#dreadmist

Daily Writing Challenge Day 7 - Loyalty February's Prompt for March of Withermore - Flowers Trigger warning: Mention of Blood

Deep breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. Focus, mental clarity, long slow deep breaths, it all aided with pain management. It was at that moment a terrified scream sounded from the medical tent entry, the kind of scream that made everyone jump and look especially after what had taken place here tonight. Stone however remained calm and continued breathing. It didn’t help that he was gripping a plank of splintered wood shoved into the rubble of the stone wall at the back of the tent and shrouded in the darkened corner of it to boot. Arms overhead with his palms facing away from him, his feet hanging with his arms straight and core engaged and his head slightly bowed in that meditative state. The dead hang was an effective exercise to help with decompressing the spine, but to the poor healer who entered the tent it looked at first sight as if Stone was a body hanging on the wall and yet another victim in the bloody walls and battered stones of Wither Post. His wintery grey eyes opened slowly to stare at the healer with a cold unamused gaze. It didn’t help that he was rather tall and large here compared to most of the humans and Thalassian elves that lingered. Even if he was unimposing for his brand of elf, taller was still bigger. The woman tried to calm herself, realizing he was both alive and just stretching as those looking about nearby continued their work healing the injured. “I’m, I’m so sorry I thought, you were the one with the hip injury.” “Present.” She blinked at him, stepping forward and motioning to the cot before him asking him to lay down so she could heal him. Stone didn’t look like he wanted her anywhere near him, but despite that he slowly released the plank and stepped with a limp onto the cot, laying on his stomach. She took one look at him and all the blood that was staining his armor from the hip joint down the back of his leg clear to his boot. The bloodied armor covered the injury too much to see what was wrong but there was no cut or tear in it to even get a peek that way. “Oh um, I’m sorry, but I need you to…” “Are you without magic?” Stone interrupted firmly. “No, I mean yes I am a healer but I need to see...” “Magic heals through clothing.” His voice was sharp as if this was non negotiable with him. She stared at him confused by his insistence to remain clothed. It was odd and with that amount of blood she needed to see just how bad it was. He might need stitching and infection being the biggest concern, or it might even be broken. With confusion and frustration setting in with her patient, she stepped in closer and held her hands out a bit hesitant over his left hip. Stone focused a moment, deactivating a protection ward on himself hidden beneath the armor and suddenly the magic of the healer had access to do its work. But her healing could only do so much. “I, heard a rumor of a Kaldorei among the elite now. I didn’t know they…” “I’m not much for small chat.” He shut her down right away before she asked too many questions. Last thing he needed was cause for concern that a Horde race was among them with all of Dreadmist and Withermore’s current issues. Time and some intense awkward silence passed till she’d done all she could magically for his hip. She was still greatly concerned about that blood though and whatever condition his wound was in. Not to mention he was going to be sore as hell tomorrow if not already so with the blunt force trauma from the debris that had damn near broken and displaced his hip. But it had been a hidden knife blade in the back of his belt that impaled him in the back, the angle and force of that debris just right to be wrong but still a wound he could recover from. It wasn’t the first time he’d been stabbed with his own weapon, but it was the first time the man of Stone was bested by stone.

“I’ve done all I can for you for now, but I would ask you to at least let me apply something to help with the pain overnight.” “Leave it here. I’ll apply it myself.” The woman looked like she was about to argue or call him out… but she sighed and went to her pack to set the salve and ointment on his cot with a bit of a heavy drop. She was getting annoyed. “You need to stay here and rest, I can give you ice to apply and…” He again interrupted. “The salve is enough, you’ve my thanks.” He waved his hand as if to indicate for her to leave. Annoyed and offended both now, she turned and left to find her next patient. Pushing himself up, he ignored the pain he still felt as best he could as he pulled off one glove. He lowered his mask, opening the salve and sniffing at it as he checked its contents. Dreaming Glory, an anti-inflammatory antiseptic salve to aid in stopping the bleeding and irritation as well as reducing spasms in the muscles. Notes of Peacebloom also served as an anti-inflammatory to reduce bruising, swelling, and ease pain that helps with the cut and abrasion. He reached for the ointment and sniffed at it to inspect it as well. Jademoon, fuming Toadstool it seemed and maybe a hint of spineleaf. All numbing and healing agents which would help him with that pain. He didn’t detect herbs or floral that alarmed him at least, if anything he was impressed and grateful they were equipped with topical means. He applied them both where needed, dressed his own wound with some of the bandages in the tent and pocketed the salve to apply more later. He’d need it, and he knew it. Stepping outside the tent, he scanned the area for Vynlorin. Before he’d start his sweep of the area it was natural to make sure he was secure first. And as he scanned his eyes came across the healer who’d just helped him, staring at him with a frown. She rolled her eyes and went about her other duties leaving him be. Smart woman.

Silence.

The moment before the sun broke over the horizon, the world sat in silence. Soon the early birds would chirp and a calm glow would brush across the sky, but for now the world was silent.

Nivathostin preferred the silence. Every morning, he awoke before dawn and sat at the edge of the tree line surrounding Dreadmist manor, staring over the mist-covered city below. He thought about every soul who was about to wake and wondered which ones would have good days and which ones would have tragedies. The elf knew the tragedies of life, and his sympathy had grown vast for the struggling soul.

He sat in the cold, silent darkness for a while, and a heavy sigh emptied his lungs just as footsteps crunched in the dying leaves behind him.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

His ears perked.

Crunch. Crunch.

And the sound stopped right behind him. The smell of coffee drifted beneath his nose.

“Nivathostin. Your –”

“Join me.”

…

Silence.

…

“...I dreamed that everyone had died.”

…

Crunch. Crunch.

The darkened, bundled figure slowly lowered onto the log beside Nivathostin, holding a platter with two cups of coffee. Usually the second cup went cold, but sometimes the struggling elf needed company - so on this morning, they sat in the frigid winter air, each one hardly speaking a word, and the cups in their hands kept their souls warm until dawn broke over the horizon.

[Dreadmist Peak, Redridge Mountains]

Fifty Knights of the Blue Lance sent by Duke Tirian Felo’dorah. He had pledged these men a day prior, and they slipped through the wreckage of the battle of Lakeridge. Men were lost during travel.

Fifteen monks specializing in the August Formation sent by Baroness Uozumi Silentgarden. She had pledged these men days prior, and they scaled the mountains from Elwynn to Redridge to safely arrive in Dreadmist.

Seventy-five soldiers and advanced weaponry brought by the ever-reliable Kazmaiers and their Stonemasons, pledged upon the passing of the House of Commons. Knowing the difficulty Dreadmist faced, they climbed the mountains and followed through when it was time to heed the call.

The armies of Rose Ridge from just south down the mountain. For weeks Sinthelyss worked to get the puppet there under her grasp, and now the humble soldiers marched for their own justice.

And finally the meager army of Dreadmist, young and fresh within the growing barony. Alone they stood no chance, but the allies who stood beside them now would bring them to victory. 

The united armies would march to Withermore and claim it together.

…

[The path to the Three Corners, Redridge Mountains]

Led by Sir Kinley of the Searing Peak and two men beside him, Dreadmist’s footmen followed first, then the magi of Withermore, trailed by Rose Ridge and Amberwood’s soldiers. The cities’ troops totaled a dozen, and the magi upwards of one hundred.

They had been marching for a day, and the Three Corners was close.

Silence. Unbearable silence except for the metal, the leather, and the hooves shuffling through the dirt roads. Birds chirping. Wind blowing on what would have otherwise been a perfect day. Silence, until–

–K-K-POW–

Sir Kinley suddenly slipped off his horse, and then the others, and the banners of the Searing Peak were left fluttering without riders.

“ARE YOU FUCKING MAD?!”

A mage caught sight of the pistols in the hands of the soldiers of Dreadmist in front of him. Horses squealed, frightened by the sound, and flames sparked on the fingers of the magi who were first to react, but a letter from a soldier jutted into the air. It bore the mark of the lord of Dreadmist.

“New orders, kids.”

The mage-commander grabbed it, ripping the letter open while the soldiers found a ditch to dump the bodies in.

“Eastburg?!”

“Yeah, Eastburg. Got it on good word that we’ve got allies there. – Damn, this is a nice horse.”

“And our allies here?”

The Dreadmist men hoisted themselves up onto the now stolen steeds. One of them waved to the letter that was already in the mage’s hand, and behind it was a pamphlet. The bold words SPAWN OF ONYXIA caught the mage’s eye first.

“Like I said. We got allies in Easburg, and that’s where we’re going. We ain’t helping these dragon babies any more, and right about–” He looked up at the sky. “...Oooh right about now, ol’ Shandaumath is probably sitting in your pretty little mage castle.”

Cousin,

I feel sorrow, and it’s unending. Where do I begin? Where do I end? Where did greed turn to selfishness, selfishness turn to selflessness, selflessness turn to self-preservation? What sins have I committed to find myself strangled now?

