Hearing the rest of his companions discuss the need of a strategy against Warden Derrick, Cayde decided to throw in his own thoughts on the matter. "While I agree that a plan for dealing with the warden is certainly in order, I don't think we can do so now. We don't have enough information on him like strengths and weaknesses or possible environmental hazards on the fourth floor that we or he could take advantage of. We could try and find a guard to interrogate, but I don't believe we have the time nor the privacy to conduct anything of the sort. Our best option may be to perform our own recon before engaging him ourselves."
Soon after he finished speaking though, the group would find themselves ambushed by a group of eldritch horrors that seemed like something right out of his uncle's tales. "Hold that thought," he said, peeking around the corner with Perkeo to avoid being hit by one of their water-y projectiles. "I'm no marine biologist, but..." Cayde had begun to say before one of the creatures spit out a ball of slime at the wall he was hiding behind. "I believe it's safe to say these things prefer water over this stone tower. Deep water most likely."
Looking over to a nearby scone that held a torch, one of the few sources of light in this prison, the nobleman began to hatch a plan. Removing the torch from it's fixture, Cayde tossed it around the corner to see how the five water-aligned monsters reacted. He had a feeling that their eyes would be extremely sensitive to the light as they would be meant for depths far below where the Sun's light could reach their habitat.
It was a gamble, but it certainly paid off, as the beasts furiously snapped their eyes shut, flailing their tendrils around in a desperate bid to smash the torch. One quickly burnt a tendril, but succeeded in destroying the light source. More cautious than before, the beasts hissed furiously, trying to spit at Cayde behind the wall, their spit sticking to the wall in thick globs. They were grouping up together, trying to stay in the darker parts of the room and darting in and out of shadows.
Perkeo gulped, before letting out a rather girlish screech as something grabbed at his leg, a tendril wrapped around his leg and trying to drag away at him. The talon the tendril was supposed to have was shattered, as if someone had struck it with a mace. Growing pale, Perkeo started running like a chicken with its head cut off, grabbing a torch and whacking the beast upside the head with it. "LET. GO. OF. MY. LEG!" he shouted, to not much avail. He was literally breaking the torch from the first few swings, the thing splintering and going out as the beast only grew more and more enraged. Lashing out its tendrils once more, it seemed intent to put Perkeo out of his misery altogether.
Several prisoners were now managing to push back, having used the monsters as a diversion in order to take out the guards, and quickly make their getaway. If the group followed their momentum, they'd reach the belonging's floor for the high-security prisoners. Well, Perkeo might not. Bit tied up at the moment.
A wet crashing sound caught the harvin noble, her gaze turning to see the figure that had jumped from a hole and landed right in front of her. His form was clearly broken, shattered beyond what one could consider close to being presentable in a coffin. But the twitch of a finger, the shuddering of organs...these delighted her eyes. A sadistic shimmer, and a flick of her wrist, and Selmia chucked the glass jar containing the still-beating heart of Marshall at his broken form, the glass shattering and leaving the heart exposed to the open air.
"Hehehe...you came all this way to see me?" she asked, clearly elated at Marshall's presence. Tilting back and forth on her toes she flicked her dagger out, spinning the blood-stained weapon in her hand and flicking the blood off. "You didn't have to do all that...but now I can bring all of you home with me!" she cried out. She watched with anticipation as Marshall pulled himself together, eyes trained on his right hand. His capabilities, his method of attack, his power source, his brutality...every aspect of it was within her line of sight, and every motion she made was calculated. Her childish guise, her small limbs containing muscles fit for singular bursts of speed and impossible to predict thrusts. The very air around her radiated danger...the likes of which an ordinary person, or even an extraordinary person exuded.
It was something similar to Marshall's benefactor. Whatever strength she carried, it was likely that one of the Primal Beasts was bestowing power to her.
"Its okay. I know you hate me. But that makes playing with you fun, Marshall." she said, taking a step forward. "So let's play. Until we stain this hall red and one of us begs to stop. That's when its most fun, right?" Another step. And another. "Oh, but it isn't playing if it isn't fair." she added as a metal clink resounded against the wet cobbled stone. A familiar sight in the form of Marshall's dagger laid before his eyes, carefully maintained and sharpened during his captivity. It seemed his Number 1 Fan had taken good care of his things.
Arno stormed towards his Akula, the guards and prisoners making sure to give him a wide berth, they all heard and saw him yell down a member of the 13 Heads, even if Arno didn't know it. And he he had his pistol in his hand, the large, triple barreled handgun that looked like a rifle carbine in the hands of the small statured Harvin. Arno seethed anger at this point, as he got closer he saw more of his airship taken apart. The gun barrels were screwed out, they were examining the rifling. He glanced back to his escort and made sure they were following him, hot on his heels. He looked back to his sky camouflaged airship and pointed at it. "I want you to screw those barrels back in tight, as tight as you can and then some, then lower the engine back into its housing with the crane. Do. Not. Touch. Anything else. I will reattach the ammunition and hook the engine back in." He ordered, pointing at each of the cannon barrels, engine and crane with his free hand. He holstered his sidearm and hopped onto the wing of the airship, his first action was to start reattaching all the connections the prison engineers had taken apart.
It had taken him minutes, minutes too long. As soon as he screwed in the last panel, he picked up the heavy cannon shell clips and slotted them back into the internal magazines in the wings. Each clip snapped into place with a satisfying click, and Arno swept his fingers across the arm sized cannon shells, tipped in a rainbow assortment of black, red, and yellow stripes. He knew each color and color combination by heart, but to an outsider these cannon shells were just painted strangely. He slotted the panel back into place, completing the wing. As soon as the engine was back into place, he jumped onto the fuselage of the plane and walked down it to the engine section, he sat on the plane and leaned down, connecting fuel lines, wires, and screwing it into place. Arno rushed the work, but he made sure everything was secure before placing the fuselage covering over it. Arno then walked over to the cockpit and hopped in, they hadn't messed around with the instrumentation in here, thankfully. A quick check and he found that everything was in place. The small Harvin pulled the flight helmet over his head and secured his mask into place. He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath, feeling the air bladders of his flight suit fill and hug him tightly.
Then he started the engines. They rumbled to life, and Arno gave it a nudge. The volume increased and the Akula inched forwards to the middle of the hanger. He turned the front wheel and he pointed the nose towards the exit, towards the massive creature. He checked each flight control surface,, the ailerons, elevators, stabilizers. The flaps, slats, air breaks, rudders. Each piece moved flawlessly, and it was a sight to behold, seeing all of the panels, flaps and pieces move on the small airship. Once everything had passed his checks, he extended the flaps to takeoff position and steady increased the engine throttle. The two engines in the booms whined to an earsplitting volume, shooting out waves of heat. Then Arno clicked the afterburners and booster in. The exhaust from the engines rippled to life, veritable jets of fire shot out from the three engines and Arno released the breaks. The Akula lurched forward, gaining speed with every second. As soon as the wheels took off from the hanger deck, Arno pulled them back into the plane, the landing gear tucking themselves into the body of the airship. He then banked left and pulled up and away from the creature as he was leaving the hanger bay. The engine noise must have caught the Primal Beasts attention.
Arno tucked the flaps back in and kept on looking back, checking his mirrors and altitude dial. He was steadily gaining, but he kept the nose at only a 5 degree angle. He needed speed more than anything else, and to get that speed he hit his afterburners and booster engine and kept at it for longer than he was comfortable for. As soon as he was able, he cut the booster and pulled back the afterburners. He turned his Akula gracefully to point the nose of his airship at the massive beast, now some hundred meters away. He swallowed and took a deep breath. He checked his airspeed. It was decent enough, not too slow as to be an easy target, not too fast as to make maneuvers hard. He then pulled the trigger on his joystick. The twin cannons of his airplane shot out one round each, slamming into the side of the beast. Arno quickly banked right and pulled up, dodging a massive tentacle, then he moved his legs, his rudders to the right. He kept his banking turn and converted it into a barrel roll, dodging yet another tentacle. This brought his guns right at the beast again, Arno quickly cycled the cannons and fired again, slamming another two shells into the side of the creature. This time aimed at the base of where some tentacles were. His goal was to wound it, at least make it painful to move his arms. If leaving the hanger in his Akula didn't get the beasts attention before, the cannons surely did now.
Pain storms forth, like a cacophonous peal of thunder in the grandiose desert heat; a herald of radical change. Every millimeter of bone could be felt, as it fractured into pieces. Every centimeters of vessel of blood could be felt, as they split open. Every inch of muscle could be felt, as they ripped away and apart. Every moment a repeating loop of agony; a silently screaming herald of Death.
Marshall didn't need to heed the call, however -- he simply followed her soothing voice, murmuring like a brook into his ears, and drawing on his soul. From behind shattered eyes, he beheld her ethereal perfection, and she caressed his cheeks -- crossing the River of Souls. From her lips, passed unspeakable promises, and unspoken affection; as if, delighted to see him, once again. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips, before he raised a phantom finger, and pressed it to hers; gently shushing her.
Bemused, she smirked at him, and her face changed from perfection to an unnaturally pale with deep bags beneath her majestically green eyes. Her form change from ethereal to solid; shaping into a small humanoid, a Harvin woman with all the features that Death had took. Marshall opened his eyes, as his knife clattered to the floor. “Another date, you and I,” he says, bading his fleeting lover goodbye, before looking up. “Are you insane...? Do you think, I would tarnish such a beautiful woman for sport?”
