Out of the many possible ways he had foreseen that conversation going, casual acceptance of his leadership was not one of them. He had met more Elves and Dwarfs than he cared to remember, and the vast majority of them, he would describe in less than charitable terms. The same went for Bretonnians - Baltazar had certainly never thought they would accept being led by a foreign peasant, and he wasn't sure if their silence was a sign of assent, or if they were simply ignoring him. As the conversation moved on to different subjects, he simply stayed silent and observed the rest of the room, until the discussion was interrupted by Jehan's polite retreat.

"Good idea." In truth, Baltazar thought it was an awful idea, as he would have much preferred to continue his observations. He had a sense, though, that this would mark the dissolution of their group for the night, and damned if he was going to sit quietly and wait for the others to decide whether to stay or leave. "We've one last night on shore, and just enough time before the ship leaves to sleep off the rum tomorrow. See you then, gentlemen," he said, and with a slap on his knee, he rose and headed for the door.

Unconstrained by his employer's directions, he found himself on quicker paths, and it was only a block or two down the road that he stepped into an alleyway - well out of sight - and the shadows swallowed him.



The Pelican's Perch wasn't the most reputable place, but Baltazar wasn't picky, and it was close to the right end of the harbor, while still providing adequate amounts of wine and women - even though neither could be considered particularly tasty. Song was absent entirely, unless you counted the eponymous pelican's angry squawking.

So it was that the Perch's front door was the one he stumbled out through that morning, hauling a bundle full of replacement swords, ammunition, lockpicks and sundry with him to the Wellenbrecher. Staying on a ship was nothing unusual to Baltazar, although he could not for the life of him imagine what use a fire wizard might be on a floating piece of wood and tar. He returned the mage's greeting without shaking hands, pointing to his bundle, and slunk by with a nod to the anonymous beauty. Having his own room was always a delight on a long journey, and cross the ocean would be a fair sight longer than most he'd been on. Baltazar quickly made himself at home, arranged his luggage for safety and easy access, and settled in to let the crew do their work.

When they were finally let out again, Baltazar only enjoyed a quick stretch before he set about his work. He had many weeks - perhaps months - to work, but it was always best to work on personal relationships before anyone had time to sour them. It was a party of oddballs he had to work with, that was certain, but if they were going to fight their way through Lustria together, they would have to do some team building.

"Ho, sir knight. Getting your sea legs?" It was lucky the knight spoke Reikspiel so well; Baltazar's Bretonnian vocabulary didn't stretch very far beyond 'more wine' and 'hold the garlic'. Putting his hands on the railing, he took a deep breath of sea air - after the filth and squalor of Marienburg, it was heavenly.

"It's quite the sight, sun setting over the ocean." He looked out to see, then back to Jehan, "careful about looking too long, though. All that water reflects a lot of light. You could go bli- ahem," his gaze briefly flitting to the knight's bad eye, he coughed into his hand, then offered it for a shake, "I mean, ahem... Baltazar Engels, professional mercenary, treasure hunter, and a few other things, at your service. There wasn't much time for proper introductions last night, and since we'll be fighting side by side in the months to come, we should know where we've got one another."

As the group started to pass ways, Fortune quickly found himself to be the last human present at the meeting. With a small sigh as it became clear that the meeting was at an end, he offered the two dwarves and the elf a small but respectful bow. "I will see you on the morrow then." Removing his weight from the wall and standing up properly, Fortune made to walk towards the door... before stopping as he considered something. Turning back to look at his non human compatriots, the young man took a small breath before offering "If you don't have anywhere to stay for the night, you are welcome to share the room I've rented for the night."

There was no harm in offering hospitality and since he was going to be working with them for the foreseeable future it seemed like a good idea to try and get off on the right foot.
.........................................................

As the light of day shined down on the world, Fortune rode through the streets of Marienburg astride Twilight; A beautiful black mare descended from a proud Bretonnian pedigree. He had opted to travel in street clothes instead of dressing in his full armor, favoring an outfit that truthfully made him look more like the son of a wealthy merchant rather then the heir of a noble house. His sword remained by his side through.

Reaching the ship that was going to carry them on their journey, he slid off of Twilight's back in order to lead her up the ramp and onto the ship proper... where after a brief conversation with the captain (and a small gift of coins for the trouble) Fortune set Twilight up as comfortably as he could make her in a pig pen alongside said pigs and another horse before removing his gear and supplies from her back. He didn't know what the future held for him, but having Twilight nearby would go a long way to comforting him.

The meeting with the wizards was a... somewhat awkward affair. While Fortune was polite enough to introduce himself to both of them respectfully, he allowed the others to do the talking and left as soon as it was polite to do so. After the incident with their... patron the night before Fortune had no desire to be around anyone who could do the same, if not worse then him; Yet during the meeting he kept glancing at Darren's student before quickly looking away, a self concuss hand reaching up to rub against the pox scarred skin of his face.

