Stromfels made no distinction in his rage against those who trespassed upon his waters; aquatic tendrils lapped across the Siren's hull, and the skies whirled with deafening thunder as the living, dead and the undead were cast into the Sea Devil's maw. More of the salted husks poured through the breach of the vessel, and soon enough, the interior of the Siren had been overrun with the pirate host. However, the remainder of Vanderbarzen's host had been mustered atop the mast; a panalopy of worn arms clashed against eachother. The Captain himself trudged across the balcony, eager to remedy this leaking wound with the blood of his unliving foes. Vanderbarzen gazed into the sizzling trench of roasted corpses, roaring as he dispatched of the two groaning dead back to Morr. He caught the figure of Anglermaw, scuttling within the breach of men -- living and undead. The Skaven joined Falderan in the fight, though facing the mass was not his objective.
Vanderbarzen suddenly cringed in pain; his shoulder seized with fire and he clutched tightly at the wound to dull the throbbing anguish. "Get back here, Skaven!" He yelled, to no avail. "You think to contest with my Captaincy?! You think you walk free because of some wound I may bear?! This is just another scar to list as a testament to my endurance!"
But Anglermaw merely ignored Vanderbarzen's mad flailings, his mind utterly fixated upon the pale foe in front, hidden under the cowl of the night. This figure wore some strange exotic headpiece -- an Arabyan turban to the uncultured mind, adorned with a ruby scarab upon the center, which glinted blindingly as the lightning struck. Rain coursed downward across the robes of bloodstained silk, down toward the curved leather boots. His scimitar brutally caressed the neck of a lone, terrified Marienburger, and the Vampire breathed into the sanguine liquid that spewed forth from the lifeless body left behind.
"Are ye enjoying yer meal there, Vampire?" Snickered the Sea-Rat, gazing upward toward his opponent. "Ah'm 'fraid I can't let you just go killin' me sailors; the fine to pay will be yer death."
The pale creature growled, bearing an array of terrible fangs while he tossed his dry morsel to the seas. "Your sailors? Pah! Not even dead and drowning would suffer a vermin to held sway over their will." The Vampire taunted, the words he sputtered seemed to slip and sway, mostly thanks to the strange accent. "Blood as murky and wretched as yours will hardly be worth the effort; I'll put you down and and have you flayed by my loyal thralls, undead or alive!"
The Vampire raised his curved blade and descended it toward Anglermaw, intent on cleaving the rodent skull. But Sea-rat parried the strike with his hookarm, causing the looming fellow to stumble.
"Not if I flay you first, monster." The Sea-Rat returned. From then on, no further words were spoken, and the two exchanged blows in combat, overseen by distracted, cheering mobs of rotting pirates.
Vanderbarzen suddenly cringed in pain; his shoulder seized with fire and he clutched tightly at the wound to dull the throbbing anguish. "Get back here, Skaven!" He yelled, to no avail. "You think to contest with my Captaincy?! You think you walk free because of some wound I may bear?! This is just another scar to list as a testament to my endurance!"
But Anglermaw merely ignored Vanderbarzen's mad flailings, his mind utterly fixated upon the pale foe in front, hidden under the cowl of the night. This figure wore some strange exotic headpiece -- an Arabyan turban to the uncultured mind, adorned with a ruby scarab upon the center, which glinted blindingly as the lightning struck. Rain coursed downward across the robes of bloodstained silk, down toward the curved leather boots. His scimitar brutally caressed the neck of a lone, terrified Marienburger, and the Vampire breathed into the sanguine liquid that spewed forth from the lifeless body left behind.
"Are ye enjoying yer meal there, Vampire?" Snickered the Sea-Rat, gazing upward toward his opponent. "Ah'm 'fraid I can't let you just go killin' me sailors; the fine to pay will be yer death."
The pale creature growled, bearing an array of terrible fangs while he tossed his dry morsel to the seas. "Your sailors? Pah! Not even dead and drowning would suffer a vermin to held sway over their will." The Vampire taunted, the words he sputtered seemed to slip and sway, mostly thanks to the strange accent. "Blood as murky and wretched as yours will hardly be worth the effort; I'll put you down and and have you flayed by my loyal thralls, undead or alive!"
The Vampire raised his curved blade and descended it toward Anglermaw, intent on cleaving the rodent skull. But Sea-rat parried the strike with his hookarm, causing the looming fellow to stumble.
"Not if I flay you first, monster." The Sea-Rat returned. From then on, no further words were spoken, and the two exchanged blows in combat, overseen by distracted, cheering mobs of rotting pirates.
Upon landing the sky ripped open with a blinding flash of lighting. The raging sea and waves thrashed the ships around like drift wood as cries of pain and veracity filled the air. Once he made it to the enemy ships deck there was little thought to what came next. Fal took up his blade and slashed at the lumbering zombies that approached.
"Get 'em lads!" Called a voice from the back of the ship. This form seemed to be another undead but not a zombie. The more skeletal form showed it to be a wight. In it's hands was a long musket that it positioned on the railing. Aiming for Fal as two zombies with cutlass in hand charged. Coming from each flank Fal used his elven agility to narrowly sidestep the crossing slashes.
The zombies scream in annoyance but before they could retaliate Fal's necromantic blade slashed up. Severing ones arm before the blade came back down on the stumbling corpse. The head toppled and body fell flat. The second stood over it's newly killed ally and Fal took advantage of his sluggish movements in the rain and moving over the corpse. With a dance like spin he moved around the blade and drove his own weapon into the zombies shoulder. The hand on the sword tensed and let go as the cutlass fell. Just as Fal pulled the blade from the zombies twitching shoulder to finish it a loud bang sounded and a sharp pain was felt on his left arm. Looking down Fal saw fresh blood spraying and to his arm he saw the torn cloak and painful gash. A noticeable bit of flesh was hit about the size of coin. Wincing in pain he kept his grip on his sword and looked in the general direction of the hit. It was the Wight further up. Moving the zombie in front of him he managed to block the next shot. The bang was followed by a wet smack as the zombies decayed chest was blasted apart. It screamed and died as Fal advanced. Using the zombie as a shield and barely keeping the pain of his wound out of his mind. His new objective was clear, take out the Wight.
"Get 'em lads!" Called a voice from the back of the ship. This form seemed to be another undead but not a zombie. The more skeletal form showed it to be a wight. In it's hands was a long musket that it positioned on the railing. Aiming for Fal as two zombies with cutlass in hand charged. Coming from each flank Fal used his elven agility to narrowly sidestep the crossing slashes.
The zombies scream in annoyance but before they could retaliate Fal's necromantic blade slashed up. Severing ones arm before the blade came back down on the stumbling corpse. The head toppled and body fell flat. The second stood over it's newly killed ally and Fal took advantage of his sluggish movements in the rain and moving over the corpse. With a dance like spin he moved around the blade and drove his own weapon into the zombies shoulder. The hand on the sword tensed and let go as the cutlass fell. Just as Fal pulled the blade from the zombies twitching shoulder to finish it a loud bang sounded and a sharp pain was felt on his left arm. Looking down Fal saw fresh blood spraying and to his arm he saw the torn cloak and painful gash. A noticeable bit of flesh was hit about the size of coin. Wincing in pain he kept his grip on his sword and looked in the general direction of the hit. It was the Wight further up. Moving the zombie in front of him he managed to block the next shot. The bang was followed by a wet smack as the zombies decayed chest was blasted apart. It screamed and died as Fal advanced. Using the zombie as a shield and barely keeping the pain of his wound out of his mind. His new objective was clear, take out the Wight.
Hans swerved himself by the exterior of the Captain's office, which now lay but a splintered mess thanks to the flurry of wet gunpowder. He took cover with Vanderbarzen among the shambles, while the men still held out; while they continued to die. The fight against death was a futile affair, for those among the corsair ranks that were supposedly dispatched were once more gifted from Nagash the clandestine vigour of undeath. The Student looked on in horror, bearing his cutlass in a panic as the drowned puppets loomed above him. Vanderbarzen himself merely lay upon the holed woodwork, clutching at his leaking wound, and hopelessly exhausted by the withdrawal of adrenaline the initial impact had dealt.
"Silly landlubbers!" Laughed the risen, swinging their forlorn, rotted arms like pendulums of flesh as they trudged -- bleached bone laid bare to see, still somehow jointed upon the body. "Ye can't kill wha's already dead, yer men be learnin' that 'un too late. We'll come back no matter 'ow many 'oles ya fill us."
Hans responded with a quick lash of his curved blade across the neck of his foe, yelping in fury to dull his jittering nerves. But the head only cackled as it rolled across the tumultuous mast, as did the rest of it's ilk. More corpses returned from Morr's house toward the two desperate fellows, and no matter how many unarmed thralls were eviscerated by the Student, they simply rose up once more -- ignorant of whatever laceration lay upon their body.
"Get 'em lads." Yelled the decapitated creature, tumbling in the distance. "Toss 'em both overboard!"
"Captain, listen to me!" A panting Hans beseeched, defending his master. "The Siren is lost! If we stay, we'll drown with--" The Student then caught a shambling pirate in a deadlock before slicing the poor sod's arms from his body. "-With the rest of the dying! Falderan has boarded the one of the ships, we have to follow him! Anglermaw is our bait!"