Marshall eyed the speaking Harvin, sick; twisted; hungering for her. Selmia didn't exist before him, but Death's Nymph; a daughter of his ephemeral lover. He took her in, as she spoke in the same soothing insanity; same aura of finality; same desire to embrace the unending. “I couldn't bring myself to slaughter such beauty,” he laments, “but, I must... Astrals, salve my soul... I must... partake in my greatest sin.” Marshall picked up his knife, and looked down it, at Selmia. “Skies above, I hate your kind...” he says, frowning, “Harvin.”
Marshall tested the swing of his knife, the weight upon his wrist, “So happy. So jovial. So underfoot,” he flipped the blade, “But, you... you are so much bigger than your kinfolk. Not happy, unless you are making something suffer; writhe and squirm. Not jovial, under someone is screaming under your knife; bit by bit exposed to your mind.” Marshall beamed, a Glasgow Smile. “You... I love.”
”Don’t lie to me.” the harvin said, gently running her hand along his chest as she passed by underneath his left arm. All at once, Marshall would feel his eyes turn towards the ceiling, his back coming into view as his severed head plopped into Selmia’s hand. Looking into his eyes, the Harvin’s glee was gone, only expressing pure, anguished jealousy as she scowled at him. ”You’re looking past me.” was all she said as she tossed his head back up, having it land squarely on his bloodied neck.
Flicking her knife out in full, it was plain to see Marshall’s blood already coated the white shiny metal, her tongue flashing across it for a brief second before she spat her bloodied saliva on the ground. ”I forgive you though. After all, you’re the only one that won’t break. The only thing in this world that I want,” she would say before stooping low and lunging at Marshall, her form beautiful as her knife cut through air, on a path with Marshall’s lungs.
Marshall didn’t move a smidge, letting the neck impact with his lung; letting the blood surge within, without, as his neck fused the halves together. “Endlessly, so special,” he says, looping an his right arm around her, under the small of her back, and digging his fingers into her spine. “I can taste it. I want to taste it more. I need to...” he grinned at her, putting pressure into his hold, and bending her. “I don’t even know your name. All this time, and I never bothered to learn it -- remember it, if I did,” he admitted, “My sweet sociopath.”
Deftly, he jammed his left thumb under her chin, striking a nerve beneath, within the hallow, and forcing her to face him eye-to-eye. “You are wrong. I’m not looking past you,” he says, “I’m seeing you, for you, and what you are...” All of a sudden, he relinquished her from the back-breaking hug, hoisting her in the air for a moment, and squarely kicking her in the chest; sending her on a tumble away. “A Death Nymph... Someone for me to love,” he smiled, warmly... in the worst way.
Falling and tumbling from the kick, Selmia lied limp on the ground for a moment, before her hand twitched, and her body rise, one foot at a time. Staggered over, she looked at Marshall, eyes flashing and her pupil turning into a vertical slit before she charged forward, this time far faster than she had been before. Wordlessly she sliced at the tendons in Marshall’s ankles, sliding beneath him before swiftly turning and cutting at the base of his spine. Something had changed about her movements...the way her joints bent and sprung wasn’t like anything a normal being was capable of.
”I don’t really need someone to love...just a plaything, really.” she said, painfully following Marshall’s spin with her knife, intending to fully dissect him then and there.
“Then, let’s play...” Marshall says, letting himself slip straight into the knife, and bury itself into him. Her attack on his tendons were healing before they could even become issue. “Let’s play, ‘Can You Get Your Knife Back with Broken Fingers,’ yeah,” he asks, before turning and slamming his palm into his right foot, and releasing a shotgun-like burst of blood against the flesh and bone. “Oh,” he chuckled, pleasantly, “I’m sorry, I mean, ‘A Broken Foot.’ I did. Honest.”
Letting out a sharp gasp of pain, Selmia was on the ground once more, but Marshall would see no damage done to the foot at all...instead, he’d see a single large snake, completely riddled with holes lying at his back, dead on the floor as its body writhed in death throes. Rising once again, Selmia snorted, before letting out a loud, uproariously laughter. ”This fight will never end! Neither of us can die! This is the best!” she said, delighting in the chaos brought by two seemingly immortal beings fighting to the death. Marshall would see her knife slither back to Selmia, carried in the mouth of a small violet snake with a yellow ringed pattern. He would also soon start feeling its poison course through his veins. Even if he was immortal, if that circulated to his heart, it would greatly impact his ability to fight.
Marshall looked at Selmia, for a moment. “It’s over,” he says, turning around, and walking away. “I am more than willing to be the plaything of my lovers,” he says, kicking his foot forward, and an object up like a hacky sack, “but, a cheater...” Marshall scoffed, disgusted. “To use poison. There’s no such thing as honor in combat, but, such an underhanded move by such an intelligent...” he paused, and looked back at her, “Harvin...” he snarled the word, “That’s ground for our divorce.”
All of a sudden, Marshall turned, and raised his hand; his body seemed to rapidly dehydrate, as a massive ball of crimson gathered above the sparking gauntlet. It was the size of a watermelon, considering what created it, and reeked of the liquid. “Here, my signature in blood!” he roared, before firing the bullet in a hail of shots that punched through everything they hit. He didn’t expect a single one to stop her, but, he wasn’t banking on that.
No. It was his knife which he’d slung at amid them to impact her throat he was counting in, when she shed her skin. It wasn’t a grand plan, but, he gave him enough time to install his heart, purged the poison, and put a lot of spare “ammo” on the battlefield. Small victories, he supposed.
Stunned by his statement of saying its over, before she trembled, clutching her sides as Marshall began launching his hail of bullets. Rather than defending herself, the small Harvin simply took it, all the while something writhed beneath her skin. Walking forward slowly amidst the hail, Marshall would see that rather than just simply walking headlong into fire, she was subtly weaving past his bullets, the worst damage being done were a series of grazes. The knife however found purchase just below her chin, before her eyes opened wide. Struggling to stand, she sank to her knees, blood pouring from her mouth and wound before she smiled at Marshall.
”A...Po...Phis…” she murmured before Marshall could see her skin squirm, the knife falling from her wound as a small flash of scales was visible beneath her wounded flesh. Selmia’s body thrashed violently for a moment, the wound closing. Before Marshall could see more however, a familiar Primal Presence neared him, a tentacle of Charybdis lashing out at him from the side of the wall, having reached around the entire way by order of the Woman in Gray to protect Selmia.
Marshall grinned, “How curious,” he says, before darting forward at the tentacle, and arming himself. He didn’t have a lot of blood inside, so he dragged the Touch of Virtue along the ground, stockpiling blood, before releasing it in a rapid series of closely packed shot. Years of practice had taught him how to manipulate the release types, from concussive blasts to near-beam shots. “Hup!” he grunted, scooping Selmia up with his left arm, and tossing her forward -- away -- while snapping up his knife with his boot. “What’s so important that a Primal Beast would be seeking you,” he asks, catching her, and tossing her again. “I wonder, who benefacts you,” he caught her, again, and tossed her, again; turning around, and shooting at Charybdis once again, before catching Selmia and flunging her behind himself.
“And, yes, I could carry you,” he says, catching her, and throwing her, “No. I won’t.”
Selmia was unconscious, but judging from the literal hundreds of snakes biting Marshall as he tossed her, it was safe to say that taking her ANYWHERE wasn’t a safe idea, especially since each wound to the tentacle spawned a few of the beasts the others were encountering.
Marshall would see airships parked a bit further down, personal ones fit for only a few people to ride within. However, standing in the middle of it all was the woman he’d vaguely remember hovering around Selmia while she had dissected him. Standing, she stared right at him, as if looking through him completely. Marshall’s arm covered by the Touch of Virtue would quiver, her eyes fixed upon him. ”Return Selmia. Do so and I’ll let you escape, no questions asked.” she said, not saying anything else.
“Sure,” Marshall says. “]In return, I want what’s mine back. And, her knife.” He slowed to a stop before her, holding Selmia in a sleeper hold beneath her neck. “I’ll exchange that equivalently. Mine for hers. No reason, beyond I want what’s seen me so intimately,” he smirked. “Simple enough?”
”Very well then.” the woman said, snapping her fingers as the snakes ceased biting Marshall. She simply stood there motionless for a moment, before Marshall could see one of the beasts slither towards him, the jarred Heart of Lust carried in its tendrils carefully, as it placed it before him, and backed away. Removing Marshall’s knife, she forced Marshall’s hand to move without his accord, which accepted Selmia’s dagger in return. ”Will that be all?” she asked, looking at Marshall with nothing short of burning hatred.
“Just one more thing,” Marshall says, taking the jar and sheathing the dagger, “Keep her chaste for me.” Smartly, both in expression and action, he stepped back with a gauntlet full of poisoned blood. “She stole much from me...” he says, “So, I’ll steal much in return. Someday. We’ll trade knives, once again. That’s a promise.”
“Until then...” Marshall’s entire persona shifted into something of absolute and wonton greed, “Protect it.”
The Woman in Gray listened to him speak, cradling Selmia in her arms as the snakes timidly clung to Selmia, rather than biting her. ”You presume far too much. If I ever see you again, I will make sure you plummet to the bottom of the skies. Immortality might make you immune to death, but an eternity falling is befitting for one as disgusting as you are.” she said, turning away from him and waving her hand dismissively. ”These airships are all fueled. Feel free to take one, if you desire, Child of Man. Wherever you run, make sure it is away from her.”