She looked like what he had always pictured a Damsel to look like...

............................................................

When the chance to go above deck presented itself, Fortune took it happily... even if he looked a little flushed as he walked over a little unsteadily to join his peers that had already come up before him. "I don't I like boats... I've only been on this one for less then a day and I already feel awful." He confessed aloud as he went to lean on the railing of the ship... closer to the edge in the event breakfast or lunch wanted to come back up.

Loec is a strange deity, even to those that worship him, but it was to this youthful and perpetually shadowed divinity that Listec muttered his prayers on the night after the others had left for their own accommodation; the Shadow Warrior himself did not leave however, instead retreating back up to the rooftop to spend the night in the crisp – but nearly unbearably foul-smelling – air, beneath the moons gaze and generally in contemplation of the meeting, his new 'companions', and the item which they were required to steal. Their benefactor had mentioned the Plaque of Tepok as the groups raison d'être for visiting the steaming jungle continent of Lustria, and this item was the very first thing that Listec turned his acute and rapid mind towards, leaving the analysis of each of his traveling companions for later.

While the Shadow Warrior had never visited the 'New World' himself, he did know that his Asur brethren maintained a fortress - known the Citadel of Dusk - on the southern tip of Lustria, the outpost allegedly unable to be seen by anyone except those that were garrisoned there or those bringing supplies to its gates. It was said to serve as a strategic gateway to the Eastern lands of the world, as well as containing a port large enough to house a grand number of High Elven ships, vessels of the great mortal navy still in existence.

Tepok...now that was a name unknown to many, at least outside of the scholars of Hoeth; what was generally known, even by a warrior such as he, was that this 'Tepok' was a deity of the cold-blooded Lizardmen and one of magic and wisdom, a member of their high pantheon and the reason why his name was known outside of Lustria at all. What this plaque of his was or did, the High Elf had no idea! A wizard wishing to possess something belonging this particular divinity though, that was not something unexpected.

As to the cluster of daredevils he was joining upon this voyage of certain death, that was another matter entirely, two Dwarfs that probably disliked him from the off, two Men of the Bretonnian lineage who he imagined would be more friendly toward him, if only for their slightly shared heritage, and the one Marienburger - there was no mistaking his distinct accent and lack of either hatred, surprise, or awe at seeing one of the Asur before him - who was without question more than he seemed. A rag-tag group of sellswords, lost souls and demented Dwarfs for sure, but one that he no doubt fit right in to.

With another final invocation to the perpetually shadowed trickster god, as well as a side devotion to Lileath - known to the Bretonnians as the Lady of the Lake - he crossed his legs and slipped into what would be considered by Men as a self-induced coma-like state. He was not asleep though, not really, for the Asur were so long-lived that such things were regularly beyond them and many outside of their race considered them to be deranged insomniacs because of this. Aware of his surroundings, but slowing his mind down to the most minimal of thought, he waited until the first ray of morning light touched him before snapping his eyes open, stretching his limbs, and making his way toward the docks and the Wellenbecher.

---

Seafaring vessels of Men were much like the race of Man itself - slow, cumbersome, loud and not very intelligently handled, and it did not make Listec any happier that he would have to be boarding one; had it been a ship of his own people, one of the sleek Eagleships perhaps, they would have been in Lustria in a matter of a couple of weeks. Although not a 'Sea Elf', those commonly seen Asur of Lothern, known to sailors on both sides of the world, even he was pleased by the smooth shapes and finely woven sails of the ships used by the High Elven Navy to look out for Druchii raiders and Norscan barbarians.

Strange looks greeted him as he made his way through the streets of Marienburg, having come down from the rooftops not too long ago, those that had visited the Elven Quarter - and there were few enough of those in the city - generally ignoring him, but the majority moving aside as he strode through the tight press. Even without his armour he towered above most of those surrounding him, but equipped as he was it was a foolish or foolhardy person who would step into his path instead of deferentially moving away instead.

Before long he had made it to the 'ship', making his way up the rickety gang-plank with as much deftness as if it were solid ground, a grim twisting of his mouth invisible beneath his helmet and a narrowing of his eyes probably seen by this magician, 'Darren' the rather unimpressive man called himself. It was the smell of the ship, the manner of the Captain, and the entire enterprise that made him grimace so...but also the apprentice that remained silent but stood beside her master. There was something inhuman about her, something that reminded him of other beautiful individuals he had slain, ever-youthful warrior-maidens of bloody-handed Khaine; with such thoughts in his mind, he moved swiftly on from her watchful gaze and gave a curt nod to the gruff Captain as he ordered them below deck, more than happy to comply.

