The water was dark, the prow of the boat slicing cleanly and quietly through the few waves present at sea this close to shore. The motion of the ship was a smooth rocking under his feet, and it hardly registered consciously to Lucien. Perhaps, had he been a different man with a different life, a life as his should probably have been, he would have been unused to the feeling, and disturbed even by this much. But while knights could choose to remain land-bound and mounted whenever possible, mercenaries had to be adaptable, and both willing and able to grow accustomed to new things. It was not his first time on the ocean, and he doubted it would be his last. He bore it no great love, but he was not averse, either. As he had learned to do with both people and circumstances, he simply accepted this for what it was, appreciating what it had to offer, which in this case was a certain meditative rolling, conducive to the flow of his thoughts.
It was not meant to be, however, because it wasnāt long before they would have made it into the port that he spotted a light in this distanceāanother ship, from the way it bobbed slightly up and down, as the lights on their deck were undoubtedly also doing. There was no reason for a trade vessel to be leaving safe harbor at this time of night, and certainly not to be making for the only other boat on the water, so he was left with one conclusion.
āI think,ā he said, loud enough for those about the deck to hear, āthat our duplicity may have been discovered.ā Perhaps one of those theyād allowed to escape had intentionally misconstrued the terms of his or her surrender and informed Leech of the goings-on. If so, it was but one more consequence to accept, and he would do so without complaint. Though not, in the end, without concern. Hopefully, it had been deemed more important to pursue the rogue ship than to attempt to recover the people coming ashore and making for the Alienage.
Lucien's call drew Ashton's attention, and the pitter-patter of his feet echoed over the deck until he stood ontop of the railing, arm intertwined in the rigging. Leaning forward it took him no time to locate the ship Lucien spoke of. This surprise evoked little more than a harumph out of the hunter. "Hmm, I do believe you are correct, Ser Chevalier. Least it simplifies the issue of finding," Ashton said with a chuckle. "He's got nowhere to go. Let's get ready ladies and gents! We've got visitors, and I aim to give 'em the best boarding party they ever had!" He said, dismounting the railing and loosing his bow. Now there was only the small matter of finding his perch, and being the professional hunter he was, he already had three in mind.
Everyone was more or less ready by the time the second boat, superior to the one they sailed, slid up beside theirs with all the sleekness of a mink, the boarding planks clattering onto their deck seconds later. Lucien moved to block one of these ingresses, as one holding a more conventional chokepoint would do on land. He had promised to block, after all. Unfortunately, there were two planks, even he could not be in two places at once.
Not only was he a marvelous hunter, but Ashton seemed to have picked up a taste for tactics hanging around his friends. While Lucien created a chokepoint with that large body of his, Ashton had set up on the stairs leading to the helm giving him a clear shot at the other. The men who streamed across the pair of planks wore darkened pitch armor glinting in the moonlight, their faces obscured by black cloth. These men were Leech's handpicked enforcers, while the maleficarum probably waited from somewhere from inside the other boat. Smart, that one. That was the first thing Ashton noted, his eyes immediately set about looking for the elf. Still, he knew the bastard was on the boat, men like him didn't simply watch from the shore, their ego wouldn't allow. If it meant that Ashton would have to go into his own boat to kill him, then so be it. But first, his lackeys.
An arrow whistled through the air, and a splash bespoke of his aim. Another followed soon after, but they boarded faster than he could drop them. If they weren't culled fast enough, then they'd overrun over the ship. Another arrow glided through the air, though this one wasn't from Ashton's bow. A glance behind him revealed Garrath reaching for another arrow. The two locked eyes for a moment before he shrugged, "I needed a promotion anyway." Chuckling, Ashton turned back toward the gangplank, a fresh arrow nocked in his bow.
It was evident that a body was needed to actually block the way on the second gangplank, and though Rilien was no Lucien, the fact that two archers would be doing the majority of the work between them was enough that it should not be a problem for him to provide the body in question. Indeed, he flickered into visibility behind one of those enforcers that had made it past the barrage of arrows, his knife planted firmly into her back. The area around the wound was already freezing when he withdrew the implement, spinning it around into a backhand grip and using it to slash across the chest of the next marauder as he whirled to face them. The arrow-fire was still steady, and this meant that only the occasional combatant made it to the Tranquil on the other side. He āheldā his end with far less solidity than Lucien did, preferring instead to preserve his motion, ducking and weaving beneath bodies and wooden shafts, slicing whenever he spotted this or that bit of exposed or poorly-protected skin.
