Post #2428973 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

With a full moon hanging low in the night sky, they began. Ashton had traded in his light brown hide leathers for something he thought he'd never wear ever again. A pitch black leather suit hung tightly on his shoulders now-- and to be quite honest it seemed too small for him now. Oh, there was a smirk of satisfaction when he discovered that. It was a far better methaphor than he could ever possibly come up with on his own. Still, the fact that he had it laying around worried him, he should have burned it long ago. It was there though, and he was wearing it now. Afterward, though, they would all have a big bonfire on top of Leech's corpse, and then he'd burn it then. That sounded like fun. Rilien could bring the marshmallows, and they could all sing campfire songs. But first, they'd have to deal with the pirates.

Like he had said, they'd gotten a hold of two rowboats, and they were presently rowing their way toward the ship. Three to a boat, Ashton, Nostariel, and Sparrow in one, with Garrath, Rilien, and Lucien in the other. However, Ashton found himself wishing he had put Lucien in his boat. He never remembered rowing being so taxing. It felt like his arms were about to row right out of their sockets. But he needed someone like Lucien, and Rilien too in the boat with Garrath. If he tried something, he knew those two would be uncompromising in their resolve. Still didn't hurt to wish.

"And one, and two, and one, and two, and damn... Better workout than anything Amalia puts you through, yeah? Sparrow? You aren't dead yet, are you?" Ashton asked in a hushed tone. The ship was still only silhouette on the horizon, but it paid to be cautious, even from this distance. They were even rowing by moonlight with no other illumination to speak of.

Nostariel could have laughed. Now there was an errant thought. Still, she understood the need for silence, and even tried to row more quietly on the oar she shared with Sparrow. "You’d have to work much harder than this to put me through more than Amalia does,” she said in a sotto voce, but there was a smile in the words, some genuine affection for the Qunari woman. The Warden had never thought it likely that she would get along with someone like that, but as she’d slowly discovered, it wasn’t actually hard at all. Beneath her gruffness and efficiency, Amalia was a good person. More brusque and uncompromising than most, but she seemed to care very deeply for the things she chose to concern herself with, and never put half-effort into anything. Those were admirable qualities… even if they were part of the reason Nostariel was so sore after every session.

Fortunately, Nostariel and Ashton had done a brilliant job outfitting her emaciated-form. She donned a new set of leathers, fitted with shiny buckles and a brocaded vest that somehow made her look lean instead of sickly. It seemed to accent her femininity, as well. Oiled buckskin boots, featherlight dark green trousers and a pauldron of Ashton's making finished the look. Far more ranger in appearance and far less warrior-like than she would have liked but she could not deny the lovely make. They'd chosen well. It was comfortable to move around in. She appeared noticeably smaller, but she didn't mind. As long as she could swing her mace, then all was well. Sweat still beaded her forehead. Her arms were growing leaden, heavy with the burden of rowing. She managed a chortled grunt, followed by, “Not yet.”

Her eyebrows inclined. She did not know the extent of Nostariel's relationship with her once-friend. Only that she'd seen them together on several occasions when Sparrow grew homesick enough to spy on Amalia. Shamefully flitting from one building to another like she had something to hide. The Alienage held no place for her kind—those lying in the middle, those who had no clear-cut path, but she still appeared. Sometimes, she busied herself in Aurora's ever-growing garden just to be in close proximity. Her curiosity ebbed and flowed, gnashing its teeth whenever it was ignored. She'd wanted to ask about it before, but believed that she hadn't deserved the answers. What right did she have now to intrude into her once-friend's affairs? A small laugh escaped her lips. “She sounds like she hasn't changed a bit.”

In the other boat, looking a lot better than Ashton was, Garrath looked at the two in his boat. A man of clear military caliber and a Tranquil-- Ashton had strange friends indeed. "You two know the plan right? Get it done quickly and get it done quietly... If you can," He said, sparing a glance at Lucien. They needed muscle... But maybe Ashton found too much.

Rilien fixed the man with a look that somehow, despite its bland nature, managed to convey that yes, he knew exactly what he was doing. "Is repeating the plan in very nonspecific ways multiple times usually required for understanding?” he asked tonelessly. He did not feel that the repetition was necessary—the plan was relatively simple as far as such things went, and he had grasped it the first time it was explained. Despite having the appearance of a common mercenary or solider, Lucien was also well-spoken, and clearly not stupid enough to require such measures either. This left Rilien to conclude that this Garrath was nervous about their chances of success. He need not have been, but the Tranquil would not stoop to correct this misapprehension. He was not in the business of idle reassurances.

