RP:The Sacking of Cenril
Part of the Tales from the Row Arc
Part of the Birds of A Feather Arc
Summary: Pirates attack the South of Cenril, decimating what was left of city leadership and taking control of the southern part of the city.
Characters: Eliah, (Npc pirates) Aiya, Trey,(Npc pirate fleet) Sadie, (Npc Merfolk horde) Vriskal, Hanan, Arien,(NPC Watchman captain) Rowen, Alzar, Taeo (Npc mage)
Location: Cenril; The Harbor, Rocky Shore, Courthouse.
At the Cenril Harbor.
Trey collapses her spyglass and gives a silent order to her first mate, Harry, who relays silent messages across the waters to the other ships. They all know their parts. The three ships glide swiftly over the water. In actuality, it wasn’t hard for them to get close to the harbor. The naval ships were there, of course, but there was no need for alarm. Mutiny’s usual swivel guns had been replaced with actual cannon, and The Frost Isabelle could likely take out many of the ships, but that wasn’t their plan. Instead, the three square-rigged ships landed easily, all of them having visited the mainland’s harbor before. Then out from the south appears a smaller ship. Something eerie seems to surround this ship. It almost seems to be sailing on its own. As it nears the navy, some of the men ready their arms, and some cross themselves with holy symbols or prayers. The ship is sailed by bloated carcasses with bits of skin missing, ethereal beings that once had bodies, and skeletons. It is a ship of the dead. Already some men are abandoning their posts, superstition overtaking them.
Vriskal has been sitting on a dock by the harbor, enjoying the day and watching the water. He throws a rock and watches the ripples as they grow. Soon seeing a bunch of ships starting to make their landing. at first, he doesn't think much of it. Then, he looks past the other ships and watches this "Ship of the Dead". A slight shiver crawls up his spine, his eyes widening, "This is no ordinary ship," he thinks to himself. Not knowing what it is, he looks to a sailor passing by and points to the ship, asking what it is. The sailor's eyes widen even more, "That's no ordinary ship, my friend, that be a Pirate's ship!" he tells Vriskal before running off. Vriskal’s mind wonders for a moments time, "Pirates, what would they want here?", "To take over!" another person says. The half elf grins, “then perhaps this could be a good opportunity to test the extent of myself." he says to himself. Not wanting to be over populated by pirates he raises a hand towards the first ship coming into landing, and the other hand to the second. He then swirls his arms slightly to make the wind pick up. Too late, the first ship lands. But the others, however, are not so successful. As the winds pick up they move faster and faster creating a small tornado, or rather a hurricane. Waves picking up and thrashing against each of the boats, some may tip, and some may make it. At least he has to try something to avoid a total take-over from the "pirates" at hand.
Trey throws out a hand to catch the railing as the ship is jolted to one side. The Dusk, her second largest ship, had made its landing, but Mutiny and The Frost Isabelle had gotten themselves caught up in what seems to be a… hurricane? Certainly nothing ordinary. Her eyes scan the docks, her men rushing to keep Mutiny afloat, and then she sees him. A man, arms outstretched, on the dock. It was too late now to get a message to Shoadie, The Dusk’s captain. They would have to see him and stop him on their own. The massive ship of the line is having significantly less trouble than Mutiny. Its bulk not only aids it from being thrown around on the choppy ocean, but the entirety of the top of the ship, its decks, the railing, and anything else that would be hit with rain, is covered in a thick white ice. Every time Isabelle starts to tip, it only goes so far, the ice ensuring that it stays afloat and in the correct direction. Below the ice and covering the hull of the ship are large scales, likely belonging to ice dragons or wyverns. The captain has magical tricks of her own, though. A shrill whistle manages to penetrate the roar of the storm and moments later a rather odd looking fox leaps from the water, landing on the deck and wagging its shark-like tail gaily. “Riptide!” The woman has to yell over the raging storm, but knows that the fox can help. He has grown quite a bit, much like his other elementally suited brothers and sisters. “Find a way to counter this will you?” As if he understands, the fox leaps back into the water, shooting over to the hurricane and pounding water in the opposite direction. The effect isn’t instantaneous, but the funnel begins to slow enough for Mutiny to pull itself away. By then, the navy is onto them. The two ships bring their guns around, already loaded, to face the navy ships that remain. On deck, the men from The Dusk disembark, eyeing the events on the sea with relief that they were on land.
