, they had had to abandon ship and the captain had been captured (he had TOLD them setting sail on a Friday was a bad idea, after all), but the Daughter had intervened and even though the Cap's had nabbed the Cap'n, they were close enough to Balthos that the rest of them could escape. And he loved Balthos. He decided that while he was here he should get some new ink to commemorate the occasion.

A carriage sped by and Rudyard nimbly danced out of the path of both it and the splash of murky water it raised as it passed. The clackety-clack of its wheels threatened to drown out his humming, so he went louder, grabbing the hands of another passerby and twirling her around before releasing her and continuing down the street.

"Bloody Lush!" she cursed at his back, and he turned, bowed low, and (respectfully) gave her the finger, humming all the while.

Shortly he reached his destination, a moderate red brick building with a marble staircase leading to its double doors, a sign above which proclaimed it to be "The Bentall Society Social Club". He took a moment to reset his wrinkled tophat on his head, and to brush some of the dust off of his jacket, before grasping the handles with both hands and dramatically flinging the doors wide on their hinges.

Adopting a somewhat more sober countenance, Rudyard silently stepped into the Social Club, standing a few steps in from the door as he let his eyes adjust to the light. The foyer reminded him of his college days - stern and proper and academic. Stuffy. He began to feel claustrophobic, and he twisted at the vial hanging from his neck as he raised it to his nose, extracting a small puff of powder which he deeply inhaled. The world slowed for an instant, righting itself, and the feeling subsided.

He strode down the hallway which opened into a luxurious lounge, complete with roaring fireplace and ancient, high-backed armchairs. Some of the armchairs were inhabited by equally ancient and high-backed old men smoking pipes and reading tomes, and through the haze of smoke surrounding them it was difficult to see where the furniture ended and the men began. The armchairs frowned at him as he passed, which allowed Rudyard a rebellious little smile.

He flung himself into an empty chair at an angle, his leg propped scandalously over the arm, and he grinned at the red-haired gentleman beside him. "I marvel at the name of this establishment, Thomas" he began, "In truth, I cannot think of anything LESS social. I mean, you don't even have any WOMEN in here! Would it hurt to have a ladybird or two? Something to shag while you wait for grandpa there to finish with 'The History of Boredom, Volume Seven'?"

Rudyard always came to see his old schoolmate Thomas Hall when he was in Balthos, and he took great pleasure in pushing his buttons. While he conceded that Thomas was almost as brilliant as he was (almost), that was where the similarities stopped. Thomas was a stoic gentleman. He was honored to be a cog in the wheel of The Machine and to do his part to keep the gears of industry moving. He was even-tempered. He was proper. Rudyard was none of the above.

Thomas raised his eyebrows at his friend and closed his book, folding his hands on his lap and looking Rudyard up and down, taking his measure.

"You look like shite," he observed.

Rudyard gasped dramatically. "Thomas! Such words do not become a member of this fine establishment, I am scandalized!" Rudyard glanced around the room for support. Finding none, he shrugged. "I suppose there is no recourse but to beat you to a bloody pulp."

"I have something better in mind, let me show you what I've been working on." He stood and motioned back towards the hall. "Mr. Faraday?"

"Lead on, Mister Hall, lead on!" Rudyard replied, standing and following him out of the lounge, to the communal relief of the armchair men.

A few minutes later, the two engineers were were bent over a desk in a small office, intensely inspecting a schematic. "And I suppose the yaw would be controlled by directing the exhaust through one of the lateral propellers here," Rudyard pointed as his friend nodded. "But the size is concerning. This seems a very large envelope for the weight, can you lower the ratio?"

"With some difficulty, yes, but luckily the man commissioning me for this is in no need of anything larger. And the cost of reducing the size of the boiler without impacting the steam production gets expensive quickly."

"Weren't you working on something similar last year? With that Pearson fellow?"

Thomas grew dark, and his hand that had been pointing out the details of his plans balled into a fist.

"My partnership with Ezekial Pearson ended on a rather unpleasant note. Unfortunately, his status in the University afforded him better representation than I could afford, and he retains all patents related to our work together." His eyes met with Rudyard's, who was surprised to see an anger in them he had seldom seen before.

Thomas quickly, though, regained his composure. "Now, what have you brought?" He eagerly changed the subject.

Rudyard smiled, and brought a parchment out from his coat pocket, rolling it out on top of the other and doing his best to smooth out the wrinkles. "You'll love this, Thomas."

Eagerly looking over the plans, excitement soon turned to confusion.

"What am I looking at? Is this... a toilet?"

"Better!" beamed Rudyard. "You see this lever? By pushing on this lever here, the water is forced through the nozzle here."

"But why..."

"The water cleans off your arse and prick, you dolt! No scrubbing of your nasty bits! And the women will love it, too, I assure you. I swear, in a few years you won't find a W.C. in all of Balthos without one."

Thomas stared incredulously for a moment, then spat "Get out. GET OUT!"

Rudyard allowed himself a laugh as he rolled up the schematic. "You are too serious, Thomas!" As it disappeared into his pockets, he exited the room and walked back down the hall towards the foyer. "I'll see you when I'm back in town again!"

Thomas stayed in the doorway of the office, his arms crossed as he watched to ensure Rudyard found his way out of the building.

"Don't rush," he said as the door swung shut.

Back in the Balthos night, Rudyard flagged down a cab - a black carriage driven by a short, bald man with a wispy beard. Rudyard tossed him a coin as he leapt onto the footbar and held onto the side of the vehicle.

"Where to?" the driver snapped.

Rudyard flashed a smile, but his eyes were anything but friendly. "Pearson Rail".

*****​

He expected that beating his way into Ezekial Pearson's Rail Yard, even late in the evening when the workers had all gone home, would attract some attention. However, the three guards at the gate were not expecting to be accosted out of nowhere by a man with metal plates on his knuckles, and they were quickly and violently silenced. The yard itself was sparsely patrolled, and Rudyard had no difficulty traversing it without incident. And although he could see lantern light shining out of the upper floor office in Ezekial's building, no one was there to stop him from merely walking through the front door and up the stairs.

It was only as he approached the end of the hallway that he understood the vacancy. He could hear the telltale grunts and shudders of a late night rendezvous from the office beyond, and gently eased the door open to witness the bulk of Ezekial, his pants around his ankles, thrusting and sweating over some office girl on her back, draped over the desk with her legs in the air and her dress pushed up to her neck.

Rudyard smiled, leaning against the doorway and waited, bemused, while they rutted. To the man's credit, he continued to plow the poor thing with no signs of stopping, and while he admired the way her bosom bounced in response to each thrust, his view was interrupted by hairy man-arse that he found quite off-putting.

"Ahem," he interrupted.

A squeal from the lady as she looked past Ezekial's shoulder to see a stranger framed in the doorway, and soon they were both scrambling to cover skin.

"What is the meaning of this?!?" Pearson spat, red faced and fuming. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Rudyard stepped inside the doorway, motioning with his hand towards it with deference as the half-naked girl fled out of the room, grasping her bundle of clothes in her hand. He closed the door behind her, turned and regarded the man before him.

Ezekial Pearson was a large, bullish man in whom youthful muscles had given way to middle-aged fat. He dressed like a successful businessman and had the aura of a bully. His face was flushed, his breathing heavy, and he was sweating profusely. His eyes were fierce and full of hate. He looked from Rudyard to the door, but made no movement towards it.

"I asked you, sir, what the hell are you doing in my office?"

Rudyard shrugged. "I hear you've been working on a new boiler design. I'd like to have a look."

"Pfft! Not bloody likely. Now get the hell out."

"I don't think you understand me, Zeke. I'm not asking."

They stared at each other a moment, and then Ezekial leapt towards the desk, his hand reaching for the drawer containing his flintlock. Rudyard was faster. "Tsk tsk Zekey," he warned, looking down the barrel at the man sprawled across his desk where his paramour had been just a moment before, "you don't want to set me to barking."

Ezekial slowly withdrew his hand, and stood to face him again.

"Now," Rudyard continued, "let's have a look at those plans, shall we?"

*****​

He left the railyard the same way he arrived, knowing that neither the guards nor Ezekial Pearson would be waking before morn. He padded his coat pocket as he passed the gate, the schematics from Pearson and Hall both safely stored inside. Thomas would forgive him for the swap, he was sure. Every W.C. in Balthos, after all.

He still couldn't remember the song, but he started to hum the tune again as he danced back into the night.

