The mud filled streets of Liverpool were nearly rivers tonight. The torrent which dumped sheets of rain upon the town over and over obscured the vision of anyone unlucky enough to be caught up in it. One could barely see to the end of the street. The gods themselves must be on the side of the pirates tonight, it was the perfect weather to conceal them as they all scurried into alleys and back ways, eventually all joining up in The Galley. An unmarked, seedy pirate bar in the basement of a butcher shop. Descending the cold steps into the cellar of stone left one with the feeling as if a ghost had passed through them.

It was remarkably large, in fact. After going through the thick oak door, there was not the roar of a raucous crowd to greet a newcomer. It was dark, windowless, ventless, and candle-lit. Any faces which cared to check who had entered quickly went back to their own hushed conversation, or drink. A small bar just big enough for one man to fit behind was in the far corner, with about four tables between it and the door. Some sailors lined the walls, as if waiting on something to start rather than waiting on a drink. To the far right was what looked to be a separate chamber. Almost like a jail cell with the bars removed, just a small outcropping dug into the wall and covered likewise with cobblestone. It was basically a twenty foot by twenty foot box.

In it, a man sat against the back wall. He was staring blatantly out over the room. Most of the regular attendants of the bar seemed to ignore him. Or was it, that they wished he wasn't there at all? Whatever the case, they didn't dare meet his gaze. The ones against the wall stared back at him, most mean mugging him right back. Though his face was neutral, not angry or threatening. In fact it was handsome. Squarish, young features with a scruffy full beard. His dark curly hair trailed around his face, held back by a red headband. He was shirtless, and muscular. It was clear he had not only fought for a living, but gone out of his way to train his body with exercise beyond that. Long, to boot, perfect for a swordsman.

His black wool sailor's pants were the only article of clothing, he had removed his boots and socks. He was completely unarmed, which made the tension in the air all the stranger what with all the armed men sitting at the tables. Besides the extra, otherwise empty chamber, was a black sailor with a yellow linen shirt and simple pants. He had a bandana wrapped around his balled head. If the white man in the chamber was muscular, this man was a bodybuilder. Each bicep the size of cannonballs, and his torso nearly as wide as the small writing desk he sat behind. After a few more painfully quiet moments, the bartender called across the room.

"ALRIGHT BONE CHIME!!! Get this damn traveling show of your started, and out of my bar. This many outlaws in one place, someone's gonna come looking for someone, and I don't want the trouble. No one else is showing up, anyhow," a few of the sailors at the tables changed a glance in his direction, to see how he might react. In response 'Bone Chime,' got up slowly, stretched, took a deep breath in, and sighed.

"Fine, you impatient old crustacean," the sailor walked to the front of his chamber, and addressed the crowd along the walls, "you all already know why you're here. I'm putting together a crew! Thing is, I don't need most of ya' and most of you are here cuz you can't get picked up by another crew! So we're not taking any freeloaders. Anyone with useful skills like cooking, carpentry, medicine, or navigation come see Ade at his desk. Gonna need a few deckhands probably, but I expect you to hold a sword and look scary when I need you to! As for the raiding crew, I don't want anyone useless watching my back. Form a line here, and you lot will be going toe to toe with me. To the death," Kobe let his last three words hang in the air to make a statement.

"Three at a time, to make it fair. Ade here can cast a blessing over this cell and make it so you can't die. Show 'em, Ade," Ade stepped up off his stool and walked around behind James. James didn't even have to duck down for the giant man to put a hand on his chin and the back of his head. He pulled in opposite directions, causing a sickening series of pops to echo off the stone basement walls. Some of the men gasped despite themselves, one full on screamed and left the room. Another followed him to throw up, and then returned soon after.

By the time he has, James's crumpled body was already turning over like a snake coiling around itself. His neck righted it's position on his body by itself, and light returned to his eyes one after the other. He gasped for air wildly for a moment, and then calmed down. Men started trailing out one by one. Mumbling under their breath 'fucking psycho' and 'not worth a job,' but this was exactly the plan. James needed people who wanted to be in the life, and were as batshit crazy as he was. He couldn't trust anyone who ran away at a reanimation spell. After he saw who might stay, he readdressed the issue.

"Now the spell only works on a limited area, so don't leave this cell unless you're sure you're not in danger! I'll play nice otherwise," some of the men drinking rolled their eyes, apparently thinking this was typical of him to think of an initiation so Ludacris, "bring weapons, bring magic, whatever you got! Oh, and we'll be doing three vs one to make it fair," a truly devilish grin graced his lips this time. His heart rate quickened, and one could tell there was true battle lust in this man. The matches may serve a purpose, but he was going to enjoy them as well.

"Any questions then, before we begin?" James's eyes scanned the crowd. The magic dripping off three of them intrigued him. One was bloody, visceral, and yet refined in some small way. When his eyes met the sense he had his brown furrowed. vampire? he thought to himself. No way any teenage girl would still be sitting in a room of pirates in that dress if she wasn't at least a very powerful witch. Then there was a another woman, young as well but not a child. She seemed followed by death, yet there was a sense of tranquility in her magic. A priestess of funeral rites, perhaps. And then a third, Indian woman who looked like she'd seen plenty of up front combat. He could tell at a glance she was one worth looking at on top of the unique aura she possessed. It reached out into the ether as if looking for something.