I have felt alone for so long, and still I feel it. I preserved when I wanted to wither. I fought when I wanted to hide. I grew when I wanted to shrink, and I set my loyalty down at the feet of our kind. I gave my loyalty and my life, and I ventured to lands that were so beyond my ability just to see our people flourish, but when I persevered I was only scorned and tossed aside.

I want it to stop. I want to stop.

For the first time in my life, I have been pushed to betrayal. I have been pushed so horribly close to the edge of breaking that my mind cannot determine right from wrong. It is right to preserve, it is right to protect, it is right to lead into victory the people who devote their loyalty to me. But it is also right to be loyal, to uphold our vows, to stand firm alongside those that we have devoted our loyalty to.

Betrayal is never an option, yet I’ve been pushed to it, and if I cannot force my hand to commit this one sin then my people will suffer. Never in my life have I gone against my morals, and now I’m going mad. I’m mad with the guilt of what’s been done and the guilt of what will be done, and I want it to stop.

I want to stop, but I can’t.

A Sister of the Holy Light recently told me that if we must choose between peace and righteousness, we choose righteousness; that if the cause we fight for is noble, then fighting a battle is not itself a sin. I care little for the teachings of the Holy Light but I cannot deny its existence, and I find myself clinging to the hope that the actions I face now will be absolved of sin. I hope that someday when the peace of death finds me, my soul will be forgiven of the strangling darkness that writhes within it.

Perhaps that peace will come soon, but if I should be robbed of it once more then I will continue to persevere just as I have done for many years before. I will persevere and I will fight until the day I’m able to return home.

Until then,

Vynlorin

Vynlorin set the pen down. He didn’t know how to continue and so the letter ended. He had written so many letters the last few days, but this was the most honest one of them all. Where the others were riddled with cryptic words and double-meanings for the very same self-preservation he spoke of now, this one held only the truth of the weight of life that bore down against him. 

The baron of Dreadmist picked the letter up and set the corner to the candle. Slowly the flame burned, and then brightly; and it was in the brightness of the growing flame that he watched smoke and ash carry the words to the afterlife. For a moment he dwelled on how this letter might be the last, but that moment ended once the plague of reality set in. He didn’t have time to dwell on what-ifs and could-bes.

“I hate you…”

How many times had Baenthemar uttered it?

“I hate you so very much…”

The words pounded against his mind again and again.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

Baenthemar was very clear about his feelings. Hatred. Vynlorin suffered the man’s obsession for so very long, and now that Baenthemar was finally cured of the ailment that clouded his mind and could now evaluate clearly everything Vynlorin had done over the last few months, all he could say was that he hated the one who fixed him.

Vynlorin shuffled down from the manor toward his study still wearing the simple robe that he had slipped on the morning before. The last thing he had the stomach to consume was the tea that he drank while speaking to Baenthemar a day prior – no, not Baenthemar. Mar. A different side of the same coin. A trickster.

The lord shuddered. He could still feel the lingering effects of the Void. To make Baenthemar’s mind whole again, Vynlorin had to push himself further than he ever had before, and the mixture of the shadow and soul energy that he used to merge the two minds together made his stomach roll into his throat until eventually darkness took him.

He passed out one morning and awoke the next, and the wretched feeling still assaulted him. The whispers screeched, and the conversation he found himself entangled in after waking made the voices roar.

Suddenly the lord strayed from the path and threw a hand against a tree. The heat that had been burning in his stomach finally gripped his throat and forced his insides to roll out, bile and water pouring from his lips and slapping against the ground. Puke.

How vile.

He spat the dangling remnants off of his lips and sneered at the splatter that soiled his robes. Throwing up was a terrible release of suffering, but only after he let his mind purge the body clean did the nausea begin to settle. When he turned around, Nivathostin stood behind him with the lord’s morning cup of tea in hand.

“...Nivathostin.”

“Vynlorin.”

The pair stared at each other in silence, and the silence said enough between the two who had grown to understand it. Nivathostin accepted the lord’s suffering without prying, and Vynlorin accepted the rogue’s help without asking.

“I told him he would come to hate me in the end.”

“Mm.”

“I could have kept him as a mindless, obsessive servant without suffering – this.” Vynlorin looked at himself and his current state. He seemed every bit a walking corpse with dark, heavy eyes begging to sleep.

“But what good is a mindless servant, Vynlorin?”

“But what good is a mindless servant,” the lord repeated, the truth of the words the only reason he carried through with it. He scoffed.

“You’re a monster, Vynlorin, but you care about your people. That’s what separates you from the real monsters.”

Vynlorin rolled his gaze away to dismiss the thought and gripped his head. His mind had become a playground for the Void, and he couldn’t escape it. The prior day’s events broke his mind and shattered his resistance to the whispers, but he didn’t have the stomach for anything that might quiet them. So he suffered, and Nivathostin helped the slender warlock continue to the lord’s study until finally Vynlorin found his seat.

Nivathostin set the tea down beside the ailing man and turned to leave without another word.

“I’ll be back for dinner,” Vynlorin uttered before the rogue left, and the door clicked shut.

Once alone in the quiet, dark, and empty room, Vynlorin suffered. He suffered his thoughts. He suffered his feelings. He suffered the whispers that played in his mind. He was suffering, and even the sight of the tea repulsed him. All he could do was close his eyes and wait for everything to go silent.

Late in the evening of Winter Veil a handful of couriers set off into Dreadmist, embracing the cold with thick furs that kept their warmth against them. Each frosty courier carried a box, and each box was wrapped in silk befitting of its contents.

The first box made its way to a lonely house by the pond. “To Sin” a tag read. “From Vynlorin.” And inside sat firm black leather insulated with black fur soft to the touch. The leather was durable and made into a vest, pants, and gloves to match. The dark outfit suited the equally dark demeanor of the woman, and it would last a thousand punches should she ever find herself in such a predicament.

Next went the box to the little house that acted as a hospital for the citizens of Dreadmist. “To Aedin” the tag read, and inside sat new robes befitting a medic and a priest. They were soft and strong, black and white, and a belt would fit them firmly around the priest’s waist where they wouldn’t be able to flow into his work. Slender, humble, yet regal.

And the last courier rushed to the final residence. “To Ghost” it was addressed, signed by the lord much the same as the others. A pair of soft brown leather pants and a dark silken shirt resembling the others the simple man wore, paired with a leather vest that could be used with or without the outfit. Durable yet quiet in appearance.

Another box, with no need for a courier to set out, sat in Baenthemar’s room and was left by Vynlorin himself. “To Baenthemar” it read, signed “From Vynlorin” like all the rest. And in this box sat fine silken pants, black as the void in the monk’s eyes, and a white shirt and black-blue vest. The outfit, casual or formal depending on one’s mood, would outline the strong monk’s frame without risk of tearing the strong silken seams.

The gentle lap of waves on a peaceful southern coast was music to the ears. They rolled in lazily; not really bothering with a semblance of order as they roved over the shallow waters that surrounded the coast of Stranglethorn. These lower shores were the perfect picture of tropical paradise. Clear blue waters, endless shallows and sandbars. A myriad of close-shore sea life weaving their happy lives through the little hillocks of sand that rose from the water. Too small to be islands, yet too large to be simple sandbars. A few were even dotted with palm trees, their upper branches heavy and pregnant with coconuts. They bent them over the water sometimes, fronds dipping in the surface of the sun-kissed waters. Yes, it was picturesque as could be. Especially with the three Bloodsail pirate ships that were currently preparing to sail forth to raid Booty Bay just a few miles up the coast.

All the hustle and bustle as two of the vessels were readied broke the peaceful tropical silence on the coastline. A monstrous Frigate was piled high with scurrying crewmen of varying sizes and races. Orcs, their muscles standing out like glistening ripcords in the sweltering heat of the south seas. The small, shrill cackles of goblins and gnomes mingled with the even higher pitched giggling of Gnolls. The faint flicker of blue and green every now and then even indicated the presence of either elves or trolls aboard the massive triple-decked vessel. But the predominant race here were those short-lived rats of mortality: Humans.

Humans rolled barrels of what surely must be rum or gunpowder up the loading plank. Humans, tugged on the rigging, checking for damaged strands and tying off the sails in a business-like manner. They were everywhere, their tanned or red-burned skin easily visible as the majority. And above it all, a lone tauren leaned upon the wheel. His fur as black as pitch, save for where he'd scarred it to grow white in a grinning totem down his heavily muscled back. The captain of the Bloodhorn Bayraider, Steelhoof Grimtotem.

The ship near it was smaller in comparison, but compromised of the same sort of motley crew. A standard sort of Brig it looked; this vessel was certainly not the bristling fortress of cannon muzzles that lined its elder brother. But the two long guns perched upon the bow bespoke the damage it could do if given half a chance at it. Perched atop a barrel at the helm was a shock of pink hair all done up in two pretty-as-you-please pigtails. It looked absurdly cute, and was offset drastically by the manically grinning features of the gnome that bore them. Captain Cindy Cinderfall, the mistress of the Gunsmoke Grenadier. Despite the way it looked, THIS ship was the real heavy-hitter when it came to breaching the heavily guarded fortresses and bays that lined the coast. Those long ranged guns were no joke, especially if loaded with one of Little Miss Cindy's Specials. It gave a whole new meaning to the word 'Boom'.