 

[kizkiz]

Character Name: Vallice the First
Rank: Cook
Time: Morning
Location: The Gutter Bar
Tagging: Mack, Vallice

"First Mate," Vallice said, ducking his snout and emitting a low ribbety hmming sound. "If it be your will, I and the Mother agree, so it can be as you will it, as it were. Uppity up and shooty shoot the captain's rope. Mhmm, I say true. So it is." He flapped his snout upon and down. "So it is."

Vallice let Cookie fall hard upon the table, happy to be rid of it for a time. He hopped over to a chair and eased his bulk into it. He didn't sit; he perched on the edge of it. His legs were coiled like he was about to hop at a moments notice. He folded his hands over each other on the table and rested his ponderous, bulbous head upon his hands. He emitted a soft croak. "I miss the water's kiss. The griddle's sizzle." Air rushed into his mouth and distended his throat sack. "Lose too much, kills a man as sure as steel. So say the Hierophants. Say true. Too true." The air was slow in leaving his throat sack, like a balloon it made a sorrowful squeaking, whining sound.

 

[Trucken]

Character name: Gideon T. Wolfheart III
Rank: Doctor
Time: Morning
Location: The streets of The Underground, The Gutter Bar
Tagging: NPC's Mentioned: The crew of the Kraken

The Underground was very much like it usually was. Hardened criminals roaming the streets, prostitutes hanging out in groups around various bars and brothels, and the general feeling that if you so much as looked at someone funny you’d more than likely end up with a dagger in your gut. What was different and drew quite a few curious looks was the woman with the blue hair that walked down the street. Not that there were anything unusual about women in The Underground, many lived or worked there, but this one stood out as she just didn’t seem to belong there. The way she walked was different from other women there. She moved with a certain amount of grace and elegance, one that nobles usually had. Noble men, that is. Her face and hair was nice and clean, the numerous blue strands growing on her head easily reaching beneath her shoulder blades. The clothes she wore would’ve fit in since they were tattered and dirty, but the fact they were a mans clothes made her stand out. A dirty white shirt with tears in it, a pair of brown pants with a blackened leather belt holding them up and a pair of scuffed boots on her feet. Add in the fact that she had some sort of holster on her hip that held a wooden leg in place down the side of her right thigh and she was quite the odd sight in The Underground.

Then again, if people had taken a closer look they would’ve noticed that it wasn’t a woman walking down the street looking like she didn’t have a care in the world. It was a man. Gideon T. Wolfheart the Third to be exact. It wasn’t strange that people mistook him for a woman though, he had a sleek yet still toned body and a very pretty face that combined with his long, shimmering blue hair could fool even the straightest man on the planet. Not that Gideon had any interest in men, past experiences that he didn’t like to think about had proven that to him.

“So this is the infamous Underground,” Gideon said to himself, his voice having a british high-class accent as he strolled down the street with his hands on his back, looking around and taking in the atmosphere. “I must say it lives up to its reputation.” He swiftly and gracefully made a little jump to the side, avoiding two drunks that were sluggishly fighting from crashing into him, stopping to look at them as they rolled around on the ground. Gideon observed them as they hurled slurred insults at each other and was about to leave when he felt that he should try and stop them.

“Pardon me, sirs.” Gideon leaned in a little to the grunting pile on the ground, his index finger in the air as he tried to get their attention. “Could you perhaps cease with the fisticuffs? I would hate to see either of you get injured.”

“Fuck off, ya lousy whore!” The man with a big bushy beard and a bald spot on his head cursed at Gideon as he threw a sluggish right hand at his foe that hit his shoulder.

“Yeah, fu, fuck off!” The other man grunted, his dirty long hair now having mud in it. “This, this isn’t none o’ ya business woman!” Gideon brought his closed hand to his mouth and cleared his throat at their words. Obviously they also thought he was a woman, even though his voice should’ve told them otherwise if they had really listened. Granted, his voice wasn’t the manliest, but it was deep enough that it shouldn’t really be mistaken for a woman’s voice.

“Forgive me sirs, but I am actually a man. Now, could you please stop this? I am worried one of you might get seriously injured.”

The two men stopped fighting and looked at Gideon as they still held on to each other’s collar. Their drunken gaze took him in from head to toe in silence before they both started laughing, the booze on their breath becoming very obvious, making Gideon frown slightly.

“Ya, yer a man!?” The man with the beard laughed so hard he eventually started coughing. Gideon felt a sting of annoyance hit him, but it showed as nothing but a slight twitch in his otherwise kind smile.

“Haha, he, he is!” The long-haired man got up to his knees as the two had now stopped fighting, instead laughing in unison at Gideon. “Fuck lad, yer pretty enough to be a whore!” A hiccup stopped him momentarily before he took in Gideon, eventually leering at him. “Mmm, I bet ya ‘ave sucked many dicks, ‘aven’t ya lad? Lookin’ all purdy like ‘at ya must love tastin’ a man, don’t ya?”

The two men started laughing in unison again, amused by the way they made fun of the feminine man standing in front of them. Gideon, however, wasn’t laughing. His face had grown tense by the man’s words, unpleasant memories trying to force their way into his mind as he did his best to keep them at bay.

“Well, he ain’t wrong, you know?” A familiar voice spoke up, one that made Gideon briefly grimace.

“This is not the time nor the place, Tayen.” Gideon muttered the words under his breath, but he could probably have said them out loud and noone would have heard him over the sound of the two drunks guffawing.

“What, Gid? It’s funny! You were a dartboard for dicks for months, it’s hysterical!”

“Tayen, not now.” His words were slightly louder this time, but a more noticable strain to them as nearly his entire body had tensed up, both by the drunks words and what Tayen were saying.

“Oh, come one now! Why don’t ya ever wanna talk about the shit I like to talk about? But fine, let’s talk about Qo’Vell instead.”

“NEVER!” The drunks stopped laughing as they curiously looked at Gideon, wondering why he all of a sudden said that. Gideon was unaware of them though, he was lost in his conversation with Tayen. “Never… mention her name again. I have told you not to, Tayen.” His voice was now at a low whisper, but still audible to the two men that now looked around them with a confused look on their face.

“Never mention who? Who th’ fuck are ya talkin’ to?”

“Giddy mah boy, you know there’s nothing you can do about it. I pick our conversations, remember? And if I wanna talk about how you got yer wife murdered…”

“SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!” Gideon screamed the words at the two surprised men in front of him that by now were up to their feet. After a moment he shook his head and snapped back to reality, his eyes meeting the two men that by now simply stared at him in bewilderment.

“Oh, I…” Gideon cleared his throat and stood up straight, realizing what had happened. “My apologies, sirs, I should not have interfered.”

“What’s your deal, lad?” The man with the long hair squinted and took a step forward, sluggishly poking Gideon in the chest. “Ya come ‘ere, gettin’ involved in shit that got nuthin’ to do with you, and then ya start screamin’ at us?”

“Yeah,” the other drunk filled in. “Ya lookin’ ta get yer ass kicked, boy?” The two men took a threatening step towards Gideon that naturally took one backwards. This was bad. Gideon wasn’t a great fighter by any means, but he knew he could easily beat up these two since they were pretty hammered after all. But there was a crowd watching by now, and who was to say that the drunks didn’t have friends watching? Or just people in the crowd not liking outsiders? No, fighting wasn’t the best course of action here. Instead Gideon reached into his pocket, feeling around as he held up a hand to the two men.

“Sirs? You are correct.” The two men stopped and looked at Gideon with suspicion. “I was out of line. I had no business interfering, and I certainly had no right to raise my voice at you. I deeply apologize.” Gideon gave the two men a slight bow as he pulled his hand out from his pocket. “How about this? As proof of how bad I feel about what I said, please take this.” He held out his hand to the two men, two coins in it. “It should be enough for a mug of grog for both of you. Please, accept it and forgive my insolence.”

The two men stared at the coins for a while as they struggled to keep their balance, pondering Gideon’s offer. After a few moments of silence one of the men reached for the coins, snatching them out of his hand.

“Ya best be careful next time, lad, ya hear me? Ya got off easy this time!” Gideon made an apologizing gesture with his hands as he bowed again.

“Absolutely sirs, thank you for being so understanding.” The two men just grumbled at Gideon before turning around and headed for the nearest bar. Gideon couldn’t help but smile amusedly at them as they walked away, thinking about their encounter. Sure, he was down two coins and more or less had to grovel for the two drunks, but it was the far better choice in this situation. Violence wasn’t always the answer, strangely enough.