Vriskal watches as his hurricane starts to slow, and remembers seeing the fox like thing. Not sure what to make of it he tries something. "To all the creatures of the ocean, hear my plea, help me, fight with me..." he then points to their second largest ship and yells "attack!" while opening a palm. Within seconds the ship would hear and even feel a bunch of thuds on the side of the hull as hundreds, even thousands of guppies start head rushing the ship, with an attempt to knock it over. The fox also may be experiencing some troubles as other kinds of small fish start to swarm it. Oh, but this druid isn't over yet. He remembers something of earthquakes that cause tsunami's. He shrugs and decides to give to it a shot. He draws a wand and points it to the ocean under the biggest ship. He starts speaking in an ancient language that he doesn't even know. Soon, the rush of a huge thirty-fourty foot wave could be heard in the distance. Then within the minute it can be seen rushing from behind them. After he's finished he drops to his knees, using up what little energy he had left. If all else fails he would have to retreat.
Trey sees the impending Tsunami. With a wave like that, it would easily take the ships, the harbor, and yes, even Cenril, flooding its streets and likely destroying some walls. The captain calls again for help from her water-intended magic using pet, but he seems to be distracted, fending off nuisances of his own. The pirates would have to survive the damned wave on their own. “Get the ships to the harbor!” The captain shouts over the storm and the gathering wave. As they pull towards the shoreline, the captain remembers a very vital, and very helpful, bit of information. The Fiddler’s Green had joined its ally ships by now, all pushing for the water’s edge. “Men, keep your eyes on the water! Remember those barrels we hid just below the surface? Shoot them!” Everyone understood, and as soon as they were away from the kegs, cannon fire rained into the water, causing massive explosions. The captain would have to thank Eliah for making her distribute those. As the wave approaches, it begins to lose momentum with the explosions, the massive displacement of water causing it to shrink. The smaller wave hit the ships as they tied off at the harbor, doing damage to them, surely, but also to the unanchored naval vessels, and washing men overboard as well as onto the dock and onto the beach. By then, the men already on the shore caught sight of Vriskal. Those to recover from the disorienting wave first approach him, weapons drawn, prepared to chase him all the way through Cenril if they have to. The other men, the ones from Mutiny, Isabelle, and The Fiddler’s Green (if you can call those men), busy themselves with ensuring the ships won’t sink, fishing men from the ocean, and assigning men to stay with the ships. They have landed, and Cenril would be their new playground.
Vriskal curses as his attack doesn't go as planned, but there was nothing more that could be done, not here. he watches as the men start to surround him, "So you wanna play, huh?" he asks them, with a small smirk, "Then come and get me!" he says before running off towards the beach and through the sand. As he runs, obviously the gang follows. Just as planned. Without whim he turns around and throws an arm out, causing the winds to pick up slightly to throw sand all over, making a cover screen for himself to get away easily.
At the Rocky Shore:
Hanan :: The rocks may be desolate, animal corpse-strewn and jagged, but they are a wonderful place to fish. A young-looking woman with dark hair sits upon one of them, a cigar hanging out one corner of her contented smile as she watches her line bob in the waves. She seems calm--no, oblvious, as a bit higher on her rocky outcrop a small boy, no more than ten, eleven maybe, takes a stone out of his sling, pauses, then replaces it, over and over. Down on the sandier parts of the shore men gather sparsely--ragged townspeople with bows, cudgels and the occasional axe or sword, a few much better outfitted guards with dirty armor and thousand-yard stares. All look anxiously out to sea.
Sadie ||The sky hanging over Cenril's harbor and beaches quickly turn into an desolate, dark mosaic of clouds thick and heavy with rain. There is no sign of a pending attack on the beaches, but there does appear to be a brewing storm. The waves rise higher and crash further upon the shore, taking Hanan's bobble with it with no fish to show for. So far, all is silent on the sea front, but those waves begin to encroach dangerously upon the Cenrilian's taking arms against the pirates as well as Hanan and that little boy. If one was standing within ten feet of the original water line, the waves borne from a hurricane would quickly engulf each and all.
Hanan :: The boy was smarter than the woman, he having scrambled down the rocks and on to shore as soon as the waves start growing higher. He runs up to one of the guards and talks, briefly; the guard pats him gently upon the head, then the two take off for that single dwelling far up the shore; it's weathered other storms, why not this? Others with less convenient housing take their cue, moving farther up the beach and toward the road back into the city, some beginning to smile, wearily, that their ad-hoc muster hadn't seen action. But they move slowly, quite used to rain. Few were close enough to the water to be taken away initially--who would they be fending off then? Fish? They'd seen no ships--but that one woman on the rocks. She is just close enough that her boots get wet. Scrambling up and off the rocks with a broken line, she mutters, softly. "Didn't look like a storm, today." The sea gets a long, appraising look. No. It hadn't looked like one at all.