Lucien did not sigh or otherwise express any frustration with Garrath’s obvious skepticism regarding his suitability for this task—indeed, he knew quite well that he was not the typical choice for such assignments, but he had been asked by a friend to be here, and the cause itself was one worth undertaking. No matter how suited or not, he was in this wholly. “I understand your concern,” he replied in a low voice, “But I shall be as discreet as I am able. If I fail, well… it will only be an opportunity for the rest of you, I suppose.”

As the pair of boats crept closer to the ship lingering in the horizon, their paddlestrokes became smooth at the behest of both Ashton and Garrath. If they were to make too much noise upon approach, whatever sleep-deprived guard would come to investigate, and that would blow the whole stealth thing. Better to be slow and sure over quick and reckless. For now, Ashton had too much sense in his head to believe that everything would go swimmingly quiet. That's why he brought Lucien, for when things inevitably got loud. The boat containing Ashton's team rowed up to the broadside. Wordlessly, Ashton indicated that they were going to scale the side of the ship. With all the agility expected out of him, he sprung out of the boat and gripped the inside of one of the portholes.

Still fighting the feeling that this was still far too comfortable for him, Ashton swung out, keeping grip with a single hand and foot. He held out that hand in benefit for both Nostariel and Sparrow. What kind of gentleman would he be if he didn't lend the women a hand? A damn poor one. That, and he was sure that neither of them had this kind of experience before. Scaling galleons isn't something one did on their weekends, after all.

Nostariel took the proffered hand with gratitude, having been quite uncertain how she was going to manage this ship-scaling otherwise. It wasn’t exactly something she’d needed to do before. A bit awkwardly, she used the leverage Ash provided to swing up, catching onto the deck railing with her bare, callused hands and pulling herself up and over on arm strength alone, something she would not have been able to manage a year ago. Sticking to the shadowy parts of the deck, she awaited the others, trying to mute the sound of her breathing so as not to alert anyone else, though she offered Sparrow a further hand up and over the railing when the other woman’s turn came to make the climb. On the other side, she could see Rilien making the last few movements in the same ascent with no assistance and little discernible effort. Then again, he probably wouldn’t have looked like he was exerting any even if he were.

How many ships had Sparrow scaled before? Several. In Kirkwall, of course. But they'd been at port and she'd been drunk, lollygagging over the side of old skiffers and occasionally stumbling into the briny, dirty waters. This was different. The sea-sawing rowboat, as well as the stubbornly swaying galleon, proved much trickier to navigate, and so Sparrow watched Nostariel appreciatively from behind as she followed Ashton aboard. She, too, placed her hands and feet in the appropriate places, and snatched up the proffered hands to swing herself onto the decks as quietly as she could muster, nodding appreciatively. Had they not been there, she might have taken a noisy dunk. She flashed Nostariel and Ashton a cheeky grin, ducking down and keeping her breathing in check. Maker knew she was not the stealthiest person, but she'd try her best.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the boat, Garrath was already out of the rowboat and ascending the side of the ship. Unlike Ashton, he had no affinity for his friends-- even though they certainly looked capable. Once hanging onto the railing, he scanned the deck quickly before dropping back down below. Only a single lantern cast illumination on the deck, and revealed that there were only three pirates dozing on deck. The rest were probably in the hold below sleeping. This was acceptable. With that done, Garrath turned to the rest of his team and relayed the information, concluding with Garrath pointing at Lucien to go first. Ashton had insisted on the man going first, for some reason.

Despite all insistence to the contrary, the knight wasn’t an idiot, and had forgone most of his armor for this assignment. He had no particular desire to be half-drowned should he happen to fall in the water. As a result, he was weighted down only by a chainmail shirt and leather gauntlets and greaves, as well as a leather chestplate. He’d even swapped out his usual massive axe for two smaller ones, hanging from either side of a thick leather belt. Still heavier than anything anyone else was wearing, but then, he had the physical strength to compensate. Rilien was much faster up the side of the ship than he, but Lucien managed all right. When they had all reached the deck, Ashton's acquaintance gestured for him to go first, and he supposed there was some merit in that—his habits were not unknown to anyone who’d worked with him at all before, including Ashton himself.

Stepping out into the light of the sole lantern illuminating the deck, he cleared his throat, with a bit of exaggeration so as to draw attention to himself. “Much as it pains me to say this: gentlemen, this is a robbery. If you would be so kind as to put down your weapons, nobody need be hurt.” Sometimes, he wondered why he still bothered to say this—nobody ever surrendered. Still, better it be completely unnecessary a thousand times than forgotten the one time it would have saved a life.