It was a miserable day in Liverpool. Shiara had only arrived that morning on a ship from Africa. Before that, she'd trekked with a trade caravan across part of the middle east, to get from the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea. Before that she'd taken several ships in succession to get from her island home in the Pacific to the middle east. It had been a long journey, and maybe she could have found work sooner, but she wanted to see the world -- and boy had she seen all sorts of different places! Her wanderlust was far from satisfied, of course, which was why this evening she found herself, soaking wet, in the Galley.

It had taken some discreet asking aroudn to find the place, located in the basement of a butcher shop, but the place was surprisingly large -- and surprisingly quiet. She ordered a drink and some peanuts, and settled in to wait. Fortunately, she had plenty of time to dry off. Only her thick curls were still damp when the bartender hollered to the man sitting in what looked like a prison cell.

What followed was a fascinating display of magic, one that made Shiara's skin prickle. Many of the other prospective pirates left, disgusted or overwhelmed by the show. And that was what it was, of course -- a show, to impress the newbies and scare off those not suited to the life. She stood up, leaving Ainel with the remainder of her peanuts, and went to stand with the other two ladies that had come to apply. One was apparently a child, but Shiara sensed age behind that mask. No way a child have come if she wasn't more than she seemed. The other had darker skin and an unusual looking blade. Almost certainly a foreigner, just like Shiara herself.

Bone Chime himself seemed very confident. Shiara suspected what would follow was a show of power, to impress upon them his captain status -- and to assess their abilities in turn. "Senki, I think you're up this time," she muttered under her breath.

You got it, Boss. came the inaudible reply. Senki, master thief, hovered at her shoulder, ready to go. The black-clad spirit was even better with knives than Shiara herself, and her underhanded tactics would no doubt prove useful in the coming fight.

"I have no questions," Shiara said aloud, glancing at the two she'd be fighting alongside. She wished she knew them better, so they could coordinate their attacks, but instinct would have to do.

Amongst the unwashed masses assailed by England's infamous downpour, a certain figure appeared to defy the will of nature itself as she glided through the mud-drenched streets of Liverpool. Though her visage was concealed by the red-tinted hooded cloak she wore, one could see that she was wearing an emerald teal dress, one more fitting for the daughter of a duke than than the lowborns who called these slums home. Furthermore, her build suggested she was a maiden of no older than thirteen summers. A rebellious noblegirl who ran away from home after another altercation with her father, perhaps? A plausible theory at first glance, however, upon further inspection, things might not be as they seemed to be...

The droplets fell on her yet they didn't touch, it was almost as if something was repelling them from clinging on her frame. The same goes for the brown mud underneath her bare feet, wherever she was about to set a foot down, something alive, flowing, and crimson cushioned her steps.

At the porch of a tiny humble home, a small child was innocently curious enough to stare at the dress-wearing girl's face, and then as if she knew, for the briefest of moments, the hooded lady angled her neck just enough for their eyes to meet...

Promptly, the child widened his eyes, whimpered, then began crying profusely, as if Baba Yaga herself was coming to take him away.

Immediately after, the girl disappeared into a backalley, for she had arrived at where she was supposed to be.


Entering the pigsty of a tavern, Erzsébet made herself comfortable - as much as she could given the wanting accommodations - by claiming a seat, seemingly heedless to the stares she might have received.

After whisking down her hood, she watched in measured silence as James commanded his musclebound necromancer to literally break his neck. "Aha...~" The girl couldn't help but let an amused chortle slip, a subtle grin curling at the corner of her small lips. The execution was excellent, though she'd personally prefer if a little more bloodshed was involved.

The little performance worked wonders, so many outlaws, hoodlums, and ne'er-do-wells showed, yet only a handful remained. Unfortunate, those fodder could've served as blood bags for her, but she supposed they still needed to be fed and sheltered until it's time for 'harvest', a hassle that their would-be captain was unwilling to deal with, understandable.

Then, those who remained must be brave, insane, or both, enough to consider working for Bone Chime to be worth it. Fortunately for him, she was one of them. As for the rest, two of them caught her particular attention, both decidedly not of European descent.

One of them carried the stench of death with her, as if she was a walking tomb. Ah, one of those 'wise women', spirit channeler, those who served as a medium for the departed. Hopefully, she loved conducting funeral rites because there'd be plenty to recite once the Blood Witch was done with her enemies.

The other dark-skinned woman carried the presence of a raider through and through, one of those bandits who actually knew what they were doing instead of the more common simple-minded thugs. If there was anyone here who'd fit the stereotypical image of a pirate the most, it'd be her. This made her magic all the more curious, Liz couldn't sense anything malevolent from it, she had what appeared to be a purely supportive discipline. Curious indeed...

And last but not least, their oh so charming host, the infamous Bone Chime himself; shapeshifter, fleshsculpter, the handsome brigand who reigned over skin, flesh, and bone. Not too far off from her own specialty if Beth could say so herself. He issued a challenge, three against himself, she'd say it was a case of unchecked hubris if not for the enchantment set up prior.

Although speaking of the enchantment... call her paranoid, but Erzsébet decided to err on the side of caution. She curled her fingers, flexing them as if they're holding invisible puppet strings...

"Fucking psycho, damn not worth the job-...?!!" One of the ruffians who decided to raise anchor and left suddenly went rigid. His body stiffening as his pupils constricted, "W... what in the devil's name-aaargh!" Despite his bewilderment, he began shambling toward the little alcove that Ade enchanted. Going by his movements alone, it could be assumed he was taking up James' offer to fight him, but his terrified expression and trembling voice betrayed his true intentions.