A moment of furious lucidity suddenly overcame the Captain, jolting himself above the splintered ruins of his cabin, cutting down a few of the shamblers to take his place. "You insist I flee?! You assume I would abandon my maiden?!" Vanderbarzen stubbornly protested; hatred for these invaders anulled any former malaise his bullet wound had wrought. "A Captain does not leave his sinking ship! As for you, Brunswick, do what you must. Go to Falderan, Anglermaw even. I may well drown, but at least then, I'll know that none of these bastards could haul me in the house of Morr themselves." He laughed.
"Captain, what about the Ark?!-" Hans pleaded, but he was cut off before his next sentence.
"My dead men scream for vengeance, and I have spoken, now GO!" With cutlass in hand, Vanderbarzen barged the Student toward the sizzling breach; toward the violent duel of the other 'Captains.' Men, living and undead watched on in both awe and horror as glowing warpstone and a sanguinary blade clashed and parried, both figures flickered amidst the rain and the scorching lightning, with terrifying agility and vigour that was befitting of the Ratman and the Vampire. Hans became breathless for a moment, then took a breath to simmer the nerves of combat. He remembered what Falderan had taught him in the days of training. He remembered how to counter the wicked powers of the Vampire; how to send them to Morr's bleak house -- where they belonged.
He charged the figures, uttering no cry of war. Only eerie, wetted footsteps betrayed his presence. Then he rose the putrid cutlass as he watched a frothing Anglermaw caught within a deadlock.
Then once more, a smack upon a wooden frame, shaking the seas once more. But no new wound upon the Siren was apparent, no. A fluorescent horizon loomed from one the pirate vessels, living corpses tumbled from the now visible mast. All fell silent for the deadly grace of the next great javelin that shook these now startled terrors.
"What is this?" The Arabyan abomination grunted in frustration. "What tricks do you have up your mangy sleeves, Rat?"
"This? Ah don't know." Replied Anglermaw. "But ain't it just my luck!" The Sea-Rat cackled, much to the fury of the undead Noble.
Hans turned his attention to the origin of these shimmering harpoons -- they were thin enough to snap on the moment of impact, yet they tore into these raiding vessels with frightening stopping power.
"Elves! That's an Elfish ship!" A Marienburger cheered. And right he was. Swaying like a forlorn dove upon the high seas floated the shape of deathly elegance, illuminated by a crystaline lamp that not even the rain could douse. Upon the mast of that vessel stood lanky, uncomprimising archers. Their arrows flew unmolested by the wind - and even from such reach - the Asur tips met their targets; zombies stumbled and fell before the onslaught. The Marienburgers were gifted a second wind, their vigour restored; their tenacity steeled by vengeance.
"Elves be killin' the men." A zombie whined. "Ballista's tearin' the ships! Got's ta leg it!"
"Weak! Inferior! Craven dogs!" The Arabyan screamed with each swing of his scimitar, parried before the quick wit of the Ratman. "I gift you immortality, then you throw it in my face! I will restore your nerves of pain, shamblers, then I will gut your putrid bodies as you scre-!"
Off went the Arabyan's head, rolling toward the waters. Even the Sea-rat jumped, curious of the Vampire's slayer, whose body slumped upon the woodwork, jittering in post death. Was Falderan the vanquisher? None of these Man-thing fellows had the backbone to face a Vampire. He was indeed a crafty one, always slinking into the shadows. It must've been an Elf, definitely.
To his surprise, it was not.
It was little Mister Brunswick, standing unceremoniously above his victim, wetted and breathless; his stained cutlass attested his newfound bravery. The battle was now won.
"Silly landlubbers!" Laughed the risen, swinging their forlorn, rotted arms like pendulums of flesh as they trudged -- bleached bone laid bare to see, still somehow jointed upon the body. "Ye can't kill wha's already dead, yer men be learnin' that 'un too late. We'll come back no matter 'ow many 'oles ya fill us."
Hans responded with a quick lash of his curved blade across the neck of his foe, yelping in fury to dull his jittering nerves. But the head only cackled as it rolled across the tumultuous mast, as did the rest of it's ilk. More corpses returned from Morr's house toward the two desperate fellows, and no matter how many unarmed thralls were eviscerated by the Student, they simply rose up once more -- ignorant of whatever laceration lay upon their body.
"Get 'em lads." Yelled the decapitated creature, tumbling in the distance. "Toss 'em both overboard!"
"Captain, listen to me!" A panting Hans beseeched, defending his master. "The Siren is lost! If we stay, we'll drown with--" The Student then caught a shambling pirate in a deadlock before slicing the poor sod's arms from his body. "-With the rest of the dying! Falderan has boarded the one of the ships, we have to follow him! Anglermaw is our bait!"
A moment of furious lucidity suddenly overcame the Captain, jolting himself above the splintered ruins of his cabin, cutting down a few of the shamblers to take his place. "You insist I flee?! You assume I would abandon my maiden?!" Vanderbarzen stubbornly protested; hatred for these invaders anulled any former malaise his bullet wound had wrought. "A Captain does not leave his sinking ship! As for you, Brunswick, do what you must. Go to Falderan, Anglermaw even. I may well drown, but at least then, I'll know that none of these bastards could haul me in the house of Morr themselves." He laughed.
"Captain, what about the Ark?!-" Hans pleaded, but he was cut off before his next sentence.
"My dead men scream for vengeance, and I have spoken, now GO!" With cutlass in hand, Vanderbarzen barged the Student toward the sizzling breach; toward the violent duel of the other 'Captains.' Men, living and undead watched on in both awe and horror as glowing warpstone and a sanguinary blade clashed and parried, both figures flickered amidst the rain and the scorching lightning, with terrifying agility and vigour that was befitting of the Ratman and the Vampire. Hans became breathless for a moment, then took a breath to simmer the nerves of combat. He remembered what Falderan had taught him in the days of training. He remembered how to counter the wicked powers of the Vampire; how to send them to Morr's bleak house -- where they belonged.
He charged the figures, uttering no cry of war. Only eerie, wetted footsteps betrayed his presence. Then he rose the putrid cutlass as he watched a frothing Anglermaw caught within a deadlock.
Then once more, a smack upon a wooden frame, shaking the seas once more. But no new wound upon the Siren was apparent, no. A fluorescent horizon loomed from one the pirate vessels, living corpses tumbled from the now visible mast. All fell silent for the deadly grace of the next great javelin that shook these now startled terrors.
"What is this?" The Arabyan abomination grunted in frustration. "What tricks do you have up your mangy sleeves, Rat?"
"This? Ah don't know." Replied Anglermaw. "But ain't it just my luck!" The Sea-Rat cackled, much to the fury of the undead Noble.
Hans turned his attention to the origin of these shimmering harpoons -- they were thin enough to snap on the moment of impact, yet they tore into these raiding vessels with frightening stopping power.
"Elves! That's an Elfish ship!" A Marienburger cheered. And right he was. Swaying like a forlorn dove upon the high seas floated the shape of deathly elegance, illuminated by a crystaline lamp that not even the rain could douse. Upon the mast of that vessel stood lanky, uncomprimising archers. Their arrows flew unmolested by the wind - and even from such reach - the Asur tips met their targets; zombies stumbled and fell before the onslaught. The Marienburgers were gifted a second wind, their vigour restored; their tenacity steeled by vengeance.
"Elves be killin' the men." A zombie whined. "Ballista's tearin' the ships! Got's ta leg it!"
"Weak! Inferior! Craven dogs!" The Arabyan screamed with each swing of his scimitar, parried before the quick wit of the Ratman. "I gift you immortality, then you throw it in my face! I will restore your nerves of pain, shamblers, then I will gut your putrid bodies as you scre-!"
Off went the Arabyan's head, rolling toward the waters. Even the Sea-rat jumped, curious of the Vampire's slayer, whose body slumped upon the woodwork, jittering in post death. Was Falderan the vanquisher? None of these Man-thing fellows had the backbone to face a Vampire. He was indeed a crafty one, always slinking into the shadows. It must've been an Elf, definitely.
To his surprise, it was not.
It was little Mister Brunswick, standing unceremoniously above his victim, wetted and breathless; his stained cutlass attested his newfound bravery. The battle was now won.
Another crack ran out as the third shot from the rifle escaped the barrel. Impacting his zombie meat shield again the corpses body was split in half length wise and bisected. Legs slumped to the ground as rain washed away the perilously slippery bloody on the rotten wood deck. Pushing ahead with all the speed his legs could muster Fal made a last ditch sprint to the stairs leading up to the Wight. Once he got below the railing while he reloaded the Elf tossed the top half of the corpse at the gunner. Firing his next shot point blank and corpses head blew apart in a spray of gore. The close range caused the Wight to stumble back as grey matter splattered its face. With his opportunity primed Fal snuck up the stairs with blade drawn. Swinging down he went to decapitate the corpse but the skeletal Wight blocked with it's rifle.
"Clever thing." It says with a haunting voice.
"Not too bad yourself." Fal says with a cheeky grin.
The clash was interrupted as a flash of silver shot by and pierced the hull of the undead ship. Fal and the Wight both had their attention taken by the sudden hit. It took several moments before another two harpoons hit the hull and the ship rocked while numerous other thin bolts were lit up by the crack of lightning. Impacting the other ships Fal looked up to see numerous small glistens coming their way. The Wight didn't respond as silver tipped arrows pierced its back. Fals eyes widened as he realized what was happening. These were Elven arrows and bolts. They were being saved funny enough by a ship from Ulthwan. In a flash of lightning Fal made out the overly ornate vessels of Elven warships in the distance as another rain of arrows came over. Sweeping his arm and blade under the weapon Fal hid under the confused Wight as arrows bombarded it's back. Wincing as his arm gushed another thick bubble of bloody he slide his blade behind the blocking rifle and thrust it up to stab into the Wights leaning neck. 'Clever' it's mouth muttered before Fal twisted his wrist and shattered the neck as an arrow hit the back of the skull. The force of the hit tearing away whatever paper like flesh remained and the head fell down as the body went limp. Another arrow whistled past Fal who leaping down and continuing to use the corpse as a shield held out till the constant firing stopped.