Nostariel had taken up a spot at the aft of the ship, high enough to see over Lucienās head from somewhat to the left. From there, she assisted him as best she could, firing magically-charged and mundane arrows alike into the line of enforcers trying to make it past the leather-armored knight. He was a bit less sturdy than usual, perhaps, given the absence of metal, but all the same, she was confident that they could handle this. An arrow sailed over his shoulder, thudding into an enforcerās chest, and tipping his balance just enough to send him off the boarding plank. Things seemed to be going wellā¦ until she caught the telltale glimmer of Tevinter Fire.
"Pitch!ā she shouted, referring to the tarlike substance that was most often set on fire and catapulted onto enemy ships. This boat, being a trade vessel, had no such things, smugglers or not. Standing from her crouch, Nostariel lit an arrow with the best ice spell she had and aimed high, firing the arrow from the bow in a powerful arc. It landed wide of where sheād wanted it, but still extinguished a few of the catapult fires, buying them some time to prepare for the incoming onslaught.
Never one for finesse, even in a weaker state, Sparrow curled white-knuckled fingers around the hilt of her mace and willed it to be lighter (something she would never admit aloud), imbuing it with arcane energy. She whirled it in a tight circle, clicking her tongue appreciatively. Had she any sense, she would have simply asked Rilien to enchant the damn thingābut stubborn is as stubborn goes, and her pride simply wouldn't survive uttering the words. As discussed, Sparrow watched Lucien break off towards the choke point and Nostariel gracefully take the upper levels, raining down arrows as Ashton did, as well. It was the most organized thing she'd ever been a part of, so much that she felt lost. She was a creature of disrepair and spontaneity. She'd been prepared to take the second gangplank, but Rilien had already beaten her to it. Already gracefully weaving between the bodies, slipping unseen knives through exposed ribs and lungs and tender parts that left them flopping down at his feet like fish.
No use getting in their way. āMind if I join you, lady-lass?ā She shouted over her shoulder, mouth split in a smile. Sparrow climbed the staircase Nostariel had taken, and took her place at her side, conjuring concentrated balls of energy and tossing them to those who still attempted to scramble aboard. Some cried out and pitched off the plank, splashing between the two ships. Other times, Sparrow sorely missedāunused to solely using magic and not simply bashing her way through things like a brute. It was the best that she could do. Pitchānot good. Not good at all if it hit any of them. She, too, crouched down to avoid the onslaught of incoming arrows, where archers had finally gathered enough wits to shoot back at them. Peeping up from her hiding-space, she wrestled down the innate urge to simply begin slinging fireballs across the way, and concentrated on applying arcane shields on her companions. Sinking back down, Sparrow exhaled sharply through her nose. Anything these days, particularly of the magical flavor, took its toll on her. She felt old, but at least she could do something.
Some of the archers seemed to have added two and two, and began dipping their arrows into the pitch before firing them. The result was a number of flaming arrows streaming through the darkened sky. These particular arrows did not have a particular target in mind, aiming only to set fire to the boat under their feets. Ashton glanced upward and became acutely aware of the sail above their heads on fire. It began as a small ember, but eventually that ember would grow into something far more fierce before it was over. Adding the pitch and other flaming arrows into the equations, he predicted a swift change of scenery in their near future.
As if to enforce the point, one of the catapults launched its contents right where Ashton was standing. Quick thinking and even quicker feet had Ashton up by the helm, and closer to Nostariel and Sparrow. Ashton had tripped on the last step, leaving him sitting in front of the burning pitch. He watched as the fire spread from the tar and into the wood proper. No doubt the side of the ship was in much of the same state, a ship-swap. Standing and slipping his bow over his head, he waved for Nostariel to descend the other flight of steps. "They want to sink this ship? Let them. We'll just take theirs in return. Go!" Ashton said between coughs. The fumes were starting to sink into his lungs.
Nostariel didnāt need to be told twice: the ship was catching fire, and they needed to abandon it. She didnāt exactly feel attached, though taking the fight to the other boat would put her in a bit of a bindāthe quarters would be much closer, and that was where she tended not to do as well as she would have liked. Then again, it was where Sparrow seemed to thrive, so perhaps as sheād provided her fellow mage with cover fire here, Sparrow would be willing to act as shield over there. Either way, she descended the steps quickly, and was halfway across the nearest gangplank before she realized that she no longer knew where Ashton was.