The cabin below decks was sparse and barely furnished, probably the best thing that the Elf had seen so far about this ship, non-required parts of armour and his longbow stowed quickly and securely away, the grim Elf returning later to the upper deck in his under-robes of tightly fitted white cloth and with his sword still at his hip. He had tied his hair back against his skull, taking a deep breath of the sea air and imagining for a moment the cliffs of Nagarythe that overlooked the approach to Ulthuan, stepping silently toward the rail where several other had apparently congregated.

"I don't I like boats... I've only been on this one for less then a day and I already feel awful."

Listec snorted at the young Breton, as close to a laugh as he usually got, stepping into the space between the wheezing knight and those others present, "although I agree that it is more like a boat," he spoke in his sing-song voice to no-one in particular, "I believe those that crew it would prefer that you call it a 'ship', if for no other reason than it floats across water and has sails." His mode of speech and unconscious air of superiority probably did nothing to help relations between Men and Elves, but far be it from him to actually care about such things.

As long as I don't have to follow an Elgi's orders, I think I can tolerate the trip right enough. The Dwarf burped, wiping his mouth of the frothing ale that dripped down his beard. He'd decided to have an early morning full course meal and 8 pints. Just a light snack, of course. He'd had a bit of sleep, but he knew he'd have plenty of time to rest once he got onto the Manling ship. They didn't go very fast, after all, and it was a long journey.

Once the sun peeked over the Horizon, the Dwarf hopped off the barstool he had been sitting on, nearly knocking over a busty barmaid as he did so. She squealed, catching the attention of one of the larger bouncers. This man was as meaty as an Ogre, from the looks of it. Seemed he was dumb enough to get in Sketti's way, trying to keep him from leaving the bar until he apologized for bumping his girl.

"Now see here you git!" the bouncer growled, but it was cut short by his own squeal once Sketti's fist was buried in his groin. He fell over like a Pollaxed-Ox. "Pardon me," Sketti said, stepping past him as the girl in the tavern began to cry out for her lover. Sketti paid her no mind, and waltzed and into Marienburg proper.

The day was already getting hot, but it took him less than no time to get to the ship. He actually liked ships. They were mechanical in nature, after all. One didn't need gunpowder or steam engines or the like to still be made of various parts that caused unnatural but artificially created locomotion or to serve some sort of function! Shipwrights were highly prized among the Dawi, though of course most ships were ironclad and powered by steam in this Age of Silver.

He stepped onto the deck of the ship to see a few familiar faces there. "As much as I hate to say it, the fucking Elgi is right. Call it a ship, lad." he told the young Manling.

Brokk merely ambled about the city as he waited for the time to go aboard. He did not have much to do; he was not interested in whores, and was not feeling particularly gluttonous at the moment. As such he subsided with a walk; good for one's health, or so he heard anyway.

When he saw the ship he groaned a little. It was definitely not the reliable Dawi Ironclad that he was hoping for. Obviously it would be one of silly umgak sailboats for lesser races like elgi and umgi that were not brave enough to wholly tame their surroundings; they still relied on wind. Still, complaining only did Lonbeards and perhaps better humoured Dawi any good he reckoned. "Mustn't grumble, that's left for the likes of me." he said, giving his beard a cautious stroke as he went on the gangplank.

He slept quite soundly for an hour or two when they finally set sail. He dreamed a dream of old-grudges settled, of his life going differently. Of her not dying.

Finally waking he smiled; he did not see the dream as mocking him, he saw it as release from painful existence. He once more cleaned his Thrund, and realising that there could be pirates loaded it. Since he had time to do it all precisely he did not bother using paper which would make it marginally less accurate. A good first shot could turn the tide of the battle. Satisfied with his quantity of powder, and his work cleaning he slung the thing over his back.

When he finally came upon the deck he chuckled hearing all the grumbling. "It's not too bad; we could have went on some urk's boat." He laughed once more as he remembered a clan of forest goblins trying to sail - in what was at best a pond, yet in truth a puddle. "At least these umgi usually have the decency to use powder on their watercraft, I'll give 'em credit for not being stupid enough to try and use bolt throwers at sea." he said with his laugh extended again.

The Longbearded Ranger sat near the mast puffing on his pipe, and offering whoever wanted one a light. "So who's ready to give these Lizards a good fight? They can hide right and nasty, some of them even change the colour of their skin to fit in with their surrounding. I've dealt with forest grobi, skaven, beastmen and wutelgi and their forest kin, but none of them had such a skill without the help of their silly magics. I reckon you best keep your horse tied somewhere if you value it pally. They'll eat it nearly soon as sees it, especially what with all the jungle to trip over. I won't say anything against armour; it's right and useful when you knows the gits are better sneaks than you but ya really should keep the pretty thing at shore."

Deleted

Gathering his wits swiftly after being seconded on his opinion, by none other than the tattooed Slayer-Engineer himself, Listec allowed the not-so-subtle jibes of the second Dwarf to wash over him as water over rocks; he still reckoned that this 'Brokk', a ranger by trade if he were to be believed, was full of manure when it came to the body of his experiences - even letting out a small snort as he went on again about how be had tricked Beastmen to Asrai.