The cracking of the hull was again made clear as another bolt pieced it and Fal could feel the decent. Waves which previously barely hit now washed over the hull with ease as the ship sank.
"Morrs teeth." Fal mutters as he throws the corpse from himself. Wincing in pain as his wound leaks even more red gore onto the hull. Several arrows peppered the hull and the one in the rolling head of the Wight was an impressive sight showing off the Elven marksmanship. But Fal had bigger concerns. Climbing onto the railing around the ship he leaped forward and managed to grab onto a harpoon sticking out of the hull of the Siren. With his weight on it the large metal rod began to pull out. "No, no no!" Fal as he pulls himself to the side of the ship. With his wounded arm losing more blood and pain running up his left side he pulls himself up more and more. Waves hitting him and the rain starting to ease up as a zombie falls past him filled with arrows. Narrowly getting his footing in the jutted wood of the damaged hull he pulls himself up and luckily isn't set upon by anyone as he coughs up seawater. A blood crazed crewman readies his sword to strike down the climbing individual believing it to be a zombie but stops when he see's Fal. Pulling the Elf up aboard Fal is helped to his feet as he gives the man with face covered in gore a pat on the shoulder as he grasps his bleeding wound. The battle seemed to be over as zombies laid broken and truly dead with arrows covering their forms. Fal turned to see the sinking undead ships returned to the depths and their Elven saviors approaching in their overly ornate vessels. He rolled his eyes. "Always for the grandeur." He says looking over the damage.
"Clever thing." It says with a haunting voice.
"Not too bad yourself." Fal says with a cheeky grin.
The clash was interrupted as a flash of silver shot by and pierced the hull of the undead ship. Fal and the Wight both had their attention taken by the sudden hit. It took several moments before another two harpoons hit the hull and the ship rocked while numerous other thin bolts were lit up by the crack of lightning. Impacting the other ships Fal looked up to see numerous small glistens coming their way. The Wight didn't respond as silver tipped arrows pierced its back. Fals eyes widened as he realized what was happening. These were Elven arrows and bolts. They were being saved funny enough by a ship from Ulthwan. In a flash of lightning Fal made out the overly ornate vessels of Elven warships in the distance as another rain of arrows came over. Sweeping his arm and blade under the weapon Fal hid under the confused Wight as arrows bombarded it's back. Wincing as his arm gushed another thick bubble of bloody he slide his blade behind the blocking rifle and thrust it up to stab into the Wights leaning neck. 'Clever' it's mouth muttered before Fal twisted his wrist and shattered the neck as an arrow hit the back of the skull. The force of the hit tearing away whatever paper like flesh remained and the head fell down as the body went limp. Another arrow whistled past Fal who leaping down and continuing to use the corpse as a shield held out till the constant firing stopped.
The cracking of the hull was again made clear as another bolt pieced it and Fal could feel the decent. Waves which previously barely hit now washed over the hull with ease as the ship sank.
"Morrs teeth." Fal mutters as he throws the corpse from himself. Wincing in pain as his wound leaks even more red gore onto the hull. Several arrows peppered the hull and the one in the rolling head of the Wight was an impressive sight showing off the Elven marksmanship. But Fal had bigger concerns. Climbing onto the railing around the ship he leaped forward and managed to grab onto a harpoon sticking out of the hull of the Siren. With his weight on it the large metal rod began to pull out. "No, no no!" Fal as he pulls himself to the side of the ship. With his wounded arm losing more blood and pain running up his left side he pulls himself up more and more. Waves hitting him and the rain starting to ease up as a zombie falls past him filled with arrows. Narrowly getting his footing in the jutted wood of the damaged hull he pulls himself up and luckily isn't set upon by anyone as he coughs up seawater. A blood crazed crewman readies his sword to strike down the climbing individual believing it to be a zombie but stops when he see's Fal. Pulling the Elf up aboard Fal is helped to his feet as he gives the man with face covered in gore a pat on the shoulder as he grasps his bleeding wound. The battle seemed to be over as zombies laid broken and truly dead with arrows covering their forms. Fal turned to see the sinking undead ships returned to the depths and their Elven saviors approaching in their overly ornate vessels. He rolled his eyes. "Always for the grandeur." He says looking over the damage.
Fetid Dhar winds blew from the Vampire's decapitated body, and his purple flesh turned to ashen wind. A crimson air replaced the once black sky and the seas screamed in fury; a fury that was not of Stromfels' make. A synchronized accapella of agony suddenly overtook the host of undead pirates as the one who had breathed life unto him had passed. With his undeath now snuffed for good, so had the invocations of necromancy his thralls bore; clandestine magics withered and faded from the zombies. First, their minds became withdrawn and sluggish -- no longer did they bear the gift of intelligence, or the knowledge to utilize a firearm. Second, their shambling movements worsened; putrified limbs tore from their hosts and dropped onto the masts of their ships -- as the necromantic winds dissipated, so too did the strength of their bodies. Which lead to the eventual, and third fade: The rotten bodies abruptly stopped, trembling alltogether, and enmasse.
All fell silent as the battle immediately ended, the four crumbling vessels surrounding the battered Siren begun to slowly sink into the sea. But in that knowledge, there lay the foundation of a new terrible situation. There would soon be a fifth ship joining the sail to Stromfels' maw: The Siren.
Anglermaw chuckled "Good on ye lad." He said, patting the scowling Hans on his chest. "It's a good thing I didn't wring yer neck at the city, eh?"
Hans himself did not reply, merely gulping at the smouldering remnants of his kill, deliberately ignorant to the hellish wails vibrating from the ash. Both fellows could hear ongoing chatter in the distance, both in Reikspiel, and some in the Asur tongue, though neither understood the latter. Neither had even tread upon Ulthuan -- for Anglermaw, that was perhaps a good thing. It appeared that the Elfish vessel drew closer.
"Thank ye kind hearts, Elf-folk." Anglermaw's keen ears caught from a passing sailor, soaked in the vitae of his own folk.
Another loud crack was heard upon the sinking vessel, as the Asur guard prepared a bridge between both ships. "Men of Marienburg!" Exclaimed one of the tall figures in a regal dialect, perfect in his articulation in the Empire's tongue. "Haul yourselves upon our vessel and she shall grant you safety that no pirate dare sqaunder!"
"The men 're racin' to that Elf ship, lad." Noted the Sea-rat, glancing at the racing Marienburgers -- they slipped upon the wet surface of the Siren, and trembled while it slowly began to capsize into the deep. "Think Mister Falderan 'ill make himself at home with his kin. Shame about the Vanderbarzen fella, never did like that bastard."
"'...Bloody Captain makin' me eat fish guts.'"
"...Captain... Vanderbarzen." Hans whispered, before finally coming back to lucidity. Without warning, he raced to the opposite direction of the Asur vessel, away from their certain saviour. He shivered as he ran, attempting the rid himself of the dire cold the rain had wrought. Or perhaps he was trying to rid his mind of the possibility of a watery tomb.
"Where in the Horned- Ah' mean Sigmar's name are ye going, boy?!" Anglermaw shouted, Vanderbarzen was adamant that the Sea-rat never state a Demon god in the presence of his men.
"I've gotta save the Captain, he's still alive!" The Student floundered in the distance.
"But yer gonna get yerself put right int'a Stromfels' maw- Ack!" Rather than argue, the Sea-rat caught up with his Human companion, scampering upon his limbs toward the lowering mast. "Ah've already survived the sea, may as will brave it-it again, yeah."
All fell silent as the battle immediately ended, the four crumbling vessels surrounding the battered Siren begun to slowly sink into the sea. But in that knowledge, there lay the foundation of a new terrible situation. There would soon be a fifth ship joining the sail to Stromfels' maw: The Siren.
Anglermaw chuckled "Good on ye lad." He said, patting the scowling Hans on his chest. "It's a good thing I didn't wring yer neck at the city, eh?"
Hans himself did not reply, merely gulping at the smouldering remnants of his kill, deliberately ignorant to the hellish wails vibrating from the ash. Both fellows could hear ongoing chatter in the distance, both in Reikspiel, and some in the Asur tongue, though neither understood the latter. Neither had even tread upon Ulthuan -- for Anglermaw, that was perhaps a good thing. It appeared that the Elfish vessel drew closer.
"Thank ye kind hearts, Elf-folk." Anglermaw's keen ears caught from a passing sailor, soaked in the vitae of his own folk.
Another loud crack was heard upon the sinking vessel, as the Asur guard prepared a bridge between both ships. "Men of Marienburg!" Exclaimed one of the tall figures in a regal dialect, perfect in his articulation in the Empire's tongue. "Haul yourselves upon our vessel and she shall grant you safety that no pirate dare sqaunder!"
"The men 're racin' to that Elf ship, lad." Noted the Sea-rat, glancing at the racing Marienburgers -- they slipped upon the wet surface of the Siren, and trembled while it slowly began to capsize into the deep. "Think Mister Falderan 'ill make himself at home with his kin. Shame about the Vanderbarzen fella, never did like that bastard."