Regardless, he stepped into the marked area... then promptly brandished his dagger to tear his own jugular open. "Guuuurghck-...?!!" Blood sprayed like a fountain as astonished onlookers watched on. The ruffian unceremoniously flopped forward, twitched pitifully on the bloodstained floor, then bled out... before he was then promptly resurrected by Ade's magic.

"Haaa-...?! Y-you people are goddamned lunatics!!" After catching his breath, he didn't even bother figuring out what just happened and instantly bolted away from the tavern. Safe to say, he wouldn't be returning, ever.

"Impressive. It appears you've put coins where your mouth is, Sir Bone Chime." Erzsébet quipped after the man left, a distinct Magyar accent audible in her tone, "With that, I've asked my question and you have answered."

She rose from her seat as her shoeless feet carried her into the 'arena', alongside the Spirit Summoner, her spectral companion, and the Indian tribal warrior, "Sanguineus Maleficarum Erzsébet, at your service."

---

The Liverpool showers did nothing to faze Iava. The added weight on her hair bothered her more than the disgusting feeling of leather clinging itself to her body. When she were young, the rain enthused her to cut her mane. She never did so, instead opting to wear it as a symbol of pride. To her, it were akin to the rings of a tree. A legacy for all to see.

Though not many enemies had witnessed such a legacy in recent times. She had been recently, serving as guard for sailors and merchants alike. It had been sailors when she first set out from India, leaving the coastal town of Diu in favor of an excursion towards the Red Sea. Her time in the Middle East was quick. It landed her in Alexandria, not having to stay in the port for long before finding mutual interest with another group of sailors. She lent them her strength, and in return they allowed her on their journey through to Venice.

That had been a long stint, Iava floating from caravan to caravan while traveling the mainland of Europe. Some merchants would bring her to marketplaces and trade fairs to advertise her services to their friends. There was never a shortage of this sort of work for her, but it was choice that landed her in Southampton.

Iava could never quite find what she was looking for despite what she’d seen. Protecting the merchants provided her with purpose, a goal, but the feeling of contributing to something never once came to her. It did when she’d sailed and been a deckhand, though her journeys on the sea didn’t come with much excitement to them. They were peaceful. Iava told herself that discomfort with peace was simply because she’d felt like her training was being wasted. But she knew the truth. Her body craved the thrill of battle, if not for anything else than because it was all it had known. When she was detached from it, nothing felt.

She wondered if that was why she didn’t turn back after seeing a man - neck turned like an owl and body crumpled over - slowly get crack-crack-cracked back to life. Her future captain, no less.

The Galley had only revealed itself to Iava after following a current of whispers. She’d caught the rumor of some pirate gathering event from her latest client, a man looking to sell his furs in Liverpool. The news hadn’t surprised her at the time with how often that merchant peered over her shoulder, as if Iava would've allowed someone to stalk them. When she'd asked him where exactly that secret gathering was, she was met with widened eyes and a hushed whisper questioning her sanity and telling her to leave.

This place didn't seem nearly as threatening as that poor sap had made it out to be. She wouldn't have trusted half the people in here with pinning the tail on a donkey, which made the unsettling showing seem just the tiniest bit justified. The crowd erupted into murmurs when the captain so politely asked if they had any inquiries.

The warrior hadn't come here seeking a captain or to become a pirate herself. But there was something to this man's bone-headed enthusiasm. For even though he sought out men and women to follow him, it wasn't out of a search for power. Iava only knew so because of how ready he had been to give his life up to Ade, his crewmate. A man with any less honor would never sacrifice himself so willingly for such a fruitless purpose. What if everyone had been disgusted? Or if they were smart and knew when something was just too much trouble? What if the spell just didn't work?

The challenge, a fight to prove herself, would have reminded her of darker times had it not been so inviting. It was entirely her choice whether or not to entertain any of it, and the man's attitude and relationship with the strongman lit a fire within her soul. There was trust - the deep sort, and it drew her in despite the confines of the cage.

She wondered who else it could have drawn in.

Her eyes landed upon a young woman. Everything about her made it clear she wasn't of this continent, something Iava found solace in. It was the way she carried herself that made the distinction. It seemed as if the weight of the world had been just a bit lighter for her than it did for the merchants Iava has come across. And yet it was clear that she knew of the world's horrors - an aura that couldn't be described any other way but deathly was about her. There'd been a spirit with her, resting on her shoulder. Iava hoped the story of her origins would meet the warrior's ears soon.

"I have no questions." The summoner approached and stood tall. The confidence felt comforting for Iava to have on her side.

There'd been one more intriguing soul. A girl, this time, not a woman. A hint of sympathy would have twanged had she not felt it. If the other woman carried herself lightly, this girl had a weight about her, one that threatened to crush everything around her besides herself. Her magic had nothing to do with it, though Iava noticed-

The sudden movement threw her off. Iava’s hand tightened around the hilt of her blade as she watched the blonde. The way her fingers moved and matched the man threatened to send shivers down the warrior's spine. She followed the girl's gaze, landing upon a man from across the tavern. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she’d been controlling him, especially with the odd energy exuding from the assailant. Some might have called it a horror when his neck was slit, but as she watched, the young girl seemed to be relishing in it. The expression had a noticeable lack of malice despite its' unsettling nature.

Iava took note of her current teammate and her tendencies. A child killing animals for fun. She supposed she'd put worse differences aside in the past.