Marshall didn’t say anything, but, he relaxed, and headed to the near airship. He’d no traditional helmsman training, so he wasn’t flying anywhere; besides, he fully trusted that he’d be shot cleanly out the sky. As such, he opted to get from much needed to get some sleep, and, if the ship happened to be take out of port while he was stowed away, and he happened to be taken to a neutral port, and he happened to get off, while, all that happenstance would be pretty nice.
As he found a nice corner of a cargo hold to settle in, he looked at Selmia’s dagger. “Just as sweet...” he says, “Hey, Lady... sing me a song to sleep, eh?” He didn’t wait for the Lady of Virtue to even reply, as he settled into his first, actual sleep in a while. In the back of his mind, he had a moment’s thought, ‘Maybe, I should have asked her to get rid of the Primal. Then again, if I did, nobody would brother to leave, would they? Ah, well. I got greedy.’
Success! The creatures, whatever they were, reacted just as he had hoped to the thrown torch... That is until Perkeo was grabbed by one of them. Dammit! No matter his suspicions toward the Draph, Cayde wouldn't let him die. The question though was what he would do to save him. These things had tossed around other prisoners and guards that looked to be twice the nobleman's size. Even with his experience with the sword, there were five of them. He didn't like his chances against just one. Racking his brain for ideas, Cayde pressed his wrist against his forehead.
Then he remembered. Earlier, Satirra had attempted to use her connection to her element to dig through the floor, but couldn't because of the collars they'd been wearing. However, in his case, that might just work in his favor. Usually, most weapons would bend or sometimes melt entirely when he attempted to use his power. With his currently weakened connection though, the mass-produced sword he now held in his hand might just be able to withstand his flames. Now with a plan, Cayde leaped out from his cover and charged toward the creatures, lighting his sword aflame and severing the tentacle that was holding on to Perkeo.
Raising his sword up to keep the pyrophobics back, the nobleman turned to his companions and shouted, "Everyone move your feet if you don't want to get eaten! I don't know how much longer these things will blind for!" Once the party was safe behind the door that led to the stairway down, Cayde would follow, sprinting down the next several floors together.
Skathi knew things was going to be going a pain as the worm creatures that was in front of her now was going to be a pain and a half to get past. With a somewhat feral growl she slashed at the closet worm creature that the primal summoned? Its cry of pain gave her pause wondering how it was possible. She charged forward her claws leaving trails of dark energy as she fought to the best of her ability through the creatures. Trying to reach the stairs all she had to do was reach her bow and things can go a bit easier from there. Her goal in sight as she came closer and closer to the stairs her attacks only slowing down the creatures at the best. But it was enough for her to get to her goal as she started to run down the stairs in search of her bow.
Perkeo, elated at having been freed, practically hugged Cayde's leg, but, seeing as that he really really really would rather live, he instead followed the words of the nobleman before him. Beaming, Perkeo gave a bow to him, saying: "Very well, with you lighting our trail, its smooth sailing from here on, sir." he said. While he had no idea what house Cayde was from, it was clear from his posture, his voice, and his courage, he was no doubt from a noble military family, or a Knight Order at the very least. Perhaps even a rather bold skyfarer captain. Regardless, Perkeo resolved to escort Cayde and the group down the many flights of stairs.
Within no time, the party found themselves equipped with their former weapons and armor, and Perkeo with his beloved lute in hand. The thing was massive, easily larger than any weapon the party carried, and fitting snuggly in the massive Draph's hands. Strumming a few notes, he seemed elated, a pleased smile on his face. "Halfway there. Just need to pass the Warden, and we'll-" he said before a loud boom echoed from outside. It seemed they'd have to hurry.
Guiding them along to the fourth floor, they would come to see Skathi face to face with the warden himself, bodies of prisoners and beasts alike scattered before them. Fire burned across the warden's axe as he swung, his heavy strikes deftly parried by Skathi's ether-clad claws. Though she could avoid his strikes well, actually getting in for a hit was difficult. This man was far above normal.
As such, when Cayde joined the fight with fire of his own, the tides began turning rather quickly. Clashing steel with Cayde, sparks literally flew between them. "You're not bad at all. Too bad you lost it all, Selmy. Could have been a hell of a general. Now you're just gonna be one hell of a-" he'd manage to say before a wooden THWACK impacted with the back of his head. Perkeo, having taken the opportunity to strike him down nonfatally, sent the terrifyingly skilled warden crumpling to the floor with a single strike to the head. Sweating nervously, Perkeo took a breath of relief. "Sorry about that...I thought I'd get him while he was talking."
By now, Skathi's rage would have subsided, and without much else to do, would opt to join Cayde and co. in their quest to escape this island. After all, hard to defend Griever's land when she wasn't on it. A pact was made, and, after fighting their way through a swathe of guards, they would retrieve Skathi's bow. With her weapon in hand, the primal-infused warrior proved to be more than a match for the legions of common guardsmen, supporting Cayde with arrowfire, while Perkeo...well, he hit a few while they weren't looking.
Reaching the ship in the hangar bay, the crew would find that the prisoners had managed a resounding victory. Still though, the storm raged on outside, and with it persisting and without a proper pilot, a certain Erune riot-starter was left to pilot the ship.
Gulping, the tan erune woman started hitting switches and flipping levers. After nearly causing the ship to self-destruct a few times from the engine almost overheating, another inmate stepped in and pushed her into the Co-Pilot's seat.
While the cannons were small, they were certainly packing quite the punch. As a creature of the deep, fending off human weapons was clearly not the duty of the Primal Beast. However, as the storm grew worse and worse, Arno could surmise rather quickly that the beast was directly affecting the weather in an attempt to knock him from the skies. The Harvin was skilled, far moreso than a normal person could be, and far more prepared than any would expect to be. The turbulence was only a minor disturbance, while the bullet holes in the beast's tendrils became more of a hindrance to it.
Letting out a tremendous roar, the beast began rotating in the water. It was as if the entire basin of water the Island sat upon began to turn with it...and soon, it was very clear that was exactly what was happening. Whipping the water around itself, Charybdis' tendrils soon became moved by something more than flesh, as rounds harmlessly impacted with the high pressure current of water surrounding its body. Worse still, was the fact that the beast was quickly gaining elevation, seemingly flying on the very water it controlled.
Just when things began looking a bit too hot to handle, Arno would hear the engine of the main airship down below start up. His job wasn't to kill the beast, but now that his distraction had succeeded, all Arno needed to do was to distract it to look away from the ascending airship. Circling around, the pilot's diversion succeeded once again, letting the airship soar gracefully at an elevation below his, hopefully out of sight from the beast. Once a fair bit of distance was reached, Arno would move to begin a mid-flight landing on the Zweite Transport vessel. A simple matter for him, and, with his ship secured, the harvin was free to move to pilot the Transport Vessel.
...Out of the corner of his eye, from the mirror present to view the back of the ship, the pilot would see the beast standing there, faced towards them, its entire body rotating at an impossibly high speed. Water formed a vortex around it, the spinning circle drawing closer and closer to its maw, before all at once it broke, the water ejected faster than a bullet, in a continuous stream towards the ship. Narrowly avoiding a direct hit that would have taken out the enire airship, Arno's skills had spared the vessel, but the hit had still cost one of the main three engines. Now sputtering, and barely able to keep aloft, Arno's next few motions were crucial.
Soon, the beast fired again and again, this time scraping the main wing on the right, and, with a third blast, impacted against the side of the left main engine and punctured it all the way through. Without enough hands to run immediate emergency repairs, Arno would find the ship crashing rapidly, its nose almost completely turned to the bottom of the sky.
A miracle occured, that day, wherin an ever shifting current that frequently traveled throughout Tyragrande carried the ship a fair distance, far enough to crash land onto...well, land, rather than an empty void of cloud and eternal falling.
Within a large patch of forest, the present crew would land, the impact knocking out quite a few people aboard the ship, and making damn sure that few would be in any shape to repair the nearly completely destroyed ship. For now, freedom was their's...and, well earned. Patting Arno on the shoulder, the erune that helped him escape panted heavily, pale enough to look like she hadn't seen the sun in a few weeks. "Y-Ya did...d-did real good..." she managed before her cheeks swelled. Hurriedly grabbing the helmet she used for her imperial disguise, the woman barfed into it, turning away to keep Arno from seeing.
...Well, she had at least stayed classy most of the ride.
To say that Marshall escaped from Ziggurat was a miracle was...fairly true, honestly. Of all the airships to board, a particularly skilled inmate chose to hijack the one he was on, sailing it off, far into the horizon and away from Ziggurat. What he couldn't have anticipated however, was the turbulent storm that followed in the wake of Charybdis. The beast's wrath was not contained to only the island, it seemed. The final blast of water that the beast had launched stripped the entire right wing of the airship off, resulting in the entire thing tumbling down, being carried on the same current and impacting a fairly long distance away from the larger ship. Many other smaller ships weren't so lucky, plummeting to the depths below.
Well, Marshall was fine at least. His pilot had fallen out during the current sweeping them up, but a crash landing never DID require a pilot. A bit of a broken left arm, and a bit of shrapnel in his stomach sure, but Marshall was just peachy.
A hunt interrupted may be expected by the hunter, but never by a crash landing. As the young Erune Cyll stalked the bestial, occasionally monstrous prey through the lush woodlands of Malovarna, his ears hearing the sound of a massive object crashing just before it spooked off a tremendous number of wild beasts and animals. While a few stragglers were curious, it was clear it was more the smaller rodents and rabbits that seemed intrigued by the fallen craft. By the looks of the banners and various flags, it was clearly something piloted by the Zweite.