Sadie 's boats where anchored in an alcove on the northern side of Rynvale, so the only boats traversing the harbor between Cenril and Rynvale are only those of the Navy's and another pirates up north a ways. The storm also branches out over towards the harbor as well, so it doesn't appear to be a simple, quickly crafted storm. Winds whip around furiously, throwing up sand and debris that litter the beach front and casting them into the armor coated crowd; many pieces of driftwood, splintered and sharp, seem to hone in on the small army's faces and other vulnerable areas. But because there wasn't a single person around to be seen opposing this poorly crafted sentries, it must be the hurricane's malicious and murderous doings.
Hanan :: That's certainly what most thought. The first man to get a stick in the face is laughed at quite merrily--until the next is hit, hard enough that blood paints the left side of his face from the slash in his brow. People begin to pick up the pace, hustling off the shoreline. It doesn't help one of the guards, who is smacked with a bit of driftwood so hard that he drops limp in the midst of the group. The hustle turns to a mad dash. The guard who had spoken to the boy now hoists him over one shoulder and sprints to the little house. Hanan, watching the two, sees the boy clutching his left arm just before the door slams. Which happened right before an old weathered shoe hit her right on the cheek. "Ruttin'--" she ducks a plank--"HELL." But for some reason she moves slower than the others, who are still not quite clear of the shore.
Sadie ||Slowly a cyclone of water builds, spinning like a mad top across the sea and reaching for land. In fact, it's reaching for that little safe house and those desperately trying to gain access to it. It would quickly catch up to those who have yet made it inside the small establishment and quickly slaughter whoever it caught. And if that wasn't enough, a mass of creatures, nearly three hundred, slink from the sea: all are outrageously beautiful and all are dressed in makeshift smocks and tattered shorts. There is no clumsiness marring the grace of the attackers, who rush from the water at a dead sprint, unhindered by the drag water normally holds on people. Swords are wielded and waved dangerously, each with the impression that none of the horde is new to battle or murder. Very few linger on the beach to ensure the death of the sentries and possibly Hanan, while the rest dart off into town.
At the Courthouse:
The sound of raucous disagreement could be heard drifting down the all but abandoned hallways of the Cenrilian courthouse, angry voices attempting at outdoing the other, the subject of dissent for the moment unclear. Inside the council meeting room, what was left of Cenril’s government made some attempt to be called to order. Captains of the Coast Watch, Merchant representatives and members of the ruling council were engrossed in debate over the latest uptick in illegal activity in the city, both on its coast and in its heart. “I lost another man last night dammit!” the captain of the watch barked. “He was a good man, with a family that will no go unprovided for. That arrow came off the water. When are we gonna get the gods be dammed resources to get these blaggards off our coast?” A fist pounded on the dust covered round table. They’re setting up shop openly, free trading and stealing taxes from the city coffers, and you fools just sit here, patting each other on the back while the city dies around you!” The Watch leader glowered at the once pampered politicos around him. “You’re merchants dammit. It’s -your- trade they’re upending, put your foot down, or give me what I need to do it..” Voices rose again in dissent, a hubbub stirring at the challenge of the man in the patched uniform.
Alzar hears what the man says and yells, “Yeah we let them run around long enough its time to kill them even if it kills me ill fight till I cant no more .”
Eliah moved from the shores to the streets with grace and swiftness forgotten in the blood-filled rage of the evening. The commander of the Gathering, cutting down any who obstructed his path as would-be defenders. His goal is the halls of justice, the halls of the very leadership in the city. Behind him, hell reigns, trailing on his boot-heels. There is no doubting the bloody-malice in the corsair's mind as he cuts his way through the alerted sheriff and the guards that clumsily come to attention just above the outer steps." Cut them down!" There is a crescendo of crashing, as the rapier in his hand cuts an arch that, blessed by an uncanny wind meets a constable to a brick-wall, the last thing the poor chap is likely to see. ||It's a tell-tale sound, screaming, yelling, the crash of doors and the sight of fires thrown into houses as they travel, two-ship's worth of men and women, black of heart and armed to the teeth. The crews wreak havoc upon the sleeping city. They steal there way up from the shores and to the lower slums of Cenril and find the streets and alleys to the peace of the Courthouse and subsequently the jail. Pirates once jailed can be heard joyously whooping as the massive force follows on the heels of their blood-spattered leader. At his words, they rush towards the defenders, giggling like naughty children, brandishing their deadly weapons.
Alzar bursts outside and says "Idon’t think so " and Alzar spits out a fire ball at the pirates hoping to kill at least 5 of them . "Defenders charge"
Safe, they think, in their temporary shelter, the council remains unaware of the mayhem unleashed on the streets without. It is the sound of blood thirsty screams and the tramp of boots, the sound of wood splintering at the door of the great council chambers that alerts those gathered within that death is afoot. The leader of the Watch attempts at some defense. “Pirates!! Hold the lines!..Get the Council out of here!” Already his dulled sword was drawn as he charged forward toward the horde that was descending. Mindless attempt at slashing and dicing the front line of the pirates’ advance force would ensue, those councilors present who had any military experience leaping up to join him. unfortunately for him, that would not be many. These were the pampered elite..or what was left of them; bankers, politicos and merchants, and most stared wide eyed, pausing long enough only to draw breath for screams of horror as cutlasses and swords made new mouths of their necks, or open cavities of their hearts. Still, the commander fought, bitterness in his eyes as he realized what this must mean for the city beyond the doors.