Gideon continued his stroll down the street and after a while he heard his stomach rumble. It had been time for breakfast for a while after all. He reached into his pocket and counted the coins he still had left. It wasn’t a lot and Gideon looked at them with some concern on his face. Was it really going to be enough for a meal? It almost made him wish that he had fought the drunks, he had gone hungry far too many times in the last few months.

“The Gutter?” Gideon read the sign out loud as he looked at it. Neither the sign nor the door leading to it looked all that special, so he assumed they couldn’t be that expensive. Question was if they had anything edible?

“Well, beggars can not be choosers, and all that…” Gideon muttered the words as he pushed the door open and entered The Gutter. He looked around, taking in the people that were there. The pub wasn’t exactly crowded, a few patrons here and there seemingly still drunk from the night before. One table seemed busy though as the ones around it talked among themselves and looked at some sort of papers spread out in front of them. Gideon didn’t let his eyes linger on them too long, they seemed to be pirates and he had no interest in angering them. So he headed to the bar instead where he was met by a surly bartender with large muttonchops on his face.

“What’cha havin’ lady?” The barkeep said as he wiped off the bar with a dirty rag.

“Hello there, good sir.” The barkeep jumped slightly at Gideon’s voice, no doubt realizing he was a man. “I would very much like something to eat, but I am afraid I’m quite low on funds at the moment. Do you happen to have something on the menu that I can order with this?” Gideon placed his coins on the bar, the barkeep poking them around as he counted them.

“Eh, always you poor bastards comin’ in here…” the barkeep muttered the words as he counted the coins. “I can getcha a Gutter dog.”

“Are they any good, if I may ask?”

“Depends on who ya ask. Ya havin’ one or not?” Not the biggest seal of approval one could get, but Gideon was hungry.

“I’ll take one, thank you. Do I perchance have enough for a mug of wine as well?”

“Hmm…” The barkeep grumbled as he looked at the coins. “Eh, okey then, just ‘cause I’m so fuckin’ nice. Take a seat and it’ll be right out.” The barkeep disappeared into the kitchen and Gideon headed for the table right next to the door. Habit of his, keep close to the exit when you were in a room with people you didn’t know or trusted. He sat down with his back against the wall, his posture perfect and not one usually seen at The Gutter. You could easily tell when the barkeep came with his food and wine and stopped momentarily to give him a strange look before serving him.

“Here ya go,” the barkeep said as he put down the plate and mug in front of Gideon.

“Why thank you kindly,” he retorted, making the barkeep lift one of his eyebrows, wondering who the hell this guy was and what he was doing here. Then he simply shrugged and returned to the bar as Gideon grabbed the utensils, looking at his plate. The food didn’t look all that appetizing to be honest, a large hotdog with some potatoes and some sort of sauce with it. But it was a warm meal, and as far as Gideon knew it could be the last one in a while unless he came over some money. Sitting up straight he cut into the Gutter dog, removing one of the ends before impaling it on his fork and bringing it to his mouth as he started eating.

 

[KattDclaw]

Character Name: Paz Vae Vaaulu
Rank: Quartermaster
Time: Evening (night before)
Location: Outside The City of Balthos
Tagging: Christofer 'The Pegasus Kid' Benoit (NPC), Benny D. Cumbersnatch (NPC)
Mentioned: Rackham



Far from the urban sprawl of The City of Balthos, on a deserted stretch of surf, Paz prepared for battle. She did so according to her tribal customs, the Sahuagin War Dance. Called Haka in their native tongue, it was customary for Sahuagin Warriors to perform the rite the night before battle, though Paz couldn’t wait for tomorrow. She erected a large bonfire in the sand and waited until the sun set before she began. The War Dance itself was a sight to behold, both terrifying and beautiful all at once. The Sahuagin threw themselves into near frenzy, shedding most if not all their clothing as they thrashed and leapt about the roaring flames. In her native tongue Paz cried out to her Ancestors, Ruaumoko in particular, to watch over her and judge her worthiness to carry on their name and honor their deeds. Her voice was raucous and thunderous, a brutal scream that could send a grown many scurrying for cover. The flickering flames danced in her amber gaze, reflected brightly by the inky blackness surrounding them. Her dusky brown skin glistened with perspiration, droplets flying from her body as she spun and danced. The heat was intense this close, but Paz barely felt a thing as she circled the edge, over and over moving about till she dug a small trench in the packed sand. Her movements were sharp and powerful, thrusting her limbs out in wild arcs and angles, squatting and rotating her hips before she leapt up, kicking up sand as she went.

Paz did this for hours, until her body simply could not move further. Only then did she relent and collapse into the sand, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Her metallic red mane, typically spiky and swept back, clung to her cheeks and brow, drenched in sweat. That sharp but beautiful face was twisted into its typical scowl, which was actually rather peculiar. After enacting the rites of war, Paz usually felt a surge of energy, as close to happiness as she had ever felt. But now all she felt was frustration twisting in her gut and the weight of a great burden pressing down on her proud shoulders. She had cried out for Ruaumoko to judge her, hoping to find her worthy of his deeds. But Paz knew in her heart that she didn’t deserve it, the shame of her past deeds weighed heavily upon her soul. The events that transpired aboard The Kraken still haunted her and she would find no peace until she righted the wrongs wrought upon her and her Hapu.

In one fell swoop she had lost the three things that she held dear; her status, her Mana, and her Ariki (a Sahuagin word for leader). The shame of leaving Rackham to his fate seared through her veins like fire, it was unbefitting of any warrior to leave behind their Ariki and run for their lives. She constantly berated herself for following Rackham’s orders and leaving him to his fate. It had ultimately been his decision, he was after all in charge and in the heat of combat she had no right to challenge his word. That did nothing to help quell the inner turmoil of her soul. At the moment she was little more than a vagabond, a mercenary without purpose or reason. There was little to gain going that route, the taint to her honor would stain her till the end of her days. Some might find Paz’s current situation to be rather humorous, considering the near antagonistic relationship she shared with Captain Rackham. Their first encounter had been rather memorable, what with his quick hands finding her lady bits for a quick grope and her fists trying their damnedest to crush his head like a melon. In the end she failed to inflict any lasting harm of the dexterous bastard, but she had found a place on his crew. She held a deep respect for him as a warrior and a leader, despite his obvious shortcomings (mostly that fucking singing voice of his). He deserved a more befitting death than to swing by the neck in front of pompous humans in their ridiculous outfits and smug looks.

Paz had seen fit to tear a bloody path through the city and straight into the heart of the Prison, no doubt dying the heroic death she so sought, but ultimately failing in the quest to rescue Rackham. Her brutal and suicidal plan had been shot down quickly by the remaining crew, but that was probably for the best, not that Paz would ever agree to such logic. Still, she went along with the plan, playing her part with little complaint, outwardly at least. By the time she found the strength to get to her feet the moon was hanging high in the clear night sky. She dressed, a typical affair of leather breeches, boots, tank top and leather vest. The rest of her meager belongings were gathered up in a small sack and tucked into her belt, mostly hidden underneath the bulky hooded poncho she often wore in public. It was a dull brown with frayed edges, obviously have seen better days a long time ago. Paz tugged up the hood and gave the fire one last look before kicking dirt over the smoldering embers.

Slowly she made her way up the beach back towards the glinting jewel that was Balthos. She had one last thing to do before tomorrow. At least she’d have a chance to vent some frustration in one of the few ways she knew how to: with her fists.

-----------------

Deep in the bowels of The Underground Paz stood before an iron shod portcullis, staring through the wooden and metal at the circular ring that composed The Bloody Amphitheatre's arena. It was one of many infamous fighting pits of Balthos, providing the kind of entertainment that everyone, regardless of social status, class, race of creed, hungered for. Few could deny the visceral experience of watching two people beat the every loving shit out of one another. It was easy to find ready and willing participants given the amount of people that infested The Underground. There was no short supply of dirty, hungry people willing to go a few rounds for a copper or two. They did well enough for the normal bouts, but the fine upstanding citizens of Balthos uppercrust didn't pay good coin to see two bums fighting over scraps of bread, no, they came to see the finest pugilists from around the globe duke it out till the sandy floors of the arena were sticky with blood.