"'...Bloody Captain makin' me eat fish guts.'"
"...Captain... Vanderbarzen." Hans whispered, before finally coming back to lucidity. Without warning, he raced to the opposite direction of the Asur vessel, away from their certain saviour. He shivered as he ran, attempting the rid himself of the dire cold the rain had wrought. Or perhaps he was trying to rid his mind of the possibility of a watery tomb.
"Where in the Horned- Ah' mean Sigmar's name are ye going, boy?!" Anglermaw shouted, Vanderbarzen was adamant that the Sea-rat never state a Demon god in the presence of his men.
"I've gotta save the Captain, he's still alive!" The Student floundered in the distance.
"But yer gonna get yerself put right int'a Stromfels' maw- Ack!" Rather than argue, the Sea-rat caught up with his Human companion, scampering upon his limbs toward the lowering mast. "Ah've already survived the sea, may as will brave it-it again, yeah."
Seeing salvation in the form of planks offered to the crew as the Elves of Ulthwan allowed them passage onto their own ship as the Siren began to sink into the murky depths Fal made ready to cross over. However, things were never so easy. Seeing out the corner of his eye the ever suspicious Anglermaw and cautious Hans speaking but with the commotion around he couldn't make out a thing. Seeing Hans run into the ruined captains cabin he knew time was short and out of some ever growing feeling of responsibility went after them. Two thoughts bubbled up in his mind. One that Hans needed to be brought off the ship soon as there were mere minutes before what structure remained gave way and sank. While the second thought was about Anglermaw. The Asur would likely shoot him down on sight and as such Fal knew they needed to make him seem more like a prisoner or he would surely be struck down if not simply denied access to the ship. Wincing as he squeezed his arms wound he made his way into the ruined cabin.
"Hans, Anglermaw we need to get going but." Fal found himself stopping mid sentence as he saw the wounded body of Vanderbrazen inside the cabin. "Is he still alive?" He asks as he looks to the mans near lifeless body. Some colour remained in his face but it was dull and the amount of blood around him didn't bode well with the obvious injuries covering his body. Moving next to him Fal was ready to help him up if need be. But as he did this he looked to Anglermaw. "Can you find some shackles or something? If not give me that pistol." He says indicating Anglermaw's weapon of choice.
"Hans, Anglermaw we need to get going but." Fal found himself stopping mid sentence as he saw the wounded body of Vanderbrazen inside the cabin. "Is he still alive?" He asks as he looks to the mans near lifeless body. Some colour remained in his face but it was dull and the amount of blood around him didn't bode well with the obvious injuries covering his body. Moving next to him Fal was ready to help him up if need be. But as he did this he looked to Anglermaw. "Can you find some shackles or something? If not give me that pistol." He says indicating Anglermaw's weapon of choice.
"Captain! Captain!" Hans repeated, frantically scouring the stakes and splinters is search of Vanderbarzen's still breathing body, somewhat comforted by Falderan's sudden, but welcome presence. There Vanderbarzen lay on his back, clutching at his wound. His first, infact -- another had come in the form of a rusted dagger that punctured into his side, still gouged into his flesh alongside a dismembered, putrified arm. He seethed with fury at his fate, warm blood dripping from his teeth like ichor under a perpetual scowl.
"Captain..." Hans whispered softly, kneeling down to Vanderbarzen's level.
"W-what did I tell you, B-Brunswick..?" The dying Captain latched his arm upon the Student's wetted shoulder. "A Captain al-always goes down with his s-s-hip..."
"Ma' gun?!" A bewildered Anglermaw questioned loudly, but a quick second thought zapped across his mind. The presence of these Elf-folk was never a coincedence, but would they show him the same hospitality as Vanderbarzen had done..?
...Or worse..?
Anglermaw passed his warplock toward Falderan, his hand jittered with unease. The firearm wreathed violently under sparks of jade. "If it's what gets us t' the Ark, fine. Just make sure you hold it in the right position. Otherwise, say bye-bye to yer hand." He then gazed back toward the bleeding fellow below. "Right-right then, ye worthless sod." Chucked the Sea-Rat, clutching at the Captain's legs.
"W-what are you doing, you pest?" Gurgled a frustrated Vanderbarzen. "Unhand me! L-let me go!" He was helpless to flail or kick. Not only thanks to a sharp pain wrought by the blade still in his thigh, but Hans had some idea of Anglermaw's intention. The Student accosted his Captain's arms, before turning his head to Falderan.
"Do you think the Elves will be able to save him?" Asked Hans, swallowing his tongue. "I-if the wounds don't kill him, the cold might."
"Captain..." Hans whispered softly, kneeling down to Vanderbarzen's level.
"W-what did I tell you, B-Brunswick..?" The dying Captain latched his arm upon the Student's wetted shoulder. "A Captain al-always goes down with his s-s-hip..."
"Ma' gun?!" A bewildered Anglermaw questioned loudly, but a quick second thought zapped across his mind. The presence of these Elf-folk was never a coincedence, but would they show him the same hospitality as Vanderbarzen had done..?
...Or worse..?
Anglermaw passed his warplock toward Falderan, his hand jittered with unease. The firearm wreathed violently under sparks of jade. "If it's what gets us t' the Ark, fine. Just make sure you hold it in the right position. Otherwise, say bye-bye to yer hand." He then gazed back toward the bleeding fellow below. "Right-right then, ye worthless sod." Chucked the Sea-Rat, clutching at the Captain's legs.
"W-what are you doing, you pest?" Gurgled a frustrated Vanderbarzen. "Unhand me! L-let me go!" He was helpless to flail or kick. Not only thanks to a sharp pain wrought by the blade still in his thigh, but Hans had some idea of Anglermaw's intention. The Student accosted his Captain's arms, before turning his head to Falderan.
"Do you think the Elves will be able to save him?" Asked Hans, swallowing his tongue. "I-if the wounds don't kill him, the cold might."
At Anglermaw's comment on the pistol Fal wondered if holding it was indeed the right thing to do. He took it and gave an agreeing nod as he went to tuck it onto a hook on his belt. Wasn't the best holster but for a makeshift it would do. However, as he took it he felt something familiar. The pistol gave off a strange, subtle warmth like that of the small rock he found earlier. He felt uneasy about having it. Like a feeling of dread in the back of his mind. He shook it off and looked over to Vanderbrazen. Han's comment on the Elves ability to save him sadly wasn't something Fal could easily answer. But he knew what to say to hopefully put him at ease.
"Well he's certain to die if we leave him here. Leave the blade in. Pulling it out now with his other injuries would likely cause him to bleed out before we're out the room." Moving his arm under the captains right shoulder he indicates for Hans to lift him from the right. "Anglermaw, get his feet and lift. Put whatever strength you have into it." The ship creaked and the hull of the Elven vessel seemed higher outside. "We gotta move, now."
"Well he's certain to die if we leave him here. Leave the blade in. Pulling it out now with his other injuries would likely cause him to bleed out before we're out the room." Moving his arm under the captains right shoulder he indicates for Hans to lift him from the right. "Anglermaw, get his feet and lift. Put whatever strength you have into it." The ship creaked and the hull of the Elven vessel seemed higher outside. "We gotta move, now."
"Hans! Falderan!" The Captain protested, aching with a sharp pain in his thigh as he meekly attempted to wrestle himself from the clutches of his carriers. "I swear to God, you two. Put me down!" But it was to no avail. By the time that very sentence was finished, Hans and Anglermaw were already halfway across the ship, dangling Vanderbarzen's half-dead body across a mound of putrified dead. The Dhar winds still whirled across the seas with the screech of human agony, and Vanderbarzen's delirious mind was unable to make out the origin -- though those who carried him were eerily aware.
"The Siren..." An exhausted Vanderbarzen stammed, clutching at his bullet wound. "She's screaming... she's dying..."
"That shriek?" Anglermaw interrupted. "Nah-nah. That be the sound o' victory!"
The group were soon to join with the rest of the fleeing Marienburgers, some of the injured also being carried in the same vein as their humble Captain. From the Elfish vessel, Anglermaw could see a sudden rise of readied bows, eager to shred the Skaven Sea-rat into little more than furred goulash. Readied, but not totally primed.
"Onto the vessel, beast." An Asur sailor sneered at the very sight, but took no further action at that. Soon all three were aboard the strange ship of marble fringes, joining the rest of the heaving sailors who had just about escaped certain death.
Anglermaw, Hans and Vanderbarzen were among the last survivors to board, making Falderan the very last fellow walk the plank to safety. The Siren had begun to dangerously capsize; the bodies of the fallen slid into the jaws of the great Sea-beast himself. But the Asur were merticulous, chastizing creatures. The very tone of Falderan's Druchii sired skin was enough for the sea guard to keep their bows up in a tense fashion.
"Do you seek death at the hands of Mathlaan?! Aboard, twisted one!" The Asur sailor shouted. Though strangely enough, his tongue remained sharp in Reikspeil, and not the native Elfish babble.
"The Siren..." An exhausted Vanderbarzen stammed, clutching at his bullet wound. "She's screaming... she's dying..."
"That shriek?" Anglermaw interrupted. "Nah-nah. That be the sound o' victory!"