Only when the Ranger started speaking of the Lizardmen, and their entire reason for boarding the ill-built Human vessel, did his face resume an expression of grim stoicism.

Languidly, like liquid flowing over the side, did he rest himself against the rail, raising his voice loud enough to be heard by the group but no louder, "it is said that the mage-priests of the Lizardmen...the Slann...can perform magic greater than the most learned Elven mage," no doubt the Dwarfs would laugh at this - at least until they came face to face with either mage in person - but he continued after turning back to face them all, "in Lustria they claim there to be insects so large that they can drain a man dry of his blood in moments, immense scaled creatures the size of buildings, and cognisant plants that use scents to lure others into traps from whence they do not escape."

Running a smooth and slender finger over his pointed chin, the Elf took a deep breath, raising his shoulders and lowering them in an oddly Mannish gesture for one of his race, "I ask you all," he questioned with a smile, a 'smile' that simply made him seem more chilling and deranged, "where is the problem?"

@DrunkasaurusRex@Andreyich@POOHEAD189@Bright_Ops@Maxwell@CelticSoldier

Rolling his eyes a little as he as chastised for calling it a boat when it should have been called a ship, he was about to retort in a most witty of fashions when a slight movement of the ship caused him to look over the side of side ship before losing his breakfast over it in the most heroic of fashions...

When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, burning with embarrassed shame at the fact that he seemed to be the only one who was doing so poorly.

Then to make matters worse, the black knight had pointed out his... interest in the wizards apprentice. Groaning a little as he continued to look away (briefly thankful for feeling sick as a dog to give him a legitament excuse to do so), he managed to choke out with some degree of pain "She looks like a damsel damn it."

As the conversation seemed to swing towards there destination, he couldn't help but ask "How long is this trip going to be again?"

@DrunkasaurusRex@Andreyich@POOHEAD189@Maxwell@CelticSoldier@Jbcool

"To be young again," Baltazar replied with feigned wistfulness, punctuating his sentence with a snort at the young knight's last comment. "I've never met any damsels myself, but I'll take your word for it. To answer your question, I suspect we're looking at over a month's travel, and that's at the very least. I've never been across the ocean, however, so you may want to ask the captain to be sure."

He had enough experience with the elder races that their condescending remarks was so much white noise at that point, and Baltazar weathered it patiently. No more introductions were forthcoming; he briefly considered introducing himself a second time to drive home his point, but decided against it - if for no other reason than that a handshake with a seated dwarf would probably be the most awkward moment of his life. Wait, what was that the dwarf just said about lizardmen?

"Are you experienced at fighting lizardmen?" Baltazar blurted out in honest surprise, "I mean, master dwarf, if you have encountered the lizardmen before, any information you might have would be tremendously useful. All I've ever heard myself are vague rumours."

The Dwarf chuckled a little at the word of the elf. Being a Dwarf he didn't worry about magics nearly as much as anyone else would. Beastmen had tried to use their spells on him and their chaotic blades but it was little more than the physical alternative. Still, only a wazzock would underestimate an enemy. "The problem is that I'm much too restless! I want to give 'em a gobful right about now!" He said, hoping for at least a nod of approval from the Slayer and others present who used their head as a weapon as often as they used it for fighting. With an exaggerated hop he stood upright, mimicking the elf's touching of the chin except with his beard for he had a bit of trouble finding his chin in there. "Magic's a fickle thing, a lot of the time a bugger tries to do it they blows up, especially when us Dawi are nearby. It's why we mastered Rune-craft, not yer silly staff pointing. What I'd say we have to worry about is the magics akin to those used by the Vampires and other dark buggers, them being good for stalking and all." Brokk did not know the names of the lores, and while he vaguely knew of magic and it's separation into higher and lesser ones, he also knew that the more powerful users of it could do whatever the hell they wanted with it.

Satisfied he turned to Baltazar, wondering if the umgi had anything in common with the Gelt bugger. He was not sure whether it was a first or last name, human names were so odd to him. He plucked a few black and white hairs from his head, preferring the greys as he thought. "I've been to the Southlands twice, once as a Ranger and once as a Longbeard. The first time it was to chase some forest Grobi, the second to settle a Grudge against some treasure seekers from Hochland." With that he stroked his beard once more, this time a little more seriously. "They've changed a lot over their time on that continent, so I reckons they'll be different by a lot from the ones I dealt with. Still, close enough. The closest comparison for how they are is like this. An urk, with skin as tough as bark, the deviousness of a goblin or ratman, the ability to hide like a wutelgi, the screeches of the beast-kin, and a drakk-face that can bite yer throat out with nay a problem. There's all kinds o' 'em of course. There's the great big ones what are like slower dragons with nay wings but a hide so thick a bullet might not even get past. There's ones that look like innocent hawks from below, but are vicious scaly things that'll bite out yer throat from above, and they have riders too. Ye should always check yerself for darts I'll say that. They dip them in all sorts of muck to make ya not feel them, so you do not know the much worse stuff in one that you need to get out. Only I reckon you and the elgi do not have the strength of mind and body to fight it anyway, which is a wee shame." he considered adding the two Bretonnians to the list of the weak but if they were the "Grail Knights" they were much more than just humans. Besides, even then they tended to still be better than your usual man of the Reik.