The last vessel there had only a skeleton crew, and they were neither hustling nor bustling. They lounged, exchanging pleasantries (Whatever piratical pleasantries might be), and generally just lazing while the other two vessels made ready to sail. The Brigantine remained anchored at the edge of the shallows, her gangplank nestled upon the warm sands of the little island she bobbed next to. The sails were patched with a vibrant assortment of scrappy cloth, and there even looked to be someone's old shirt sewn across one hole. Rising from the decking like a scraggly tree, the mast seemed to be on its last legs as well. Tar-held ropes wrapped around it a good fifteen feet up, indicating it might be in danger of snapping soon. Barnacles crusted it along the tide line, and it was obviously in need of a good scuttling and a lot of tender care to get it back up to snuff.

The noise from the three vessels drifted out over the water to the small island that settled itself just off the coast of Stranglethorn. Long ago, this had been a terrifying place. The home of a Gigantic Tauren-stealing ape and all its kin. But a decade or so back the bovine damsel in distress had been rescued and the beast that coveted her slain. Now all you had to do was worry about the jaguars that gave the place its name. The elf and dwarf that stood there upon the shoreline didn't really seem too worried about that, however. They could have just been ignorant, it's true, but there was something in the predatory stance of the taller being that said this probably wasn't the case.

Plea was a medium height for an elf, but the way she carried herself with a gleeful indifference for the majority of the world made her seem so much taller. Her armor was a mis-match of leathers, mostly dragon scale and diemetradon. They were hardy, fire resistant materials. Why she would opt for things like that was obvious from the belt she wore. Explosives lined it from buckle to buckle. Small round mechanical devices that did goodness knows -what- when you hurled them. Her goggles whirred and whined as she adjusted the dial at the side. Zooming them in and out upon the three vessels littered with Bloodsail. Her tabard was black, tattered silver and gold piping racing along its singed edges. A stark white octopus was stitched dead center across it, tendrils extended in all directions. The elf's flesh, what could be seen of it, was a pale lavender. Most of it was either covered by her armor, however. Or perhaps the bandages which ran from her wrists all the way up her arms and presumably continued beneath the chestpiece and tabard. Her grin was no less manic than the gnome that Captained the Brig across the way. Maybe it was an engineer thing. They all had a few cogs loose, right?

The dwarf that stood next to her was far more composed about the whole thing. At least on the surface. Wisps of heavily scented smoke drifted up from the cigarette perched between her fine rose-petal lips. Whatever Anya was smoking, Light knows it likely wasn't legal. Her eyes were half lidded, almost as though she was already bored with this whole affair before it had started. That was one thing she and Plea had in common; they hated being bored. Otherwise, they seemed polar opposites. Her clothing was casual but serviceable. A tight well-fit assortment of cloth and leathers that really accented all the curves she had to behold. And what curves! They alone would win her the title of 'Most Buxom Dreadmist Damsel'. They were dark mostly, though that silky shirt had a few dashes of brilliant maritime orange racing through it. She wore no tabard, but it was obvious by the comfortable way they stood together that the two were a pair of some kind. Anya's ebony hair was roughly chin length, some of it even venturing to her shoulders. Her cheeks were ruddy and healthy, and her fingers hooked themselves in her belt as she stood, squinting in the same direction as Plea. A hammer hung from that belt, looking simple enough for now. And next to her, busily turning the sand into glass, was what had to be the tiniest damn fire elemental that you've ever seen. Reth hissed apocalyptically in Kalimag, hurling cinders after a frightened crab as it sought to escape into the loving embrace of the ocean. A shadows flickered overhead, and the duo looked up.

Milanas leapt off his random mount of choice and crashed into the sand with a mighty leap. The griffon kept going, flapping off at an almost desperate pace back north and leaving its sole passenger behind. The goliath of an elf swayed to his feet, head tilting to one side as he cracked his neck. Hair of a bright, sea-toned green was partially done up in a topknot. The rest spilling in a luxurious wave down past his shoulders. And what shoulders! Broad and definitely muscled, even though the actual deep violet toned flesh wasn't visible beneath the plate. It was obvious he must have it though. He'd look back behind him, glowing eyes peering over his shoulder and an easy grin dancing on his boyish features. His armor was in pretty 'meh' tier condition, it was true. Mostly plate, although it seemed to be modified for the mobility a life at sea would have required of him. A few scratches littered it here there, and it certainly wasn't polished, but..... Boy was he purty. The elf seemed like he'd stepped straight from the deck of a lax-uniformed naval sloop and right into their lives. He even smelled like the sea! But maybe that was because all this salt water surrounded them already....

"Yo,” He called out, turning fully to face the two slightly dumbstruck ladies, “This where Dreadmist is meeting up?"

Plea blinks at him rapidly behind her goggles, rocking back on her heels. Damn. He WAS pretty. She'd almost forgotten HOW pretty, and she'd just met him not more than a few days back. Next year he was totally modeling the mageweave pirate shirts at the Tournament of Ages.

"Yuuuuup!” the other Kaldorei called out gleefully, hands clapping together. “You're th'guy I hired, right?"

Nodding with that easy grin still in its place, the hulking sea-haired behemoth ambled his way over to the rest of the crew. His easy going drawl ringing out once more.“Yyyyup. Milanas Oceansong, at yer service. So, what's on the agenda?” He brought his hands up, rubbing them together eagerly for the breakdown.

“Oh, is that the name we settled on?” Anya finally piped up, blinking out of the slight stupor that having a gorgeous hunk of elf-meat dropped directly in front of you can leave a girl in. She tilted her head to one side, tugging the cigarette from her lips and tossing it into the ocean. Reth seethed, hurling a tiny fireball after it.

Milanas frowned, reaching up to scratch his head, brow furrowed in serious thought. “I mean the piece of paper either said 'Dreadmist' or 'Dergpiss'....” He murmured, before giving up with a shrug. “Readin's not my forte'.”

Plea confirmed it all with a cheerful nod, turning back to adjust her goggles upon their targets across the water. They seemed to be wrapping things up there, and the elf nearly bounced with excitement. “For the crew, yeah. Dunno about th'boat we're getting tho.” She mused, eyeing the brigantine that would be left behind through her enhanced lenses.

Raising one black-nailed hand, Anya would wag it dismissively. “Don't worry, I at least know how to read. That should be enough.” Nodding, the dwarf patted her bosom to make sure her extra smokes were handy in case she needed another in this lovely venture.

“...Wait, we don't have a boat??” Milanas frowned with disappointment at Plea, shoulders drooping a bit. This was false advertising, he was sure!

Anya rolled her eyes in response to the elf. “That's why we're here!” She piped up in exasperation.

Blinking blankly at the dwarf, Milanas's head cants abruptly to one side, expression utterly lost. “...Huh?” But slowly the confusion lifts, brows arching and a sort of excited understanding spreading over his gorgeous features. “Ohhhh, now I get itttttt...!” He exclaimed, turning to face the dense jungle of Jaguaro island with a quick pivot of his left foot. Arms were thrown up, widespread as he grinned assuredly. “ ..We're gonna cut down these trees and MAKE one, yeahh??”

At almost the same moment, Plea points across the water at the Bloodsail making ready to raid the goblin-controlled bay. "We're going to steal the one they leave behind when they head over to raid the Gobs, y--....” The two females just.. Stared at him expressionlessly.

Milanas's ears drooped a bit, his arms ever so slooowly lowering as he turned back to face them. "...Oh uh..Yeah, stealin' sounds good too."

Half a moment passed, and then Plea started forwards towards the other elf. Her hand came up, reaching out delicately... And then she promptly smacks him on the back of the head. Milanas jumped a little. It hadn't really hurt, not physically. He was basically a solid elven wall after all. But it was the -principal- of the thing that injured him!

“EY, WHAT'D I DO??” He yelped out, glaring at her and rubbing at the back of his head. Plea stared at him innocently, her eyes hidden behind the goggles she wore. Simply, she stated.

“There was a bug.”

Mil's eyes went wide with horror, yanking his hand away as if it had been bitten. “Oh shit, is it all over my hair?!?” The elf yelped out, utterly horrified at the mere prospect. Plea made a face, biting her lower lip to try not to laugh.

“Totally. Smooshed allll up in there. Right Anya?” The elf inquired of her trusted first mate. Beside Plea, Anya nodded vigorously. Plea was a fuck-awful liar, but Anya? Anya could fool a -Bishop-.

“O-h, yeah, it's huge. Plea, slap him again.” The dwarf ordered with all due seriousness for the situation.

“OKAY!” The girl piped up with far too much joy for the situation, proceeding to repeat the action vigorously! Mil winced, gritting his teeth and keeping steady as a rock as she whaled on him.