At the first oily whiff of fire, and Ashton's persuasive idea, Sparrow nearly got herself killed by springing up from her hiding place. Fiery arrows whizzed overhead, thudding into the wooden railings. She swore she felt the crackling bite of flames kiss her cheeks, but it could have just been the ship catching fire. Pitch, arrows, woodānot a good mix, especially since the ground beneath their feet had no resistances to such things. Her arcane arts were useless in protecting them while she dodged arrows, nor could she properly aim any ice-spells at the already growing patches of fire. She followed close on Nostariel's heels, shirking away from the spitting beams. Everything seemed as if it were on the brink of bursting into fractured-slivers and dangerous obstacles. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Ashton bounding down the stairs, as well, but stopped short of the gangplank. Just about to call to him, Ashton beat her to it, already backing up against the railing. Scheming some sort of grand escape, no doubt. Heroes, after all, never died. She turned away and crossed to the other ship.
A part of the mast had fallen and barred Ashton's forward progress. It would be a trivial matter for him to clamber over, had the beam not also been engulfed in flame. He found himself alone at the aft of the ship, both avenues of escape either blocked, on fire, or a combination of the two. He spent the first couple of moments moving from one set of stairs to the other like a confused mouse until he finally figured out that escape wouldn't come from eithe direction. "I'll be fine, go on over to the other ship, I'll meet you over there!" He called over the flames for anyone who was listening.
Of course, saying and doing are two completely different things. He'd have to find a way around the fire first or jump into the water below. He backed up to the railing behind him and glanced down at the fall below. Whistling to himself, he decided that that way wasn't going to do. That and he'd be easy prey for any opportune archer who saw him flailing about the ocean. The boat creaked as the fire steadily spread. Death by arrow, death by drowning, or death by fire-- which one did he feel the most comfortable with? Honestly? None of them.
His vision darted across the side of the ship before it came dancing back. The bow of the hostile ship waited just beyond the railing. He moved towards it, leaning forward and gauging the distance. It was long shot, but it was possible. He did have long legs after all, maybe it was about time he put them to use. He had to lean backward to dodge an arrow threatening to peel his gourd, but that was the only option that didn't involve certain death. Though, there was always the chance of death, but he wisely decided to think against possiblities of that type.
Taking as many steps back as he dared, he fell into a dead sprint and hit the railing, launching off with a foot. He sailed through air and then... Missed.
It was not meant to be, however, because it wasnāt long before they would have made it into the port that he spotted a light in this distanceāanother ship, from the way it bobbed slightly up and down, as the lights on their deck were undoubtedly also doing. There was no reason for a trade vessel to be leaving safe harbor at this time of night, and certainly not to be making for the only other boat on the water, so he was left with one conclusion.
āI think,ā he said, loud enough for those about the deck to hear, āthat our duplicity may have been discovered.ā Perhaps one of those theyād allowed to escape had intentionally misconstrued the terms of his or her surrender and informed Leech of the goings-on. If so, it was but one more consequence to accept, and he would do so without complaint. Though not, in the end, without concern. Hopefully, it had been deemed more important to pursue the rogue ship than to attempt to recover the people coming ashore and making for the Alienage.
Lucien's call drew Ashton's attention, and the pitter-patter of his feet echoed over the deck until he stood ontop of the railing, arm intertwined in the rigging. Leaning forward it took him no time to locate the ship Lucien spoke of. This surprise evoked little more than a harumph out of the hunter. "Hmm, I do believe you are correct, Ser Chevalier. Least it simplifies the issue of finding," Ashton said with a chuckle. "He's got nowhere to go. Let's get ready ladies and gents! We've got visitors, and I aim to give 'em the best boarding party they ever had!" He said, dismounting the railing and loosing his bow. Now there was only the small matter of finding his perch, and being the professional hunter he was, he already had three in mind.
Everyone was more or less ready by the time the second boat, superior to the one they sailed, slid up beside theirs with all the sleekness of a mink, the boarding planks clattering onto their deck seconds later. Lucien moved to block one of these ingresses, as one holding a more conventional chokepoint would do on land. He had promised to block, after all. Unfortunately, there were two planks, even he could not be in two places at once.