He went to lean against the mast again, giving his neck the odd scratch. "Course it all depends where we land. I heard there's a coast of Vampires and their slaves in the New World. We might even land in the place full of nuddy umgi with their big screams and be-spiked clubs." he said, now wishing he read the books on the world he'd seen around a bit better.

It wasn't long before night fell completely and the captain said you'd better get inside or he'd put you on watch the whole night, or just throw you over board. He wasn't very eloquent about it.
The days passed much the same, and Darren was, surprisingly for a wizard, actually very talkative and upbeat. It was good at first, until you realised that the man could talk incessantly for hours without stopping. At all. Even if you asked. He even snores, as Brokk can attest to, despite sleeping in the next room. Somehow, his apprentice always seems fine, despite sleeping only a thin partition away, like those annoying people who just wake up and automatically look pretty. She tends to blush when she's around Fortune, and you suspect that she's never actually seen a real knight before. She usually remains with Darren, giving encouraging smiles to those unlucky enough to be trapped in his dialogue. It wasn't until about a week into the journey that things started to get interesting.

The wind howled and rain hissed onto the deck, striking like pebbles. Waves at least 50 meters high rose and crashed down onto the ship, as if trying to batter it into the ocean with sheer force, and not a few sailors were swept screaming into the dark waters. The ship was tossed and thrown by the awesome might of the ocean, and even some of the sailors were losing their feet, and they were quickly eliminated by the cold cruelty of the sea.

Your door bursts open suddenly, the Captain stands, dripping wet, in the doorway. "I don't care whether you paid one gold or a hundred for this trip, if you don't get up on that deck now were all doomed!" He yells, before running to smash through the next doorway. As soon as you're on deck, you're pushed around by a frantic crew, desperately trying to keep this wooden tub afloat. It isn't long before the captain reappears on deck, and resumes his yelling and shouting. "Captain!" Yells the man who has, somehow, managed to cling onto the crows nest, "Long ship!" The Captain pulled out a thin metal tube telescope, pointing it in the direction the lookout had pointed. He then had a few more choice words. "How did they get stuck in a storm! I always said they weren't the sailors they were cracked up to be. They'll get swamped out there, try to take our ship to stay afloat."
Darren chose this moment to emerge out onto the deck, his apprentice trailing demurely behind him, stumbling on the shifting floor. "Don't worry Captain, I'll deal with them." A fire ball appeared in his hand, and the Captain quickly jumped to stop him, "Are you mad? Fire? On board a ship?"
"I assure you Captain, the fire is completely under my control. And besides, it doesn't look like much on this ship is capable of catching fire."
"You think I care, wizard!" He spat the last word like a curse, "This is my ship, and you'll bloody well do as I say!" The tirade was in fact twice as long, with far more cursing, swearing and the like, but that was the gist. Darren looked hurt, but reluctantly put out the fire. His apprentice was standing close to the edge, staring out into the storm, her hair whipping around her head like a dark halo. "Alison, come away from there!" Cried Darren, just as the ship ground with a horrible, tearing sound of snapping wood and grinding stone, bucking and tipping with the impact. Alison fell screaming over the edge. "Alison!" For the first time, Darren seemed genuinely at a loss. He immediately tried to jump in after her, but the Captain violently interposed himself, "There's no way in hell I'm letting you kill yourself going after a dead girl, Helmsman, what was that!" (Again, paraphrasing)
"We've hit rocks, Captain! There's no way we're outrunning that long ship!"
Just as the Helmsman spoke, his words almost completely stolen by the roaring wind, lightning burst from the clouds, sizzling and crackling before striking the main mast with a loud boom. After recovering from the blinding flash, you stare with amazement at the mast. Lightning still crackles along the wooden beams, lighting the ship with an ethereal glow. "St Elmo's fire." Whispers the Captain. If you didn't hear it, don't worry, because the same cry goes up all over the ship. Some sailors throw themselves over board. Slowly, the Longship begins to turn towards the Wellenbrecher.

The Captain begins yelling orders, "You lot! Yes you! Go see what you can do about that hole in the boat! You! Gather some men, prepare to repel boarders! You! Ye-, why am I asking twice! Get down there and start bailing out! You, adventures!" He says, staring intently at you're group, "Make yourself useful!"

Over the side, almost inaudible over the storm, you can hear the pitiful cries of the apprentice, Alison. She could still be saved.