Eliah looks reminiscent of a demon, coating his proud frame is spatters and grotesquely decorated slashes of blood. A few small cuts mar the body of the High-elven Corsair, but not much else. Alzar's vicious burst of flames in unexpected and yet all the same a saving grace for the commander of the Gathering, as the dragon manages to cut a gap through the attacking horde for the Carrion to slip. His goal is to dive at the remaining council, to take a firm grasp upon the very lifeblood of the city in one fell-swoop. He can only curse as the Watchman flies to block his path. The sudden audible 'clang!' of their blades meeting forcing those fighting around them to give way to the pair. There is utter bloodrath burning in the azure stare of the marauder, and the grin is something akin to the greeting of the grim reaper. " Fall or retreat, this city.. Is mine now." This is the only warning offer made before the elf deflects the leader's blade and with a quick step attacks, the black steel of his rapier flashing in the fire-light as it cuts and arcs in a neatly kept pattern of figure eights. The intent to cut his opponent to ribbons or force his retreat. The pirates converging all around them, killing council members, cutting down their prey in the guarding forces, while a larger number focus on driving the Dragon west, towards the merchant way, out of the city.
Alzar :: You pirates wont get rid of me that easy . Alzar flies to the pirate's boats spitting flames on all of them hoping to sink them . Then sensing the council members being slaughtered Alzar flies back and grabs the remaining council members alive and flies them to the roof of the courthouse and Alzar makes his white mask appear increasing his powers by 100 and alzar takes the deepest breath he ever took and sends one huge fire bale at the pirates .
For long moments the Captain of the Watch meets Eliah’s action strike for strike. He could hear the gurgled squawks of the Councilmen as they fell, slaughtered before the wave of brigands as they pressed forward. A soft hiss escaped his lips, blood streaming down his face as he locked wrists with the Corsair in close proximity. “Retreat?..with what, you murderous bastards..look around you, is there anything left worth saving?” he barked. Pushing off from the male , the watchman backed slowly toward the alternate exit of the council chambers, one that would lead deeper into the courthouse and toward the doors that would spill into the area of the streets hopefully not over run by the attacking horde. “Fall back! He shouted. There was a pitiful few remaining to hear him; by his count six of thirty remained, and most in a condition barely able to walk. The bellow of a dragon’s roar breaking the night air as they broke out into the open provked a curse from the man. What now? Eyes lifted skyward, the landing of the beast and its obvious intent to aid brought some small spark of hope. The watchman called out to the dragon. “Take them North..away from this madness. We –must- protect those who remain!” He hoped that he would be heard over the blast of fire that cut into the rogues who battled civilian militia in the streets. “Get out of here..now! I’m headed for the town center..” he called up to the roof where the dragon had deposited his precious load. And without another word, he was off, plunging into the melee below.
Eliah cursed to high heavens and back, as the fleeing few managed to escape on the wing-tips of the dragon. "I'm going to remove that thing's wings one day, mark me.. Those remaining of his considerable faction are glared too and a heavily breathing Mr. Fiske is berated angrily as he arrives. " Get those council members on the roof, I want them dead before morning, burn the building to the ground if you have too. Take twenty with you." The master gunner salutes and with his chosen number rushes into the courthouse, surging up the stairs to the balcony and rafters to do their commanders bidding. The rest of the group needs no beckoning as they rush along following after the beleaguered defenders and the Watchmen's leader. Eliah, follows at the rear, cleaning his blade with a shirt sleeve as he walks. The high elf is consumed in these moments by bloodlust, the very heat of the battle, it seems only luck prevails for those on his own side as he holds to what little sanity remains any refrains from attacking all comers for the time being.
Later…At Merchant Street.
Hanan , somewhat worse for wear, made her way through the alleys and backstreets of Cenril down here. Her clothing is wet, and worse, her cigar went out as she sprinted from those... things leaving the water. Oh, but she is good at evasion. Holding the tobacco doggedly in her teeth she'd successfully dodged combat, keeping to walls, occasionally ducking through buildings. Much of Cenril hadn't been so lucky. She can see and smell the blood on the streets, the hacked apart bodies left in the wake of the nautical horde. Occasionally horrified faces peer out from upper story windows, then hastily close curtains. Down on the streets the woman doesn't look horrified now so much as annoyed. Moving to a small space between shops, she crouches, fumbles in her pack, and finds a dry match and new cigar. All is well, at least on her end.