She would ignore the girl's nature as it stands; right now she judged the witch as adjacent to those honorless types. Whether that were true or not didn't matter. It meant, to Iava, that she needs her space in a fight. She would be provided with such. Later would come the questioning, naturally since she’d likely end up trusting this demon with her life. Anyone with the power to do that to her was worth monitoring.

There was hope to be found in the fact that the captain brought them together. Iava found herself pleasantly uncrushed when the girl brought herself to the side of the warrior and the summoner.

"Impressive. It appears you've put coins where your mouth is, Sir Bone Chime. With that, I've asked my question and you have answered," the witch spoke, "Sanguineus Maleficarum Erzsébet, at your service."

The group had their three for the challenge. Iava knew it was her who would take the helm; if anyone else was capable, she figured they would step up on the frontlines. She placed herself between her team and the pirate in front of them. If the girl decided to run a test, then she would run one of her own.

"You have my interest," she began, staring relentlessly into the eyes of 'Bone Chime.' Her hand drifted, merging itself with the structure of Omen's hilt. She made sure her tone remain flat, unimpressed. "Now earn our service."

The faint glow of admiration faded from Iava's eyes. Her hollowed gaze traveled up and down the man. Shirtless as a brute, he'd been about as hands-on as it gets up to now. It was time to see the limit of that valor. Slowly starting to draw her sword from its' home, she spoke without missing a beat. "Any man's bones can be split."

She approached the man, tracing a circle about him as if he were prey. Her blade moved second. It came alive with a whirlwind of circular motions, tracing intricate patterns in the air as it danced to the beat of her footwork. They formed a seamless union, whirlwinds in tandem with one another - a gathering storm. In this symphony of steel and motion, she poised herself as both conductor and soloist.

The tempest calmed with a final flourish. Omen's tip aimed unwaveringly at the captain, her focus shining through the patterns etched into the blade. Steady breaths marked the calm before the storm. She spoke no further, instead priming every bit of her body for the start of battle.

Well this is already not going how I planned, is what went through James's head as Iava stepped right into the stone outcropping he occupied. He backed away from it's entrance as he did so, and moved around to the side to follow her circling. He thought, stupidly he supposed, that he would be picking fighters out of the small crowd left behind. He should have known there would be at least one person psycho enough to volunteer before he could have the chance. What's more, it seemed the warrior had already agreed to a team up with the two other women in the crowd. As if he already wasn't taken by surprise, THIS was certainly unusual.

James was no misogynist. He had sailed with women and served under a female captain. Yet it was still a strange sight to see three of them all showing up to the same pirate crew. Not only this, but by the looks of things they were three women more than willing to fight. How interesting, and unusual indeed. James had never expected to be the face for outlaw inclusion, but if they passed his test he would certainly welcome the feminine perspective aboard his new ship. He would have to make sure not to underestimate them, first.

"Surely you would allow a man to draw his weapons?" He said, splaying out his empty hands to either side to show her his palms. Then, a split began to form near his wrist. Two stark white, spiked poles began extending from them. They grew until they were about three feet each. Small beads of blood ran down them leftover from the splitting of his skin.

Then as he dual wielded the things he crouched into a more full fighting stance. One he held forward ready to parry, while the other stayed poised by his head ready to attack. He curtly nodded at Iava, his eyes telling her he was now ready for her advance. In his peripheral vision he stayed aware of the two other women, and stayed about halfway from that entrance towards the back wall. Getting cornered this early would mean a swift death, especially with whatever ranged attacks that blood mage may have.

He was already formulating counter strategies based on what he already knew. In all of them, he would have to tire out Iava. No way a warrior of this caliber was going to let him take his attention off her. If he didn't pressure her hard enough, he would end up being picked apart by her support. This meant an aggressive and fast paced approach. If he could get her to slip up, he could deal some meaningful damage to her or one of the others. Now the question was how, and when.

Shiara watched with interest as the blood mage controlled one of the sailors into the cell, and had him slit his neck. Underhanded, yes -- not to mention ethically questionable, but this was pirates they were talking about, so that was a given. He revived, of course, and proceeded to flee the scene. Shiara shook her head. One less in the competition for a berth.

Then the foreign woman stepped forward into the cell. Shiara followed, though not as closely. It would be tight quarters for a three-on-one fight in that area. Hopefully she could stay out of reach of the unarmed captain.

Or perhaps not unarmed -- bone poles with spikes emerged from Bone Chime's wrists. So that's how he got his name. It was an intriguing skill. If he could shield himself with bone too, they might be in serious trouble. But he didn't seem to have a shield currently, and no doubt it would take time to craft one, as it had taken time to form the spiked bone clubs.

With the foreign woman and Bone Chime mostly occupied with each other, Shiara drew two daggers from the collection in her belt. At the same time, she half-closed her eyes. "Senki, to me." For a moment the young woman's whole body glowed, as the invisible thief merged with her master. Immediately Shiara's entire posture changed. She was always light on her feet, but now she balanced with a cat's grace, and her steps were silent as she moved a little to the side, to get a better angle on her target.

It was essential that she wait for just the right moment to throw -- when Bone Chime was occupied either attacking or defending someone else's strike. It would probably come when he was busy with the foreign lady, but the blood mage also might give her an opportunity. Either way, Shiara and Senki were ready to strike.

Now that all four of them were properly inside the makeshift - and enchanted - arena, the little recruitment trial could begin.