The week on the ship had been... a mixed experience for Fortune. The 'sea sickness' seemed to come and go in waves; It was a foul thing but not the worst illness that he had ever had to suck up and bare for one reason or another. Namely he bore it in order to sit and listen through Darren's speeches and explanations.

It had started off innocently enough; He had wanted to learn more about magic in the hopes that by understanding it a bit better, he wouldn't be so frightened of it because it was an unknown. It would be unfitting for a knight of the realm to be shriving in their armor because they let their imagination run wild after all. Granted some of the things that Darren had explained to him in his upbeat manner that was doable by a magic wielder were absolutely terrifying that even the bravest of grail knights would confess to some level of distress, but understanding a little bit about the how such things were done also gave him some strategies to either stop it from happening to begin with or how to try and survive it if stopping it wasn't an option.

There were three reasons that he continued to have his discussions with Darren. The first was quite simply that he found discussing magic with him to be rather fascinating as well as informative. Sure he could never wield magic himself (if he could, he would have been taken with the other children who had the 'gift' and since he was a male he would have found out exactly why the boys taken by the servants of the Lady were never seen or heard from again) but even just understanding a little bit about how it worked made it... less scary in a way. Less a monster hiding in the darkness of the night and more something that was bound by rules and laws that it had to adhere to.

The second (through he would only ever admit it to one person... one day) was that he enjoyed spending time with Alison. She was often in the presence of her master and listening to him talk was a small price to pay to sit beside her, glancing at her every now and then when he thought he could get away with it. Besides, understanding magic a little also made the fact that she was magical less... intimidating. Plus she was really cute when she blushed...

The third and final reason was quite simply if he didn't occupy Darren's time, he would try and talk with either the other adventures or the crew of the ship and quite frankly he suspected that they would end up killing him at some point in order to shut him up.

.....................................................

Up on deck as the ship smashed into rocks in the middle of a storm while a hostile ship full of complete and utter mad men (who in their right mind would attack a ship ran aground on rocks in the middle of a storm that you own ship was having trouble staying afloat in?) were coming right for them... and Fortune was tying a rope around his waist that was secured to the mast before he run towards the part of the ship that Alison had fallen off of, fully intending to throw himself overboard in order to try and save her.

His first instinct had been to throw himself after her the moment she had gone overboard but the part of his brain that liked living had argued that if he didn't have a means of getting them both back onto the ship jumping after her would only result in both of their deaths. Thus he had paused long enough to grab a long rope from the deck, tie one end securely to the mast then tying the other to his waist before he ran towards where he was hearing Alison's pitiful cries and throwing himself overboard to go and get her.

He was thankful that he had left both armor and equipment below deck, having not foreseen the use of metal weapons or armor to assist with keeping the ship afloat. If he had been wearing his armor he would have had to forsaken her because all throwing himself over the side would have done was kill himself without doing her any good.

Hopefully the others could hold the ship without him.

@CelticSoldier

The journey as hoped (or perhaps dreaded for the boredom) was quite uneventful. After sticking pullets deep into his ears he was able to more or less get the snoring out of his head, although he made sure to write of it in his little Dammaz Kron. Such a Grudge demanded just a little grumbling and perhaps a shove but he felt the more lethal methods of settling it were not required. Yet.

A dream of her and how it all changed was upon him, the sound of the jezzails firing coming in his dream at the same time that his door was forced upon by the umgi. Perhaps the man would be surprised to have Brokk roll over Dwarf handgun in hand and eye in the sight but then he lowered it realising he was much too tall for a ratman. The Dwarf wiped sweat off of his brow and raised a finger to show "one moment" as he relaxed from the dream upon the bed. A few moments later he pivoted and jumped off the bed with a thud as the stumpy legs hit the floor.

He ran to the deck and sighed as he was the longboat. He had only dealt with worshippers of chaos in the form of beastmen but he had heard tales of the norsemen. The Grudge of the Dawi who had gone to Kislev was still remembered by many. Brokk roared with a small beat on his chest. He went to the railing upon the side and kneeled taking aim as he looked through the scope upon his Thrund. He waited a few moments before aiming, needing to accustom to the waves just a little first. Then, he moved the sight upon the Longboat. He searched for the largest of the Norscans not knowing how to distinguish a leader. "Khazukan!" Aim. "Khazakit!" Prime. "Ha!" he said, before pulling the trigger. He knew the meticulous loading of earlier would be useful, although nearly all loading by a Dwarf was of the meticulous variety. He pulled out the rod to clean the weapon when he turned to hear a scream and... "Oh." the Dwarf muttered as he noticed the young lad hop over the boat. At least he wasn't daft enough to jump just like that, securing himself first. He cursed under his breath, wedging his handkerchief into his weapon's barrel to keep the water out and running over to the railing. The bearded head popped over curiously and grinned at the sight. "You alright chums?" he asked, bracing a leg against the railing to make sure he was not to fall over in case of sudden movements of the vessel. He put a hairy and scarred hand on the rope, ready to reel the two in when the girl was caught by the Bretonnian. He had to admit, the lad was quite the hero. Most would focus on the certainty of saving their own hides from the oncoming raiders, but this kid had hope and sympathy, and now that he was in the water empathy too.