Not only was he a marvelous hunter, but Ashton seemed to have picked up a taste for tactics hanging around his friends. While Lucien created a chokepoint with that large body of his, Ashton had set up on the stairs leading to the helm giving him a clear shot at the other. The men who streamed across the pair of planks wore darkened pitch armor glinting in the moonlight, their faces obscured by black cloth. These men were Leech's handpicked enforcers, while the maleficarum probably waited from somewhere from inside the other boat. Smart, that one. That was the first thing Ashton noted, his eyes immediately set about looking for the elf. Still, he knew the bastard was on the boat, men like him didn't simply watch from the shore, their ego wouldn't allow. If it meant that Ashton would have to go into his own boat to kill him, then so be it. But first, his lackeys.
An arrow whistled through the air, and a splash bespoke of his aim. Another followed soon after, but they boarded faster than he could drop them. If they weren't culled fast enough, then they'd overrun over the ship. Another arrow glided through the air, though this one wasn't from Ashton's bow. A glance behind him revealed Garrath reaching for another arrow. The two locked eyes for a moment before he shrugged, "I needed a promotion anyway." Chuckling, Ashton turned back toward the gangplank, a fresh arrow nocked in his bow.
It was evident that a body was needed to actually block the way on the second gangplank, and though Rilien was no Lucien, the fact that two archers would be doing the majority of the work between them was enough that it should not be a problem for him to provide the body in question. Indeed, he flickered into visibility behind one of those enforcers that had made it past the barrage of arrows, his knife planted firmly into her back. The area around the wound was already freezing when he withdrew the implement, spinning it around into a backhand grip and using it to slash across the chest of the next marauder as he whirled to face them. The arrow-fire was still steady, and this meant that only the occasional combatant made it to the Tranquil on the other side. He āheldā his end with far less solidity than Lucien did, preferring instead to preserve his motion, ducking and weaving beneath bodies and wooden shafts, slicing whenever he spotted this or that bit of exposed or poorly-protected skin.
Nostariel had taken up a spot at the aft of the ship, high enough to see over Lucienās head from somewhat to the left. From there, she assisted him as best she could, firing magically-charged and mundane arrows alike into the line of enforcers trying to make it past the leather-armored knight. He was a bit less sturdy than usual, perhaps, given the absence of metal, but all the same, she was confident that they could handle this. An arrow sailed over his shoulder, thudding into an enforcerās chest, and tipping his balance just enough to send him off the boarding plank. Things seemed to be going wellā¦ until she caught the telltale glimmer of Tevinter Fire.
"Pitch!ā she shouted, referring to the tarlike substance that was most often set on fire and catapulted onto enemy ships. This boat, being a trade vessel, had no such things, smugglers or not. Standing from her crouch, Nostariel lit an arrow with the best ice spell she had and aimed high, firing the arrow from the bow in a powerful arc. It landed wide of where sheād wanted it, but still extinguished a few of the catapult fires, buying them some time to prepare for the incoming onslaught.
Never one for finesse, even in a weaker state, Sparrow curled white-knuckled fingers around the hilt of her mace and willed it to be lighter (something she would never admit aloud), imbuing it with arcane energy. She whirled it in a tight circle, clicking her tongue appreciatively. Had she any sense, she would have simply asked Rilien to enchant the damn thingābut stubborn is as stubborn goes, and her pride simply wouldn't survive uttering the words. As discussed, Sparrow watched Lucien break off towards the choke point and Nostariel gracefully take the upper levels, raining down arrows as Ashton did, as well. It was the most organized thing she'd ever been a part of, so much that she felt lost. She was a creature of disrepair and spontaneity. She'd been prepared to take the second gangplank, but Rilien had already beaten her to it. Already gracefully weaving between the bodies, slipping unseen knives through exposed ribs and lungs and tender parts that left them flopping down at his feet like fish.
No use getting in their way. āMind if I join you, lady-lass?ā She shouted over her shoulder, mouth split in a smile. Sparrow climbed the staircase Nostariel had taken, and took her place at her side, conjuring concentrated balls of energy and tossing them to those who still attempted to scramble aboard. Some cried out and pitched off the plank, splashing between the two ships. Other times, Sparrow sorely missedāunused to solely using magic and not simply bashing her way through things like a brute. It was the best that she could do. Pitchānot good. Not good at all if it hit any of them. She, too, crouched down to avoid the onslaught of incoming arrows, where archers had finally gathered enough wits to shoot back at them. Peeping up from her hiding-space, she wrestled down the innate urge to simply begin slinging fireballs across the way, and concentrated on applying arcane shields on her companions. Sinking back down, Sparrow exhaled sharply through her nose. Anything these days, particularly of the magical flavor, took its toll on her. She felt old, but at least she could do something.