As James would discover, briefly after he brandished his bone-picks from his flesh, the few drips of blood he leaked began to... move on their own, swirling and flowing toward the sanguineus maleficarum's right palm. In fact, the same thing could be said to what remained of the "suicidal" ruffian's spilled blood, all of them coalescing into a literal blood orb floating by Erzsébet's hand. They were hers now.

"Then, shall we dance?" She inquired with a sweet, cordial smile.

While the Raider Warrioress took the frontlines as she expected her to do, clashing her peculiar weapon with James' bone spikes, the Spirit Channeler was surprisingly a close combatant as well. Beth had to admit she didn't expect her to be wielding daggers instead of slinging necromantic spells, or maybe it depended on which particular spirit she bonded herself to, just so happened it was a dashing rogue in this particular instance.

Regardless, this left Erzsébet as the primary ranged fighter in the group, a good balance if she could say so herself. Now, while she could try to simply commandeer Bone Chime's veins like puppet strings, it would defeat the purpose of the spar even if it worked, as the point was to gauge their abilities, she should treat this more like a... jousting competition than an actual fight to the death, even if (temporary) death was on the table.

With that in mind, the Magus of Crimson decided to start small, the intro before the rising action. The blood orb by her right ebbed and flowed as some of its bulk began splitting off to form scarlet arrowheads, which were promptly loosed toward Bone Chime, homing at him from various angles, including his flank.

---

Iava knew she stood with two others. All three of them shared the mission of taking him down. Therefore must do her best to enable her partners. She was to preoccupy Bone Chime in this fight. Nothing more, nothing less. The less of his attention he could pay to the witch and the summoner, the more opportunities for them to place the nail in his coffin.

"Surely you would allow a man to draw his weapons?" The captain's tone prompted the ghost of a smile from Iava.

"Not usually," the warrior replied, not dropping her weapon, "But, do as you will."

Clearly the man wouldn't have signed himself up for this had he not been capable. Iava's eyes widened slightly at the sight of his "weapons," the poles growing from his wrist in a grueling manner. She'd been wondering what he was to pull from his sleeve, though she didn't think he'd do it so... literally. Surely that hurt, no?

She'd been shocked out of her thoughts by the abnormal - his blood, no longer trickling down naturally, but moving on its' own. It clicked then and there. It had been the magic of the little witch. A thought flashed through her mind. Any blood spilled simply meant more power on their side. And right now she couldn't die. It didn't matter how she fought, just that she was fighting and occupying the space. Turning into a fountain would still aid her teammate.

That thought made her lose any intentions of matching Bone Chime's dual wielding with her sheath. She'd block with her arm - if it gets cut off, oh well. If the reanimation spell doesn't reattach body parts? She'd have to be stopped from taking the captain's in return.

Now, how to preoccupy a man?

Iava had a variety of styles in a fight. One she frequently used, as it worked best against the less experienced, was to take control. Stepping back, determining the range of battle, checking any foolhardy advances, and stomping out each and every option her opponent would take until they had nothing left. It was satisfying, but not effective; she would sacrifice many openings in the process.

In the current moment, she matched his fighting stance with one of her own. She did step back, as if to circle him again, though only for a split second. She weighed down on her rear foot before she unleashed her blade in a dramatic sweep. Though it was a feint; she quickly adjusted her blade as it arced through the air and pivoted sharply, fully committed to follow through in spite of the dangers. The adjustment would lead to her true goal as she went for a second, decisive strike.

"You'll find I'm much better at dancing than you'd expect," Said James as his own blood formed spikes to track him. Up until now he had engaged in no jokes, or banter, really. His tone denoted, however, that he was already having fun. A 'captainly,' presence was now replaced with an almost childlike teasing. Seeing as Iava was closing in to attack at the same time as the volley, James suddenly changed direction.

Indeed appearing light on his feet, he reversed the circle in two quick steps. Walking out of the path of the arrows, and Iava's first slash. Now from Elizabeth's point of view, James was behind Iava. This would cause the first of the arrows going towards his flank to pass by, and the others would need to change direction unless the spell weaver intended to hit the sellsword. So at least for now, they were dealt with until Elizabeth redirected them.

The problem came the next half second, for Iava's first strike was a feint. Just short of being cut James raised his parrying arm to the strike. Small bits of bone chipped off like sparks as steel collided perfectly upon it's edge. Though he was close to injury there, he wasted no time in his counter. With a wild smile he pressed towards Iava, knowing full well the other foreigner was aiming to circle around to his blind spot soon enough.

He stabbed at her with his other bone spike, aiming for center mass to give it the best chance at causing damage. The head could be too quick, and duck out of the way. It was a deadly javelin now which aimed to skewer her. Still, he was not wildly charging into her range of threat. This attack was singular, and left open to fluid reaction from whatever source may come next. His other bone baton would be poised to guard or attack next turn. His wrists by this time, had completely closed up from the beginning of the bout.

Yet there was still the spirit talker. Surely some communion had happened from those deft footsteps changing suddenly. Her posture, the way she held her knife, something had changed. James was betting it was a possession of some kind. He had also heard of mages who could access their ancestral memory, but either way the skills would work out this same. This was an accomplished rogue he was now fighting. If he simply treated her like a warrior now without a proper counter strategy, he would get his throat cut before he knew it.

James had always believed in a good offense, so that's the way he went. On the top of his shoulder began to form some sort of welt. The flesh rose, and extended into a large ball with a stalk connecting it to him. In the same second it became a functioning, slightly overlarge eyeball which tracked Shiara.