It certainly couldn't hurt to take a peek...after all, a crash like that would normally leave most people dead.
Inside, Cayde and Skathi would find themselves shaken back to consciousness by Perkeo. Elated to be safe, Perkeo was bounding with excitement at his freedom, seemingly unfazed by the crash. "Up up, you two. We've lives to lead, and an island to find a home on."
A busy day's work was what awaited an Alchemist's Apprentice, and the small girl patrolling the woodlands with her large, mushroom-like companion. Together the duo regularly searched for various herbs and mushrooms from the lush woods of the island, and today was no different...save for the titanic booms that echoed and shook the ground following the crashing ships. "Huh? Did...did something just fall, Mucu?" the young girl asked, looking up at her mouthless companion. Offering the smallest shrug of its shoulders, Mucu carried on, its footsteps light against the soft brown dirt. The patter of her small feet was lost against the sounds of animals rustling in the shrubbery surrounding them, and, after a few minutes of walking, they would come across the wreckage of Marshall's ship.
Taking a very cautious step inside, the young girl would come face to face with Marshall. Since he hadn't gotten a proper chance to fully recover just yet, she saw his broken arm and gasped. "O-Oh my gosh Mister! Y-You wait right here, I'll get help! Mucu, protect him." the young lilac-haired girl said, acting quickly and running back to her master's cottage. "Master Poxxie, Master Poxxie! Someone's hurt really bad in the woods. T-They need a splint, a crutch, and something to dull the pain." the girl explained, having barged into Poxanne's personal study. If Poxanne would agree, she would take her to see Marshall.
Back at the airship, Mucu was doing his duty, wordlessly watching over Marshall while also blocking the doorway with his body. Looking at Marshall with a cautious air about him, the two pale eyes, the only thing discernible as a face on the beast looked at Marshall's armored arm and the space between them furrowed. It seemed that he sensed something about Marshall...
Sid's keen eyes had never let him down before, and the sight of a crashing airship from a nearby village presented a perfect opportunity to the former? pirate, one which carried a decent amount of risk to it, but a chance for oodles of profit. Assuming that it must have been a transport fleet carrying goods, it would likely be in Sid's best interests to investigate the large ship crash. The villagers were appreciative of him, ever since he boldly chased off a tax collector, as well as his cronies from the relatively squalid hamlet.
With the wind at his back, Sid would recall a dream he'd had the other night...one that Cyll, and Poxanne would share as well.
"Child of the Sky..." A voice rang out, calling from within the widespread arms of sleep. Soon, a dream formed in the minds of those who's destinies lie intertwined with one another, as a vision of the sky formed in their minds...or, rather, of themselves falling infinitely in that sky, limp and helpless as the winds tore at their backs, and roared in their minds. Soon, the bright morning sun that shone in the dreams set, creating a gorgeous crimson that painted the entire sky its shade of red. Now, floating before them was a being that could only be described as a Bound Dragon , its arms tied together and forced to clasp against its chest, while its mouth and eyes were sealed. The presence of this being seemed...otherworldly, as if even in this sky of impossibilities, this being especially did not belong.
"I am the Dawn, and Dusk of creation. I have come to you as you near the precipice of awakening to your destiny. Death stalks, and soon it shall reap. Thine idle days, cultivated on this sprawling greenery will close, and conflict will follow wherever you go. Answer me, Child." the dragon growled, not once moving its mouth. It was as if it spoke directly into your mind. If you focused, you would see that surrounding you were other, faint figures falling down at the same pace. Details were foggy, but a sense of...connection could be felt within the dreamers.
"Those who's fates you will entwine with your own...what will you do when the time comes to untie them? When bonds become only a hindrance to your aspirations?" As if compelled by the gravitas and divinity of the gargantuan dragon, honesty was the only thing that COULD flow from the Dreamers' thoughts. As if lying were impossible in the presence of this being. Again, it spoke after hearing your answers.
"This world has need of strength...dare you to carry that burden on your shoulders, when you yourself have failed before you have even begun?" Another question, the dragon's eyeless gaze seeming to burn your soul merely by observing. Now...it wasn't clear if this was a dream or reality. Another growl, and a final question asked.
"What is it that drives your Conviction, Singularity? How do you so fearlessly embark towards the end, knowing the destruction that may await you?" With his final question answered, the dragon beat his wings once, and the sensation of falling stopped completely, as if you and the other figures bathed in ethereal light had been completely stopped. Time seemed to stand still for a minute. Then two. Then three, four, five, and finally, after six, the deafening silence of a windless sky gave way to crumbling landscapes falling, memories of home, possessions, entire islands sent falling down past you. "Such fragility...yet you shall outlast even the most durable. Such weakness, yet you shall overthrow the undefeated. I will not deny the possibilities that lie within you. Awaken, Children of the Sky. Your hour is at hand."
As if you could no longer see, the world began growing dark, and, in a single, cacophony, the dragon's roar filled the empty dreamscape, the binds seeming to loosen for a moment as light filled the dream. Swallowing it whole, that light enveloped you as well, as well as the figures surrounding. Then, it would end, eerily present in your minds very clearly after awakening that morning.
Poxanne's personal quest hit a bit of a snag a few months ago. A run in with a group of sky pirates caused the tiny Alchemist to jump ship and go for an emergency landing. She lost her whole lab and alot of her personal belongings. She had with her the things that could not be replaced but other than that, it felt like starting over. Something she was getting annoyingly used to. She found some need in this island of green, the plants many, varied, plentiful. She offered the villages her help, her medicine and her knowledge. It was enough to build a foundation of something resembling normality. Still even away from civilization, hidden in her little cottage, her beakers bubbling and boiling around, even with a child that came to her acting as an apprentice, a sense of normalcy, she found herself fidgetting most nights. Too much sadness, anger, regret, and pretending it didn't happen wasn't an option.
Falling.
Always falling...
Just like the first time...
Whenever she falls... something is always lost. Carried away by the wind.
But this dragon. That's new.
Poxanne wasn't afraid of this. It all just felt like once she let gravity and the void claim her, it was out of her hands. There was nothing she could do without the reassuring ground and the life within to reach out and help her. She had no such comforts, so why get worked up. Atleast it wouldn't hurt anymore.
But the dragon didn't eat her, nor did the ground come rushing up to meet her. Instead it spoke, and this is what made the Harvin come to her senses. She wanted to scream, but the dragon spoke. It spoke to her. She looked left, and right, there were others falling. Others... it spoke of destinies and fates. Great events soon to pass that she would be a part of. "I don't understand!" She responded to its first query. Her mind, inquisitive and sharp soon began to grasp the words. "You mean them?" She felt pretty strongly about connections, having one she will never untie. Her soul spoke. "My aspirations are my connections. I will never abandon them! Not again!"
The other questions came easy, her eyes open as the dragon judged her character. She didn't even time to shout out as her voice rang from her heart. "I have failed, that is why I am beginning again. No matter what it takes. I will stand against the wicked and stand for what I treasure most!"
The answer to his last question came from her mouth. "My Love. And my Hate." She almost felt like crying. This great being, god, primal, it was judging her, and for a moment it didn't care. It spoke the truth. She had such love for the innocent and good pieces of this broken world, and what she did not love, she hated with every fiber of her being.
The dragon seemed to except that, and she was left in light, still falling even as the world she knew fell away into nothing into-
"Master Poxxie, Master Poxxie! Someone's hurt really bad in the woods. T-They need a splint, a crutch, and something to dull the pain."
The old Alchemist work in her chair, she'd fallen asleep with her notes and scrap books nearly burying her as she propped her feet on her desk, looking at the mashed pulp of some mushrooms her apprentice had gathered. She was determining if it was edible, useful in medicine, or just another species of something toxic. It was a fun little pass time finding out. But then the girl's words rang like a gong, particularly after such a nauseating and strange dream.
She woke up with a shock, knocking her books and pencils and quills to the floor. "Huh!?" She popped her head ups, her blond hair wild and unkempt. It was thanks to her Harmin species that she actually looked smaller and younger than her apprentice, but Poxanne called the shots. She rubbed her eye and kicked the chair out so she can stand up, the chair being much bigger than she needed. "Hiker? Merchant? Will we need climbing gear?" There was a usual routine. After getting the initial information about where the injury is and what kind, she would get on her Alchemist Leathers, clip on the mask at her hip, get her field surgeon kit in the form of satchels, utility belts, and backpack, or better yet, just get her apprentice to carry them. Finally for good measure, she throws on her over-sized floppy pointed hat and lashes her grimoire to her lower back. She hardly ever leaves home without them. "Sounds like a break or sprain. Bring some antiseptics, bandages, and sutures just in case its a compound fracture. We'll administer some proper bone-mending droughts when we get him on the table."
When they were all ready, Poxanne waited for her assistant to lead the way. "I'm assuming you left Mucu with the patient." The Harmin smiled, "Good thinking. I just hope he's not afraid of animated mushroom creatures. What else can you tell me about him?" Poxanne moved with a bit of pep to her step, it was an emergency. But not life threatening by the sounds of it.
"Hngh...! I'll show you! I'm not just chasing some fantasy!!"
"I'm not weak!!"
"...?! H-Hey! I'm not done with you yet! Let me-!"