That's where Paz came in. Not just anyone could walk into The Amphitheatre and expect a chance to compete in the main attraction. Most had to work their way up through the ranks, clawing their way to the top until only one was left standing. This wasn't anything new, Paz was born and bred for battle, knocking the heads of a few dirty Pakeha (a term in her native tongue for anyone that wasn't Sahuagin) wouldn't even break a sweat. People just knew seeing one of her kind that there was going to be a good, bloody fight. The gents at the signup booth were more than happy to take the silver piece admittance fee and ushered her into the back, deep down into the dungeons of the Amphitheartre. Only after a few bouts did people really start to take notice, one gentleman in particular seemed all too keen on knowing more about her. He offered her drinks, more than just dirty well water but fine spirits and wines, even the fancy foods that the nobility loved to snack on. Paz turned them down, demanding only fresh water and a shot of the finest whiskey they had. That gentleman turned out to be none other that The Bloody Amphitheatre's owner and operator, a one Benny D. Cumbersnatch. A fine looking man in his late forties, he dressed like a nobleman and spoke like the baseborn bastard he really was. Money could buy you a title but the upbringing certainly didn't come along as a package deal. Benny had worked his way up the ladder from a piss poor cabin boy to a very rich and powerful man, sole owner of one of the more successful fighting pits in the city. He knew talent when he saw it, but he also knew that it took more than raw talent to rake in the coin.

It was the last bout of the night and Paz was on her way to face her last opponent, the current champion of the pit, Christofer Benoit. Like all good champions he had a nickname, one the fans could cry out as he smashed his foes into tiny bits. Christofer's happened to be 'The Pegasus Kid'. He loved to dance about his opponents, using his natural agility to fly out of harms way and then smash them good when they had worn themselves out. His right hook was legendary for knocking his foes out cold with one hit, like the mighty kick of a horse.

Paz had no such nickname, she was just another nameless fighter that had risen through the ranks through blood and sweat. This didn't settle well with Benny.

“You gotta have a Ring Name!” He proclaimed as they stood near the portcullis, watching the in-game 'show', this particular one was called 'The lonely' bear, in which one poor sod was drenched in the leftover viscera of the nights fallen fighters and thrown into the ring with a hungry bear. The crowd loved it, especially with the wacky, lively number played on the fiddle that had become known as the lonely bear jib.

“I don't have one.” Paz repeated herself. She hated repeating herself. Benny was a chatty man, far too much for Paz's taste. But then again most Pakeha loved to hear themselves prattle on, it seemed a common trait among them all.

“Well we gotta change that. No offense, Paz is a lovely name, it's short, catchy, got an edgy ring to it. And kinda sexy. But we need something that'll catch the audience's attention!” Benny spoke in quick, short bursts, as if he were breathing in and out the entire time. Paz found it annoying and began to wonder what noise he would make with a crushed windpipe.

“No.” Paz repeated, busying herself by tightening the thick straps of cloth that covered her arms from bicep to knuckle. She flexed her impressive musculature, making sure she didn't cover the proud markings adorning the curve of her shoulders.

“C'mon! Yer bustin' my balls here, sweetheart.” Benny started, but quickly stopped as she shot him a menacing glare. She had already warned him once about the stupid Pakeha nicknames.

“Uh...er...Paz. Yes, Paz. Sorry, sorry. A thousand apologies! Just...yah gotta work with me here...I can't sell yah out there without a Ring Name. Look...I'll make it simple...Off the top of yer head...just think of an animal. Something you like...something that represents-” Benny went on, but was cut off when Paz retorted.

“Butterflies,” She said with a snort.

Benny blinked, his mind still rolling along with the sentence he didn't get to finish. It took him a few seconds to catch back up. “Wait. What?”

“You said name an animal. I like butterflies.” Paz felt like she was repeating herself again and the look on her face said it.

“But...” Benny began, just as a fierce roar mingled with a pitiful squeal came from outside the portcullis. There was a horrible sound of rending flesh and cracking bone before the crowd errupted into a fit of cheers. Benny had run out of time.

“Crap. Fine. I'll work with that. Don't got much choice...fuck me...” He muttered the last bit to himself, hurriedly ducking out and racing down the corridors. He made it just in time to the announcers both, who was already in the process of introducing the fighters for the night's final bout.

“Good evening Ladies and Gentleman! I hope you've enjoyed your evening thus far! But now, it's time for what you've all been waiting for! I hope you placed your bets, The Mother knows I have! The Bloody Amphitheatre is proud to present your contestants for the final bout! The winner will walk, or crawl home with a sizable purse and the title of Champion of The Bloody Ring!” The announcers voice echoed with a mechanical crackle, amplified by the bulky device he held in his grasp. It projected his voice over the entire ring, quieting the crowd as he gestured from his podium to the portcullis at the far east of the ring. A spotlight zoomed towards it as the metal chains creaked and groaned, drawing up the sharp metal poles.

“Here is your current reigning champion, The Pegasus Kid himself, Christofer Benoit!”

The Kid emerged from the archway with a confident swagger. His dark brown eyes gleamed in the spotlights glare, above a crooked nose that had been broken several times. Underneath that was an impressive handlebar mustache, perfectly manicured and sculpted like any self respecting gentleman would wear it. He wore a pair of white breeches that clung just a little too tightly to be respectable, a bright blue sash tied about his waist, along with a white leather vest that had a pair of wings sewn into the back along with his title spelt out in graceful cursive. The rest of him was stout and compact, mostly covered in a fine layer of dark body hair. He sauntered leisurely towards the center of the arena, coming to stop just before a deep gouge dug into the stand.

“And his opponent, a newcomer to the ring. Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome the challenger, Paz the...wait...” The announcer faltered, even as the portcullis began its ascent. “Say that one more time...” His muffled voice echoed even as he held the device away from his face. “..Right. Okay...Sorry folks! Please welcome...Paz...The Butterfly, Vae Vaaulu!”

Paz strode confidently from her place behind the archway, the bright spotlight catching her metallic red hair and setting it ablaze. It shone brightly, almost glittering as the light refracted over every strand. She moved with a slow, purposeful gait, her face a passive mask of indifference. The crowd wasn't quiet sure how to receive their new challenger. Some laughed, some cheered, others just stood watching her with a mixture of awe or confusion. She came to stand before another line dug into the sand, a good fifteen feet away from the one The Kid stood in front of.


The scent of blood hung thick in the air, especially to Paz's keen senses. The gore of the lonely bear's antics were smeared all over the wall lining the ring and a large puddle of reddish black gore turned the sand to mud just below it. Neither opponent was fazed by it, nor the thundering cacophony of the crowd. The roar of combat was nothing new to Paz, a fight was a fight no matter where it took place.

“Alright fighters! May The Mother be with you! Oh, and good luck! Let the fight commence!” The announcer screamed, his voice soon followed by a mechanic whistle. Both were drowned out by the explosion of frantic cheers from the surrounding audience. They were ready for blood.

The Kid brought his fists up before him, extending his left arm outward while keeping his right close to his chest. He turned to the side, providing a smaller target as his feet slid through the sand to a shoulders length apart. He still wore that cocky look and smug smile under his impressive facial hair. Paz wanted to rip that ridiculous thing right off his pasty face.

“Ladies first!' He bellowed over the crowd, holding his place before his line in the sand.

Paz retained the cool, impassive look without so much as blinking. Her amber gaze held fast to her opponent, taking him in and sizing him up. As they stood waiting she had taken him in, measure up what she could and found herself impressed. Despite the flamboyant and baffling appearance, awkward stance and stupid mustache, Paz could sense a true warrior. There was something in the way his muscles twitched and flexed, the subtle look in his eye, how he balled his hand into a fist and held them before his chest. Thus far her opponents had been woefully unprepared to face someone of her skill. It seemed Paz might have a true challenge on her hands. Despite her outward appearance, Paz had a great deal of overconfidence in her abilities, especially when faced with such pathetic Pakeha. True warriors decided to the art were few and far between, though they did so love to brag about their martial prowess.

So when given the opportunity to see if The Kid was more than just a big greased up mustache and tight pants, Paz leapt all too willing at the chance. The Sahuagin burst out from her line with a sudden rush of speed. Her feet dug heavily into the loose sand, propelling herself forward and using her momentum to her advantage. Paz put all her weight behind her first attack, a slow but powerful swipe of her predominant arm. She expected to connect with something, his face, a forearm as he tried to block the blow, but she found nothing but open air as her hand whiffed harmless past him. The Kid, true to his moniker, was quick and agile. He gracefully sidestepped the punch that could have easily knocked his head clean off his shoulders if it connected, and countered with a checking hook as she sailed past under her own momentum.