"AUGH! DON'T STOP UNTIL YOU GOT IT! GOGOGO!" He chanted at her, head barely jerking even with how hard she was administering her special fly-swatter-like treatment. The white haired female gives Anya a look like 'Is this guy for real?' But she totally obliges. Continuously smacking the SHIT outta the 'bug'. Quickly growing bored of the antics, the dwarf turned to face the problem at hand, hands on her hips as she views the trio of vessels. The whumps of palm meeting head ringing out as she spoke up.

“So, anyway, how are we getting out there? Please tell me it's not swimming?” Frowning, the short buxom beauty glanced over her shoulder at the elves. Her captain blinks at her, answering between her swats. Damn, but her hand was starting to sting. WHAT was this guy MADE of? Titansteel?!

"You're a shaman, Anya. You can do that thing that lets us walk on water, yeah?” WHUMP!

“Probably?” She answered, only half confident. The elements were tricky bastards. Take Reth for example. He'd built a maze of sea glass around a helpless crabling. The poor thing was desperately trying to get to the water.. And failing utterly, bumping into the clear walls and falling over. Legs waving helplessly as it struggled to right itself. Yeah.. The elements could be assholes sometimes. That was Anya's opinion, though there was no way she'd tell them that out loud. That was how you get 'accidentally' blown off a cliff.

Milanas takes the hits for awhile longer before he steps away. He didn't seem the least bit phased, despite his head having a huge welt on it.

"Blergh,” he shuddered, shoulders shaking. “Fuck bugs." Plea nodded in sage agreement, shaking her hand out. It felt like she'd been open handing a wall. Her fingers ached and tingled, the elf wincing at her incurred Karma.

"Bugs suck, they-- OH SHIT LOOK ONE IS ON YOUR FOREHEAD.” The Kaldorei gasped out, pointing at Milanas's pristine features with her good hand in suitably dramatic fashion. The male's eyes bulged in panic, his hand jerking up, about to upside himself directly in his gorgeously proportioned visage---... And then he halts, tilting his head to sloowllyyyy squinnnttt at Plea.

"...Are you fuckin' with me?"

Plea stared at him, her expression dead serious. "Nope." Milanas stared at her for the longest time, and the elf had to fight the urge to fidget underneath that critical glare. Damnit, he must see right through her! She was about to confess, it was on the tip of her tongue, when Mil's eyes widened in fear and he cried out to her desperately.

“WELL WHAT'RE YOU WAITIN' FOR?? GET IT!”

“YOU get it! There’s bug on my hands!” What was really on her hands were possible hairline fractures from his diamond-hard skull. There was no way she was doing -that- again.

Without further ado, the massive Kaldorei male smacks himself in the face, wincing sharply at the meaty 'WHAP'. "Ouughhh...Okay...Okay. I wanna get outta this shit hole.” The poor elf winced, tugging his nose a bit straighter. “No idea why the bugs are feastin' on me." Mil mutters with a pout, ears drooping. If Miiesha, his lover, had been there then that would have been the moment she would have made a sappy comment about how sweet he was. And likely licked him to prove that point. Such happier thoughts perked him up indefinitely.

"Well then we better get moving.” Briskly, Plea trotted towards the shoreline, flexing her fingers one last time. “Or they'll devour you.” Surveying the relatively calm sea before her, she canted her head. Peering back over one heavily bandaged shoulder to her dwarven cohort. “Give it a shot, Anya?"

“Aww jeez....” Anya murmured, worry crossing her features. This was certainly a tall order from her Captain! Rubbing her hands together nervously, she drew a breath... Let it out slowly... And raised her hands sharply, brows furrowing in concentration. “Okay, hold still...” Milanas glanced between the two, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Plea just stood confidently, one hand resting upon her hip. This was Anya! The dwarf never let her down. And true to her friend's belief, Anya came through. With a lot of bogus looking hand motions that she had in all likelihood just made up on the spot to look impressive, she barks out something in Kalimag. It makes Reth chortle smokily as Anya proceeds to summon the POWER OF THE ELEMENTS (tm), allowing them to safely cross. Their feet becoming as buoyant as oil upon the restless waters. Not counting tides or the fact that the sea isn't completely flat, of course. It's be an interesting walk.... Anya steels herself, inching forwards to test it out. She places one foot on the water slooowly, then another.... And... Brilliant! It was working!

“This is a -lot- harder than it looks....if you suddenly fall in it's not my fault, just so you know.” Naturally, she just had to add the disclaimer. Milanas poked the water with a toe, watching the surface bend around it ever so slightly like jelly. His mouth dropping open in wonderment.

“Whooahhhh...”

Plea takes a few strides forward, wobbling a bit to get used to the roll of the waves. Testing the water, she jumps a little, watching the sea bend inwards to catch her feet. A triumphant grin alights upon her features.

"Cool! I can see the Fish!" The elven engineer calls out excitedly, feet carrying her over to Anya in increasingly confident steps.

Seeing the rest of them moving forward, Milanas tenses up. Letting out a slow breath the elf bends his knees like an azerothian athlete before he LEAPS! His form arced overhead, the colossal shadows of his passing flittering over the two women as they ducked to avoid his boats. He hit the water With a wet -WHAP- of sound, waves rocking Plea and Anya's footing as they flailed to regain balance. His whooping yell thankfully drowned out by the activity across the water.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“Where did you find this guy?” Anya growled, gritting her teeth and pinwheeling her arms for balance. That's a tad hard when you're so top-heavy. But such is the price one must pay for simply stellar jugs.

“Bar.” Plea replied shortly, her slightly more agile frame allowing her to avoid ass-planting in the slowly settling seas. Once she had enough stability, the elf was stalking forwards over the ocean. Keeping the small hillock islands between them and the ships as insurance they wouldn't be spotted right off. Although really, who expects someone to just.. Walk up to a ship docked in the ocean?

“Figures....” Anya muttered, taking a moment to check that her smokes hadn't fallen out of her bra before continuing on after the elf. Her calm demeanor broken by the nervous glances she sent towards the vessels they were sneaking up upon. Milanas followed after, though 'sneak' was generally not his forte. He bounced and bounded along the waves until they drew close to one of the connecting islands that made up the tiny reef that the ships were docked on. Palm and wood bridges connected some of them, where longboats had piled up the supplies they'd ferried from shore. Milanas glanced between the three ships, silent for a moment. Plea and Anya crouched down beside him, the trio hiding behind a dune to eye the situation a bit. The large warrior muttered, his eyes unblinking.

"Ship on the left has less barnacle buildup, ship damage, sail maintenance, and at least two cannons that look like they're in prime condition." It was the Frigate, naturally. But there was simply no way they could have taken that one. It was full to the brim of pirates, and they were only three. That would have been suicide. Anya of course, was thinking more on the aesthetics of it, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“Yeah, but it's ugly though...I like the one on the right.” She pointed out the smaller vessel with the twin cannons. The gnomish captain could be seen from afar, polishing the lip of one of those massive barrels as lovingly as a mother would its child. Plea did glance at that one wistfully, but shook her head. It too was far over-crewed when it came to what they might handle alone.

“Yeah, but you can't be picky in this situation.” Milanas amended, scolding the dwarf. Really, he probably was calling the kettle black as he sat in his shiny ebony pot. The elven captain intervened between the two before an argument could erupt, interjecting herself between her first mate and her shipwright.

“What about the center one. Here, Milly, borrow my goggles so you can get a better look.”

Plea peeled off her goggles, glowing sea-green eyes peering out over the water as she passes them to Mil.

"Turn the right dial to zoom in." She instructed him diligently, keeping watch on the two vessels preparing for departure. Mil put on the goggles, fiddling with the dials a bit as he squinted.

"Mmph, luckily Mii showed me how these work before. I got it, I got it." The warrior waved her hands off. He'd scan the other two in silence for awhile. A frown crossed his features, tugging the expression into sort of a sulk.

“....Eugh. If you think we can get to the others, I can put in the work to fix 'em up. Still think the one on the left is better." Milanas sighed, tugging off the goggles and passing them back to Plea. The elf settled them back upon her brow, re-adjusting the head-strap to fit her skull once more as she spoke.

“Pretty sure that’s the one they're leaving behind.” A hand waved, indicating the central ship. “See how the others are all loaded up? I think they're about to pull anchor and head for the Bay to raid it.” Mil looked thoughtful at that, eyeing the headland off in the distance where the bay resided.

“...Well. You wanna raid them instead?” He inquired, his head tilting curiously at the female elf. Anya said nothing. She'd had quite enough of goblins, thank YOU very much. Restlessly, she reached up to rub her eye, recalling what had almost been. Plea snickered softly, shaking her head.

"I wanna wait until those two are busy fighting goblins, then yeah. Raid th'one they've left behind for ourselves! I think we can handle a small guard group. Right Anya?" Plea shot a glance to the Dwarf, grinning. The raven haired female shot her two distinct thumbs up. Her reply solid as a gelatinous cube.

“Probably!”

"I can keep 'em off your backs for a good while." Milanas nodded pointedly, blowing a strand of sea grass hair out of his features. The large elf patted his weapon grimly as he stood up. With a stretch and a grunt, he looked to the two women. "I'm ready t'go gung-ho whenever." Raising a hand, the dwarven shaman voiced her concerns after a clearing of the throat.