A gentle breeze ran through the tree-tops of Malovarna's woods, rustling the leaves and fur of the foliage and fauna which freely ran rampant in the forest. Small critters darted to and fro the branches of the local plants, taking the high ground to avoid predators below. The animals that did not have the luxury of using the highest leaves as cover made do by taking shelter in hidey-holes or even digging their own, all in an effort to avoid the stalking figures of several overgrown lizards hunting in a pack. These earthy-scaled, long tailed reptilian predators were more like Hyenas than they were wolves, hunting together but running off on their own when they think to sneak away with the bounty themselves.
Funny that predator becomes prey very easily in this manner.
Cyll carefully balanced on the branches of the tree-tops, stalking the lone hÿros that thought it snuck away scot-free from its herd with a small rodent in its jaws. Concentration was the name of the game as Cyll traced the creature with his eyes, biding his time until it took a rest. He was careful with his footing, having gotten used to the careful balancing act after several days worth of practice. The wind that raced through the island disguised the gentle rustling each step made, the reptile below unaware of the looming danger. As it felt safe enough to settle down and start consuming its victim, the erune watching from the tree-tops was already freezing the ether in the air. It formed a small pick inside of the palm of his hands, enough to stun the creature when thrown into it so Cyll could easily pounce and overpower it.
Curse his luck as both it and him seemed to pick up on the fact something very heavy was soaring through the sky all to close to both of them.
Cyll's concentration was broken and the creature darted off as the young boy looked to his side, seeing a giant blur race towards him at astounding speed. With a yelp he darted back further into the trees, but the object caught up too soon. In the middle of his jump, the foreign entity crash landed with a resounding boom, shaking not only the ground but also the tree which Cyll had intended to hop on. The branches shook, the boy trying in vain to grab on as he tumbled down to the ground. He landed square into the middle of a bramble bush, some of the branches cracking underneath the force. Cyll thrashed and cursed from the prickly pain invading his body, rolling out and watching as some of the cuts suffered caused small amounts of blood to trickle onto the soil below.
"Primal-damned-fucking-! Aaargh! What the heck was that?!"
Picking himself off the floor, the erune fruitlessly looked for the hÿros he was hunting, only to find it had long since abandoned ship and darted off. Well, there goes his meal. The boy patted some of the dirt off him and grit his teeth at all the small cuts and bruises adding up to a level of discomfort not describable in Erune, Human, Harvin or Draph tongue. Jury was still out on the Dhirom, scaly buggers.
Cyll turned his attention back to the giant fucking airship that had decided it would have loved to take his life alongside nearly blazing up the whole forest. Curiosity killed the erune though, as Cyll kind of had a feeling that that ship might've had people on it. Cyll jogged over and scanned the flag once close enough. Zweite. It definitely made Cyll hesitate for a good few seconds. Zweite was some scary stuff with how they seem to want to rule everything n'd all, but if people were hurt in there, it didn't really matter if they were Zweite, pirate or whatever.
The erune boy scoot around to the edge of the ship and jumped up, grasping the ledge to pull himself up to the deck. While it had buried itself in the ground somewhat and looked like it wasn't going to be operational at any point in the near future, it didn't have the courtesy to spontaneously burst into splinters to let the small guy get on a little easier. Scanning the deck, the first thing he saw was a door only a few steps away. Cyll ran over and... wasn't too sure. Do you knock in this situation? Kick the door open?
...Cyll opted to play it safe and just gently push it open.
Inside, he could notice a few things. For one, a huge load of aperture he'd never seen before. For two, bile. Inside of a helmet. Gross. For three, there were two figures standing there; An erune female with a tan and a tail, as well as a... guy around his age with a surprisingly manly mustache? Wait, no, Cyll didn't notice at first, but he could definitely see those ears sticking out. That's a harvin. He was jealous of two things in this room; the fact the erune had a tail and he didn't, and the harvin had a really cool mustache.
"Those who's fates you will entwine with your own...what will you do when the time comes to untie them? When bonds become only a hindrance to your aspirations?"
Cyll flinched as a memory rushed back to him; that of a dream he had in the morning. The hell? He didn't have time to think about these things! These guys looked somewhat okay, but still...
"Hey, are you two alright?! Is anyone hurt? What the heck happened here?"
So much could happen to you in your sleep. So much of it could be good, and equally, so much of it could be bad. Marshall was never a fan of uncertainty; when he slept, he didn’t control his life, didn’t control his fate. It was an inconvenience he wasn’t fond of. So, waking up to a crash landing had soured his mood a fair degree. As soon as he was conscious, like a machine, he rolled through a self-diagnostic of his internal and external state. ‘Internal... left arm is broken; stomach is punctured; several pieces of shrapnel, size range... indeterminate... There’s a threat of sepsis from my stomach leaking into my intestines...’ he groaned a bit, and sat up. ‘External... several... innumerable lacerations, varying bruises.... Risk of infections: dangerous.’
Marshall sighed, ‘I didn’t die...’
Sitting up, Marshall ran his right hand over his stomach, and drew Selmia’s dagger. “You’ve seen so much of me,” he says, before slitting open his abdomen, “and, you’ll see a little more,” he started to dig out the shrapnel, and discard the metal bits to the ground. “Astrals above, this stings...” he lamented, before sheathing the dagger away, and closing the wounds in his stomach. “Now...” he unhooked his dagger sheath, and bit down on it. Reaching into his intestines, Marshall began to methodically scoop out stomach acid, materia, and the smaller shrapnel shards. “Nnnnrrr...!!!”
After a few minutes, Marshall would finish up with the process, and spit out the dagger sheath. “Shit...” he sighed, before grunting, as he stood up to start the outside healing processes. It was here that he would notice Poxanne’s presence, and frowned. Judging from her facial expression, she'd been there for a fair amount of time. “Harvin, you...” he looked at her, another one, like her, “I... don’t love...” he analyzed her, and took her in, “...not yet.”
“So it was one of these dreams, eh?” Sid thought to himself as he fell endlessly through the sky. He’d had dreams like this before back in the day. A common nightmare really; being pushed off the ship and falling to what would seem to be his death only to awake just as he entered the fog. This time, however, there was no fog, or ship for that matter. It was just the sky and a voice in the back of his head.
Before he could analyze anything further, the source of the voice made itself known. The bound dragon appeared before him and began asking questions. Questions Sid felt compelled to answer with the full truth.
The Dragon opened with a statement about destiny, and warning of the conflict to come. This brought a smirk to Sid’s face. “I'm quite familiar with conflict. If more is on it’s way then bring it on!” He replied without hesitation.
Then came the first question. What will he do with those destined to fight with him? “Heh, a pirates gotta have a crew, don’t he?” He asked back looking to the figures falling with him, “And I think I've gone too long without one.”
It wasn’t until the third question that Sid lost his smile. The dragon spoke of failure. More accurately, that he already had. “That...That wasn't my fault! I wanted to fight but she…” the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t finish the sentence, but could tell the dragon already knew what he was going to say.
The final question came. What was his drive? Why did he keep going when he had already lost everything? The answer was simple. “They gave everything for me.” Sid said through gritted teeth holding back tears. “I won't let their deaths be in vain. I won’t their dreams die too!”
With that final statement, the world went dark, and the dream ended.
Sid’s mind snapped back to reality. He felt like he had just come out of sleep, but in truth he was wide awake. The wind rushing past him as he ran must have been what sent him back to that dream. As the plumes of smoke came closer into view, began to wonder why that dream was still sticking with him? It was only a dream after all. It didn’t really mean anything, did it?
Whatever. Prophetic vision or not, Sid had a job to do. Those people in the village he’d been staying at had been practically robbed by that tax collector before the pirate drove him and his hired thugs off. They would need some help getting back on their feet, and a large shipment of Zweite goods could do just that. And hey, if he managed to make a few coins in the process then what’s the harm?
Soon the endless view of trees obscuring the ship gave way to the full wreckage. At first glance Sid sumized no one could have survived such an impact, but he wasn’t too worried about the crew. It was the goods aboard he cared for. Unless heavily secured any valuables would be damaged or worse. Only one way to find out for sure. Climbing quickly to the deck, Sid boarded the beached ship just in time to catch another Erune run inside the cockpit. Competition, eh? Well he picked a poor place to start. Everyone knows the best stuff is kept inside the ship.
Without another thought, Sid kicked open the hatch that lead below deck and jumped down. Instead of riches or other cargo, the swashbuckler found himself among a good number of bodies. At least, he assumed they were, but in reality most were simply unconscious. No doubt placed in that state from the crash they just experienced. Scanning the room, Sid began questioning what kind of ship this was. There were almost no guards and none of the present company had been restrained. Was this a stolen ship?
As he sat there wracking his brain over what had transpired here, Sid heard a voice coming from the edge of the room. A closer look revealed a draph man waking up a human soldier an a fellow erune but of the tailed variety. Just his luck. Seemed Sid wouldn’t have to play twenty questions with himself after all. He could just get the answers from them.
“Well ahoy there.” Sid called out casually strolling towards the three. “You lot seem to have had an awful landing. Now normally I’d be robbing the Zweite blind, but something tells me the colors on this ship don’t reflect the crew. Of course, I’ve been wrong before.” He spoke the last part looking directly at the soldier clad in recognizable crimson armor while placing his hand on his kusarigama. ”So tell me. Is this ship yours, or are you ‘borrowing’ it?”