The answer was as obvious as the moon in the sky. Upon Lucien's sudden appearence, all three pairs of eyes awakened immediately and turned in the Chevalier's direction. It gave Ashton the perfect distraction to hoist himself the rest of the way onto the railing, where he now sat nonchalantly, bow and arrow sitting across his lap. Just like Lucien, Ashton hoped that the pirates would heed his advice. He didn't want to fight, he just wanted the boat so he could find Leech and put all this nasty business behind him, where it should have stayed. Things never went their way though, as the pirates loosened their weapons and began to lurch toward Lucien-- they probably didn't want to shake his hand. Ashton's first arrow struck the pirate near the bow, dropping him where he stood.

They never did surrender, and one of them had an arrow blooming from his throat for the trouble. Lucien’s hand slid an axe each from the loops on his belt, and the first one cleaved vertically into a fellow’s shoulder, biting easily past the light leathers he wore and dropping him to the deck in a rapidly-forming pool of his own blood. The second was a bit more savvy, and the chevalier had to step out of the way of a two-handed blow with a one-handed mace. The would-be overkill had the unfortunate effect of throwing the wielder off-balance, and it was all too easy to stick a foot out and trip him, sinking the opposite axe into the back of his neck and severing his spinal cord. That one dropped next to his friend, and Lucien’s grim expression only darkened a bit further, helped along by the sudden clangor of a bell sounding from the crow’s nest.

The rest of the crew had been alerted to their presence, and it wasn’t long before the muffled thumping of footsteps could be heard from below, interspersed with the occasional ragged oath. In various states of wakefulness and dress, no less than a dozen more men and women emerged onto the deck, not a one of them looking inclined to simply leave. If this was how it was going to be, then there was nothing else for it. Joylessly, Lucien spun one of his axes by the haft and stepped forward to meet the incoming tide of people.

The first half-dozen to emerge all sustained heavy fire damage courtesy of Nostariel’s well-placed arrow, but none of them fell, and the Warden backed herself up a safe distance, to pick her targets carefully, mostly concentrating on taking out any who threatened to sneak up on or overwhelm her friends. Rilien, on the other hand, was much more direct, and stepped into the path of an opponent attempting to flank Lucien, striking quickly with his ice-blade, the gleaming metal cutting a broad sweep across the brigand’s chest. Fortunately for the smuggler, he was reactive enough to jump backwards, avoiding the exposure of his innards to the outside world. The fool had not donned any armor for the occasion, and it would be perhaps the last mistake he ever got to make.

The Tranquil went low next, the hit from his lightning-enchanted dagger blocked by the longsword the pirate was carrying. Of course, the electricity conducted right up the blade, shocking him, though not so much that he lost his grip. The momentary lapse was all Rilien required, however, and he surged upwards with fluidity and force, burying the other blade in the juncture between throat and chin, spearing upwards into what doubtlessly passed for the man’s brain. An arrow flying by over his shoulder thudded into the abdomen of a woman trying to take advantage of his distraction, the sheet of ice that encased her center mass marking it as one of the Warden’s. Rilien did not waste the opportunity, dropping onto his hands and sweeping his legs out to tangle with hers, taking her to the deck with a dull snap—she had been unfortunate enough to land awkwardly on her wrist, and hissed when it broke. Scrambling backwards, she tried to kick out at him, but Rilien simply jumped over her legs to land solidly on her ribcage, feeling a few more dull breaks beneath his boots. Dispassionately, he swiped a red smile across her neck, adding more ice to her corpse.

Rising, he found himself with no more foes in his immediate vicinity, and scanned the deck for anyone not directly engaged with one of his allies.

“So much for being quiet,” Sparrow muttered, loosening her trusty mace from its leather-holding. The straps fell away, leisurely tugged off with graceless fingers, until she held the thing in her hands—like she was holding it for the first time. It still felt heavy, but it was accompanied by an excitement she'd thought was long-buried. No longer did she tremble. No longer did she shy away from battle, anxiously looking back on what happened when he blood ran hot. Rapture was no longer there, hunched and watching from the shadows for any inkling of vulnerability. Chinks in her armour that were not physically apparent. She adjusted her grip, allowing the mace to swing to her side like a pendulum and grinned wildly, murky eyes alight. Surely, they hadn't expected dirty pirates to lay down their weapons and surrender. Ashton, no doubt, expected how their welcome would go, but he'd given them a chance to walk away.