The group were soon to join with the rest of the fleeing Marienburgers, some of the injured also being carried in the same vein as their humble Captain. From the Elfish vessel, Anglermaw could see a sudden rise of readied bows, eager to shred the Skaven Sea-rat into little more than furred goulash. Readied, but not totally primed.
"Onto the vessel, beast." An Asur sailor sneered at the very sight, but took no further action at that. Soon all three were aboard the strange ship of marble fringes, joining the rest of the heaving sailors who had just about escaped certain death.
Anglermaw, Hans and Vanderbarzen were among the last survivors to board, making Falderan the very last fellow walk the plank to safety. The Siren had begun to dangerously capsize; the bodies of the fallen slid into the jaws of the great Sea-beast himself. But the Asur were merticulous, chastizing creatures. The very tone of Falderan's Druchii sired skin was enough for the sea guard to keep their bows up in a tense fashion.
"Do you seek death at the hands of Mathlaan?! Aboard, twisted one!" The Asur sailor shouted. Though strangely enough, his tongue remained sharp in Reikspeil, and not the native Elfish babble.
As the Siren's hull splintered and tore into the sea to be pulled into the murk depths corpses from around were pulled in by the force of the vessel going down. In the waters shadows of sharks and other beasts of the sea darted in to pull away bodies. With a final gurgle the hull of the Siren was completely lost beneath the waves as the shaking mast went down almost like a salute to the world as the waves took it to their depths.
The following threat and venom like words in well rehearsed Reikspeil caught Fal off guard. Looking back to the sailor he took in the fact there were as many or possibly more bows aimed at him more than Anglermaw. Knowing he had no real leg to stand on to justify an aggressive response when he was held at arrow point by the group that very well saved his life he held back his retorts. But interested in the Elf that spoke he looked over to his and clasped his wound as he did. The moving and sea air keeping the wound somewhat flesh as it started to slowly form a gelatinous, bloody mass to heal.
"If I did I'd have stayed with my vessel." He replies with the subtle undertones of sarcasm. "What are Asur ships doing this far from that island paradise of yours?" He asks resting his arm on the ships railing. This was surely a time of great irony. He was not only at the mercy of the people who considered him a racial threat but also people who don't tend to look too highly on renegades and pirates in general. Yet here he was. Aboard on of their ships and rescued at the last minute from a watery grave.
The following threat and venom like words in well rehearsed Reikspeil caught Fal off guard. Looking back to the sailor he took in the fact there were as many or possibly more bows aimed at him more than Anglermaw. Knowing he had no real leg to stand on to justify an aggressive response when he was held at arrow point by the group that very well saved his life he held back his retorts. But interested in the Elf that spoke he looked over to his and clasped his wound as he did. The moving and sea air keeping the wound somewhat flesh as it started to slowly form a gelatinous, bloody mass to heal.
"If I did I'd have stayed with my vessel." He replies with the subtle undertones of sarcasm. "What are Asur ships doing this far from that island paradise of yours?" He asks resting his arm on the ships railing. This was surely a time of great irony. He was not only at the mercy of the people who considered him a racial threat but also people who don't tend to look too highly on renegades and pirates in general. Yet here he was. Aboard on of their ships and rescued at the last minute from a watery grave.
The dove-ship's movements upon the waves were far more calm and sombre than the paranoid ricketing that the Siren endured for the past fortnight. It's movements were stilled by some strange force that was clearly unnatural, for the Asur were among the greatest seafarers and ingenuity alone could only get one so far upon these savage waters. The crystalline jewel above upon a circular arch, emanating light across the nightly horizon for what seemed like miles granted the Marienburgers a disheartening sight of their mother ship crumbling into the depths. They all huddled like children by the ballista upon the centre mast, almost concealed by the sharp Asur sails -- one carrying the ostensible banner of a pale fish that lapped across a curved pattern of waves.
The ignorant Marienburgers did not know the origin of such a flag; the flag of Cothique, hardiest of the Sea Elves -- a naval force that rivals that of Eataine itself. Rulers of the Ulthuan waves, yet this was merely one ship. One ship that took down a group of pirate vessels armed with rusted cannons and harpoons that pulled the Siren into the jaws of death. And what were these derelict vessels felled by? Pronged sticks. Pronged ithilmar rods that tore through the ghost ships with the same stopping power as a Cathayan rocket and left them reduced to shambles of wetted wood.
Hans gave a deep breath before slumping himself by the side of the ballista, letting Vanderbarzen's tired body to rest upon the tan mast. "We faced near death on that one, the second time better still." He chuckled.
"You faced certain death." An Asur sailor chided, clambering down from the looming war machine. "The puppets of your foe, including their very fleet were ultimately bound by necromancy; even if they'd been felled sooner, his ships would shatter alongside the Vampiric magics."
"Wouldn't 'ave been the first time I've been cast into Stromfels' mouth." Commented Anglermaw.
"Do not speak the Sea-Devil's name in our presence, Skaven." The gloom-faced fellow warned, treading away from the group, and into the crowd of injured, bloodied men. "If these were Ulthuan waters, you'd be put to death for the very mention..."
--
"That is not for me to explain." The armed Guard replied to Falderan, ignoring the renegade's crude attempt at humour. "I will mention, however, that our arrival - and thankless aid - was not unfounded. We did not sail across the seas of the world simply to save the lives of some lost sailors." The sailor's tone was laden with condescending venom, as though in the presence of one he viewed with clear, unambiguous hatred. The silver Druchii shade of Falderan's skin made the Sailor's nerves tense with hot vitriol, biting upon his inner lip to calm the urge to toss this parody of Elfkind overboard.
"As much as I detest it, I am to escort you to the Captain, that includes your companions." The Sailor continued, turning his back before marching toward the interior of the vessel. "Come with me. Your injured master must stay, however, lest he wish to neglect our healing remedies."
The ignorant Marienburgers did not know the origin of such a flag; the flag of Cothique, hardiest of the Sea Elves -- a naval force that rivals that of Eataine itself. Rulers of the Ulthuan waves, yet this was merely one ship. One ship that took down a group of pirate vessels armed with rusted cannons and harpoons that pulled the Siren into the jaws of death. And what were these derelict vessels felled by? Pronged sticks. Pronged ithilmar rods that tore through the ghost ships with the same stopping power as a Cathayan rocket and left them reduced to shambles of wetted wood.
Hans gave a deep breath before slumping himself by the side of the ballista, letting Vanderbarzen's tired body to rest upon the tan mast. "We faced near death on that one, the second time better still." He chuckled.
"You faced certain death." An Asur sailor chided, clambering down from the looming war machine. "The puppets of your foe, including their very fleet were ultimately bound by necromancy; even if they'd been felled sooner, his ships would shatter alongside the Vampiric magics."
"Wouldn't 'ave been the first time I've been cast into Stromfels' mouth." Commented Anglermaw.
"Do not speak the Sea-Devil's name in our presence, Skaven." The gloom-faced fellow warned, treading away from the group, and into the crowd of injured, bloodied men. "If these were Ulthuan waters, you'd be put to death for the very mention..."
--
"That is not for me to explain." The armed Guard replied to Falderan, ignoring the renegade's crude attempt at humour. "I will mention, however, that our arrival - and thankless aid - was not unfounded. We did not sail across the seas of the world simply to save the lives of some lost sailors." The sailor's tone was laden with condescending venom, as though in the presence of one he viewed with clear, unambiguous hatred. The silver Druchii shade of Falderan's skin made the Sailor's nerves tense with hot vitriol, biting upon his inner lip to calm the urge to toss this parody of Elfkind overboard.
"As much as I detest it, I am to escort you to the Captain, that includes your companions." The Sailor continued, turning his back before marching toward the interior of the vessel. "Come with me. Your injured master must stay, however, lest he wish to neglect our healing remedies."
The pure spite in the Elves replies were common for Fal. Long ago had he shifted away from being hurt by such words and now took them like a ship does the waves. With a solid resolve. Rolling his eyes once the Elf looked away to summon others to escort Fal and likely Anglermaw as well as the possibility of Hans to their Captain. This got his interest and caused Fal to raise an eyebrow.
"Why would your Captain be interested in us?" Fal adds with an attempted play at cluelessness. He knew this likely involved this Ark that Anglermaw was obsessed with and they hunted or the likes of their intrusion to these seas. Either way secrets would be revealed from someone at this meeting. Though whether Elven intentions or their own who knows. Fal however despite his question went along without resistance. He knew it would be very unwise with his current position and especially ever worsening wound.
"Why would your Captain be interested in us?" Fal adds with an attempted play at cluelessness. He knew this likely involved this Ark that Anglermaw was obsessed with and they hunted or the likes of their intrusion to these seas. Either way secrets would be revealed from someone at this meeting. Though whether Elven intentions or their own who knows. Fal however despite his question went along without resistance. He knew it would be very unwise with his current position and especially ever worsening wound.
The Sailor returned Falderan's question with a sharp sneer; he knew that this parody of Elfkind was feigning ignorance. Few mortals dared sail this south of the New World, those that did were either insane, foolish or had more clandestine intentions. As visible as his distaste was, the Sailor stayed his tongue -- he'd prefer not to risk a reaction from his own Captain.
"Come with me." Hissed the shimmering figure, outright ignoring Falderan's question. "That includes you both over there." He shouted once more as he gestured toward Hans and Anglermaw with a sharp beckoning with his arm, marching down toward the cellared interior of this vessel. His footsteps were quick and abrupt in movement, and he did not care to check if his followers had caught the idea. The Asur were infamous for their proud and ostentatious nature, but this one behaved as though he was cursed with the presence of filth ridden beasts.