Paz stumbled as the fist smashed into the side of her face, knocking her off balance in the shifting sands. She managed to catch herself with a hand and push back up to her feet, pivoting on the balls of her feet to face her foe. The Kid was already upon her, swinging his right arm in a wide hook. Paz prepared, her arm instinctively rising to deflect the blow even as The Kid's left hand appeared out of no where in a swift uppercut. His knuckles connected with her chin and snapped her head back violently, a riotous scream shaking the foundations came from the crowd as the Sahuagin stumbled back from the surprisingly powerful blow. Her senses reeled, stars flashed before her eyes but most of all, Paz felt the anger roiling within her gut. Each blow drew it out, bit by bit, nothing but a smoldering ember at the moment.

The Kid took a step back and half-turned towards the audience. He raised a fist in triumph, eliciting another bout of approval in his name. The crowd was already screaming for blood, thinking that The Kid was well on his way to an easy victory. But the stout little man was far from done, he was a showman and was going to give them a show to remember! With a flamboyant gesture he snapped his hands out at his side and turned back to the recovering Sahuagin. The pain was momentary, The Kid had given Paz more than enough time to regain her senses before he ran towards her. She was prepared this time, meeting his fists and deflecting them to the side. She countered two brutal swings to her mid-section, only to land a punch to his ribs. The Kid stumbled from the sheer force of the blow, momentarily losing his cool an composure. Paz circled about him and landed a rabbit punch to the back of his head, right at the base of his skull. The tables turned swiftly, it was The Kid's turn to stumble and clear his senses, Paz turned to the crowd to bask in her own adoration, though she heard more angered booing than cheers. To that Paz did the only thing she could think to do, she brought both hands over her head and flipped the entire ring the double bird, turning in a full circle so they all got an eyeful.

“Kaiota roke a kekero!” Paz bellowed in her native tongue, roughly translated to 'eat shit and die'. The smoldering ember within her gut was raging now, the white hot anger raced through her limbs with each beat of her heart. Paz felt the hunger, the need to vent that quickly rising anger, even as part of her knew she should resist. The Kid had recovered from the cheap but effective strike, with a flourish he spun back upon her and raced in to closed the distance. There was anger in his eyes now, some of that cockiness had been slapped from him. He was upon her swiftly, bringing both fists to bear. He swung and jabbed angrily, connecting with her frame at several weak. She hadn't tried to block or parry any of them, instead she took each blow with its full force. Each strike stoked the flames, each time his knuckles connected with her dark flesh her eyes darkened just a bit more. The stoic visage began to break and in its place a rather pissed off glare began to appear. The amber hue of her gaze started to fade, the darkness surrounding them overwhelming the color completely. With each punch The Kid felt his skin tearing like he punched a brickwall.

The Kid finished his pummeling with a snap kick to the chest, forcing Paz back several feet. It should have knocked the wind out of her at the very least, or sent her flying back on her ass. Yet the Sahuagin remained standing up right. The Kid snorted, taking a moment to stroke his mustache as he gave Paz a contemptuous glare.

“They always said you Shark bitches could take a beating.” He commented loud enough so that Paz could hear him. His knuckles were bloodied, more so than a typical bare knuckle brawling should offer. He glanced down at them curiously before that smug look drifted back across his lips. “They also say your cunts are rough as sandpaper! Shall we see if there's any truth to that?”

The Kid baited and Paz went for it hook line and sinker. Acting on instinct, with a feral growl her anger boiled over and the Sahuagin lunged at The Kid. He had enough time to reach into his breeches and wrap his hand around a pair of brass knuckles he had stashed away. His infamous one-hit KO often needed a little help, but damn did the crowd love seeing it. He gripped them tightly in his lead hand and stepped forward as Paz charged in, bobbing to the outside and following up with a savage hook. The sound of metal meeting bone resounded in a dull crack that could have been heard up in the nosebleed section. The crowd gasped and cringed at it; Paz fell with the punch and collapsed into the sand. The Kid danced around her, discreetly tucking the brass knuckles back into his belt.

“And there we have it, folks! The Kid's infamous One-hit, KO! I hope you didn't waste your money on the newcomer, cuz it looks like she's out like a light!” The announcers voice screeched over the roar of the crowd. They were screaming for blood, Paz's blood. The bout wasn't over until one of them was bleeding out into the sands. But The Kid was having too much fun basking in the adoration of his fans. He let out a boisterous laugh and flung his arms out wide, egging them on with hoots and even a little victory dance.

No one paid attention to Paz as she knelt there on her hands and knees, blood gushing from the nasty gash on the side of her face. The blow should have knocked her out cold, or at least senseless, but the Sahuagin was fully aware of her surroundings. The scent of blood invaded her keen senses till it was the only thing she could smell. The metallic taste of it filled her mouth and the pain of the punch radiated out from her head deep into her skull, down her neck and shoulders. Her breaths came heavy and ragged, her eyes flared open, now nothing more than inky black pits. She felt the familiar urges rising, the burning desire of rage tearing through her. It was unwise to relent to the calling, not in current state she was in, but Paz couldn't resist. The corded muscles of her arms and shoulders tensed and twitched as the dusky skin over them rippled and hardened. Paz pushed up to her feet silently, rising in one fluid motion. The light caught on her crimson mane once more, just a brief flash of red as she moved.

The crowd saw her coming before The Kid did, lost in his assured victory he didn't see it coming till he felt the vice-like grip locking down on one of his wrists. Paz yanked his arm down violently, dug her feet into the sand and hoisted him up into the air. She used his weight as momentum, took a few spins and launched the shocked man into the nearby ring wall. He hit with a smack and gasped, the air leaving his lungs at all once. The cheer died suddenly then, becoming so quiet the only sound that could be heard was The Kid gasping for breath. Paz stalked closer, taking a few slow, steady steps before she surged forth at incredible speed. The Kid got to his feet just in time to be slammed back against the wall with the full force of an enraged Sahuagin. He grasped at the wrist near his throat, trying to pry the hand away intent upon wrapping around his neck. He threw a few hooks into Paz's ribcage, and followed up with an uppercut. Paz didn't so much as flinch, instead she let out a bestial holler and snapped her jaws. When her lips pulled back The Kid caught sight of row after row of jagged, razor sharp teeth...they hadn't been there a minute ago! Frantically The Kid punched at his foe, trying to break the iron grip keeping him in place. He did nothing but piss Paz off more, she redoubled her grip and flung him to the left, sending him tumbling into the sand several feet away. The Kid caught himself gracefully, despite his wounds he still held the gentlemanly poise of a well-trained pugilist. His calm was shattered though, without a second thought he reached for his brass knuckles and slid them on.

The crowd didn't make a sound, most were holding their breath, a few of the noblewomen even fainted at the turn of events. They all watched, the conscious ones at least, as Paz followed after The Kid; both dripping blood into the shifting sands. The Kid met his foe head one, giving her another brutal punch with across the face with his brass knuckles. Paz took the blow and howled madly, her teeth stained red from her own oozing vitality. The Kid struck again, but Paz caught his wrist as she deflected the blow. She gave him a sharp jab to the face and twisted his arm, forcing the human down to his knees. He grimaced in pain and tried to yank free of her grip, but before he could even attempt a second try he felt the bones in his arm snap. He watched his arm twist awkward back, an almost morbid fascination drifting across his face before the pain hit him. He screamed, then a woman in the audience screamed, Paz roared and the rest of the crowd exploded.

Paz kept twisting his arm, relishing in the sound of his bones breaking, his tendons snapping and the scent of his blood overwhelming her. It was in stark contrast to her own, a memorable scent that Paz would recall fondly in her dreams. The crowd watched on in shock as the Sahuagin twisted his arm and yanked it it clean out of the socket. The red fountain of blood gushed forth from the wound, The Kid screamed once more in agony before Paz smacked him across the face with the bloody stump of his arm. He tumbled into the mixture of sand and blood, giving one final yelp before Paz clubbed him to death with his own arm.

