#extremely-nervess

A blur of motion from the lounge’s hatch and a soft tink on the ground caught her senses, and she immediately realized what was about to happen.  She turned away from the hatch, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and pressing her hands to her ears.

BLAM!

Though it was only an explosion of light and noise, Farrin could feel the blast of sound hit her like a punch to her back, leaving her feeling a little disoriented.  She was still in much better shape than the rest of the pirates and hostages, who were reeling from the sudden assault on their senses, and saw three figures—Firarsians, judging by their tails—rush into the room.

They were all dressed in dark uniforms and wore masks resembling dragon skulls with red pinpoints of light in their black eyes.  The first one in wielded a sword and swiftly rushed the closest pirate, cutting him down before he even knew what was going on.  The second had much longer hair and carried a caster pistol in one hand, pausing only to level it at the pirate near the opposite wall and fire off two quick shots.  The third was different from the other two, being a few inches shorter and wearing a short hooded cape.  They carried no weapons, but the speed with which they downed a pirate with their fists told Farrin that they didn’t need any.

Her assessment of the situation was interrupted when pirate next to her, apparently not as fazed as his fellows, hauled her to her feet and held her in front of him, intent on using her as a shield.  Farrin reacted instantly, jabbing her elbow into his abdomen and following up by slamming the back of her head into his face.  She was about to throw her captor to the ground when she saw the shortest of the three reach out, grab at the air, and then yank back hard.  Suddenly Farrin felt herself…falling.  Not towards the ground, but towards the masked assailant.

“Glade!  Catch!” they cried out, stepping aside to let Farrin fly past and deliver a powerful strike against the pirate also hurtling towards them.  The masked warrior with the sword caught her with their free arm, slowing her velocity and directing her towards the long-haired pistoleer.

“Tyll, over to you!” they called as they let go.  The pistoleer caught her easily, arresting her movement by letting her fall into a dip, as though they were dancing and not in the middle of vicious battle against aether pirates.  The brow of their mask raised in surprise as they took note of her elven features.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” they said, looking up to fire off a couple of shots before setting her down gently on the floor.  “Please stay down, this should be over soon.”

A quick look confirmed that the masked fighters did indeed have the upper hand and were about to subdue the few remaining pirates, who had recovered enough to put up a panicked resistance.  Farrin caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see two more pirates rush out of one of the state rooms they had been looting towards the unprotected backs of the unarmed fighter and the swordsman.

Farrin pointed at the farthest pirate and shouted an arcane phrase.  Three bolts of magical energy shot out from her finger and streaked towards him, slamming into his side with enough force to knock him off his feet.  She then scooped up a blade from one of the fallen pirates and leapt into a run towards the remaining attacker, trying not to get her legs tangled in the dress of her servant’s uniform.  She brought up her weapon just in time to block the pirate’s slash at the swordsman’s back.  With practiced ease, she swung her blade around her opponent’s and struck him in the head with the sharpened false edge, drawing blood and causing him to stagger back reflexively.  By this point, the masked swordsman realized what was going on and spun around, plunging the tip of their sword into the pirate and letting him slide off to the ground.  The swordsman glanced over at her, their animated skull mask grinning as they gave her a quick salute with their sword.

There was a few heartbeats as stillness descended on the room, broken only by the groans and cries of the still partially blinded and deafened hostages.  “This room is clear!” the unarmed fighter called out in a somewhat high-pitched and nasally voice.  “To the bridge!”

As quickly as they entered, the three masked warriors filed out.  The pistoleer paused at the door to look at Farrin, who was still holding the sword she liberated.  “Ma’am, if you could please watch over them and keep them calm?  Thank you,” he said and then closed the hatch shut.

Farrin glanced around at the ruined lounge, now full of dead and dying pirates and bewildered and horrified but otherwise unharmed passengers.  What a mess…

What a mess.  Keras reached her hands under her mask and rubbed wearily at her face.  Captain Azumvig of the soon to be defunct Strick Skull Gang was proving to be most difficult in explaining himself, and he seemed to have hired a mage to secure his ship’s data node since the last time she crossed paths with him.  It will take days to decrypt it, and no doubt whomever is pulling his strings will notice his absence.  She can only hope that the good captain was just his usual contrarian self and not on the orders of someone else, in which case they were undoubtedly playing right into their hands.

She groaned in frustration.  She hated being so paranoid, but it kept them alive this long, so she wasn’t about to stop heeding its counsel.

“Hey Ker—I mean, Archon,” she heard Byssina say from the bridge’s hatch, “one of the passengers wishes to speak with you.”