Alzar: Since the men were going to burn the place down anyway Alzar did it for them and sets fire to the courthouse with the men still inside he could hear them scream in pain and Alzar enjoyed it and Alzar wonders why Eliah siad he would cut his wings off just whose side is he on ? Anyway Alzar flies to the merchant street and says to the pirates "heads up" and ramming a whole row at top speed hoping that would kill them and Alzar roars .
Rowen: The sound of armored boots can be heard running sown a nearby street, as the Cenril Guard, hurry to protect their city.
Sadie scuffles with a soldier, sharing punches and swipes of swords before finally one decent stab pierces through the area where helmet meets platemail and with the unfortunate lack of chainmail, the man falls to the ground and quickly gargles for air. It is then that the dragon flying above is seen, and with the hurricane still traumatizing the beaches and harbor, thoroughly destroying buildings and littering the beach front with dead bodies and shambled ruins, Sadie quickly pulls some of her magic from the tropical storm, along with a large blob of water. First, the blazing courthouse is doused, and thereafter each jet of fire Alzar produces is quickly snuffed out before any damage could be done.
It was easy to find them. He just had to follow the screams and the clash of steel on steel through the alleyways. Behind the Captain of the Watch flames smoke billowed into the air from whatever was left of the courthouse. He had tried to warn them…told them that ignoring the sneaking encroachment of the free traders would be bad news, but he’d not expected this. Where was the aid, where were the leaders who should come rushing to their aid? The city was falling. The man blinked away the blood that was dripping into his eyes as he looked over his shoulder to the smattering of shaken civilians who had fallen in behind him on his way to the heart of the city. They were a miserable party, overused blades, armorless, patched leather their only protection from the certain death that awaited. They were no soldiers, officers of the law and some small part of him felt guilty for pressing them into service. “Kill them..or they will kill you. Show no mercy, give no quarter..or twill be escaped prisoners bedding your wives and daughters tonight!” he bellowed. Charrrggee!!” Blindly the watchman plunged into the steadily growing fray, blade at the ready. Eyes swept the battling gathering, looking for him. The corsair.
Rowen :: Six real soldiers appear to help the irregulars defending the city, six spears are thrown towards Trey and her crew, before the men draw their swords and rush bravely into the fray. One challenges Alzar "Who goes there? Friend or foe?" Another swings his broadsword towards Eliah's right hip. Rowen tries to scamper up onto Trey's shoulder, asking. "Who do I kill first?"
Trey gives the rat a distracted glance before quick drawing her falchion in time to block the downward swing of a sword, "Good of you to join us, Rowen." It is in poor practice that the person swings their sword, and it is easy for the captain to throw their swing away from her. "The soldiers are the biggest threat. We need to take them out first." The men from Mutiny had followed their captain to Merchant Street and joined in the fray, but the men from The Dusk were off on their own hunt, searching for the man who practically drowned them all. Not far behind is the last of Trey's crews to join them, The Frost Isabelle's. She hoped they would secure the ships' safety and join them quickly.
Eliah wasn't strolling, he was pacing forwards, surging on the drive of his lust for battle. Before him the remainder of his crews dives into the fray. A slightly burned Mr. Fiske even turns up shortly after, the task achieved as per his commander's orders. The blade-thrust is caught and deflected with the skillful-twist of the corsair captain's wrist. In his current state there is naught else to focus upon beyond finding his prey, that Watchman. The soldier is cut down with a following visceral slash that drops him to the cobblestone street in a gurgling hiss. " Press them back! I want this city by dawn!" He spies his target, and pushes forwards, into the mass of churning bodies to further his blood-bath obsession.
Hanan watched it all from her little alley between the buildings, puffing away furiously at her fresh cigar. Once in awhile her hand would stray to the swept rapier hilt at her hip, anxious to lend a hand--or more accurately, to get involved in so delicious a fight--but no. It wasn't her time. So these were the pirates, huh? She'd expected a group less capable and a whole lot less pretty. Gods damn they were gorgeous. Blood must be a good moisturizer. She poked her head out of the alley just as those experienced soldiers--where the hell were they from, anyway?--entered the fray. They were competant, whoever they were, splitting themselves rather evenly between Eliah and Trey, swords slashing efficiently. The charge behind the guard captain was swiftly abandoned by two men at the rear, who upon taking one look at the combined image of Sadie's water-magic and Alazar doing whatever-it-is that dragons do above them being a bit too much. They dash wildly past Hanan's alleyway, she muttering a scornful "Feh." at them. The rest of the Cenril defenders fought rather admirably, if unskilled; the danger was not in their training but in their desperation. They had seen what these invaders were capable of, and knew what awaited their city were it overrun. Several cluster around Sadie, the rest keeping close to their leader's back.