Sitting up and rubbing his aching head, Cayde slowly returned to the land of the living. "I'm not sure if that was the best or the worst flying I'd ever seen in my life," he said, finally getting up off the ground and readjusting his armor. There was a question on his mind, but he knew he didn't want to hear the answer. No matter what Perkeo would say, it was going to hurt to hear it. To delay the inevitable, he decided to test his sword and adjust the sheath's placement on his hip to leave it in the optimal position in case of a fight.
With nothing else to possibly distract himself, the nobleman let out a sigh and turned to Perkeo. "Any clue where we might have end up? I don't know Ziggurat or it's surrounding islands very well," he asked. There was a moment of silence before anything else was said as he mentally prepared himself to ask his next question. It was clear by his expression that he wanted to say more, but was taking great effort to get the words out. "And how many did we lose in the crash?"
As he awaited an answer from the bard, the nobleman turned back around as he heard something clatter down the hall. Someone had opened the hatch to the bottom deck where they were located. Another survivor or possible scavengers? Either way, Cayde would play it safe and place a hand on the hilt of his sword as he waited to see who it was that had joined them.
A pirate was the one who had stepped out from the darkness, which left the warrior uneasy. Outlaws didn't tend to travel alone. Though it seemed his enemy were the same people that had imprisoned their small band, so perhaps they could find some common ground. "It's stolen," Cayde began, not bothering to prevaricate or be ambiguous about what they had done. "We needed it to escape from Ziggurat Prison." Considering the island's legacy as being inescapable, that should hopefully prove to the newcomer that they weren't to be underestimated.
Her assistant went through the description, and her little nose wrinkled at the fact that the patient was found in the hull of a crashed ship. It was a disturbing thought, but intriguing. She wondered what kind of trouble fell from the sky. Probably some military soldier that would tell his superiors about how useful the island would be, and then bring down an entire fleet on the small island to 'liberate' it from itself. Or maybe he was some runaway prince and he would fall in love with his would be savior. The thought made Poxanne swoon for comedic affect as she and her assistant chatted. Poxanne had a talking problem, even if things were serious and tense. Her way of dealing with the world and all of its little interesting flaws.
"Oooh... what a mess. I hope this guy was alone." The ship was all mangled up. The crash cracking it open like a clay pot on the floor. She recognized the design as an Imperial. Big enough to have a hanger. The two of them must have slept through the crash, and it should have made an awful racket, or even burn the woods down. Maybe it was a softer landing then it looked. The splintered trees told a different story. "Hes up this way right? Look through the rest of it. See if anyone else survived." It was doubtful, but hopeful.
Climbing up the tree trunks and mangled metal, Poxanne decided it wasn't worth the effort. Her hands pressed the ground on the grassy moss she stood on. A little light later, and a blade of grass amazingly grew into a tree, its branches and trunks and leaves all sprouting over the course of a few seconds, its bark and green twisting in order to support the little Harvin that was using it for a boost. She finally stood up, just in time to casually walk off the platform and onto the giant crack where the ship snapped in half.
"Hey there Mucu." Poxanne greeted the little creature with a soft pat on its bulbous head. "Good boy. Now where-"
Seeing the blood and where the light seeped into the prison of mangled metal, finding the subject wasn't difficult. it helped a bit that he was moving, attempting self first aid, but his guts were a mess and he wasnt moving his left arm, it bent at an odd angle. Theres the break but she would have to scold her assistant for not noticing the gapping wound on his stomach. If she didn't bring her field surgeon kit, she would have to rely on her potions, a much less refined, and slightly more expensive option, and she would still have to bring him back to her hut, moving him would be slow and potentially dangerous for just the two, well three of them, assuming Mucu could somehow help lift a stretcher. Growing a suitable botanical helper would take too much mana. She observed while she thought, half making sure he wasn't killing himself with his knife, and the other half thinking of a plan.
Finally she was noticed. His words were off- maybe delirious from the pain and exposure. She gave him a smile to reassure him. It looked bad, but he'd be okay now, she was here. He answered her questions as she made her way to him. "Yep yep yep. What gave it away?" She joked before she set her staff aside and began to go through the satchel and bangoliors of her items. Setting disinfectants, bandages, some vials and jars. The splint and surgeon pack was with her assistant. She heard the word love. She feigned a pout. "Aww, come on. We only just met. I'm sure you'll like me when you get to know me." She set up a little device that clicked into a small flame, placing a bowl on it, she poured the contents of one of her vials, and began to place bits of green leaf fragments and a few bits of powder.
She approached, kneeling next to him, her black apron wofting out from her tucked in legs. She offered him a cup of strong smelling, unsweetened warm tea. It had some magical ingredients to it, but mostly it was to dull the pain and offer some hydration and nutrients to promote healing. "I'm Poxanne. I'm a doctor. Lucky for you. What's your name? Imperial?" She asked in curiousity, trying to put him in a good frame of mind. I'm going to patch you up, speaking of-"
She turned, cupping a hand to her mouth and shouting out at the hole she entered. "Hey! I'm going to need that surgeon pack to get him out of here!" She called for her assistant before looking over her items. "Let me take a look, I can straighten that arm til we get the splint on, and deal with those cuts, but your stomach... woah, thats bad. Yeah, it's going to hurt and I need to suture it. Once we do that, then its just a short little walk to my cottage." She lied, it was almost a mile. "Don't worry. Mama Poxxie is going to take good care of you now." She gave him a wink and stuck out her tongue, being cute.
Marshall laughed, as the Harvin spun her charms and bedside manner to the nth; a derisive laugh, more annoyed than amused, and yet, at his core, he did find a twisted form of amusement in how she tried to be precious, yet grown. “Poxanne,” he says, testing the flow of the name. “I wonder,” he says, standing up, as the lacerations began to shut, “what makes a Harvin think they are suited to medicine?” He extended his left arm, and fanned out his finger; bones popping and cracking, as they resumed the position they were born in, and calcium surged between cracks to recreate solid structure. “In the spite of it all, I’m curious of something...”
Looking down, he tilted her head, as he drew Selmia’s Dagger, then hummed, and sheathing it. He didn’t want to chance handling it too much. Instead, he angled a finger at his left wrist, and shot a bolt of blood through it; suppressing his healing factor to drain the infected blood. “... just what did you think you would get in here,” he finally asked. “You asked, ‘Imperial’ to my nature. That implies you may have assumed soldier,” he looked around, “A fine assumption. All things considered. That is answer is no. I’ve no fancy for that.”
Marshall cast his back to her, stretching himself out, and thinking, “Did you, perhaps, think, fallen royalty,” he smirked, looking back, “How high? King? Duke?” Marshall eyed her expressions, “Ah, prince? Runaway, I bet. A flight of fancy.” Turning back, he squatted to his ankles. “Sorry,” he tilted his head, and extended his armored hand to tip up her chin, “I’m a thief from the Astral-forsaken island of Yoltarie. No-one special.” Marshall shifted, and darted forwards; to the untrained eye, he was tackling Poxanne without warning or reasoning. Fortunately, that was not the case...
A wreck was a wreck, and its state was unkind; unknowable. Marshall had been in many a wrecked ship, and they had telltale signs of imminent collapse. Marshall raced forward, cradling the Harvin against his chest; he couldn’t care less about the rest of the beings that had been close. In truth, he wasn’t caring about the Harvin much either, but her safety meant lodgings, a meal, a heated bath, and many amenities that were denied him in Ziggurat -- most importantly, it meant a damn shave.
Around him, the airship creaked and groaned; a weakened structure meant to fly and idle, not smash into ground, and stay half folded on itself. “My name is Marshall,” he finally answered, “and, if you don’t mind, I’m going to steal you for a bit,” Hand against the back of Poxanne’s neck, he braced her for what was coming, as he shot a thick burst of blood -- blasting off a hatch, and letting sunlight bleed in. Marshall lunged out of it, and sailed through air, before crashing into the treeline before... surging through the canopy, he took the brunt of the impacts, and landed in a nice clearing.
“That’s just what I do,” he says, setting her down, as the remainder of wreck came crashing to the earth. @The Irish Tree & @ShwiggityShwah
Arno woke on the lopsided deck, dazed. He inhaled, but his lungs only took in a small amount of oxygen. He tried again but still, the air was too thin. The pilot ripped off his oxygen mask and gasped, his lungs filling with cool, crisp air. He took a moment for have a few, pleasant breaths, then he took in his surroundings. Lots of trees. Well at least they weren't surrounded by concrete. He went over what happened. He took off, successfully distracted the beast, landed on the airship he was on now, then the beast hit them and he had to essentially glide his way to another island. This island, presumably. He slowly got up, wincing. He looked over himself, there wasn't any blood, he nothing felt broken, he wasn't nauseous, he played with some of the buckles on his flight suit. No loss of coordination. He remembered that once the airship touched down, the impact sent the small Harvin flying. He must have hit something, then got knocked out. He patted at himself, just to be sure, and felt a few bruises. A mild headache. That's about it. Arno counted himself as incredibly lucky, getting out of an emergency landing like that with only some bruises and a headache.