“I mean, I'd rather be sneaky and not die, but that's just me.”

“Sneaking is for -pussies-.” Milanas sneered down, punching one massive fist into the palm of the other with a metallic clang. “Leap into the fray and smash their faces in!” Dubiously, the dark iron female blinked at him.

“Well, you first then. I'll, uh...cover the rear.” She elected delicately, patting her modest looking hammer. Plea chuckled, checking her belt one last time before eyeing the scene before them. The activity there seemed to have picked up exponentially. As promised, the two vessels that were locked, stocked and loaded began to pull anchor and head out towards the Bay and all its goblin booty. Leaving the last ship behind, ripe for the picking. There seemed to be at least five or six guards that remained at the lone vessel. Two lazing about in the sand just outside the boat, and three or four more doing odd jobs on deck.

“If we find a dwarf, I'll save him for you Anya.” The captain assured her, knowing her friend's preferences. Anya perked up a bit, giving a sideways grin.

“Aww, thanks. Try not to beat him up too hard.”

Milanas grinned in a puzzled manner as his ears stiffened. His golden eyes locking onto the people near the ship whilst he muttered in confusion to himself.

"Th'fuck would I want a dwarf for?"

"I'll try not to aim for the testicles. Or the face.” Plea nods smartly to Anya, before turning to their resident meat shield. “Hey Mil, I'll take out the two on the shore. Can you climb the other side of th'boat and surprise the rest?" She waved, indicating the two pirates that seemed to be settling down to keep watch on the gangplank that led to the closest island their target was docked upon. Behind the vessel was open sea. The large elf looked down at his plated armor in silence, before turning to Anya hopefully.

"...Can y'make me water-stride again, short stuff?" Rolling her eyes at the short joke that never seemed to get old, the shaman flicks her wrist nonchalantly. It would...probably work? Otherwise he'd make a lovely anchor. Properly enchanted, the elf took off for the boat, being as 'stealthy' as a guy in plate walking on water could be.

The stealthiness level of plate apparently sucked ass. A shout went up from the ship almost immediately. One of the deckhands spotting the creeping elf as he tip toed around towards the seaward side of the ship. Abruptly there was a shower of badly aimed pistol-fire in his direction from the vessel's inhabitants.

"Gods DAMMIT, FUCK SNEAKING AROUND!" Milanas snarled out as the shots cracked in the water all around him. One narrowly missed his skull! Though considering its previously tested armor capabilities, he really needn't have worried. With a mighty leap, the elf bounded up upon the deck, making it rock with an ominous groan from the impact. Drawing a massive, hilted blade wrought from enchanted earth he brandished it with all the effort one might give a toothpick. It was a curious thing, and it's surprising amount of magic seemed to be radiating the power of a titan.

"COME AT ME, FUCKBOYS!" He'd assume a defensive stance as they converged upon him. The commotion aboard naturally attracted the attention of the plank guards. The two pirates on the shore sat up with a start, staring at the boat in confusion. Anya and Plea watched, tensed and ready to surge forwards at the most opportune of moments. The dwarf's eyes skitter to the elf as she murmurs.

“So, you wanna actually save him, or...?” The dwarf patted her hammer, nodding at the two men with their backs turned that were gawping at the fight on deck. Plea shook her head, standing fully upright and unslinging her rifle from her back. It was a very versatile bit of equipment. A long barrel that seemed as though it could be removed and reversed thanks to a series of strange dials and connectors. A shining blade ran a good twelve inches along its length to end in a lovely bayonet. There were odd buttons and dials along its length, and there seemed to be no less that three chambers for various sized ammunitions. If anything was a testament to the fact that all engineers are madmen, it was this particular gun and its elven maker as she wielded it.

“Nah he makes a great distraction.” Plea rejoined, cooling taking her sights along the barrel. Her goggles whirring in anticipation all the while.

“Lets sneak up on the others. I'll shoot th'one on the right, you take out th'one on the left, yeah?” Nodding her agreement to the engineer's words, Anya stealthily charges up a bolt of lightning. Well, as stealthy as something like that can be at least. The gentle crackling alerts one of the guards who turns, puzzled. His eyes bulged as the shaman unleashed it, blasting the ground right in front of the mook. He stumbles over and flails about like an idiot, the Bloodsail clearly not having lessons in standing up properly. At the same time Plea steadied her aim and depressed the trigger on her weapon with merciless glee upon her features. Her shot found a home in the pirate's left shoulder, ripping a hole through it and out the other side. Blood staining the sands in a matter of seconds. He curses wildly, swinging around to face the two women's hiding place. Withdrawing his sword with his good arm, he charged at them with a yell. His floundering companion righted himself given a moment or two, charging after! What an ELECTRIFYING Confrontation!

But the scene on the shore is nothing next to Mil's reception. Two humans, and elf and a dwarf are on the deck waiting for him when he bounds up to meet them. In true piratical form, the humans charge forward whilst hurling many threats of sodomizing his gorgeous posterior as they drew steel. One swung for his torso, blade hissing through the air. The other grizzled, toothless dandy jabbing at his legs as he ducked low upon drawing near. Milanas was having none of this nonsense, his body launching into motion at their approach. With a sweeping spin of his blade, he'd slam the colossal weapon in a fierce circle around him. The air was heavy with its hum, the savage blow striking all of them in a fierce whirlwind of violent aggression.

"C'mon, I've met Highborne who could take more hits than you! And they're dainty as shit!” Her roared out, grinning as blood stained the deck of the ship in a wide arch. Just another job for Mil to do later. Maybe they should think about kidnapping a gnome to swab it... The two humans stagger back, clutching at their various wounds.

"DON' Get cockeh, Laddeh! Ach, ye we bairn, Let me put ya teh Bed in tha Sea!" The dwarf brandishing his pistols behind the two men called out with rough laughter. They were barely out of the shot before he fired upon the elf.

The shore was barely any different from the decks. Anya charged forward after drawing her weapon, intent on engaging these hooligans in PITCHED COMBAT. As is befitting of someone who takes on guys bigger than her head on, she starts getting beaten back almost immediately. The poor dwarf wincing as the clang of his cutlass met her upraised hammer. It barely blocked a blow to her raven haired skull!

"Agh jeez WHY IS EVERYONE TALLER THAN ME AGH." The shaman complained, stumbling back beside Plea and her attacker. The elf raised her gun as the second guard's sword slashed down at her. She caught it on the barrel of her gun with a grunt of effort, muscles straining perilously. Giving a massive shove the snarling female manages to knock him back and get some distance! He whipped his sword hand about, aiming to viciously clock her in the face with the heavy hilt. The pirate swashbuckling with Anya launched a kick at her chest, intent on sending her on her ass.

"GET BACK IN THA GALLEY, MILKSOPS!" Sneering the scruffy, toothless male bearing down upon Plea. The elf was thusly bashed and thrown to the sand by the force of the blow. She groaned a bit, clutching her temple and blinking dazedly as she struggled for her feet. The Sexist Pirate stepped on her back abruptly, forcing her face into the sand.

"STAY WHERE YAS BELONG, WENCH!" He sneered down at her. Anya roars at all this blatant sexism. She whipped her hammer about and successfully smacks the foot of the mook aiming to kick her. A sickening 'crack' is heard, and he falls over in a heap. The grimy pirate struggled to get up as he yells more terribly offensive nonsense their way to add to his companion's colorful speech. Anya silently and disdainfully notes this is why nobody likes the Bloodsail. SUCH a sausage fest.

How Milanas was managing to avoid the bullets that cracked into the deck all about him and sent splinters flying was anyone's guess. The elf was chalking it up to his own sheer levels of tactical brilliance. But the wild way the dwarf was firing, it was like an undiagnosed case of nearsightedness. Pirates have absolutely Arrrrr-ful health care. The humans kept Mil moving, the smaller and lighter men darting in to harry him with their lighter weaponry whenever the dwarf was forced to reload. With a grunt, the warrior shipwright made another swing of his blade as he attempted to cleave one of them in two. Unfortunately the weight of his weapon slowed him down, and a blade grazed the back of his armor with a loud screech of metal on metal. The blow forced him to roll off to the side, sneering slightly in a predatory way.

"Tch, not bad, fellas, keep it comin'!" Taunted the massive elf to his overwhelming odds. As Milannas rolled, the two humans rushed him again. Their blades stabbed downwards at his rolling body in a frenzy of flashing steel and ample cursing. Some of the highlights included :

" YER MOM GRIPS COCK LIKE A BARNACLE GRIPS WOOD!" Say what you would about them, these gentlemen could certainly turn a phrase or two. Milanas grinned through their assault as violet blood seeped out of his wounds. Gritting his teeth, he slammed the butt of his sword right in the wise-guy's face. It left a pretty fantastic mark, seeing as how it was covered with spikes.