While the eyeball grew, a flesh colored tentacle burst forth from the top of James's scapula. It grew rapidly to a full length of six feet, and by the time it was full size there was a curved spike made of sharpened bone attached to the end. It whipped through the air in an arc which threatened to slash Shiara diagonally across her whole body. James let out a chuckle as his two simultaneous attacks struck out at each woman.

@Izurich @Imia @Shylarah

It was fascinating to watch Bone Chime at work, as he circled and dodged. But Shiara had no time to admire his skill. The long tentacle he'd fashioned, six feet long and tipped with bone, was a serious issue. She deflected the bone spike with one of her knives, stepping forward and aside, aiming to come in close enough to cut a few feet of tentacle clean off with her other knife. Succeed or fail, her next target was the eye watching her -- a thrown knife would do to take it out cleanly. She followed that throw with another, aimed at the closer of his normal eyes.

It was a fraction of a moment before she was armed again, two more knives from her belt held one in each hand. Erzsébet's blood darts lingered in the air, and the foreign woman was still engaging Bone Chime up close. Shiara went to circle behind the pirate captain, ready for any more eyes that might pop out of his body. If he tried that trick again he'd find himself with another eye full of knife in short order.

She wished she had a fully crafted golem on her, but it was risky carrying such things around. Bones and obsidian could be explained away as jewelry making materials. A golem was much harder to justify. Damn the church anyhow.

"Oh~?" The blonde mage giggled in curious mirth as the pirate captain was aware enough to respond to her blood arrows, even using the Indian warrior's body as an unwitting shield. Now, while she personally wouldn't feel all that guilty if she committed friendly fire, pragmatic logic dictated one should strive to minimize such blunders as no one would want to cooperate with a rabid dog who couldn't discern friend from foe.

As such, Erzsébet waved her left hand, commanding the crimson projectiles to change course. She then took a moment to analyze the situation. Bone Chimes' fleshweaving power was at full display here, using his extra limbs to compensate going against two melee combatants simultaneously. However, if there was one weakness she could theorize was that unlike her blood objects, those flesh constructs were very much part of James' body, and wounding them would hurt him all the same. It was time to test this hypothesis.

Manipulating her projectiles, they coalesced together to form a single, larger barbed spearhead, then this blood-made javelin would aim to skewer James' oversized eyeball. If the maneuver was successful, hopefully the combination of the pain and disorientation from suddenly losing his extra sense would ensure Shiara's daggers to land a clean hit or two, or her daggers would ensure her spear would land, either would work, all the while Iava continued occupying his primary attention.

And of course, should any of them bleed, that'd just mean more fuel for Erzsébet to utilize. After all, blood is mana and mana is blood.

---

The clash lit Iava's spirit ablaze. Heavy, was what she'd thought of her adversary's spikes. Hard, too, since they're bone, and they couldn't go anywhere since they grew out of him. A true extension of the body. She could be colored impressed.

Not impressed enough to be blind to a direct strike. She would have done something like bring her sword up to reflect... if she could have died. Being without risk, she decided to press her luck. Iava's momentum carried her off-balance after the clash. She grounded herself firmly with her heel and turned on it, shifting her stance in the face of the thrust.

Though the captain's strike was true. Bone sliced through Iava halfway through her rotation to her right, driving through her leather cuirass with relative ease. The edge bit into her side and drew blood. Blood came with a sharp intake of breath, being more than welcomed by the warrior knowing who she was with. The threat of impalement subsiding allowed her to get a fuller view of the pirate's magic on display, the large tentacle shooting out, and she'd caught a flash - knives and the young woman from before, primed to close the distance. She was grounded now, thusshe must occupy the man some more.

With a twisting motion she'd whipped the sword through the air, a vicious glint of steel poised straight for the Chime's neck.

Fuck, thought James as his spike buried itself into Iava's leather armor. Some blood spurted out from the wound, but this advancement did not fill James with a sense of victory. It had taken the woman no time at all to become comfortable with the idea of dying and resurrecting. To so immediately use the effects of the arena spell to her advantage, confirmed that she was as crazy as James himself. Careful what you wish for.

He swiftly brought up his left baton to block her attempt to decapitate him outright. Then, he back stepped immediately out of her range. He may have gotten one point in, but staying that close would clearly be a mistake. Iava would just tank another non lethal hit and run him through to be sure. It had been some time since someone had stopped his pressuring so immediately.

Despite an unexpected development, James was still well aware of each aspect of the fight. His bladed whip protruding from his shoulder continued to use it's momentum unpredictably. It wiggled and slithered in the air, evading Shiara's knife attack. Likewise, the eyeball on his shoulder bent cartoonishly out of the way of her throwing knife. James, as he was backpedaling away from Iava, bent his head diagonally back as well to avoid being stabbed in the eye by her thrown knife.

Then, the bloody javelin decimated the thing entirely as it passed over James's shoulder. A small splatter of blood dispersed into the air as the weapon passed. James always designed his extra parts with as few nerve endings as possible. So that he could be aware of their movements, but receive as little pain as possible when damaged. This felt like a pinch, but an annoying one.

"Better not get too reckless, mercenary. If you pass out from blood loss you're no help to these two," taunted James. Of course internally he admitted it was a good move, strategically. He wondered, however, what Iava's reply or justification might be.