Alzar flies away to attend to some other business sadly regretting he couldn’t stay.
Sadie 's RP'er has to go to bed, so Sadie busts out of the cluster, killing a few people and disarming others before rushing off to attend to business else where.
Aiya bursts into view coated in blood not her own, gleaming rapier held afore her, its blade also void the crimson splatters. Fennec's chaste parting kiss has long been put from her thoughts while in lieu of the unfolding battle she now wades through in efforts to sort the mess, regroup the Gathering's men and get to Eliah's side. Tucked away between sun-kissed flesh and russet silks, secured by the well-worn black leather tied round bust and hips lies a scrap of paper betraying the murder of the Carrions remaining family on the premise that if he was evil, two innocent girls would be as well. The hot tempered red-head had little doubt of the wrath building in her commander, but she knew he was not yet entirely lost while innocents still fled by her. Most dodged her blade and those defenders blocking her path were easily dispatched, their ineptness a clue to a lack of training, but she could no more kill them for inability than kill a civilian. Her morality was never in question when it came to blood=shed, the number throats nicked by her hand were limited to those attempting to take her own life. The streets behind her were lined with unconscious guards-men who would no doubt feel the headache next morn her sword-butt had dealt. Malachite gaze scans the area, noting each detail and prioritizing her duties. "Gathering, don't waste your time on fancy play. Do what needs done and if you can spare lives, do so." Still she continues searching without yet jumping into the fray, her goal to find the Carrion before his limits snap. "Mr. Fiske, where the devil is the Commander?!" Her voice rises over the clang of metal and the distressed cries from Cenril's watch, the gurgle of life leaving those already dispatched and the hoots of triumph as more fall; be they pirate or guard. Damned Crow.
It was spite, more than anything else now that guided the Watchman’s hand. In some part of his mind he registered that what civilian population was left within the city was fleeing North. The Bath house, the Inn, the Warrior’s quarters, the Theater-all places that the scattered masses could huddle and regroup while they made their way out of the city. They would be safe in the north, if only the losses could be contained to the southern part of the city. Eyes lit upon the soldiers charging into the fray. “No!...” he bellowed. “Fall back..fall back, Reform the lines!” They would be lost here, slaughtered in the heart of the fray where they were outnumbered, and they would be needed for another day. Needed too, to scatter to the far reaches of the land and tell those with power, what had befallen here. Cenril was the gatekeeper, the heart of trade in Hollow. It’s loss would affect those who depended upon access to its trade routes significantly. He’d all but given up his direction for lost, when he saw those soldier who remain turn, and all but run in the opposite direction. Next to him, his much smaller group of civilians stood their ground, hacking and slashing in an attempt to hold some manner of line around the sole figure of authority who remained present. But it was hopeless. Or seemed to be. “Back to back men, and go down swinging!” Eyes fixed coldly on the approaching corsair, there was one he intended at taking with him. Lunging forward to meet the pirate, the Watchman drew dulled blade, and thrust to meet the torso of the oncoming male, his intent to slip between his ribs and do some lethal harm.
Rowen :: Those of the six soldiers still alive, fall, back and regroup, as they have been ordered to do. Still battling the crew of the Mutiny,as they fall back, using swords, to try to cut down the pirates, as well as their heavy shields to batter at them. Rowen takes out her favorite weapon, her nodding Myrall doll, loaded with needles each a powerful sleeping dart, able to cause unconsciousness in less than a minute in most cases. She takes aim for the Watchman’s neck, firing, once, then a follow up dart.
Trey and her men aren't a vast number. Most of them had stayed at the ships, in case the navy decided to start something. Sure, they've got battle experience between them and they're not afraid of killing a man just because he's in the way, but it's still a hard pressed job, especially with the armed and armored soldiers entering the fray. The word of 'spare lives' ends up making those who care fight a little for the worse, while not effecting those who don't. still, it seems as if the enemies numbers were dwindling. The fight would be dying down and they'd have the street soon, as long as someone could take out that damned Watchman. The sailors begin to close in on the remaining fighters.
Eliah continues his advance until he again is faced with his intended enemy. The haze of red mist that he sees about him is a hindrance, proof of the ever increasing grip of the Blood-wrath upon the high elf. His blade spitting another enemy, it is the thrust of a dulling blade into his abdomen that the Carrion uses to find his opponent, the only one whom stands out as a foe in his vision now." Your life is mine..." It is practically a hiss as his arm lashes out with the blade, its arching slash is not quite deadly as it comes from a waist height in a swift diagnal upwars towards the chest. He acts with all the skill of a swordsman-longsince skilled with both hands, twisting, despite the agony of the cold steel in his body, releasing the hilt of his rapier if only to catch it with his right hand and drive it at the watchman's patch-covered heart.: Mr. Fiske, in the fray alongside Aiya manages his own response, if only in the form of a yell above the din of men slaying other men. " Ahead, Ahead! He's gone mad with it!" The master gunner continues on, his voice breathing through the multitude of The Gathering. " All hands, Let them go! Fortify this place.. let them retreat!"