"YEAH? 'LEAST SHE DIDN'T HAVE HER TEETH SURGICALLY REMOVED TO FEAST ON COCK LIKE AN OCTOPUS LATCHES ONTO A ROCK. LIKE -YOUR- MOMMA!" He rolled away again, still in his defensive stance. Solid as a rock, Milanas locked his legs for impact.

Below on the shore, Anya's pirate reeled in pain from his injuries; that is one fierce Shaman! He lashed out in a desperate swipe at her chest, trying to cut the tiny terror down to size. Heh. Plea meanwhile was getting her face ground into the sand in a particularly vicious fashion. The pirate standing atop her aimed to -stab- the elf in the same shoulder she'd shot HIM in.

"PAYBACK IS LIKE YE! A BITCH!" He hissed out, grin crooked and reeking of badly fermented bananas. Plea twists like an eel, managing to avoid getting run thru and INSTEAD making the pirate stab his own foot! Score for the elf! He howls in pain as she scrambles to her feet, clutching her head and stumbling a bit. Beside her Anya easily bats away her attacker's swing. The dwarf decided to show off, doing a pointless spin and whamming him right in the side with her hammer. As he fell into the sand, she brought her hammer right down on his face. WHAM. Thusly ended the poor sexist idiot's life. She immediately turned to Plea and prepared to try and help her learn to fight properly. Jeez Plea, come on.

Her intervention proved to be unnecessary, as a shadowy figure leapt out of the shadows. His darkened armor wasn't something that was familiar to either of the females. The man appeared to be human, movements suggesting a frame built for speed more than anything else. Carefully maintained leathers that seemed to seethe with the shadows themselves clung to a fit, masked frame. His eyes were intent, yet... Dark. Almost abyssal in their bottomless depths. He whipped out a dagger into his right hand with an artful flick of the wrist. In one smooth motion the stranger tackled the pirate Plea had just stabbed in the foot. Clinging to the man's back with a soft grunt as he flailed about, the newly revealed rogue struggled to lodge his blade in the enemy's throat. His attempts were far too reckless unfortunately, and he ended up missing his mark. The pirate he clung to struggled to toss him off into the water with a yell. Plea's mystery savior shoved the pirate's face back into the ground, his skill in battle letting him use his weight to ride out the thrashing. That and the flexibility his armor allowed him combined to make it difficult to throw him off of anyone. He kept the pirate pressed there, breathing and trying to focus enough to get a good strike in.

The dwarf paused, assessing the sudden turn of events for a moment. Finally shrugging, the buxom shaman turned towards the vessel that would be their prize. Silently Anya notes; 'Hey, weird new guy seems to have this under control.' She rushed up to the boat to engage the other mooks. Coming up behind the male dwarf as he was busy reloading his pistols for another go at Milanas, she swung her hammer 'lightly' at the back of his head. Anya easily thwacked the Dwarf unconscious while he was distracted. The poor thing hit the deck like a ton of bricks, but.. Closer inspection revealed he would be fine. Which was good considering the way the shaman was eyeing him up appreciatively. Obviously she'd be saving THIS bit of 'booty' for later.

Milanas assumed his parry stance, massive blade held at the ready as the human pirates circled him. Getting his back to the open Galley door, the pirates grinned mockingly. A shadow loomed from the interior, marking the appearance of the single elven pirate amongst them! With a CHAIR. Why did she have a chair? WHO KNOWS. She aimed to CRACK it over Milanas's head without further ado. His eyes went wide, and the warrior staggered forward. As he fell down in near slow motion, his eyes slowly closed and he let out a disappointed sigh.

"God...dammit..." He muttered before hitting the deck with a shuddering WHUMP. He wasn't the only one with head issues at the moment, either. Plea was still staggering a bit from that blow to the head. Everything was swimming! She couldn't focus enough to attack! Or really, tell her left from her right at the moment. The pirate that had been yanked off her abruptly rolls beneath her unknown compatriot, aiming to hurl him off with all the remaining force the man can muster. Obviously the crude brawler was trying to crush the would-be hero. The mystery rogue reacted quickly, stabbing one of his daggers into the back of the man's knee. The pirate screamed, even as the other was buried into one of his shoulders. The shadowy assassin stretched almost too nonchalantly, once again pressing the man's face into the ground. As the defeated waverider sobbed and moaned in agony the rogue reached down. With one brutal yank retrieving one of his now-bloodied daggers- from the guy's shoulder. Naturally this elicited a scream shriller that a gaggle of eight year old girls at a slumber party.

Finally coming to her senses as the pirate's scream pierced her ears, Plea plucked up her fallen weapon. Looming over the two men, she raised the bladed gun high. They both looked up at her as she brought the butt SLAMMING DOWN WITH SKULL CRUSHING FORCE-- On the pirate, not the rogue. The poor man's cranium pops like a bad watermelon, blood and brains soaking into the sands.

"THATS for tellin' me to get you a SANDWICH." Plea snarled out, her words still slurring slightly. The rogue had leapt back to avoid getting absolutely splattered. He approached the body again, pulling out his other dagger and sheathing it. The mysterious individual didn't seem phased by the gore spattered out before him. He had no time for chatter, vaporizing and reappearing onto the ship with daggers at the ready. Plea too limped her way towards the ship after blinking a moment at the sudden lack of rogue. On the way she carefully checked to make sure her gun didn't get bent on that sexist pirate's THICK SKULL.

Milanas groaned, his gorgeous meat shield of a form sprawled out on the deck. One of the injured pirates standing over him raised his cutlass, preparing to bring is slashing down at the large man's skull. Narrowing her eyes at this, Anya picks up Reth. Just when had the tiny elemental reappeared? One can't be certain, he was as fickle as a summer breeze. She abruptly chucked him at the nameless Human mook. The enraged pile of unending hatred starts stabbing at the poor Human's eyes, causing him to stagger about until he stumbles off the edge of the ship, effectively out of the fight. He attempts to pry the thing off, but only gets burned more for his trouble. I mean, it's made of fire, what did he expect... His screams lingering on the breeze.

Whipping his head around to spy the now 'defenseless' dwarven female, the remaining male pirate charged her with a snarl. Anya abruptly entered BATTLE MODE, effectively parrying and dodging the now remaining human mook at every pass. He couldn't seem to gain a single hit, and Anya is somehow proven to be a badass. Soon the human facing Anya was getting desperate! It was just him and the elf left, after all. Surging forward at the beleaguered Dwarf, he hacked wildly at her chest. The biggest target there is on her with Milanas out colder that the icy winds of Northrend. Anya casually evaded the human's attack, rolling under his swipe. Popping up behind his fat, overly tall human frame to his great surprise. She charged up some lightning in her hand and pressed it right to his back. The clever shaman delivering a devastating shock that incapacitated him. Smoking just as much as the pirate Reth was making a bonfire of on the shore, he toppled. Disinterestedly, Anya prodded him with a toe. He's... Eh, probably dead, who knows.

The blood elven pirate's eyes dart between the two other invaders that swiftly appear upon the deck before her. Gaze jumping from Plea to the intense masked rogue, the elf whips out two flintlocks from her belt. Without hesitation the red head opened fire on them both.

“YOU'RE SCRATCHING THE DECK! HONESTLY, I JUUUUUST WAXED THAT~!" She pouted, lower lip jutting. The rogue darted to the left, shaking his head and trying to focus. And then suddenly a stray bullet from the elf's gun-- what a bad aim, but it turned out well for the elf-- found its way through the leather of his leg. He thanked the Gods, if they were there, that it hadn't been his arm. Stumbling backwards, the man grit his teeth in pain. The blood trickling from the debilitating injury into his boot as he somehow maintained balance. Skill was apparently an understatement when it came to this would be hero. Plea had been rushing forward to try and head off the other elf, when another of those gosh darn stray bullets struck her in the side. And with that she tumbled to the deck. One hand pressing over the entrance wound as she hissed with the pain of it.

"THAT SMARTS!" The Kaldorei yelps out, bleeding sluggishly. Anya had gotten a front row view to her comrade getting blasted, which was a noticeable hit to her morale.

"Crap, PLEA!" She screams out, rushing over to her compatriot's defense. The shaman proceeding to charge up another crackling lightning charge as she went. Seeing she's surrounded, the Bloodsail elf makes her first good decision and decides to say 'Fuck this shit I'm Out!' Yanking something off her belt, she HURLED it at all assembled upon the invaded deck. It was a strange cylindrical object with-- Oh dear. After barely a second the grenade detonated in midair. Shrapnel rained down upon the trio as the elf took a running dive off the side of the ship. The injured rogue tried to push himself up, but only further exposed himself to the shrapnel. It shot at his body, shredding mercilessly into it. A few twisted shards hit his mouth, some in his arm-- it was a disaster. One particularly nasty bit even made it into his visor. The poor man fell over, agonizing pain blazing through any reason in his thoughts as he lay writhing. Plea yelped yet again, as warpped shards of metal imbedded themselves in her left arm while she used it to shield her face. Why was it ALWAYS the left one? Maybe she ought to look into metal replacements. Anya, through sheer dumb luck, managed to not get hit by anything. Or, at least anything serious. Clearly, concern for her comrade was what saved her life. Friendship, it seems, truly is magic~.