So now while traveling backwards, when he was a single step outside of Iava's melee range, he opened his mouth. The tip of his tongue formed a hole, and a line of clear liquid shot out like a water gun directly at Iava's eyes. This liquid was spitting cobra venom, which causes burning pain, and eventual blindness. At the same time his appendage, now only directed by James's actual eyes, snapped several times at Shiara. WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, went the sound of the whip each time it ripped through the air. Once to slash her face, the next her left arm, and finally her torso again.

Shiara was surprised that the foreign woman took a full-on hit from Bone Chime, but only for a moment. As blood spilled, she realized the strategy. "Clever, clever," she whispered. Her thrown knives had missed, but Erzsébet's spear of blood hit the extra eye squarely, destroying it. Good.

Then Bone Chime spat liquid at the foreign woman's face. Simultaneously he was attacking Shiara. She dodged the first and last strike, judging them too risky to take if she didn't want to be out of the fight entirely, but she allowed the middle one to hit, scoring a deep slash on her left arm. Not enough to render it useless, but certainly enough to draw a hiss of pain from the young woman. Blood splattered on the ground, and Shiara hoped Erzsébet would take advantage.

But it was also an opportunity for Shiara herself, allowing her to get much closer to the pirate captain. She struck out with both knives -- not at the tentacle, but at Bone Chime's body, one knife going for his neck, the other for his side. Then, as quickly as she'd come, Shiara was out of range again. She knew better than to stay in close -- she was no thick muscled fighter. A solid hit from his spiked bone clubs would send her flying, and possibly break her limbs.

Much to her mild surprise, she was actually enjoying this little deadly waltz of theirs. One would think cooperation between three people who were all strangers to one another would be... a messy affair, but they weren't doing bad at all, and the same could even be said for their opponent, Bone Chime knew how to provide an engaging experience. Even an untrained mutt was capable of thrashing around, but it took a certain finesse to fight and make it entertaining.

It seemed she was going to enjoy working with this English fellow, but first, they needed to impress him.

Splendid, her blood javelin successfully amputated James' eye stalk, and whether through a conscious decision or not, her cohorts appeared to forgo caution in favor of riskier moves, if they bled, so be it, their blood wouldn't go to waste.

Under the Sanguineus Maleficarum's influence, every crimson drop spilled immediately moved unnaturally, flowing toward her instead of splattering haphazardly on the ground. As the fight went on, her reservoir grew ever more. A lesser man would find himself horrified at the sight of mass bloodshed, but not her, not Erzsébet, she thrived in them.

"Heh...~" The blonde couldn't help but produce a quiet giggle at James' taunt. Perhaps he'd soon find out that the blood mage could give as well as take, she could mend the She-Raider's body should it come down to it. This was where Liz was most dangerous, left to her own devices while her loyal meat-puppets allies kept their foes busy. In return, she'd heal the wounds inflicted upon them, let it never be said the Mistress of Crimson never return favors.

Now then, as things stood, James was being slowly but surely pushed on the back foot. Erzsébet figured she should strike while the iron is hot and continue mutilating his mutations. Flexing her fingers and palms, the youthful crone shaped a pair blood chakrams, then launched them on an arc, spinning ominously as they aimed to slice off his curved bone-spike limb-thing!

---

Another clash, and this time she felt herself grow familiar with the weight behind the pirate's weapon. The fervor of battle flowed through her like a current, guiding her downstream to him. Iava raised her sword to strike, though this time the knife whizzing past caught her eye and made her falter.

She hummed. An inadequate swordsman would have blundered by now. Combined with the fact that it had been three-on-one, it took a true fighter to treat the situation as he was. He'd known his limits well and didn't let a single bit of knowledge go to waste. It was safe to say that Iava would remain impressed by him regardless of how the battle went. She kept her sword as the ready as he spoke,

"Better not get too reckless, mercenary. If you pass out from blood loss you're no help to these two."

"So you'd think," Iava replied, shrugging off the judge of character. It'd been nothing more than a superficial comment. For if the man's words held any merit behind them, he'd not have been judging the girl's power so lightly. Or perhaps he simply hadn't caught on yet. Regardless, after what she'd seen, she held no doubts of the witch's abilities. Thankfully, because the englishman made sure there would be no time for doubts.

Iava would have caught a mouthful of whatever he spit at her had she not been so terse. She used both hands to bring up her sword, protecting her face whilst she crouched off to the side. The projectile bought enough time to stall Iava as the summoner began her own assault. She found her teammate beginning her own retreat as she began a move of her own.

Still crouched, she propelled forward with a burst of speed, darting towards the captain's right flank. Omen slicing through the air in a precise arc aimed towards Bone Chime's knee. The energy behind it was fierce, almost explosive, her blade's edge gleaming as it sought to break his defenses.

Damn it, now they're all doing it, cursed James as the swifter of the two adversaries recklessly let the bladed whip slash her arm. It paid off, because as she charged past him she sliced his pectoral muscle and into his shoulder. James was barely able to rotate his shoulder back to follow her direction, minimizing the damage so that it was (mostly) superficial. Though, that one stung.

James's expression as she cut him turned from still jovial, to rueful. His eyes darkened and his smile faded from his face. This quickly, three witches he'd never heard of had made him get serious. Every spec of blood on the ground was looking like a spring trap. His main opponent was pursuing him, like he was some lesser bounty to be hunted. While her support flanked around behind him so suddenly. Now he was feeling underestimated.