He took off his goggles, resting them on his forehead and he wiped his eyes. He felt someone pat his shoulder. "Y-Ya did...d-did real good..." He heard. Arno turned to the Erune woman and saw her get paler, then she turned and vomited into her helmet. Arno let out an audible chuckle. "At least it wasn't during the crash." He replied, he slowly, and painfully got up to his feet, sore. He looked around, seeing some of the others already up. "Hey, are you two alright?! Is anyone hurt? What the heck happened here?" Arno looked over at the new voice, seeing a white haired Erune boy. A native, Arno guessed. "One of the engines got busted, had to make an emergency landing." Arno replied, leaving out some fairly important details, but the newcomer didn't need to know that right now. "Excuse me, have to check on something." Arno said, he stepped past the newcomer out onto the deck and walked over to his own airship, the Akula. It had slid over, now braced against the side of the airship it was landed on, but it was still on it's landing gear. He touched it's chassis and smiled, looking it over. Aside from a few scuffs and scrapes, she was fine. "Thanks girl." He whispered, rubbing the plating on the leading edge of the wing. He looked around, there wasn't any way he could get the Akula off this wreck, he'd need a crane to lift it off. He grimaced, she'd have to stay here for now. He opened the cockpit and peered in, she still had fuel too. If there was a clear runway, he'd be able to just take off and go, but this wasn't a short or vertical take off and landing airship. That was still in the sketchbook. He rubbed his chin, looking at all the trees around him, he might be able to make one... in a few months maybe. That was probably not on the table. He sat down on his airships wing, then he spoke to the Erune boy. "By any chance is there a village or town nearby?" He asked.
"Fine..." the Erune clad in Zweite armor said, before her cheeks swelled again, but this time she managed to keep it down and simply gave a disgusted sounding sigh. She took a moment to regain her composure and groaned, shaky enough on her legs to need to rest against a support beam. "J-Just a bit of a shaky landing, kid. I'm Corday." she said, offering him a handshake, momentarily wondering how long it would take for the Zweite to start sending out bounty hunters for escaped Ziggurat prisoners. "Oh yeah! Say, Kid, like my friend said, know where a shipwright or a town is?" she asked, which, there was, near the Southeast docks of the island. But whether Cyll wanted to say that to someone who just called him "Kid" and was dressed in imperial armor was up to him. He could see that the ship was indeed damaged; It would even seem irreparable, given that the harvin with the mustache had mentioned that they had lost an engine, and the keel of the ship was most certainly cracked.
The apprentice of Poxanne froze up when she yelled for her to run and grab the surgeon pack, saluting and standing up straight as she replied: "R-Right away ma'am!" before bolting off, leaving Mucu to simply stare at the gaping hole in the ship. The mushroom man's pale white eyes widened as he heard the sound of metal screech against itself, and in a sudden crunch the airship caused a hatch to fly off. Hastily climbing up to try and rescue Poxanne and her patient, Mucu found himself toppled over by Marshall dashing out, falling onto his rear before the entirety of the airship fell upon him. Raising his hands, the mushroom man was immediately buried, not an inch of him visible from the wreckage.
Poxanne's apprentice returned, and, seeing Marshall holding her like that, she blushed and clasped her hands to her cheeks. "I-Is this how people make babies? C-Can humans and harvins even MAKE babies!?" she thought to herself before rushing over and holding the surgeon's pack. "D-Don't you worry Mister, I brought the surgeon's pack, s-so now you won't die!" she stammered, shaking as she looked at just how much blood covered Marshall. "H-Hu...huwawawawahu" she said, getting weak at the knees at the sight of his blood...and so much around his stomach. Was...was that why the surgeon pack was needed? But the more she looked at him, the more "fine" Marshall seemed to be. Was he really injured?
Off in the background, a loud groan of metal sounded, as a large, puffy fist burst through the hull of the airship, as Mucu literally busted his way out of the ship, looking no worse for wear than he had been. Not that anybody cared. His eyes lit up when he saw Poxanne's apprentice, and, with large thundering steps, he ran towards her. It would only have been for a moment, but Marshall would feel...something, inside of the mushroom man. Something abnormally powerful had made itself manifest for a brief moment. But that was gone as Mucu picked the apprentice up and tossed her in the air before catching her. "W-Woah, hey! Mucu, c'mon...Amanita isn't going anywhere." she said, giggling as she hugged him. "Gotta work Mucu." she said, patting his arm and making him put her down.
"O-Oh, hello there." Perkeo greeted to their newly arrived guest. A slight trickle of sweat was visible on Perkeo's brow, primarily because this young man had the look of a privateer; Whether it was the aerial, or land type of stealing from others, it was clear that this man had served on a crew for some time judging by his physique. The rest of his judgement was based on pirate stereotypes. Standing behind Cayde, Perkeo cleared his throat to answer the nobleman's question: "W-Well, I believe we're on Malovarna, judging from all the trees. Lovely little spot."
At Cayde's answer the the rogue's question, Perkeo had a flash of brilliance, and promptly beamed. "Why, my good man, you witness before you the freedom fighters that have flung open the gates of Ziggurat, and plucked its denizens from its hellish pits, and returned to (mostly) tell the tale! We even vanquished a mighty primal beast in order to come upon this little island, and were hoping to find some shelter from Zweite's bloodhounds." he said, trying to make it sound as dramatic as possible, while also giving his instrument the occasional strum.
Cyll instinctively accepted the handshake from Corday, slightly dazed from how cheerful she was despite crashing a ship into the fucking ground. He took a step aside to let both the erune and the harvin through, watching as the duo made it over to the cargo secured to the ship's deck. The mustached man quickly began inspecting every nook and cranny while the tanned woman just watched him do it, as if the ship was more important than anything else that went on in the moment. Cyll walked up as well, ears twitching as he stared at the comparatively small airship.
Then the gears in his head started to turn.
Cyll's ears perked up and he took a step back, balling one of his hands into a fist. Both of them asked where the nearest town was, but the erune boy didn't feel inclined to answer that one. He also didn't feel very concerned for either of them anymore.
"Somehow..." he started, eyes darting around in case anybody else was hiding. Nobody was around, of course, but it didn't hurt to be safe.
"...I don't think either of you are Zweite."
He really should've noticed sooner, with how the Corday's armor didn't fit right and the harvin wasn't even wearing any. You also don't just lose an engine and thus crash an airship for no reason; these guys must either be shitty pilots, or shot down... and considering how the harvin knew what he was looking for when it came to the smaller aircraft, Cyll didn't think it was a lack of piloting skill.
"What the hell are you two doing with a stolen ship?"
Marshall shook himself off, pulling fragments of ship and metalwork from his back -- a particularly twisted shard from his spine. After 1,904 years of existence, he’d come to familiar terms with all the forms of pain that a man could suffer upon himself -- those terms, however, weren’t those of friendly ones. Pain still hurt, and hurt jarred nerves, and his jarred towards anger at whatever was around him. His pain was suffering, his suffering was unjust, and if he were to suffer, so, too, would everyone else.
However, his eyes cast down upon only two things: the man of mushroom, and a jostled child with a field kit and no clear experience in what she held. A surgeon’s daughter, perhaps? It was clear, she was no child of mushroom nor the forest -- her form too human to be Fauna or Faerie; her stance too loose to be Fungi; her speech to flexible to be Nature-tongued. Another thing was plainly clear, as well: she was far too innocent to have his anger directed at her. To do so would have be to commit an act that was truly unjust.
Defeated, abjectly, Marshall pulled out the last piece of offending metal, and sad down. “Medical work, child,” he asks, tone gruff and off-putting, “if I’m not mistaken, is the purpose of that kit you’re holding,” he pointed to it with his armor-clad arm, “or, am I mistaken, and it’s just decoration for a child pretending?” Inwardly, Marshall sighed, ‘That was mean. I’m being callous to a child. Astrals preserve me, I hate this slow healing...’
Looking up, Marshall sighed outwardly, and raised his hand. “Come hither, child. A name, perhaps? Mine is Marshall, for now,” he offers, “A long time ago, it was Kyne, before that, Hunter, and, before that, Bartholomew,” Marshall chuckled, spiritedly, against the pain and himself, “Admittedly, that wasn’t my favorite. Now, pray tell, yours?”
Corday's ears perked up at the boy's question, before she cleared her throat, saying: "Well, y'see, the Zweite did a bad thing to a lot of people, so frankly any kind of property rights they HAD before they tossed us in jail are kiiiinda out the window." After helping Arno get his ship shape worthy, Corday sighed and hopped off the top of the ship to head down below. "Oh yeah, what's your name Kid? What are YOU doing out so far in the woods? Could be bandits or weirdos out here...or even-" she started, before a rustling in a nearby bush set her on edge. Pulling a thin dagger from beneath one of here sleeves, Cyll could see from her stance that she had experience fighting.
A stone from a sling scarcely missed her forehead, retaliated by a knife plucked from the opposite sleeve, embedding itself snugly within the skull of the monster that had attacked her. Going over carefully, she peeled the brush back to get a good look, seeing a goblin of all things dead from her knife. Her eyes widened, before she started scrambling back to the ship. "GOBLINS! WE GOT GOBLINS! Kid, get downstairs and let us handle it, okay?" she said, before tossing off the ill-fitting armor she had been wearing, before several howls could be heard. It was clear to Cyll that she was treating him as a child, and as such was putting herself between him and the approaching goblins. "Arno, think you can shoot a few down?"
Cyll would know from the time he'd spent on the island the curious spotted wolves resided here, but of greater concern was the public knowledge that the island's goblin population had long since domesticated many packs of wolves for their personal usage. What would have likely been a raiding party hell bent on attacking Beetraz to the south now had an entire airship to raid, ripe for the picking. With many of the ship's occupants still rattled from the crash, it would fall to those capable to mount a defensive. Cursing under her breath, Corday watched as three goblins riding wolves ducked into the hole within the ship, on the same deck level that Perkeo, Skathi, Cayde, and Sid were on.