Perhaps that was what the Elves thought of Mankind's rightful place as being. Unruly, disunited beasts -- Hans wondered while he regained himself, shambling beside an energized Anglermaw, the Rat himself jittering with bubbling excitement. They had just fought a battle, after all.
The interior of the ship was a far warmer welcoming, even if the inhabitants themselves was as hospitable as freezing icicles. A comforting heat swept over the trio as they entered; almost as if the frantic storm outside was merely a work of fantasy, and the colour of yellow honeydew blanketed the wooden walls -- casting the room an atmosphere that was reminiscent of a childhood Festag evening. Benches of sturdy oak sat undetered by the storm, upon them were Asur kinfolk of both sexes. Far more equal in number than that of the Empire, intriguing both Hans and even Anglermaw, the latter of whom knew only of breeders in his native tunnels.
"Do you think these Elf-things 'ave their own cause for the Ark, boy?" Anglermaw whispered to Hans, who shuddered as he spotted a multitude of pointed ear raise.
"Come with me." Hissed the shimmering figure, outright ignoring Falderan's question. "That includes you both over there." He shouted once more as he gestured toward Hans and Anglermaw with a sharp beckoning with his arm, marching down toward the cellared interior of this vessel. His footsteps were quick and abrupt in movement, and he did not care to check if his followers had caught the idea. The Asur were infamous for their proud and ostentatious nature, but this one behaved as though he was cursed with the presence of filth ridden beasts.
Perhaps that was what the Elves thought of Mankind's rightful place as being. Unruly, disunited beasts -- Hans wondered while he regained himself, shambling beside an energized Anglermaw, the Rat himself jittering with bubbling excitement. They had just fought a battle, after all.
The interior of the ship was a far warmer welcoming, even if the inhabitants themselves was as hospitable as freezing icicles. A comforting heat swept over the trio as they entered; almost as if the frantic storm outside was merely a work of fantasy, and the colour of yellow honeydew blanketed the wooden walls -- casting the room an atmosphere that was reminiscent of a childhood Festag evening. Benches of sturdy oak sat undetered by the storm, upon them were Asur kinfolk of both sexes. Far more equal in number than that of the Empire, intriguing both Hans and even Anglermaw, the latter of whom knew only of breeders in his native tunnels.
"Do you think these Elf-things 'ave their own cause for the Ark, boy?" Anglermaw whispered to Hans, who shuddered as he spotted a multitude of pointed ear raise.
Despite being a vessel of war the ships interior chamber was was awash with all the splendor of a politicians chambers. The number of Elves sitting inside the room and talking quickly had its attention set on the newcomers. As Fal and the others were brought in the six spear wielding guards around the doorway tensed their muscles and stood at an even firmer position than their already stoic stance. Given the need they would have their spears through the recently saved trio. There were three either side. One by each door and the other two on the connecting wall about four feet apart. Going to the back of the room stood four sword wielding guards with the regular pointed helmets and stern stances. It had been some time since Fal was around such professional warriors. It felt almost refreshing in a strange way.
Sitting around a desk was the captain and some associates. The overly gaudy uniforms made it somewhat difficult to tell who was who but Fal assumed the captain was the long haired Elf with an exposed breastplate and a helmet on the table. To the side of them however was one that really caught Fal's attention. Holding a tall staph in one hand and adorned in robes marked by a crescent moon facing upwards this one clearly wasn't one of the many military related branches in the room. His robes were more ceremonial and his headgear was adorned with the same moon like shape but made of gold and surrounded by the wings of a phoenix. The symbol of the Elven Phoenix King. Through the faintest movement of his robes Fal noticed the hilt of a word behind the outer robe. This one was surely interesting.
The Loremaster stood with his compatriots and stared at the newcomers. His gaze was curious as he noted the Druchii and Skaven were both with a Human. An odd mix of races seemingly working together even if they were pirates. His skin was a smooth and elegant like most of his race and his eyes a bright blue that seemed to glint with curiocity almost like a scholar would look upon a new book. His staph was kept straight next to him as he looked to the others of this small council. Looking to the captain and then the sailor that brought in Fal and co he nodded at him.
"Close the doors and we may begin." He said with some authority despite his calm and pleasant tone.
Sitting around a desk was the captain and some associates. The overly gaudy uniforms made it somewhat difficult to tell who was who but Fal assumed the captain was the long haired Elf with an exposed breastplate and a helmet on the table. To the side of them however was one that really caught Fal's attention. Holding a tall staph in one hand and adorned in robes marked by a crescent moon facing upwards this one clearly wasn't one of the many military related branches in the room. His robes were more ceremonial and his headgear was adorned with the same moon like shape but made of gold and surrounded by the wings of a phoenix. The symbol of the Elven Phoenix King. Through the faintest movement of his robes Fal noticed the hilt of a word behind the outer robe. This one was surely interesting.
The Loremaster stood with his compatriots and stared at the newcomers. His gaze was curious as he noted the Druchii and Skaven were both with a Human. An odd mix of races seemingly working together even if they were pirates. His skin was a smooth and elegant like most of his race and his eyes a bright blue that seemed to glint with curiocity almost like a scholar would look upon a new book. His staph was kept straight next to him as he looked to the others of this small council. Looking to the captain and then the sailor that brought in Fal and co he nodded at him.
"Close the doors and we may begin." He said with some authority despite his calm and pleasant tone.
Hans could only ignore the Skaven's oblivious question. His knowledge of Anglermaw's race and their earth spanning under-world was very recent to him; the reason behind such was clear. But these Elves seemed to be more 'enlightened' folk, if the tales of their epic lifespans were to be held as truth. Falderan may have taken Anglermaw's warplock, but the glowing hookarm remained tightly latched upon the Sea-rat's maimed wrist. From the corner of their sharp vision, did the sailors subtly stare toward the trio as they were lead toward the Captain's chambers. The scrutinous guardians in front gave neither Hans or Anglermaw any comfort of safety. These Elves clearly resented them, and yet, they had traversed Manaan's unforgiving realm to save them.
"My lady Aelthalia, I bring you our guests." The shimmering sailor said as the group entered the Captain's quarters, gesturing toward his followers with a small bow -- his mocking tone suddenly evaporated in the presence of his master, replaced with a far more reverent sort.
The Captain nodded in reply from her desk, which sat a half written letter in an unknown alphabet -- next to it lay a turbulent inkwell, each swerve of the ocean threatening to tip the black liquid overboard. "You've done well to save them, Serchil." She softly replied, a kindly smile laced across her lips. "Thank you, and your men for their bravery."
"We are only following orders, my Lady. Any gratitude is unnecessary." Serchil amended with half a stutter waiting to breach through his sentence. He bowed once more, this time toward the Loremaster, who seemed to hold little interest in this budding affair, and more upon getting down to needed business. "As you wish; I shall remove myself." He replied to the calm, yet cold words of the purple-clad hawk. The Loremaster may not have held the rank of Captain like Aelthalia did, but his imposing figure and enigmatic purpose made him far more authorative. The alien babble behind became muffled as the door creaked shut, Serchil the Sailor disappearing alongside.
Hans was stunned; caught off guard by the Captain's soothing features. He'd heard of Elven grace before in the plethora of Asur grimoires within the libraries of Altdorf, translated into Reikspiel for the less adventurous mind. Her face was smooth and unblemished, and a jovial smile seemed to naturally bulge upward -- not the foul sneers the three fellows had been given upon the surface. A brunette shade coursed through her cascading hair, the only notion of her authority was a sapphire circlet that glinted upon her forehead in the dimness of these chambers. Her modest figure was hidden by the grey jacket of Asur linen, tailored more finely than any Imperial fashion, no matter how expensive. These were but a few notions of her beauty, but the Student could not find the words in his mind to express more, as he stood awkwardly silent.
Anglermaw on the other hand cared little. The ideas of beauty and grace were utterly alien to him. "What do the Elves want from us? You following the Ark, too?" He spat uncouthly, impatient for an answer, and utterly ignorant to the fact these folk had saved his matted hide.
"You're all a long way from the Old World, you three." She replied, the pretense of kindness refusing to waver, even in the face of a frustrated Sea-Rat.
"My lady Aelthalia, I bring you our guests." The shimmering sailor said as the group entered the Captain's quarters, gesturing toward his followers with a small bow -- his mocking tone suddenly evaporated in the presence of his master, replaced with a far more reverent sort.
The Captain nodded in reply from her desk, which sat a half written letter in an unknown alphabet -- next to it lay a turbulent inkwell, each swerve of the ocean threatening to tip the black liquid overboard. "You've done well to save them, Serchil." She softly replied, a kindly smile laced across her lips. "Thank you, and your men for their bravery."
"We are only following orders, my Lady. Any gratitude is unnecessary." Serchil amended with half a stutter waiting to breach through his sentence. He bowed once more, this time toward the Loremaster, who seemed to hold little interest in this budding affair, and more upon getting down to needed business. "As you wish; I shall remove myself." He replied to the calm, yet cold words of the purple-clad hawk. The Loremaster may not have held the rank of Captain like Aelthalia did, but his imposing figure and enigmatic purpose made him far more authorative. The alien babble behind became muffled as the door creaked shut, Serchil the Sailor disappearing alongside.