As Lucien and Ashton dispatched of the three lollygaggers on the deck, with a well-aimed arrow and skillful blade work, Sparrow's ears twitched at the sound of a bell. She craned her neck, glimpsing a silhouette hunkered down in the crow's nest. No doubt calling others, and as if on cue, footsteps advanced from below. Those who finally appeared were hardly dressed for combat, but still looked as if they would put up a fight. Half-dressed, bootless, with unbuttoned shirts and trousers put on backwards. It might've been funny if it weren't for the fact that they were ready for such confrontations, and the pirates obviously were not. Did they know that? Were they afraid? She pursed her lips and swung her mace in a wide circle, threatening anyone who dared to step in close. One man may have underestimated her meagre size, grimacing and brandishing his own weapon of choice: a scimitar. Perhaps, it was fortunate she wore leathers as opposed to her full-set of steel plates—she was much, much faster than before.

She dashed to the man's left and abruptly knelt down, faintly hearing the sword hiss overhead. She swung her mace into his exposed calf, bracing herself against the arm-prickling recoil. The splintering crack left him sprawling on the ground, bereft of the blade he'd been so confidently holding. He was screaming, unable to figure out what to do with his awkwardly-splayed limb. As Rilien had taught her, Sparrow ended his screams by smashing his face in. Her means were not delicate, nor were they gentle or quick. However, even she did not relish in suffering. Laughter bubbled in her chest, but did not escape her lips. Killing was not something she enjoyed, either. Nonetheless, feeling her bones and muscles move underneath her skin filled her with feeling. Something in between exhilaration and freedom. Her body was her own. She wheeled on her heels, dancing away from the body, and turning to face whoever else dared to face her.

"Wasn't really expecting it," Ashton answered Sparrow. He still leaned back against the railing and plugged a raider exiting the hold. Honestly, the only thing he was worried about was getting to the ship in one place. His team were all great fighters in their own right, and a crew of pirates were no match for them. However, that advantage wasn't held when they were in piddly little rowboats. If the pirates had seen them on approach, then it would've been over for them. It wouldn't take much for them to point an arrow at them and pick them off at a distance. Not to mention the ballistae they no doubt had pointing out of the murderholes. He'd said nothing on the trip because, well, why worry everyone?

He did turn an annoyed eye upward to the form huddled in the crow's nest. That had been something he'd forgotten. Always take the lookout down first-- He should have done that while Lucien was giving his little surrender speech. Even though, the annoyance only lasted for a moment before it dissolved. He was losing his touch-- and that meant he was putting this part of his life behind him. Silver linings. Speaking of, he was having a good laugh at the next pirate's expense. He had to drop his bow and switch to the machete, but it was all worth it, as the pirate was brandishing a cutlass in nothing but his smallclothes.

he was fast enough to move out of the way of the initial slash, which managed to bury the blade into the wooden railing. Ashton kicked the blade's grip, smashing the pirates hand and making him lose hold. Now completely unarmed and nearly naked, the pirate stood in front of Ashton. The archer merely rolled his eyes and flipped the blade in his hand, smacking the pirate across the mouth with the flat of it. He couldn't just kill a man who was both unarmed and indecent-- Lucien must've been rubbing off of him. A hard thump off to his side caught his attention before he could engage another.

A pirate-- more dressed than the ones around him and with an arrow to the face, laid broken on his face. Ashton followed the direction he fell and noted the crow's nest as the only logical explanation. A quick glance at Garrath and his hypothesis was proved. A twinkle of victory dance in his eyes as his own bow dropped to his side.

His friends were certainly efficient, and Lucien found that he only had to dispatch one more pirate—this one with a sideways blow to the temple designed to stun and not kill—before it was seemingly over. The rest of the pirates stopped advancing, not that he could blame them. A good half of those left jumped over the port side of the ship and began swimming frantically for shore. He was inclined to remind them that the nearest shore was in the opposite direction, but there wasn’t really an opportunity of the clatter the others were making as they threw down their weapons and backed away from them, hands in the air to placate their assailants. From his own good faith, Lucien reaffixed his axes to his belt. He wouldn’t necessarily need them to hurt or kill somebody, but it was the symbolism that counted here. Almost despite himself, he was smiling as he turned to Ashton and the others. “What now?” he asked the other man mildly.

""Uh... well, maybe... we should-- Alright look," Ashton said pointing over the starboard side and into the water, "Is it that their captain?" Sure enough, in the direction Ashton pointed, a finely dress man in a magnificent hat was swimming his poor ass off. "Let them go? I really don't know, I never expected a surrender. This never happens," He said with a simple shrug.

Snippet #2428973

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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