Hanan tilts her head slightly to the side. Now, this was interesting. As for the brave defenders of Cenril, they did not need to be told twice. Once they heard that voice cry "let them go" a good majority of the remaining civilian fighters break and run for what areas remain safe from marauding mariners. Only a couple remain at the head Watchman's side, watching near frozen as the dread pirate Eliah so cruelly skewers him with that rapier. Hanan takes a long drag of her tobacco and exhales through her nose. "Well, then." Two tan sets of fingers intertwine behind the base of her neck--making it quite clear she doesn't plan to draw her own blade--before she strides nonchalantly out into the street and toward the fringe of the pirate hoard, cigar still hanging from one corner of her mouth. She casts a shout Trey's way. "Oi! You! Is it over?"
Taeo :: People were screaming. Dying. Crying, probably. So they wouldn't notice it at first. The sound of time folding, a rather distinct sound. Unfortunately, it's around eight hundred feet in the air. A hole opens, and soon, another scream joins the fray. A dark blue robe, adorned with runes. A staff falling of it's own accord. And of course, the shouting. And this mage was quite the piggy, a chubby bastard, hair just turning gray. An amatuer. Inexperienced. Practicing a teleportation spell. Ahhhhhhh~ Noooooooooooo~ The scream grew louder, eight hundred to five, it was consistent. The knowledge of inevitable death, and his path was dead set at great speed for Mr. Fiske. Three hundred. Man this sucks. Two hundred. "Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii~" Was the last words anyone would ever hear him say. Unfortunately for the pirates below, specifically Mr. Fiske lest the male were to take the scream - growing louder on approach above the din of the dying - as a forewarning to, as they say, you know, get the hell out of the way. Someone was going to get crushed. Really, really bad. Like, have you ever seen what happens when fat, rich, mage guy gets molded into dirty, pirate guy? It's like an oreo cookie, cept the internal organs make up the creamy filling. Yummy. Upon contact regardless, you could only assume that the smell surrounding the male was defecation that sometimes occurs after death. But, it's possible this occured prior. Either way, it's smelly. And gross.
Aiya :: Mr. Fiske's cry has Aiya turning towards the battle-front where Eliah duels the Watchman for life, for control tough the protruding sword ought to have slowed the Crow a hair. Pointed Elvin ears twitch as faint screams tease her senses. Taking care to glance upwards to where they seem to originate, keen vision detects the generally shape of a falling body, but not one she knows and not one she's seen in this city sacking. Wheels turn and the projectile's landing is foretold, the Raven lashing out with a forceful shove sending Mr. Fiske flying to one side which effectively saves him from a cutlass and flapping Mage all in one go. Her steps do not falter, booted feet dancing through the gory aftermath of a grueling fight. Pirates all about set about securing the area from any remaining soldiers, wounded from either faction pulled off to one side where they will be tended at the skirmish's end; if they still live. Eyes narrow, brows knitting together, piercing malachite gaze fixating upon the Carrion while his secret burns fiery hot through her mind. It is in the moment, perhaps, that she most resembles her sister; Arien. While the throes of battle rage around her and all intent is to save life, or the completion of a goal, but rubicund tresses hang freely down her back, green eyes glinting in the light and despite any differences between them, their shared goal to preserve life in battle unites them. Aiya is not as dark and blood-thirsty as she seems, even to Elaih. Finally, finally she breaks the lines with a still unblemished blade clutched tightly in hand. "Damned Crow!" She mutters, pausing to gage how the Watchman will react.
The captain of the watch was a professional, underpaid though he was. He had known what this night would bring for him- had known it, chosen it from the moment he had made his decision to turn south into the fray, rather than flee to the security of the northern streets himself upon escape from the courthouse. The man felt a certain savage satisfaction as the dulled steel of his blade bit into Eliah’s flesh, but his cry of triumph became one of anguish, and the baring of teeth beneath peeled back lips a grimace as much as a smile as the corsair’s blade found a new sheathe in his heart. Not a word escaped as oncoming death glazed his eyes, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. In a last act of defiance however, as he made to fall to the ground, the Watchman leaned forward into the skewer that had taken his life, and beneath Eliah’s open form, made second attempt at returning the favor. The strike was weak, but true, unless the corsair was able to dance out of the way with his hold still upon the hilt of the weapon with which he dealt death. “Pirate..” the hiss of a last breath was a curse as it left the man and he crumpled to the ground. Nearby, what was left of his pitiful force saw their defacto leader fallen, heard the cries of the Gathering’s command offer escape and took it, fleeing northward into the darkness. Within moments, there would remain only the raucous cries of pirates and rogues in celebration, filling the night air.