Hans was stunned; caught off guard by the Captain's soothing features. He'd heard of Elven grace before in the plethora of Asur grimoires within the libraries of Altdorf, translated into Reikspiel for the less adventurous mind. Her face was smooth and unblemished, and a jovial smile seemed to naturally bulge upward -- not the foul sneers the three fellows had been given upon the surface. A brunette shade coursed through her cascading hair, the only notion of her authority was a sapphire circlet that glinted upon her forehead in the dimness of these chambers. Her modest figure was hidden by the grey jacket of Asur linen, tailored more finely than any Imperial fashion, no matter how expensive. These were but a few notions of her beauty, but the Student could not find the words in his mind to express more, as he stood awkwardly silent.
Anglermaw on the other hand cared little. The ideas of beauty and grace were utterly alien to him. "What do the Elves want from us? You following the Ark, too?" He spat uncouthly, impatient for an answer, and utterly ignorant to the fact these folk had saved his matted hide.
"You're all a long way from the Old World, you three." She replied, the pretense of kindness refusing to waver, even in the face of a frustrated Sea-Rat.
Fal felt his throat close up and muscles tense as Anglermaw so carelessly spoke up regarding the Ark. If he had the freedom to he'd have kicked the rat in the shins and brought him to the ground for such a risky move. He suspected the Elves knew but in a situation like this it was a bad play t give out all your cards so early. With a slow breath from his nose Fal relaxed and looked over the Elven captain. She was a pleasant site but likely behind her soft facade was the same viper like venom that all their kind had for him. But at least she had the decency to fake it. Though he wondered why. The Loremaster cocked an eyebrow at Anglermaw smirked.
"Your lack of subtlety is surprising Skaven. Though I must say not unexpected." He shook his head. "What is this Ark that you think is so important you would bring it up now?" He smiled with a look that knew more then he spoke. Fal recognized it as a look he had often. Knowing what the answer was but teasing anyhow. Before any words could be exchanged Fal stepped up.
"Perhaps you should simply explain why you invited us into your chambers. I feel time may be a bit more important than I think and silly bickering won't get us anywhere." Fal tried to be diplomatic and above all else stop Anglermaw saying more then he should. The Loremaster gives a subtle nod to the Captain and resumes facing the others.
"Your lack of subtlety is surprising Skaven. Though I must say not unexpected." He shook his head. "What is this Ark that you think is so important you would bring it up now?" He smiled with a look that knew more then he spoke. Fal recognized it as a look he had often. Knowing what the answer was but teasing anyhow. Before any words could be exchanged Fal stepped up.
"Perhaps you should simply explain why you invited us into your chambers. I feel time may be a bit more important than I think and silly bickering won't get us anywhere." Fal tried to be diplomatic and above all else stop Anglermaw saying more then he should. The Loremaster gives a subtle nod to the Captain and resumes facing the others.
"Can't afford t' be subtle in times like these, yeah." Anglermaw replied. "Ah know enough about you Elves to gather that ye 'avn't just sailed over Lustria for a cruise-swim." The Sea-Rat chuckled. The Elves were enigmatic lot; their presence was never a mere coincedence -- not so close to the Vampire Coast anyway. His impatient eyes coursed over the room, upon the wall to the left of the three hung a large, linen canvas; the world within it's entirety lay inked upon the frame, colourfully illustrated in respect to their geographic location. From western Naggarond to mythical Nippon -- the furthest and most feral tip of the Southlands to the freezing warped steppes of the Kurgans. The most important aspect of that canvas, however, was the dotted trail that lead from southern Ulthuan and coursed all the way down toward the northen coast of Lustria.
"Summat just told me that you'd being followin' a certain ship 'o metal yourselves." Anglermaw continued, a flavour of curiousity laced within his tone.
"Ours is not to quell, nor to stall your journey." The Captain began, twitching her lips into perhaps the most pathetic frown Anglermaw had ever seen on a no-fur. "But it is a dangerous path the three of you tread, and an unready one at that. You faced certain death mere moments ago, can you call yourselves prepared for the evils that lay on the mainland?" Her voice became slightly raised, but even still, she lacked the cold authority of her Loremaster comapanion. "Your lives are more important than you might think." She continued. "I've seen the jade shadow of that ship pass through mighty Caledor; I saw Dragonborne kin - free from the toils of disease by nature - succumb to sorcerous ailments that were not of nature's make. I have seen within my mind and minds of my peers the scourge who seeks to pilot such a vessel and it's host."
"Rotflag!" Anglermaw interrupted, his mind clouded by a sudden hatred as he articulated those two abhorrent syllables. "You speak of Rotflag, my lieutenant, traitor and mutineer! A thousand deaths upon his wretched carcass."
"No, Skaven, you won't get the chance..." Aelthalia took a breath as she replied, a forboding sense of terror suddenly crept over her skin, turning her complexion almost as white as Druchii flesh. "That one who bore that name is dead, a far terrible soul lurks in that Skaven mind now..."
"Summat just told me that you'd being followin' a certain ship 'o metal yourselves." Anglermaw continued, a flavour of curiousity laced within his tone.
"Ours is not to quell, nor to stall your journey." The Captain began, twitching her lips into perhaps the most pathetic frown Anglermaw had ever seen on a no-fur. "But it is a dangerous path the three of you tread, and an unready one at that. You faced certain death mere moments ago, can you call yourselves prepared for the evils that lay on the mainland?" Her voice became slightly raised, but even still, she lacked the cold authority of her Loremaster comapanion. "Your lives are more important than you might think." She continued. "I've seen the jade shadow of that ship pass through mighty Caledor; I saw Dragonborne kin - free from the toils of disease by nature - succumb to sorcerous ailments that were not of nature's make. I have seen within my mind and minds of my peers the scourge who seeks to pilot such a vessel and it's host."
"Rotflag!" Anglermaw interrupted, his mind clouded by a sudden hatred as he articulated those two abhorrent syllables. "You speak of Rotflag, my lieutenant, traitor and mutineer! A thousand deaths upon his wretched carcass."
"No, Skaven, you won't get the chance..." Aelthalia took a breath as she replied, a forboding sense of terror suddenly crept over her skin, turning her complexion almost as white as Druchii flesh. "That one who bore that name is dead, a far terrible soul lurks in that Skaven mind now..."
Noticing the map in the corner Fal had his eyes wander to it. Curious about what such a large scale map could reveal. But as he did this even subtly one of the spear wielding guards moves to the right slightly to block his view. Either to hide some form of secret or simply prevent Fal's filthy gaze from looking at it he didn't know. He quickly returned his vision completely forward as Aelthalia mentioned the Arks presence around Ulthwan. This was frankly a shock to Fal who couldn't have imagined the Ark would not only have made it to near the shore of Ulthwan but also have retreated near the Lustria in such short time. The speed it would need to travel is incredible. Plus the ideas of plague is spread on the island paradise brought up visions of devastated Luccini. Despite carrying no love for Ulthwan he knew that there were civilians. Likely his sense of duty from his time in the armies of the Empire and militia but he felt an urge to push back. Especially with an ever growing dread that the ruinous powers were involved more and more. Something he felt deep hatred towards from his time fighting Beastmen and Norscan raiders.
As Aelthalia gave her comment on what was original thought of as Rotflag the Loremaster tapped his staff on the ground and stood forward.
"My dear Captain allow me to explain the situation." He says with a polite tone to his fellow Asur. She nods and with a elegant hand gestures directs the others to him. "On Ulthwan we have those who's job it is to keep an eye on the winds of magic. To monitor their flow around the world and especially around Ulthwan were our vision is strongest." He looks to Anglermaw who seems ever more frustrated. "I myself am one of these and this 'Ark' you call it caught our attention. You see when powerful forces of magic enter the Seas of Ulthwan we can sense it and track it. Something as powerful as the Ark was a beacon of pure energy. Pure dark energy." His face was noticeably solemn. "It was approaching fast and I made my way down to where it's course was leading. That being the previously mentioned Caledor on the South Western tip of our island. By the time I arrived plague and diseases was rampant. I had never seen anything like it before. Such horrific rot that carried the stench of chaotic magic. Doing what I could to temper some of the suffering word was sent regarding this threat to the High Loremaster himself. As such I, being the closest and witnessing the vessel leaving in the distance was assigned the role of pursuing it."
Fal's face could match the Loremaster's in terms of concern for the chaotic powers at work.
"The dark magic and ability this vessel has to spread plagues from such a distance make it a horrific atrocity that is a threat to all nations. This is why we brought you all up. Our informants spoke of this vessel following a path that would see it leading to the vessel. It would seem as if our hunches were correct." Seeing a anxious chitter from Anglermaw he realized something he missed. "But you're more interested about my colleagues comment?" He says referring to the captain. Fal nods as well.
"Yes. I take it you're also aware." Fal asks putting aside his concerns as they have a common enemy.
"Reports spoke of a massive form wearing plate armour of the vile Chaos Warriors but with the head of a rat." Fal nods.
"Yes. Some kind of Skaven experiment." Fal shivers. "A powerful figure." He adds.
"Indeed." The Loremaster replies. "That figure radiated with dark energy. I'm not sure what it is but I can say for certain that he and the Ark are both tools of the Dark Gods. I do not know how but such a threat requires one of more magical persuasion to look into."
"That would be you 'ey?" Fall adds with a cocked eyebrow. "Who are you anyhow?" Smirking back to the half breed the Loremaster gives an introduction.
"You may call me Celdron." He says in near perfect Reikspiel with a polite bow of his head.