Character Name: Paz Vae Vaaulu
Rank: Quartermaster
Time: Morning
Location: The Gutter Bar
Tagging: Gideon
Mentioned: Shipmates

The door to The Gutter slammed open as Paz gave it a swift kick. She emerged into the welcoming dim light mostly covered by her poncho, her face half-buried in the darkness. She had a small pack slung over her shoulder along with a rather large clay bottle wrapped in a leather thong, the contents sloshing about with each step. She pause for just a moment to look up and take in the common room, easily finding her companions huddled around a table. It wasn't hard to spot them, even the more mundane ones tended to stand out in one deranged fashion or another. Paz started to move forward, but hesitated when she heard something. She looked to her side, finding a fancy little human woman sitting there using a fork and a knife on a Gutter dog. She looked more out of place than the frog man, Vallice. It didn't matter much, Paz had a meeting to get to, but she couldn't help glare down quizzically at the woman. After but a moments thought she took a step closer, reached down and snatched the Gutter dog right off the woman's plate and stuffed it into her mouth. Her cheeks bulged as she gnashed and chewed the questionable meat, but within a few chomps it was mostly gone. The woman's mug was next, its contents sloshed around before she downed it in one gulp. Paz stood there for but a moment, glaring down at the fancy lady with lazy amber eyes. Her lips pursed and for a moment it looked like she was to speak, instead she just belched the foul smell of Gutter dog back at her, turned and walked straight to the table her companions had gathered around.

“I got booze,” She proclaimed, slamming the large clay jug down. It was filled with the finest, cheapest grog money could afford. The Captain's favorite. She tossed the leather purse she had been carrying as well, the top opening as it hit the table and gold coins started to spill out.

“Money too,” She said, her amber gaze drifting about the gathered men and women...woman. Her attention soon turned to the purse of gold when she noticed a tuft of hair poking out from the pile.

“That's mine.” Paz growled, snatching up what looked like a rather well-groomed mustache attached to a hunk of raw red flesh. She quickly tucked it under the hem of her poncho in a nonchalant fashion, her amber gaze drifting about the table.

“Where's the wizard?” She asked, grabbing a chair and flopping down into it with a huff. She spoke about Rudyard, who she refused to call anything but 'The Wizard'. His gift for machines and Engineering in general was looked upon as just another form of magic, which Paz had a general, overwhelming, irrational distrust of. Trying to explain to her the difference between technology and magic was a conversation with no end. Few ever tried more than once. Those that did usually got punched.

 

[kittenofdeath]

Resisting the urge to keep barbing Zhou was hard for Mack, usually this wasn’t a problem as her caution would be tempering the Captains rather impulsive styling, voice of reason is the first mates job after all, but now that her regular foil was absent her attentions were on Mack, and Macks defence mechanism of snark and sarcasm wasn’t going to play well this time. Once again Vallices input proved ever so useful, in that Mack could barely decipher what he was saying, but since Macks focus had to shift just to do that it gave him the few seconds of thought he needed to respond rationally, rather than antagonistically.

“We're pirates, we already have a standing bounty for that alone, the only reason we got in to this port at all is because we didn’t have a ship at the time and snuck in like rats, if we had shown up in the Kraken they would have fired on us as soon as we were in range.” Mack noted the arrival of Paz out of the corner of his eye and sighed, he was hoping to have made more progress in to an actual plan by the time she showed up, she was about as subtle as a sledgehammer and while they had managed to talk her out of storming the jail Mack wasn’t entirely convinced she hadn’t completely dropped the idea.

“I too want your neck to remain smooth, pretty and as unsnapped as possible Zhou” Mack said as he put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair “but the simple truth here is we cant be reactionary on this one, we have to do something. I'm not saying my plan is the way to go, hell, its not even my only idea, but if we just sit back and do nothing then we'll be looking for a new captain by this time tomorrow.”

Any response from Zhou was stalled by Pazs arrival at the table, stalled as she had been by the rather effeminate man near the door, honestly she had done him a favour by stealing the dog, those things never went down well. And with her, Paz brought booze and money, fun times, along with her usual reminder of how the term 'bite me' should be avoided in her presence lest it be taken literally.

“I've no idea where the wizard is, last thing I remember him saying last night was something to do with old friends and investment opportunities.” Macks level of confidence in Rudyard was low if he was honest, of all the people who hadn’t bailed already he was the next likely in Macks mind. “So I assume he's either riding high after swindling someone, or laying low after failing to swindle someone.”

 

[kizkiz]

Vallice's next distended again as he digested what Mack was saying. It was kind of like how a man with a pipe might take a long drag from the pipe when they wanted to ponder something. Finally, Vallice said, "Master Rudy working on potty." Vallice gave a low croak, shaking his snout up and down a few times in agreement with his statement. "Say true. Ideas about the potty, I heard it, so I did."

One of Vallice's copper eyes swivels to watch the man-women at the bar counter. He felt sad that the man-woman had nothing to eat. The cook in him wanted to stuff the man-women to the gills or was it teeth with humans? Not with the crap they served in this place, but with righteous food befit for the Mother. Alas, he couldn't afford to look weak in a place like this. So it was, that Vallice let the man-woman starve. Although he continued to regard the man-woman as something in the way the entity existed had the duality of Father and Mother, it made him think of the heretical notion that their was a fourth God, not a Brother but something lurking behind the Father and Mother.

Although it was a good five minutes of silence as he contemplated the ecclesiastical condundrum of the mysterious and perhaps dualistic fourth deity of the heavens, Vallice added. "Mmmm, need to leave in," He snapped open his pocket watch, "Thirty minutes to make it back before Noon."

 

[sodalitas]

Character Name: Rudyard
Rank: Engineer
Time: Dawn, the day of the execution
Location: Balthos, The Gutter
Tagging: Twitch (NPC)
Mentioned: Shipmates


To the casual observer, Balthos might seem a beacon of industrial and technological progress, and indeed that was true, but to Rudyard the cobblestone streets and gas lanterns and looming architecture were just a skinny film that covered and distracted from the REAL Balthos. The drab life of the workers who toiled to build and maintain the facade, who couldn't afford to hire the sleek carriages to cart them around town but who had to walk or pedal or hitch rides on boxcars to get into the factories and back again each day, the ones that sickened from the days in the coal dust, who spent their hard-earned coins on drinking, and fighting, and fucking - this was the true Balthos.

Shanty town was gearing up for a massive, communal hangover when he knocked on Twitch's door. He had to hammer on it twice more before he heard the muttered curses and it flung open to reveal a pallid, scrawny man who glared at him with bloodshot eyes from beneath a bad comb-over. He was clearly about to shout, "Fuck off!" at whoever had woken him when recognition flitted across his face at seeing Rudyard. He paused for a moment, and then scowled and finished.

"Fuck off, Rudy".

Rudyard's foot halted the slamming door and he grinned. "Always the warm reception I get here in Balthos, is it any wonder I don't visit more often?"

Sighing, the wisp of a man let go of the door and shuffled down the hallway, scratching obsessively at his arm. "Don't stay on my account."

Rudyard entered after him and closed the door. He followed the man into a ramshackle one-room house practically carpeted in junk. Hovering on the border to the room and peering cautiously from one end to the other he remarked, "I don't know why you give me such a hard time, Twitch. I'm delightful!"

"Don't call me that!" he snapped, and his leg spasmed uncontrollably. Which only served to piss him off more completely. After a few seconds, the spasm passed and the man, dejectedly, sat down in a ratty easy chair near an empty fireplace. "What do you want?" he finally asked.

"I've a big day ahead of me. I need a little help. A lot of help, actually."

"Oh yeah? What kind of help?"

"You know what kind."

Twitch nodded, then, and stared into the empty fireplace a while. He looked tired. He seemed frail - papery skin clinging to bone. A knuckled finger pointed in the general direction of a table, and then his eyes closed and his head rested against the chair. "Four coins."

Rudyard waded through the detritus and swept his arm across the table, spilling more junk onto the floor and revealing a box. He reached into his pocket and with his fingers he counted the last money he had to his name. Six coins.

"And none of your shaved coins either!" Twitch muttered, and then he filled the room with his snoring.

Thrusting the box into his pocket and leaving his payment on the table, Rudyard gingerly made his way to the sleeping man and gently covered him with a ragged blanket. He watched the rise and fall of his chest protectively until it settled into a steady rhythm. Satisfied, he let himself out, the box and schematics filling his pockets and six shiny coins left behind on the table.

It was a long trek back to The Gutter, and he reached it while most of the city was still sleeping. The door was propped open by the body of a patron who hadn't quite made it all the way out before passing out in a pool of vomit, and Rudyard used the man's back as a door mat as he entered. Spying his companions conspiring at a table in the back, he joined them - slapping Mack on the back as he took a seat next to him and winking at Zhou.