Reaching the Kaldorei, the frantic shaman crouched beside her. Plea grunts softly, reaching out to grip Anya's shoulder reassuringly.

"Mm' good Anya. S'okay. Just a bit've metal." The girl even managed to crack a smile for her friend.

The assassin that had come to their rescue let the pain soak into his bones, laying there. He didn't feel like moving, even though he got the suspicion that someone there was going to shoot-- or hurt him in some other way-- in a moment. Given the crowd he was with, it was a safe assumption. By some miracle of nature, Milanas had escaped unscathed by the shrapnel. Or maybe it had simple bounced off him. It was hard to tell given his rock solid reputation. The poor warrior remained laid out from the blow to his skull. Misinterpreting his stillness for death, Anya shook her head with a frown.

"Ugh, well, looks like the elf didn't make it. Shame...” Her gaze flicked to the side of the boat that their last attacker had disappeared over. “We better get this ship out of here before she warns the rest of them..." As usual, Anya had a tendency to speak too soon...

There was a rumble, the ship shuddering violently in its wake. The groan of timbers and the sound of slamming doors rang out. Pounding, heavy steps drew closer from the bowels of the brig. The doors to the hold were suddenly ripped from their hinges and HURLED outwards on the deck. From the shadowy interior came a brown furred creature, maw twisted up in an eternal mocking grin. Yellowed teeth lined blackened gums. The creature was a rather humanoid representation of the hyenas that roamed the barrens. His short tail whipped back and forth aggressively. The gigantic gnoll had one eye. His shoulders were lined with spikes and skulls. And his weapon? A spare anchor he wielded like it had all the weight of a toothpick on the end of a long chain.

"CAPTAIN SNICKERS AIN'T LETTIN' YA HAVE HIS SHIPS! OH NOES!" The creature's cackling laughter bounced about the deck as the three stared, dumbfounded.

"Oh...nevermind." Faintly, Anya squeaked. Plea just kind of STARES at the gnoll, open-mouthed. Her wounds forgotten in the absolute wonderment. Or blood loss. Take your pick, each was as likely as the last.

"ANYA, LOOK, IT'S SO FLUFFY!" She breathed out in a most unsuitable admiration for the spotted hide of their gnollish enemy. Eyeing the new threat, their roguish friend fumbled through his pouch quickly. Finding what he sought, the dark garbed man withdrew it; swiftly stabbing a syringe into his arm. Somehow, despite how his hand trembled, he didn't do it incorrectly. Hurriedly he shot up and popped the sharp needle out. After discarding the unknown mixture he stumbled a bit, unsteady. But he could put weight on the leg, at least. Yanking out a few shurikens as they faced their new foe... he just dropped them like an idiot. His hands still shaking a bit as he brought the pain in check. Abandoning Plea's side Anya ran to a more advantageous position upon the deck, spreading out the gnoll's targets. She readied her hammer to defend against the attack that would no doubt steamroll her. Reth slowly floats up the ramp, having sufficiently feasted on that poor pirate's eyes from earlier. They all simply stared at one another for a moment.. And then the rogue launched a hail of fresh shuriken at the monstrous, hyena-like thing.

The gnoll howled in pain as a bullet pierced his shoulder, one huge furry paw whipping around behind him to attempt to pluck up the fallen Milanas and HURL him at Anya. Then he'd give his anchor a huge whirl. The heavy iron arced out with an ominous humming sound as he attempted to SMACK it into all three of them in its wide path and floor 'em viciously. Plea kissed the deck. Like, literally dropped flat. Barreling face first into the boards to avoid the anchor whistling overhead. If there are splinters in her lips later, we'll know why. The raven haired shaman gets beaned in the face by the heavy male elf. Hopefully, he isn't too much on the thicc side. She fell on her ass and thankfully, the lucky dwarf managing to not get hit by the anchor. Unfortunately the rogue wasn't quite as lucky as either of the ladies were. He fell to his knees, placing his hands out to avoid falling on his face. But he simply didn't get low enough and was thusly slammed into by the anchor. The heavy blow sending him flying to the other side of the ship and into the railing with a vicious 'crack'. The mysterious man grunted, pushing himself up semi-shakily. He was... extremely durable.

The sight of their wipeout caused the large gnoll to launch into a torrent of musical snickering. The cackles spilling over the deck. Anya wastes her time trying to get the fatass elf off of her, struggling to be able to stand so she might counter attack. Eventually Milanas is rolled off of her and onto the deck. Reth stares at her in disdain as the huge ugly gnoll prepares to violently murder her compatriots. He didn't help though, naturally. What did we say about the elements being assholes again? The unknown rogue groaned, getting up onto his knees. He just could not find the strength in himself to get onto his feet. He was determined, though. Even if he was most likely going to get shot by Plea or Anya pretty soon. Plea herself sways to her feet, wincing as blood dribbled from the wound in her side. She tears off a bit of her already tattered tabard to bind it as quickly as possible. The elf tensing up and gritting her teeth from the pain the pressure put on the hole.

Captain Snickers cackled at their vast ineptitude, swaggering further out on the deck. His tail flicking back and forth confidently as he bellowed out at the trio.

"HA HA! Surrender now, Nofurs. I MIGHTS let yous be my Galley Slaves. HEHEHE or maybe just DINNER, HAHAHA!" There went the Anchor again, the chain creaking ominously as he sent it sweeping out towards them all. Like a pendulum from HELL. Thankfully Anya is short, and therefore doesn't have to duck as far. Her stature allowed the anchor to easily pass over her. WHO'S LAUGHING NOW HUH?! Nope, still the gnoll. His cackles were borderline psychotic at this point. The injured man in black leapt up with skillful agility. The air beneath him hummed wildly with its passing, the anchor barely sweeping under him. He rolled his shoulders confidently; finally he managed to dodge something. He felt it now... He felt the rush of battle! He felt the rhythm dancing in his blood, drumming in and out of his heart.

Plea had always had a terrible time keeping a proper beat. That anchor hit her square in the side with an ominous CRACK. Oh yeah. Bye Bye ribs. We don't need those, right? Adrenaline kicked in almost immediately as the elf wrapped her arms around the anchor, clinging as it swung her about.

"WWWOOOOOAH!" The Kaldorei cricked out, blood flecking her lips from her busted ribs. But she still clung like a limpet, scraggly hair trailing behind her a goggles flapping in the breeze. The rogue would have had the perfect opportunity to attack, but he was a bit too distracted with watching Plea swing about on the anchor to do so. He finally shook his head and searched the ground for his dropped daggers. Espying them, he quickly crawled over the deck and plucked them up. Artfully flipping them once in hand before making sure his shuriken pouch was still at his side. At least the elf was a good distraction. A little at a loss for what to do against such a massive canide foe, Anya grumbles and quickly charged up some lightning to shoot at the gnoll. A little too quickly maybe. It harmlessly bounced off, as is typical. Anya continued to stand here, being useless like a jackass. Plea was too busy hanging on for DEAR LIFE to attack their foe! She flew around, whipped back and forth for the creature's delight.

"ANNNNYYYAAAAA GET ME DOOOOOOOWN!" Plea wailed, looking paler by the second. It was either blood loss or she was seconds from throwing up.

"I'm trying, fuck off!" The frantic shaman rejoined, wracking her mind for an idea or something! Being put on the spot wasn't her style, man. To make matters worse she was seriously craving another cigarette, and they'd been knocked clean out of her bra when the unconscious Milanas had broadsided her. The Gnoll is pleased as punch about all this, attempting to give his anchor a FLICK to send Plea flying at her shadowy male friend. He'd then aim to bring that anchor CRASHING DOWN towards Milanas and Anya.

"YUCK YUCK YUCK! Silly No-furs! So amusing!" He sniggered, his yellowed fangs gleaming in satisfaction. The rogue barely had time to turn and see Plea flying at him.

"WHAT THE F--" He yelled, before getting slammed into the side of the ship. groaning dazedly. Plea hits the poor man like a FUCKING KODO. At least she was -light-. Really it was just her momentum plowing into him. Twitching atop the sprawled out man as he groaned, her brow furrowed in dazed confusion. He smelled... Familiar. He smelled..

".. Y'smell li'.. Fuzziness...." She muttered , slurring confusedly as she squinted down at the shadowalker under her. He peered flatly back, clearly annoyed at how she was putting pressure on his rather battered body. They both slumped there a moment though, winded. Meanwhile on the other side of the vessel! Anya, again through sheer dumb luck, managed to roll out of the way of the rapidly descending anchor in time. She even managed to shove the unconscious Milanas enough to avoid getting crushed by the anchor as it smashed viciously through the top deck. Splinters flew everywhere.

"Gah, screw this, let's kill this giant furry asshole already!" The shaman's voice held equal parts irritation and sheer terror. She crouched behind Mil's brick house of a body. Using him as a shield. He'd never know. He was sleeping like a baby!