Perkeo would be the first to cry out at the goblins' presence, as the green monsters cackled: "Focus on the big one! Manfilth after!" before the two other goblins launched slings at Perkeo, the large draph blocking them by hiding behind his instrument. "C-Come now, there's no reason for us to fight like this, is there?" he pleaded, before buckling over as his unprotected gonads recieved a sling stone dead center to them. Doubled over in pain, the draph male was just...kind of a pathetic sight.
The young girl, apparently named "Amanita" judging by how she reassured the mushroom man paused in confusion for a moment, before hurriedly nodding her head. "M-Mhm! I'm not pretending mister. I'm a real doctor! A-And an alchemist too!" she seemed to brag, before hurriedly reaching into her little surgeon's kit and pulled out a bottle of disinfectant. "Hold still Mister-Mister Marshall. And please, don't pull any of these out. They're stopping the...the bloo...?" she said, pausing as she realized that although it was slow, Marshall's body was impossibly healing, practically spitting out the bits of metal. Nervously she gulped, saying: "I-I'm Amanita, Mister Marshall. This here's my best friend, Mucu. Say "Hi" Mucu." she said, and at her behest the mushroom man gave a friendly, wordless wave to Marshall. She would tenderly excise bits of metal from Marshall, making sure to disinfect the wounds. Even if they were healing, they'd get infected, she assumed. "Mister are you...a-are you a Primal beast?" she fearfully questioned, before the two of them would hear a shriek from deeper into the woods to the east.
Rather than goblins assailing a ship, this time a swarm of large, hornet-like monsters were chasing after a young woman dressed in a rather plain blouse and long skirt, her raven black hair that reached the middle of her back was tussled, leaves intermixed with it as she continued running. Her violet eyes were clouded with tears, and, most noticeable to Marshall even from this distance was the distinctive mark upon the left side of her face in the shape of a handprint; As if the fires of hell itself had reached out and touched her face. A familiar, horrifyingly nostalgic mark that blemished her otherwise beautiful face as she ran for her life. Given the speed at which the insects were gaining, it wouldn't be long until they got to her.
In an instant that time to get to her became mere seconds as her foot suddenly twisted over a root, the woman being unable to do anything but shield her face as the insects closed in on her. "Mucu! Help!" Amanita ordered, before her mushroom companion sprinted forward. Even with the immense strength the mushroom possessed, Marshall knew he wouldn't make it in time...but he was conveniently running towards the woman, and not the insects, giving him a clear shot.
Cyll tensed up at hearing how Corday and the harvin were apparently locked up by Zweite before crashing their ship. He'd heard rumours of just how brutal and heavily guarded prisons of theirs are. A faint feeling of fear began to settle inside the young erune as he felt threatened, grinding his right foot into the wood below him in order to take a more defensive stance. Both of the erunes in the area noticed the rustle, though. Cyll didn't take his eyes off of Corday despite that, watching as she pulled out the knife. Flinching, Cyll prepared to dodge. To his surprise, however, once she tossed it out, it was not only aimed away from the boy, but it was only tossed in response to something else having been thrown at her. Cyll was still on-edge, but loosened up a little once he saw Corday jump off the ship. He walked forward to try and see what she tossed the knife at, but didn't get far as the tailed erune hurriedly climbed back up.
"GOBLINS! WE GOT GOBLINS! Kid, get downstairs and let us handle it, okay?" "Wha-?!"
Cyll froze for a second, for multiple reasons. One was the sudden cry of goblins, another was the older Erune putting herself between him and said goblins, and the third was her treating him like some kind of helpless kid. He didn't take kindly to that last part.
"Grrr... Get out of my way!" the boy yelled at her, shoving Corday away from him. He pointed a glare straight at her, the air around Cyll growing colder as he got more agitated.
"Let you handle it? Don't think I'm fucking useless!"
Cyll didn't have time to continue as he noticed three mounted goblins jumping on top of the crashed ship. They rushed straight past him. The boy tried to turn and stop them, but he was too late. The retreating figures had already hidden below deck.
"Primal-damned, snot-nosed...!" the boy cursed as he whipped his head back down to below the ship, seeing another dozen goblins greedily staring up at them, about half of which had a wolf-mount. The woman may look like she knew her way around a fight, but Cyll highly doubted she could hold off twelve of them on her own. He wasn't going to just run from this without a fight. The boy turned his head back to Corday, his temper still very clearly visible on his face.
"Don't you dare follow me! I'm drawing some away!"
And with that, small balls of ice started to form in Cyll's hand as he froze the ether inside of it. He dashed to the edge of the ship and put on his best shit-eating grin to look down at the goblins with.
"Hey, green dirtbags! Catch!"
Cyll jumped off the ship right after he tossed his ice-marbles at them, around five of those leaving his hand. His lack of mastery was starting to show as two of them vaporized again in mid-air, leaving only three to land square against the foreheads of one wolf-rider and two barefoot lackeys. The erune landed on one knee, lightly freezing the ground beneath him to show off, and looked up. He couldn't help but click his tongue as he saw only the three ice-marbles finding their mark. While he was hoping for more, this would have to suffice in taking some of the pressure off Corday and this 'Arno' fellow. While the three affected ones braced themselves in Cyll's direction, the boy confidently grinned.
"Catch me, suckers."
And with that, Cyll dashed off to the side, running into the woods. The three goblins fell for his taunt as they started to give chase, but only the one on the wolf was able to truly keep up with how Cyll skillfully managed to dance through the forest foliage. The upside of bumming out in this place for a while was the fact he knew exactly what the layout was like. The wolf-rider tried in vain to sling stones at Cyll as he narrowly dodged each shot.
Once a safe distance away from the ship, Cyll suddenly stopped in place and slid on the floor to stop his acceleration, catching the next stone flung at him. It kind of hurt to do, but it probably looked cool as hell if someone had been watching. The goblin staring him down was all alone in an open clearing, excluding its mount. Realizing it didn't have ranged advantage anymore, it tried to take out its blade. Right as it did, the same stone flung a Cyll was thrown back and landed square in its chest, coated with ice for good measure, knocking the goblin straight off his high-wolf.
Cyll's pupils became smaller and he felt his blood pumping through his veins, time slowing down as every hair on his body stood up. He was aware of every little detail of his surroundings; smell, sight, hearing and touch all mixing together as one. He could hear the hurried pace of the two slacking little gremlins hurrying on over. Now it got fun.
The goblin's mount tried to pounce Cyll, but with his increased reaction time he dodged to the side, spun around and punched the thing right into the ground with an ice-coated fist. As the creature tried to recover, Cyll formed small frozen spikes on top of his knuckles and rammed it through the creature's throat, leaving it to bleed out as he focused his attention back to the two goblins helping up their friend from the floor. Cyll cracked his knuckles.
"Now listen here you pillaging, murdering little sub-race punks..." the boy began as one of the goblins rushed him. It tried to swing at him with his blade, but Cyll didn't give it a chance. Cyll ran forward at the same time and reacted faster, driving his fist hard enough through the goblin's gut that it went flying.
"...my day's been just awful. I woke up from this strange nightmare..." he continued, the two remaining goblins being more cautious and trying to circle around the boy as he stood there and watched the third writhing on the floor. The circling ones went for a two-pronged attack, though Cyll jumped back and let them run into each-other instead.
"...had my meal escape from me because some dimwit convicts came crashing down..." Cyll rattled on, spinning around and kicking one in the head to knock it to the floor. He took the second's shield and yanked it out of their hand, then rammed his fist straight into their gullet. Cyll dropped the goblin shield as he looked over the three of them struggling to stand up from the floor, dazed from his blows.
"...and you know the worst part? They proceeded to belittle me and make me out for some helpless cub!"
Cyll paced towards the first one he knocked down, the wolf-rider, and kicked off its helmet. He then slammed his fist down hard enough to crack its skull and splatter blood all over.
"I'm just kind of angry right now, and you came in at the right time."
Cyll turned back to the other two goblins. They desperately tried to rush him, but Cyll managed to kick the first away. One of them managed to graze his cheek with the blade it was holding, but the erune punched it down to the floor again before it could do any more damage. The wound being slightly deeper than his other scrapes didn't register as pain for Cyll. He channeled the water ether in the air again, pinning down the first goblin with his foot to easily ram an icicle through its eye. It vanished as soon as the boy released his grip, leaving just an empty, lifeless socket. He turned back to the last goblin. Cyll ran over to it and coated his entire arm in ice to bring down his wrath. The one that damaged his face didn't stand a chance as its life ended, leaving three goblin corpses strewn about.
As soon as the fight was over, Cyll stumbled backwards for a bit, trying and failing to regain his balance as he dropped down to his knee. He panted heavily as a paralyzing shock ran through his body, the after-effects of his adrenaline rush kicking in. Cyll's stomach twisted from the stress put on it, but the boy managed to hold it all in.
"F-Fuck... I shouldn't have gone all out on these weaklings."
Cyll touched his cheek with his left hand and brought the fingers before his eyes, looking at the red stain on them.
"Tch! Can't even fight some goblins properly..." he berated himself. The boy shakily got to his feet as he looked back to where he came from.
"I should get back to them," he concluded. Cyll took a short breath and walked back in the direction of the crashed ship. He was still a little on edge, just in case more goblins decided to rear their ugly heads.