He nodded at Vallice before turning his attention to the Quartermaster. "What's the plan, boss?"

 

[HotCider]

Music never dies!

Character Name: Captain Brandt Rackham
Rank: Captain
Time: Morning
Location: Hangman's Square
Tagging: Sir Janx (Captain of the Guard), Lady Colette, Sir Nathan (bodyguard), Lord Beaudroix, and the priest. Mentioned: N/A


11:50

The roars, curses, and screams of the crowd echoed through the corridor. There were two files of five soldiers each guarding his left and right side. The two abreast of him had their hands locked about his biceps. His wrists were bound in rope behind his back. The two soldiers at the front and the last two in the back were armed with muskets and bayonets. The soldiers between them wielded spears. Why? Probably for military style or something. Brandt was just as confused.

His one eye squinted ahead at the bright opening where thousands of Balthos citizens were exuberantly waiting. It was like standing before a raging sea eager to swallow him up.

Platoon, Atten~HUT!

The captain strode by his men. His red cape swayed behind him as he carried his feathered helm beneath his right arm. His boots made an abrupt thump sound when he stopped to the right of Brandt and turned his head to regard him sternly.

“Just some last words for you to take with you on your journey back to the Mother. You were never a true captain,” said Sir Janx. “That’s why your crew abandoned you.”

Brandt turned his head to look the bristled captain in his brown eyes. Tilting his head, he peered around his side at the feathers on his helm. Arching a brow, an amused smile tickled his lips.

“D’you steal those feathas’ from a gull’s arse, mate?” he questioned.

Sir Janx’s jaw visibly tightened in his anger and his eyes became so livid that Brandt knew he had upset him. He could tell that the captain wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find any words. The captain swiftly drew the dagger at his hip and plunged it into his side. Brandt’s smile contorted into a grimace of pain as Sir Janx leaned until he was inches from his ear.

“I’m just making sure you don’t come back,” said the captain.

The eyes of the soldiers around him were wide, but they were too afraid to say anything to the captain. By humane law, the prisoner wasn’t to be harmed before the execution. Sir Janx removed his knife from Brandt’s side painfully slow just to see him shudder and then wiped it clean against the pirate’s cheek. He then gave the knife a fancy twirl before he slid it back into its sheath. Adorning his winged helm, the captain took his position at the front of the formation and led the march.

Forward, MARCH!

The unit marched down a stone path with a wooden gates that kept back the rowdy citizens, and as people started to gaze upon the stark-haired man at the center of the Balthian guard formation, several began to fall silent. The eerie quiet that befell the audience made the guards uneasy. Even Sir Janx was nervously sweeping the people. Brandt staggered along, his side hot and damp with his blood. Against his filthy tunic, the red growing stain stood out like a target. He panted softly, his one eye squinting as he gazed at the blank faces of the Balthian people.

It was as though everyone had gone still as a head of cabbage went soaring over the heads of the people to explode against a guard’s helmet.

BLAGGAAAA~RD! came the cry that brought the rain.

Tomatoes fresh and rotten, eggs, cabbage, bread, cups, and mud rained upon the guards. Angrily, the guards butted some of the citizens with their spears and the captain raised his arm to guard his face from the shower until he drew his flintlock in a fit and fired it into the air. The rain instantly stopped, and the guards continued the rest of the way unhindered.

The guards reached the stage with five minutes left to spare, which was enough time for the priest to give his blessing, for the prisoner to have his last words, and for the bell to ring on time. Five guards lined the base of the stage to bar anyone from attempting to climb it, three stood on the stage to bar anyone who tried to climb it from the sides, and the last two placed Brandt in position over the hatch and draped the noose about his neck before drawing it tight.

The pirate captain was slightly hunched over, his face dripping in tomato and egg, with bits of cabbage and stale bread mixed in his hair and sticking to yolk spots on his arms and shoulders. The priest noticed that he could barely stand and the wound on his side. The man’s dark eyes were wide in disgust. Spreading his arms, his monochromatic robes flared like the wings of a bird.

“Who dare violates this rite with blood?” the priest exclaimed.

He whirled to gaze upon the guards and Sir Janx who stood by with a stoic mask.

“The Father and the Mother are the only ones who punish for their discipline is just. We are all but their children and must not commit the evil of those who will be forgiven in death!” he preached to remind the people.

Lady Colette had been peering through some opera glasses when she noticed how the pirate captain was unable to stand upright. Her green brows leapt in shock.

“He’s been wounded!” she announced.

Her father, Lord Beaudroix frowned. His bushy brows crashed together and his lips puckered with an expression of disbelief. The portly man had thick long hair that draped his shoulders like a rug and extended from his jaw in a fiery carpet that nearly touched the sunken dimple on his white robes where his navel was. He was slumped comfortably in his chair. His round belly like a hill and his flank fat beneath his armpits draping over to the armrests. His nickname was “The Lion” and to some he was known as The Hippo Lord. His size may not have made him King of the Jungle, but definitely a sea cow.

“What?” said Lord Beaudroix before he reached over to borrow Lady Colette’s opera glasses. He peered through them down at the stage. “That scrawny fellow is the old sea king Captain Rackham? HUH!”

Tossing them back at her, Lady Colette dexterously caught her glasses and narrowed her eyes at her father. “I didn’t learn much about him down in the prison. We sang pirate chanties together…but then that became very boring and he still insisted on singing.”

“He’s a lunatic,” came the Lady Colette’s bodyguard. “Surely we’ve all been had and that’s the wrong man.”

Lord Beaudroix frowned. “Silence boy, I traded a trophy ship for this con!”

“But you got a sea of gold for it. A ship can only serve so many uses, while the uses of gold is limitless.”

Lady Colette continued to peer through the glasses, her long lashes lowered over her eyes like large green fans. “Well, I think it’s him.”

“What?” Sir Nathan growled.

“He was the only person found on the ship by the Capricorn Navy. There was no one else, and a good captain always goes down with his ship.”

“He’s probably a decoy and the real Rackham is standing by watching his man die for him like a coward.”

“I don’t think so.”

Lord Beaudroix arched a brow at his daughter. “Did you fall in love with that man while you were down there?”

The question made Sir Nathan tense fearfully. She better not have.

Lowering her opera glasses, Lady Colette frowned over at her father. “No; father. I am just suspicious. But what does it matter? Whether it’s him or not, this man is about to be executed.”

Oh!

Brandt fainted and the noose going taut about his neck was quick to wake him. Both of his eyes shot wide open and his neck muscles contracted to keep himself from being strangled. In the brief moment his eyes were open, he saw numerous ghostly-white figures standing around him and scattered throughout the crowd with their ink-black eyes gazing upon him. Brandt bore his teeth and spittle tumbled from his mouth in his struggle.

The priest noticed his eye and collapsed upon the stage with a shriek. “His eye! He bears The Other Eye!”

The crowd started to murmur.

Demon-Eye Jack! It’s him!

What? The demon captain?

You heard the priest! He got the Demon-Eye! It’s the real Captain Kraken!

Two guards quickly rushed over to stand him back to his feet. Panting frantically—shit, he thought he had almost died. Brandt closed his eye as the guards remained at his side to keep him on his feet, but there wasn’t much time left. Lord Beaudroix stood from his chair and stepped over to the balcony where he and his company were overlooking the execution. He waved to Sir Janx to move it along.

Sir Janx was bothered by the whispers he was hearing and was hardly convinced that the singing buffoon was the real Captain Rackham.

“Hurry this up!” he yelled at the priest.

The priest fearfully looked at Sir Janx and then at the pirate captain. Shakily, he rose to his feet and approached Brandt to rest the side of his thumb against his forehead as he prayed: “Go in peace. When you leave your body here, it will be only flesh, and all the sins of your flesh will die and your spirit will be clean and free to return to the mother to be born anew.”

Sir Janx frowned. He won’t be coming back.

“Do you have any last words, son?” the priest asked.

Breathing deeply to keep oxygen circulating through his body, Brandt replied, “Aye.”

“ALL OV’ YA CAN TAKE YER RELIGIOUS 'ORSE SHITE AN’ SHOVE IT UP YER ARSE! OOOOOOOOOOO!”

What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor,
What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor,
What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor,
Early in tha’ mo~rnin’!

The priest stood there speechless whilst Brandt continued to sing with his every labored breath. Sir Janx’s lip cocked in annoyance. The son of a bitch still insisted on singing? It was about time for the dead ringer. Sir Janx strode over to the wooden hatch lever as he waited for the bell to toll.