As Aelthalia gave her comment on what was original thought of as Rotflag the Loremaster tapped his staff on the ground and stood forward.
"My dear Captain allow me to explain the situation." He says with a polite tone to his fellow Asur. She nods and with a elegant hand gestures directs the others to him. "On Ulthwan we have those who's job it is to keep an eye on the winds of magic. To monitor their flow around the world and especially around Ulthwan were our vision is strongest." He looks to Anglermaw who seems ever more frustrated. "I myself am one of these and this 'Ark' you call it caught our attention. You see when powerful forces of magic enter the Seas of Ulthwan we can sense it and track it. Something as powerful as the Ark was a beacon of pure energy. Pure dark energy." His face was noticeably solemn. "It was approaching fast and I made my way down to where it's course was leading. That being the previously mentioned Caledor on the South Western tip of our island. By the time I arrived plague and diseases was rampant. I had never seen anything like it before. Such horrific rot that carried the stench of chaotic magic. Doing what I could to temper some of the suffering word was sent regarding this threat to the High Loremaster himself. As such I, being the closest and witnessing the vessel leaving in the distance was assigned the role of pursuing it."
Fal's face could match the Loremaster's in terms of concern for the chaotic powers at work.
"The dark magic and ability this vessel has to spread plagues from such a distance make it a horrific atrocity that is a threat to all nations. This is why we brought you all up. Our informants spoke of this vessel following a path that would see it leading to the vessel. It would seem as if our hunches were correct." Seeing a anxious chitter from Anglermaw he realized something he missed. "But you're more interested about my colleagues comment?" He says referring to the captain. Fal nods as well.
"Yes. I take it you're also aware." Fal asks putting aside his concerns as they have a common enemy.
"Reports spoke of a massive form wearing plate armour of the vile Chaos Warriors but with the head of a rat." Fal nods.
"Yes. Some kind of Skaven experiment." Fal shivers. "A powerful figure." He adds.
"Indeed." The Loremaster replies. "That figure radiated with dark energy. I'm not sure what it is but I can say for certain that he and the Ark are both tools of the Dark Gods. I do not know how but such a threat requires one of more magical persuasion to look into."
"That would be you 'ey?" Fall adds with a cocked eyebrow. "Who are you anyhow?" Smirking back to the half breed the Loremaster gives an introduction.
"You may call me Celdron." He says in near perfect Reikspiel with a polite bow of his head.
Hans had finally found the courage to speak as he found the company of these Asur to be far more amicable than the snide grimaces that lay in wait behind those doors. "H-how far are we from Lustria, might I ask, Ma'am?" Asked the Student, his heart warmed by Aelthalia's gentle demanour. Unlike Falderan, it did not occur to Hans that her kindly nature - even as she spoke with a sense of authority - could simply be a false persona. The Sea Elves were not a welcoming lot: even as the stoic guardsmen to the left stood in complete silence, their faces were wrought with disdain. Falderan, Hans, and especially Anglermaw were nought but intruders on this beautifully crafted vessel of war.
"Near enough, my Sir. Near enough." Aelthalia nodded in reply, her tone remained serious, but not staunch like Captain Vanderbarzen's could be during the last fortnight. Perhaps it was simply the horrific array of scars he bore, or the chill, vindictive flavour of his voice.
"You were aware how close you sailed to the Vampire Coast, no?" She continued, twitching her lip as she awaited an answer. "The three of you threw yourselves toward the Lion's den. Did you not meditate upon a more welcoming port before you set sail?"
"The Coast?" Interrupted Anglermaw, almost stubbornly in fact as the thought behind his suggestion was challenged. "That was my idea." An embittered Sea Rat proclaimed. "Ye 'avn't forgetten what this is we're dealing with, yeah? We're not talk-yapping 'bout-bout some ship with sails and a dead bird at the front. The Ark is a clan Skryre commissioned dreadnaught; possessed by the soul of the first Grey Seer of Skurvy! It's probably already in Rotflag's grubby 'ands right now! Can't afford to take longer routes like that, can we?! Fate o' the world at stake and all that!"
"I suppose you're right, Skaven. My apologies." Aelthalia conceded. Hans himself cringed in disgust as Anglermaw raised his voice toward the Captain; it would seem that her devout soldiers also felt some negative tinge upon their spines, jittering their spear poles with the throbbing desire to gut the Skaven like the vermin he was. But discipline forbade them this opportunity, and their sharpened points were stayed for now.
The Captain took a sombre gaze toward her wise Loremaster, turning her head back to the trio after a brief few seconds of silence. "We shall take you all upon the beach the first of sunlight." Aelthalia spoke. "Forgive me, you were right to come this south, but we cannot make port during the night. There's more to the Vampire Coast than it's namesake." She warned.
"Near enough, my Sir. Near enough." Aelthalia nodded in reply, her tone remained serious, but not staunch like Captain Vanderbarzen's could be during the last fortnight. Perhaps it was simply the horrific array of scars he bore, or the chill, vindictive flavour of his voice.
"You were aware how close you sailed to the Vampire Coast, no?" She continued, twitching her lip as she awaited an answer. "The three of you threw yourselves toward the Lion's den. Did you not meditate upon a more welcoming port before you set sail?"
"The Coast?" Interrupted Anglermaw, almost stubbornly in fact as the thought behind his suggestion was challenged. "That was my idea." An embittered Sea Rat proclaimed. "Ye 'avn't forgetten what this is we're dealing with, yeah? We're not talk-yapping 'bout-bout some ship with sails and a dead bird at the front. The Ark is a clan Skryre commissioned dreadnaught; possessed by the soul of the first Grey Seer of Skurvy! It's probably already in Rotflag's grubby 'ands right now! Can't afford to take longer routes like that, can we?! Fate o' the world at stake and all that!"
"I suppose you're right, Skaven. My apologies." Aelthalia conceded. Hans himself cringed in disgust as Anglermaw raised his voice toward the Captain; it would seem that her devout soldiers also felt some negative tinge upon their spines, jittering their spear poles with the throbbing desire to gut the Skaven like the vermin he was. But discipline forbade them this opportunity, and their sharpened points were stayed for now.
The Captain took a sombre gaze toward her wise Loremaster, turning her head back to the trio after a brief few seconds of silence. "We shall take you all upon the beach the first of sunlight." Aelthalia spoke. "Forgive me, you were right to come this south, but we cannot make port during the night. There's more to the Vampire Coast than it's namesake." She warned.
The remainder of the meeting was passed by with tense stares and awkward words. It wouldn't take much longer before the group was allowed to leave and with a guard close at hand they were escorted to quarters for the night. Fal had his wounded arm treated by an Elven apothecary who put her grace and subtle movements to minimize pain to him despite his heritage. She never forgot her professionalism despite her likely preconceived notions. Once patched up he was taken to the mess hall. Laughs were had drunken friendships made before the men were retired to sleep. Their weapons and gear taken to be kept in the armory for the night. Everyone taken up from the Siren were put into a crew bunk and no less than four guards were on them at all times. The hammocks were made of fine silk and gorgeous silken engrams were over the simple sleeping arrangements. Guards looked on in disgust as both Fal and Anglermaw crawled onto the fine Elven bedding. The other humans of the crew were looked at with only slightly less disgust for being on such comforts. Most slept soundly after being given a fine feeding of Elven meat and wine.
The night was tense and Fal was surprised he was allowed to keep his weapon on him for so long. The way he kept Anglermaw's pistol without a strange look also kept his curiocity. Maybe they just thought him as in cahoots with the rat in more ways than just this Ark ordeal. He could keep such things despite obvious concern from the guards. He noticed as they retired the Loremaster Celdron wandering by and peeking into the room. These truly were dark times if he he and Anglermaw were allowed to stay somewhere that wasn't a brig. It took some time but through either exhaustion of a strange comfort Fal drifted off to sleep.
The following morning was merely a handful of hours after Fal got to sleep. They were all woken by an Elven bell that rattled out a war cry to rouse them from rest. Pushed through the regiments processes of a quick clean they were given a small roll of bread and some water as they quickly were rushed to the deck. Barely passed dawn Fal saw Celdron and Aelthalia on the deck staring ahead. Where they looked was a wide landmass stretching beyond the horizon in all directions. The great jungle continent of Lustria. A great green wall of land and trees. Celedron turned and gave them a nod.
"Captain it seems our weary travelers have made it." He says into Aelthalia's ear.
The night was tense and Fal was surprised he was allowed to keep his weapon on him for so long. The way he kept Anglermaw's pistol without a strange look also kept his curiocity. Maybe they just thought him as in cahoots with the rat in more ways than just this Ark ordeal. He could keep such things despite obvious concern from the guards. He noticed as they retired the Loremaster Celdron wandering by and peeking into the room. These truly were dark times if he he and Anglermaw were allowed to stay somewhere that wasn't a brig. It took some time but through either exhaustion of a strange comfort Fal drifted off to sleep.
The following morning was merely a handful of hours after Fal got to sleep. They were all woken by an Elven bell that rattled out a war cry to rouse them from rest. Pushed through the regiments processes of a quick clean they were given a small roll of bread and some water as they quickly were rushed to the deck. Barely passed dawn Fal saw Celdron and Aelthalia on the deck staring ahead. Where they looked was a wide landmass stretching beyond the horizon in all directions. The great jungle continent of Lustria. A great green wall of land and trees. Celedron turned and gave them a nod.
"Captain it seems our weary travelers have made it." He says into Aelthalia's ear.
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