Eliah barely evades that secondary strike, releasing his rapire in order to move out of the strkie zone. Eliah's body finally over-riding the clouding of his mind as the Corsair captain stumbles, wiping at his eyes as if he were wiping away dirt from his stare. He almost crumbles to a knee and yet retains himself, carefully managing to move to the wall of a building upon which he leans. There is a ragged, low cough and the color of blood collars his pale lips, and teeth. Fiske, greatful for his ability to live on, despite the surprising appearance of the mage moves to collect the blade of his commander and dear friend, offering a glance towards Aiya as he retrieves it from the corpse of the fallen Watchman. The crow offers the Raven the sword, smiling in a sad fashion as he murmurs underbreath. " That, was not the same man we know. He's hurt, bad Aiya. Not just physical-like.. but that other way too. Help him get out of here, please miz'."
Aiya , because her operator has to be up for work in four hours, has a feat of sudden strength. Al epic like she swaggers to Eliah's side and, careful of his wounds, sweeps him into her arms before disappearing into the night leaving Fiske and Trey to finish securing the area. Eliah would be dumped on some poor, unsuspecting healer. That's how that cookie crumbles.
Eliah is a stubborn bastard and arrives upon the street not a few moments after Aiya had tossed him with a healer. The small, terrified woman healing him trails fater with a small rune-stone and bits of gauze trying to tend to him before he is again leaning upon the wall again, this time of Togo's armor shop. " Clear.. Herm. Clear the bodies, let's get this place cleaned up. Fiske, take twenty and see to those guarding the ships."
Hanan nods, relaxing her shoulders and letting her hands loose--and taking that infernal cigar out of her mouth after another puff. Half-lidded eyes survey the carnage around them--the dead fighers, the knocked-out guards Aiya had left, the splattered remains of that non-sequitor guard. She spots their captain--or leader, or whoever he is--leaning shakily against a wall, his friend fussing over him. Striding casually closer to Trey, she inquires further. "What's up with him? You'd think he'd celebrate. Taking Cenril's a bit of an achievement...."
Trey 's men make the rounds. It's a simple matter of checking buildings, leaving a watch, and doing something with the wounded and dead. Trey keeps a watch on them and figures she'd need to confer with their wounded leader at some point. A careful step is kept as she eases her way across bodies, toeing around so she keeps from stepping on them. The woman doesn't lose a step as she answers the smoker, "It's not taken yet. You don't take a city like Cenril in one fight, and on land, for that matter."
Hanan clucks her tongue, moving one hand to her pocket. "I'm not a fan of land raids; too messy. I don't understand why they didn't just decide to lay siege to the town if they wanted to control it. Blockade the sea lanes and hire some mercenaries to take care of the city walls, and they'd fall in no time. Avoid a lotta this..." She nudges a guardsman's dead head with one toe. "Clean-up." The woman rolls her shoulders. "Nevermind, I've gotta get out of here. It's beginnin' to smell, and I'm not much for scrubbin'." She takes one last long drag of her cigar, then turns on one heel and wanders back the way she came--back toward a hidden-away rowboat, notes that need to be taken, and some newly acquired gold that needs to be squandered immediately.
Some way to the north west, high above the fray in the belfry of the Cathedral tower, the still and silent form of the High Born battle mage stood enshrouded in shadows, eyes fixed somberly toward the south of the city where it seemed hell had broken loose. Behind him, in ringed formation, stood the six mages directly under his command, a unit who had remained in Cenril after its defense in the face of the preklek invasion. It had not been easy to stand by and watch it happen, the partial fall of the city so many had died to secure, but he had no direct orders from Arien regarding the role of her forces in defending the city against other threats, and at least the invaders in this case, were of a make with which the Rynvalian governess was only too familiar. She would need to be informed. Vyshyr’s silvery head turned slightly, projecting his voice over his shoulder towards the elves in the dark. “It is over..” came the low melodic notes. “Arien must be informed. We shall have to go through Larket, to Vhys. It will not be safe to take the ferry, until we know the terms by which they mean to operate.” He spoke of travelling by the airship, of course. Action would follow words as the mage pivoted in a smooth action that saw the cloak about him swirl and settle slowly on unseen currents of air when he made to descend the stairs. Behind him, silence reigned, eyes alone expressing the concern that the mages under the Red Elf’s command felt at the turn of events. There might be dark days ahead. But when were there ever not? Such was the nature of the world in which they lived, and as always, they would meet the challenges head on. Within moments, empty space remained where once silent gathering had stood, no evidence present that they had ever been.