The Captain bursting into their cabin almost had Sketti giving him a 'what-for' while he nursed his hangover, and then realized that he in fact had no hangover, and had simply thought he might because of his previous session. He burped, and hopped out of bed, grabbing his equipment and loading them quickly and methodically. He had his wrench hand on, which was good fortune. That allowed him to at least hold his firearms in a rough fashion, and once they were all loaded, with his melee weapons at his belt, he trudged up the stairs into the pouring rain.

Bare chested and broad shouldered, the cold and the rain bothered him not at all. He simply pursed his lips and looked about the chaos of the deck with a casual eye. "Huh, well time tae get to work." he muttered, and promptly head over to the cusp of the ship. Some crazy Knightling apprentice flung himself overboard with a rope tied around his waist. Sketti was short enough to duck under the taut rope and continue his march unimpeded, hefting his Thrund and aiming it at the longboat next to his fellow Dawi. "Blasted Chaos spawn, I wager," he said, and his Thrund 'cracked' as it fired.

The weeks at sea passed slowly and uneventfully, a fact for which Baltazar was thankful. Lustria promised enough dangers for a lifetime, and he had plenty of living left to do. To that end, he devoted his days to training, and getting to know his traveling companions. When there was nothing better to do, he would assist the ship's crew with shipboard chores, climb the rigging for a chance to stretch his legs, and gamble - as long as anyone would still take his bets. As always, he found himself in Ranald's good graces.

The fencing masters of the Estalian schools of fencing prescribed daily practise of each form, as well as keeping up with the latest scientific discoveries, to incorporate your understanding of the physical universe into your combat style. Baltazar had never been much for winding technical manuals, nor drawn out scientific discourses, and typically found the complicated kata of Estalian swordsmanship more trying than his patience could bear. With that in mind, he preferred the Imperial method, of sparring and physical exercise (the Tilean recipe for success, being heavy drinking and declaring vendetta on everyone you come across, was not very applicable at sea), and offered to teach his tricks to all comers.

When the storm hit, he immediately joined the crew on deck, battening down hatches, trimming sails and making sure the ship was in irons. At the mention of the approaching longboat, Baltazar, spouting curses, flew down to get his sword. The crossbow would soon be useless in the rain; even stringing the thing would be a waste of time, and If the crew couldn't finish off the Norse while they still had dry powder, the ship would inevitably be boarded. Assuming they survived that long.

Coming back up on deck, he was just in time to fall flat on his face as the ship crashed into something in the darkness. From the screaming up at the bow, he had a faint inkling that the wizard's apprentice fallen overboard. What she was doing there in the first place, Baltazar couldn't guess at - she had no business on deck in the middle of a storm, and saving her would be as good as impossible. Naturally, the young Bretonnian jumped after her before Baltazar could do more than stare in bewilderment. He would have given up a few curses, as well, but the longship was already closing in on the Wellenbrecher.

Ripping out his sword, he ran and slid in behind the ship's railing - the Imperial ship had the height advantage, and the Norse would have to climb. In the chaos of the storm and the fighting, odds were good no one would notice a shadow stalking behind their lines, cutting ropes and hamstrings. Baltazar touched one finger to his golden four leaf clover, wrapping around him a cloak of darkness that dimmed his very presence. Sword at the ready, he listened for the sound of grappling hooks and Norse cursewords.

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It would seem that the Captain thought of the only Elf on the sinking vessel last, giving a quick hammer on the door of his cabin – the place becoming slowly more damp by the second – and yelling off something about wanting you on deck; the Man seems flustered enough that Listec did not bother arguing, gathering his armour and slipping it on as he went, the practised and perfected movements of a seasoned warrior moving toward a tense and potentially dangerous situation.

By the time he emerged into the whipping wind and the pouring rain, sailors already scurrying across the decks and crying out to one another in their blunt tongue, the other adventurers were just as busy – apparently the younger Bretonnian had launched himself over the side after someone, the ranger Brokk grasping the boys rope and bracing himself even as the rest of the ship listed in the water.

A couple of the other mercenaries were visible through the wet, each placing themselves at one side of the ship, and the tattooed Slayer letting loose with his Dwarf powder weapon – how he had managed to keep the powder dry was anyone’s guess, and the Asur was not about to question it if it helped to save their lives.

Eyes narrowed against the rain, his usually perfect hair now plastered to his face and the rest of his head, the Shadow Warrior moved over to where the larger – and uglier – knight now stood, shouting something at the resident wizard and even threatening him with her unsheathed blade. This was not his fight though, and Listec moved gracefully across the sodden planks of the ships deck, as level and fluid as if he were taking a stroll along a country road.