Keras groaned again.  “No doubt to threaten to sue me for not saving them the moment the pirates attacked or because their finest suit got a bit rumpled,” she muttered.  She took a few calming breaths, straightened her mask, and adjusted her position in the captain’s chair into what she hoped was an imperious pose.  As much as she appreciated the simple menace of a chair made from thick, tarnished plates of metal with large, spiked rivets, the fact remained that Captain Azumvig was much taller than her and thus made her short stature appear all the smaller.  Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, though having the bound and gagged form of Captain Azumvig act as a makeshift footstool more than made up for that.  Having your foes literally beneath your feet helped others take you seriously.

“Send them in,” Keras stated in as imperious a tone as she could muster.

Byssina escorted an elven woman dressed in a servant’s uniform onto the bridge.  The elf stopped a respectful distance away and bowed with practiced grace.

“Ah, the elven woman from the lounge,” Tyllium said from Keras’s left.  “I was hoping we would be able to see you again.”

“Indeed,” Keras commented and turned her attention back to her supplicant.  “Now then, who are you and what do you want of me?”

“My name is Farrin, Archon,” she replied in a professional tone.  “I wish to offer you my services as thanks for rescuing me.”

The bridge was silent for a moment save for the noisy ventilation fans.  Keras hadn’t expected anyone to really thank her for rescuing them from pirates, let alone asking to join her crew.  “Well,” she started, but struggled to find further words for a few heartbeats.  “What special skills do you have to offer?”

“I can offer many services as a domestic servant and personal valet,” Farrin answered easily, no doubt reciting a well-rehearsed speech.  “I can cook, clean, manage other household employees, and care for children of any age, though I will admit that tutoring is not my strong suit.”

“All that in addition to being skilled with both sword and spell,” Glade said.

“A maid and spellsword,” Keras remarked, “a rather unusual combination of skills.”

Glade laughed.  “Like you have any room to talk,” she teased.

Keras couldn’t help rolling her eyes.  “Quiet, Archon talking,” she muttered, though she had to admit she had a point.

“It is true, Archon,” Farrin continued.  “I was a mercenary and adventurer for a little over 30 years, but then the market dried up and I sought employment in other fields.”

“Really now?  30 years is a respectable career length for a merc.”  Keras rubbed her chin thoughtfully.  “Of course, this does raise the question why you want to work for us.  And don’t give me that ‘repayment for the rescue’ shtick, most serons would have second thoughts about joining up with a group that looks like us.  What are your real reasons?”

“Quite simple, Archon,” Farrin replied.  “First, you attacked only the pirates and went out of your way to prevent civilian casualties.  Even if rescuing us was not your objective, it shows that you have a some kind of moral code.  Second, you did not even bother to ask for a reward or even attempt to rob the passengers in turn, further demonstrating that you are honorable.  Third, the way you four treat each other shows that you are not a mere group of thugs in a coercive hierarchy.”  A smirk appeared on her face.  “If I may be so honest, Archon, after working as an adventurer and then a domestic servant for as long as I have, I’ve learned how to read people, and I’ve worked for far more unpleasant serons than a bunch of pirate hunters wearing masks, many of whom are otherwise considered ‘respectable’.  Besides, I haven’t been paid yet for this voyage and feel no compunction jumping ship for a group who seem like they would be more interesting or pleasant to work for.”

“No doubt eager to see some proper action after so long, I’ll wager,” Glade said.

“I believe that goes without saying,” Farrin replied.

“Well, I’m sold.”

“As am I,” Tyllium added.

“She has my vote, too,” Byssina concurred.

Keras glanced at her compatriots, then back at Farrin.  Finally, she sighed, feeling too tired to argue.  “Okay, welcome aboard,” she said.  “Of course, should you betray us, blah blah blah, we’ll kill you and so on.  Just because we’re honorable doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to deal with you accordingly.”

“Understood, Archon, and thank you,” Farrin said, bowing again.

“And enough with the bowing and subservient crap, you’re starting to make me feel uncomfortable.”

Farrin grinned.  “Suits me just fine, boss.”

Keras waved her away.  “Byss, help her get her things.  I want to detach from this rust bucket as soon as possible.”

“Right away, Archon!” Byssina said and saluted cheerfully.  As the two of them left the bridge, Byssina leaned over to Farrin.  “What size breastplate do you wear, by chance?”

“I prefer brigandine, myself.  Much more my style,” Farrin replied.

Even from beneath her mask, Byssina’s expression visibly lit up.  “Oh, we’re going to get along splendidly.”

Keras sighed and rubbed her eyes underneath her mask.  “So much for our fearsome reputation,” she muttered.  She stood up, using the prone form of her prisoner as a stepping stool and eliciting a pained groan.

“Now then, Captain Azumvig,” she said, “just what kind of poetic fate shall we inflict upon you?”

The most dreaded Tatzylsnatch!

Very dangerous.

More Salamander

Didn’t like the colours so much, so I thought I’d post the flats as well.

Actually, this is the second time I’ve drawn this piece - I lost the original because I hadn’t saved and the power cut =3=

Felt a little like my heart wasn’t in it this time around.