Some of the archers seemed to have added two and two, and began dipping their arrows into the pitch before firing them. The result was a number of flaming arrows streaming through the darkened sky. These particular arrows did not have a particular target in mind, aiming only to set fire to the boat under their feets. Ashton glanced upward and became acutely aware of the sail above their heads on fire. It began as a small ember, but eventually that ember would grow into something far more fierce before it was over. Adding the pitch and other flaming arrows into the equations, he predicted a swift change of scenery in their near future.
As if to enforce the point, one of the catapults launched its contents right where Ashton was standing. Quick thinking and even quicker feet had Ashton up by the helm, and closer to Nostariel and Sparrow. Ashton had tripped on the last step, leaving him sitting in front of the burning pitch. He watched as the fire spread from the tar and into the wood proper. No doubt the side of the ship was in much of the same state, a ship-swap. Standing and slipping his bow over his head, he waved for Nostariel to descend the other flight of steps. "They want to sink this ship? Let them. We'll just take theirs in return. Go!" Ashton said between coughs. The fumes were starting to sink into his lungs.
Nostariel didnāt need to be told twice: the ship was catching fire, and they needed to abandon it. She didnāt exactly feel attached, though taking the fight to the other boat would put her in a bit of a bindāthe quarters would be much closer, and that was where she tended not to do as well as she would have liked. Then again, it was where Sparrow seemed to thrive, so perhaps as sheād provided her fellow mage with cover fire here, Sparrow would be willing to act as shield over there. Either way, she descended the steps quickly, and was halfway across the nearest gangplank before she realized that she no longer knew where Ashton was.
At the first oily whiff of fire, and Ashton's persuasive idea, Sparrow nearly got herself killed by springing up from her hiding place. Fiery arrows whizzed overhead, thudding into the wooden railings. She swore she felt the crackling bite of flames kiss her cheeks, but it could have just been the ship catching fire. Pitch, arrows, woodānot a good mix, especially since the ground beneath their feet had no resistances to such things. Her arcane arts were useless in protecting them while she dodged arrows, nor could she properly aim any ice-spells at the already growing patches of fire. She followed close on Nostariel's heels, shirking away from the spitting beams. Everything seemed as if it were on the brink of bursting into fractured-slivers and dangerous obstacles. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Ashton bounding down the stairs, as well, but stopped short of the gangplank. Just about to call to him, Ashton beat her to it, already backing up against the railing. Scheming some sort of grand escape, no doubt. Heroes, after all, never died. She turned away and crossed to the other ship.
A part of the mast had fallen and barred Ashton's forward progress. It would be a trivial matter for him to clamber over, had the beam not also been engulfed in flame. He found himself alone at the aft of the ship, both avenues of escape either blocked, on fire, or a combination of the two. He spent the first couple of moments moving from one set of stairs to the other like a confused mouse until he finally figured out that escape wouldn't come from eithe direction. "I'll be fine, go on over to the other ship, I'll meet you over there!" He called over the flames for anyone who was listening.
Of course, saying and doing are two completely different things. He'd have to find a way around the fire first or jump into the water below. He backed up to the railing behind him and glanced down at the fall below. Whistling to himself, he decided that that way wasn't going to do. That and he'd be easy prey for any opportune archer who saw him flailing about the ocean. The boat creaked as the fire steadily spread. Death by arrow, death by drowning, or death by fire-- which one did he feel the most comfortable with? Honestly? None of them.
His vision darted across the side of the ship before it came dancing back. The bow of the hostile ship waited just beyond the railing. He moved towards it, leaning forward and gauging the distance. It was long shot, but it was possible. He did have long legs after all, maybe it was about time he put them to use. He had to lean backward to dodge an arrow threatening to peel his gourd, but that was the only option that didn't involve certain death. Though, there was always the chance of death, but he wisely decided to think against possiblities of that type.
Taking as many steps back as he dared, he fell into a dead sprint and hit the railing, launching off with a foot. He sailed through air and then... Missed.