With a low growl the mysterious dark garbed man shoved Plea off him, groaning and closing his eyes. This was terrible for him. He was still sleep-deprived and in a terrible mental state. Why did he follow this crazy elf all the way to Stranglethorn? What did he get himself into? He winced as the Gnoll ripped the anchor free of the deck. It showered them all in splinters as he caught it in one hand, cackling madly. Anya stumbled backwards at the manic display, abandoning the safety of Milanas's titan-sculpted plate-clad pectorals. She backed up and tripped on the still unconscious enemy dwarf, who apparently shared Mil's ability to stay out through -anything-. The female fell on her butt in a way that was the complete opposite of graceful.

Plea rolled off Reshe with a groan. Her brow furrows deeper still. Reshe? Her gaze was unsteady, blurring as she peered at the injured rogue. He was in human form now, but... Scent didn't lie. There were the subtle tangs that belonged only to him. Her heart swam briefly with a fierce sense of joy; maybe he really had taken her at her word! Maybe.. Maybe he truly would be her friend! These were the thoughts of an impact addled brain, and she was distracted by the chortling of their shared foe. As the hyena-like laughter of the Gnoll filled the air, the she-elf focused her dazed sea-green eyes on his smarmy, sneering muzzle.. And... And.. SNAPPED.

Her body ripped up from the deck. Adrenaline burning in her battered form as she darted forward like a striking snake as the Kaldorei clawed her way up the Gnoll's body. Blackened nails sinking into flesh as she ascended the mountain of canide flesh. Captain Snickers snarled, clawing at himself as he tried desperately to dislodge the utterly feral elf. His struggles were to no avail, for as her stunned comrades looked upon the clearly mad elf she reached his shoulders and back. Grim determination tugged at the vicious snarl her features wore, and Plea's grasping digits ripped free one of the frost grenades on her belt. Before he could react, the crazed thing literally SHOVED it down his throat. Her arm suffered greatly from his teeth in the process. The yellowed fangs digging deep divots from her bandaged flesh. Fortunately he was too shocked to try and bite it off, for Plea was far too gone to halt such a thing were it to occur. Choking, he managed to grasp the elf about the waist and yank her free of him. In a combination of disgust and pain, the massive speckled hyena-man hurled her from him. The elf slamming into the deck and rolled to a stop. She remained precisely where she fell, groaning in pain. Swallowing whatever blocked his gullet with great difficulty, the Gnoll began to rage. Cracking the chain his anchor was attached to and stomping his feet aggressively. Slobber and blood flew from his jaws as he roared at them all.

"TASTED BAD! HORRIBLE! BUT YOU'LL TASTE---" And that was when there was a muted 'boom'. The creature's stomach expanded rapidly. Almost like a balloon! Annnnd... Then it BURST with a sickening 'Pop'. Twisted spires of ICE shredded his flesh, bursting outwards. Mincing and blending his organs from within. His mouth was frozen in an eerie cackle, single eye bulging with shock at the situation. The spires continued to grow and expand, pushing his body apart with a series of wet, slushied ripping noises. The frost grenade turning him into ice art! Anya looked a bit ill, wincing at the sight.

"Oh...oh jeez eew." She muttered, making a face. Plea raises a shaky fist for victory, the only real exertion she can manage at the moment.

"... Wooooo...!" Her voice warbles, fist flopping down again as she breathes shallowly. Damn ribs...

Reshe seemed either used to such violent displays, or too dazed to care. He let his head rest against the surface he leaned on. The poor rogue's eyes were still injured, and shrapnel stuck out of him in various places. Altogether it was an unpleasant sight.

Milanas finally stirs, groaning and clutching at his skull as he sat up. Blinking at the Gnollish ice-pop, he blearily gazed at the damage to the vessel they had set out to commandeer.

“... I still say you should've just let me BUILD a boat.” He muttered, the massive elf swaying to his feet. He and Anya were probably the two that had sustained the least amount of battering. Grimacing at the damages it was sure to be HIS job to rectify, the muscular elf siiighed and headed for the anchor. They needed to get out of here, before the raid at the Bay was over and the other two vessels started heading back. Plea gives the shipwright a thumbs up.

"Well, we needed th'boat... We GOT th'boat... So.. it works out...” The elven female winced as Anya rushed over to fuss over her fallen friend and captain. Her hands moved oddly, water from the gourd on her belt arcing out to surround her wounds one at a time. The soothing shamanic spell slowly dulling pain and stopping the blood loss. Her wounds began to scab over and the elf winced slightly as a rib cracked back into alignment. Healing wasn't a pain free process. Embarrassed, she tried to wave Anya off her.

“Anya, can ya see if the Mystery person is okay? Mm' fine, really." She's soooo not, but you know Plea. Anya sighs, once more attempting to help Plea not die, before accosting this random shadow person who showed up. She's only mildly successful, there is only so much magic can do at once. But at least the elf won't die. The shaman rolls her eyes at the halted progress and casually turns her head to address the mystery person.

"Hey, mystery guy, are you okay?"

"Tend to Plea." He replied somewhat weakly, in an oddly familiar voice (familiar to Plea, at least). It was like Reshe's, but with less growl. A groan and a crank had Milanas securing the anchor. He strode over to the gangplank, grasping it with a grunt. The massive elf muttered under his breath as he hauled it bodily up upon the deck as they started to drift away from the shoreline.

“Pff. No one asked ME if I needed healing...” The elf semi-pouted as he made for the mast to unfurl the sails. Reshe's voice stirred Plea's eyes back to him, head canting in puzzlement.

"Fuzzy?" She murmured inquiringly, swaying to her feet. She was sure of it now. It HAD to be him. The rogue whom she had started out in such an uncertain friendship with. Well, that was what happens when your first greeting involves accidentally shooting someone. Another step had her wincing and juddering to a halt. Anya hustled back over towards her, but the white haired elf waved her off and towards the helm.

"Nn, no time t'tend me. We gotta get out of here. The other boats might get back soon." Swaying, she fixed Anya with a serious glint in her sea colored gaze. Finally the dwarf rolled her eyes, giving in and sauntering up the stairs to take the wheel. At least if she crashed THIS boat, it wouldn't exactly do much to cheapen its value. Relaxing as the 'threat' of being healed faded, Reshe whipped out another syringe and a potion. Downing the flask and injecting himself with the needle's contents, he paused and shut his eyes. Shrapnel proceeded to pop out of the spots it was lodged in as the medications worked to provide him with a moderate amount of healing. Even his complexion lost that pasty, unhealthy sheen it had had since Plea had been tossed into him. Still, he winced before standing up to tuck the supplies back in his bag. Rolling his shoulders, he opened his eyes. The damage to them had been mostly cleared, and they swam with shadows.

“Come Ooooon, let's get this show on the road! Er... Waves!” Milanas called out. He winced, rubbing his skull. A quick tug of the sails had them bursting open to catch the breeze. The vessel surged forward, drifting at a moderate pace from the shores of Stranglethorn. The sudden motion planted Plea on her rear, the elf having not really regained her balance due to blood loss. The unconscious pirate dwarf they appeared to be abducting along with their boat rolled around on deck like a loose barrel of rum. Anya ignored that dwarf, who was terribly distracting for a driver of the same species and opposite sex. What an epic beard. Were those twists of gunpow-- FOCUS ANYA. To disguise her momentary lack of focus, she spun the wheel dramatically northwest.

"Oi, who the hell put you in charge? I say we'll...do what you just said." The shaman finished with a nod. Reshe turned and stared down at the water, contemplating. If he didn't leave now he'd be stuck on this boat with these grating, annoying people. Did he want to jump? Decisions, decisions...

“Hey buddy, you wanna stop daydreaming and get to work?” Milanas grumbled. He was rather sore he'd lost the chance at a good rumble. Rueful looks being shot at their deck art piece. The unknown rogue was just a good outlet. Reshe turned to peer over his shoulder at the lot of them, gaze narrowing. He replied only with a simple sentence.

"Curse you people." The man then leaned forward, falling off the ship seemingly on purpose. Plea cried out in distress, managing to lurch and hobble to the rail. She only fell twice along the way, it was simply marvelous progress to be sure. Clinging to it, she looked out desperately at the relatively shallow waters. The ocean was still clear as glass here, and while the elf spied many forms and fins below her... There simply wasn't a single sign of Reshe. Where had he gone...?

“Ugh this is going to be so much work.” Milanas ignored the rogue's exit, frowning at the groaning mast. It was barely held on, and a simple shove of his palm was enough to make it sway ominously.

“We really should have taken the other one.” He pouted, inspecting the tar slathered ropes that held their mast in place. Plea sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Look how wrecked we got just getting this one! You really think we coulda taken on one of THOSE?”

What ensued could be classified as an argument, though the tone of it seemed more like playful banter the longer you listened to it. With Anya steering them off into the sunset, the battered Dreadmist Crew laughed and ribbed each other on their colossal failures during the battle for their new vessel. It had been hard won, and a rocky start... But surely from here on in they could count on smooth sailing. None of them heard the soft, feminine chuckle that rang out quietly from one of the cannon ports on the starboard side. Yes. This was going to be one interesting trip.