Shave ‘is belly witha’ rusty razor,
Shave ‘is belly witha’ rusty razor,
Shave ‘is belly witha’ rusty razor,
Early in tha’ mo~rnin’!

The bell rang, the lever was pulled, and the hatch dropped.

 

[kizkiz]

If at first you don't succeed...

Vallice left the bar not quite sure if the crew had any idea what they were doing, but Vallice was used to extending a huge helping of trust to the crew. He had a job to do. He'd found a man he wanted to keep following. Sure that man was as crazy as a rabid rat, but the captain appreciated a hearty bowl of clam chowder. Not just farted and chugged it like most, but commented on the differences when Vallice switched between yellow and red potatoes. The captain noticed little things like that. And no other captain would trust someone with the deserter's tattoo. So he made his way back the way he had come.

--- --- ---

"That'll do," Vallice said, raising and lowering his snout several times.

"Oy, yer sure?"

Vallice's throat sack distended and then he ribbeted. "Aye." Vallice hopped off the cart and gave the farmer a handful of copper pennies.

"Mighty generous, m'lord." The farmer eyed the track of wilderness in both directions. "Err, maybe not."

Vallice retrieved his sack and tossed it over his shoulder. "Long days and pleasant nights."

"May ye have thrice, aye say true."

Vallice croaked low and quick; his lips twisted into a semblance of a human grin. Vallice found a stump and watched the farmer continue on away from the city back into the country. When the farmer was gone and there was no sign of anyone else coming in either direction, Vallice hopped into the forest and made his way back to the shore line. He found the small cove and the hiding place that he'd scouted out before. Again he went through the ritual of disrobing and binding his Shutka to his forearm in the battle style the Weapon Masters had taught him when he was still a tadpole.

And then Vallice slipped beneath the waves. The noon tide was mild. He called upon the blessing of the Mother and once more she laid her hand upon his flesh, shielding him from the ocean's glacial temperature. It took the better part of an hour, but he a good instinct for time. The sun was high and clear, his eyes marked its progress through the sky as he made his way through the sea. He made good time and took a moment to float a hundred feet out from the cliff face. It was harder to cling to the slippery rock above than to maintain his position out at sea. As he treaded water, throat sack fully distended, he tried to make out the positions of the guards.

That was the first indication today wasn't going to go as planned. He finally caught sight of two pairs, not one. And they weren't roaming on patrol, they were fixed in place. Of course, Vallice realized, even the guards would want to watch the spectacle. "Father fuck them all," Vallice croaked into the empty sea.

No point in waiting now.

He bobbed deep under the water at an angle, paused thirty feet under and then ascended on an arc that would put him three feet from the rock face. He surfaced right as a wave tried to pick him up and smash him against the rock face. He was prepared, his feet kicked out and like a spring, absorbed the impact. When the wave receded, Vallice started his ascent.

The climb was easier this time. With the sun high in the sky, the rocks were drier then during his evening and early morning climbs. He came to a stop five feet below the lip of the wall. His hearing wasn't great above water, but he could only make out some muttered small talk about sweating their assess off and the hanging better be great. He waited a few more breaths but caught no sign of movement, so he finished his ascent, peaking his eyes and snout over the lip of the wall. He saw one pair of guard on either side of him, each pair was about twenty feet away. All four guards were bent over the wall staring down into the courtyard.

Vallice was no assassin. Granted, he was naked and his body made less noise then it might otherwise, but it was the crash of the surf below and the bellow of the crowd on the other side that let him pull himself over the side of the wall without detection. The guards were focused on the drama in the square, no doubt there had never been an amphibious assault on the port. Vallice looked back at the waves pounding against the sea cliffs and then up at the Mother overhead. He uttered his second prayer to the Mother. She answered immediately. Fog burst from the sea. Tendrils writhed up the face of the cliff like a hoard of hungry snakes. Vallice looked up at the sky, the time was upon him.

He couldn't cross to the other side of the wall and lean over into the square like he'd practiced. It would be too easy for the guards to catch sight of him from the periphery of their vision. Instead, Vallice had to hop onto the edge of the wall, which was at shoulder height. He teetered on the edge, his legs unsteady. He unwound his Shutka and took it up in his left hand. He removed three foot-and-a-half needles from his wrist sheath. Two he held in his mouth for easy access. The third he wedged into the cup of the sling-like device and pulled back. He sighted along the length of the drawn Shutka and then looked away at his target.

Already the captain's face was red and his legs kicked. Vallice counted it lucky that the hangman had tied the knot to suffocate instead of snap the neck. He supposed the crowd and its governor wanted to savor the spectacle.

Vallice inhaled, bunched all the muscles in his body, and released the sling. He didn't wait to see if he connected. He grabbed the second needle, pulled, sighted, and fired. Then he grabbed the third, pulled, sighted, and fired.

The first dart hissed between the pair of guards unnoticed. It just clipped the edge of the captain's noose, before wedging itself into the wooden wall behind the captain's writhing body. The second flew wide, clipping one of the guards nearby in the shoulder. The third struck true. The needle dove straight into the heart of the rope strand. With the weight of the captain's body, the rope exploded and snapped under the strain.

The guards were slow to react. At first they just gawked and leaned even further over the wall. One muttered, "What the fuck...". Then another of them traced an imaginary trajectory in reverse. His neck tracked the likely path back up their way. He turned, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped.

Vallice lowered his snout, turned, and dove into the wall of mist.

 

[sodalitas]

The platform on which the last breaths of the convicted were spent was a wooden contraption reinforced with numerous logs that criscrossed into the dirt below. On top of that dirt were layers of straw to collect the blood, urine and other bodily fluids that had a tendency to leave the body along with the spirit. The straw was seldom removed, but rather a fresh layer was added over time. It was hot and damp and smelled of piss and mold. But the worst part for Rudyard as he lay under a blanket of the stuff was the incessant itching as the myriad points of the straw found his skin. It was enough to drive a man insane, especially a man who was halfway there already, and he vowed that if he ever had to torture a man he would immediately think of straw as his implement of choice.

He waited for an eternity - waited for the crowd to gather in the yard, waited for the guards to arrive (ever so slowly!) with the Captain, waited as they clambered around on the platform above him...

Finally he heard the Captain's voice shout out in defiance, and the familiar sound caused Rudyard's adrenaline to surge, ready for battle.

"What do y’do witha’ drunken sailor..."

Rudyard slowly stretched his legs and arms out and back in, loosening them up from his cramped position. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. The hatch opened with a bang! and the Captain's boots came into view, swaying as he kicked and floundered on the rope. As smoothly as he could muster, he rose out of the straw and stepped towards the Captain, reaching him just as the rope was sundered and the rest of his body flopped through the hatch and crumpled into a mound of straw.

His knife already in his hand, he worked quickly to slice through the rope that bound his hands behind his back, not sure of how long they had before the guards rushed down upon them. When the Captain's hands were free, Rudyard helped the man to his feet, only then noticing how pale he was and the blood on his side.

"Took you long enough, Captain," he winked. "This one's for you." He tossed him one of his flintlocks and then swung his blunderbuss around to grasp it in both hands. He shrugged apologetically. "But mine's bigger."

He rushed out the side of the platform ahead of the Captain, prepared to level anyone in his path with a blast from his weapon.

 

[heartofcourage]

Zhou had decided to wait at the edge of the crowd, watching from her vantage point in the shadows as the captain was brought out of the prison where he was being held. She had tried to secure a ship for them to use in getting away, but none had come through. None for the price that she wanted to pay, at least. Once a path was cleared, she would lead the way towards the port and give them the choice of the seaworthy vessels that were there to take.

She wanted nothing to do with Mack's plan of kidnapping to get the captain free. That was a death sentence if there ever was one. She still liked to think of herself as an honorable person, even if she had done some less than honorable things. Kidnapping was not part of the plan that she wished to participate in.

The sounds of the captain singing reached her through the crowd. It was loud even over the murmured noises of the crowd that had gathered. Silently, she pulled her sword free from her belt, holding it against her side. It was best to be ready for anything that might happen. Maybe she would even have cause to run Mack through finally.

As the trap door on the platform was thrown, she flinched. The noise of a body dropping was never pleasant, even if it were a necessity. She could no longer see through the thick crowd, but she hoped that the rest of the crew were keeping up their end of the plan.