His eyes darted from Shiara to Iava, now closing in, with just as much contempt. He saw and predicted the arc of her sword, yet made no effort to move. Instead he raised his arms, and flipped his clubs so that the spike was face down. Just as the saber buried itself into the cartilage of his knee, and collided with his bones, he brought both spikes down to skewer Iava through her back from two angles. Both their strikes happened at the exact same time. As he reared back for his attack, a smile blood thirsty enough to rival Elizabeth's Curled across his face. His eyes went bloodshot from the pain in his leg, which caused his smile to twitch uncomfortably as well. However, it didn't leave.

While this happened, instead of further tormenting the possessed priestess, the tentacle retreated back into James's body. As it did so he redirected the matter towards the cut Shiara just caused. By the time she stopped her movement and James had attacked Iava, the wound was almost closed. This coincided with the Blood Mage's spinning blades attempting to chop the limb off. Because James gave the order for it to retreat, only one of them succeeded in dismembering about two feet of it before it disappeared. He hadn't gotten all of his organic material back from that creation, but a certain amount of it.

Shiara was glad to score a hit, a vicious grin spreading across her face courtesy of Senki. The thief was more than a little bloodthirsty. And then the foreign woman made another attack -- but instead of dodging, Bone Chime accepted what looked like a very painful blow to the knee in exchange for running his attacker through. He must be sure he can heal that, Shiara thought to herself, quietly impressed with his abilities. He'd make a good ally, once the fight was over.

Erzsébet managed to sever about a third of the tentacle, but it looked like Bone Chime had anticipated this and started it retracting before her strike. A pity, that. He'd healed himself from Shiara's strike, too. How much can he heal before he runs out of mana? Shiara wondered. Time to find out. She was behind him, and he was focused on the foreign woman, his two clubs skewering her like a piece of meat. This was an opportunity.

Silent as the night, Shiara leaped forward, knees on Bone Chime's back, knives going to slit his throat one on each side. It was a risky move, and she'd probably pay for it, but this was almost certainly the best chance she'd get -- and there was no telling how long he could hold out if she didn't make some sort of significant move.

Well, well, well, what's this? The oh so jovial captain was getting quite into it too, wasn't he? Yes, she recognized that unmistakable look, the thrilled grin that could only come from someone who relished in bloodshed. She had heard of this Captain Monroe, heard that he was one of her kind, those who were most alive when dancing with death.

It appeared the rumors were true after all, and the same could even be said for the Wise Woman, how unexpected. Then again, Erzsébet didn't know the expression was courtesy of the rogue spectre possessing her instead.

As the fight escalated, the trio collectively managed to keep up with the pirate captain, trading blows, scratches, and lacerations. But then, the Raider who she assumed to be the most physically durable amongst them took a pair of nasty stabs from Bone Chime's... bones. Mmm... those looked quite urgent, but it did force him to stay put.

Force... aha~

With a wider sly grin, the Sanguineus Maleficarum let her chakrams dissolve back into droplets and return to her, meanwhile she concentrated all of her focus to dig deep into the veins in Bone Chime's palms and wrists. Against the 'arcane-touched', her puppeteering technique would be significantly dampened by their innate resistance to magical intrusion, but by narrowing all of her efforts into just a select part of their body, the Blood Witch could still exert her influence for a brief yet crucial period.

Thus, with invisible puppet strings hooked on James' upper arms, she compelled those limbs of his to remain where they were, robbing the captain's faculty over his own hands for a few seconds, hopefully enough time for Shiara's throat-slitting pounce to proceed uninterrupted.

---

Iava's eyes watched the Captain's front like a hawk. Habits served her well in this moment; the intention in his eyes became clear even before she'd seen the spikes which poised to drive through her middle. Though the fibers in her body screamed danger, they knew Iava had weathered storms far harsher than the ones she faced now. As she lunged towards the captain, the weight of her history and the pride of her untamed tresses bolstered her resolve.

Iava adjusted her approach before she even completed her lunge. Her torso twisted slightly, angling herself away from the captain’s incoming strikes. She brought her off-hand up to intercept one of the spikes, knowing firsthand how dangerous they could get.

Though the attempt was futile. As her blade sliced through the air towards the captain’s knee, she felt the brutal impact of one spike against her armor, sending a shudder of pain through her side. The second spike struck its chord in tandem and amplified the assault. Her armor offered its' protection, but the bone-hard surface of the spikes ground into her muscles even still. She hit the ground with a thud and was left with a bruised, aching side as a result of the gnawing throb, though it did nothing to extinguish the flame within her.

Iava's own strike proved effective; her sword connected with the captain’s knee, ripping through the softer flesh and cartilage with ease. Contact with the bone reverberated through her arm, and the impact from the trade of blows staggered her through her attempts to shake it off.

For a moment, the captain would be momentarily distracted and off-balance. How could they press the advantage?

She scanned the battlefield as she steadied herself and found their key. There had been interference - the witch had his hands struggling under the arcane control, creating a crucial opportunity. She'd seen the summoner, already leapt at the chance. In response, Iava readied herself, sword still wedged into Bone Chime, preparing to support her teammates and capitalize on the chances they'd uncovered in the ongoing battle.

She had sought purpose in protecting others, though it'd only been in moments such as this -- amid the chaos of combat -- where she felt this... profound connection to her own being. As if she were grasping at something just out of reach.

Iava heaved one last breath of determination. The grip on her sword remained steadfast as her focus grew sharp, the pain in her side nothing besides a rusted blade in comparison, heavy and cumbersome as it were. She would fight with all that she had, as she always had, and carve her legacy through each clash and every strike.