Moving at a half-crouch over to the railing, his eyes narrowing even further against the sickly green glow of the mast, he could make out the slender long-ship of the Norscans and hear their grunted oaths to their dire deities as they prepared to board the Wellenbrecher.

With limber fingers and two swift movements of his hand, an arrow with fletching of white was nocked to the string of his longbow, the slender figure rising far enough to get a bearing on the vessel and its living cargo, pulling the string and arrow back to his ear and holding for but a millisecond; with an expulsion of air the arrow was released, the missile disappearing into the darkness with a slight hiss and the satisfying sound of an outcry of pain from the intended target.

Not an instant later and another arrow was already there and ready to loose.

You're blinded for a brief second as the icy grip of the sea takes hold, and only the rope tied round your waste gives you any sense as to which way is up. Bursting to the surface, you see Alison, desperately clinging to a small gap in the ships planks that had likely been caused by the collision. She stretches out one bloody hand, covered in cuts and splinters, "I can't hold on much longer, I-" She screams again as a wave almost tears her from the side of the ship, only just clinging by her fingers, "Please!" She cries, "Help me!" Just then, a sleek, black shadow falls over you, as the norscan ship crashes into the Wellenbrecher, almost shaking Alison loose. Manoeuvring so that the two ships are side on, the norscans clamber up the side of the wellenbrecher, some even jumping from the rigging, and you are trapped in a small, ever shrinking gap between the two vessels. Whatever you're gonna do, do it fast.


Slowly, the longship closes in, until it eventually Rams into your ship, and the by some miracle of their dark gods manages to pull up alongside. Then the carnage begins. Eager Norse warriors swarm up the side of the ship, ropes, grapples and all manner of tools are used to storm the deck, and those without leap from the rigging, some of them even survive. The least experienced crew are quickly overwhelmed, allowing the enemy to fight their way aboard, and the deck is soon turned into a crowded melee, filled with blood and curses and prayers to everyone from sigmar to khorne. Ocassionally you catch a glimpse of some moves the crew learned from Baltazzar, a few fancy flicks here and there, but they are very quickly whittled down to the few veterans who've done this before, the rest overcome by norscan savagery.

One of them appears to take a particular interest in a rope tied about the mast, leading over the side. Looking over, his face forms a grotesque smile as he raises his axe to sever de Vigney's oh so thin lifeline.

Back home there had been a river near the estate that he had grown up in, allowing Fortune to have had the good fortune of learning how to swim, even if it was a rare knight that learned how to do so (Preferring to ride on their horses when wading through rivers). While a stormy sea was far different from the river that he had learned to swim in as a boy, at least he had something to fall back on as he fought he way to the surface with the aid of the rope around his waist.

It didn't take long to locate Alison on the side of the ship and that was a very good thing for both of them under the circumstances. Fighting against the wind, waves and deathly chill of the water with the major boom of the rope to assist him, Fortune managed to get to to Alison and wrap one of his arms around her tightly as he shouted "Grab onto me and don't let go!" over the sound of the storm. Any idea of bashfulness at holding a beautiful girl in his arms was strangled instantly by not only the icy chill of the water, but the desire to not die!

Taking a moment to glance upwards to see how much they would have to climb up before looking over at the oncoming ship that was clearly going to ram them, he quickly came to the conclusion that getting them both back on deck before they got boarded wasn't going to happen even if there were people up top that were going to help pull them up instead of getting ready to repel boarders. Staying here was also not going to work out in the long run either, since the conditions were more likely to kill them then the pirates about to attack the ship.

Looking at the hand hold that Alison had been clinging to, Fortune had an idea... the Captain wouldn't be happy about it but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He didn't fancy his chances of creating a hole big enough for the both of them, but he might get away with one big enough for Alison herself. Turning to look at her, with deadly seriousness in both his eyes and voice he simply said "Don't let go." Before getting to work on grabbing the damp, damaged wood by grabbing hold of it and bracing his legs against the side of the ship to pry it free...

With a wet but sharp snap, a chunk of the plank came free. Throwing the wood through the hole, Fortune breathed deeply as he moved towards it and did what he could as he explained to Alison "I need you to go through there and get to my quarters. My sword and shield are there. Get them and meet me up top... be careful."

As the ships collided, Fortune found both his hands and legs free to try and climb back up onto the deck that now had enemies on it... but they were a future concern. His current concern as he grabbed the rope and started to force himself to climb with his legs against the side of the ship was to not be crushed as the gab between the two vessels closed. It was clear to him as he climbed higher and higher that he wasn't going to make it on his own...

All he could do was keep going and hope for the best (and if that didn't work, that Morr would still take him despite what little would remain of him being lost at sea).

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