Fantasy City of Magic [5/7 spots taken] Closed For Now

[Velkyn]

Wynnter Velatha

One moment, the spectacular sight of the mountains mesmerized her mind and filled her thoughts, trying to picture them in a realistic scale in her mind. The sun was cresting slowly, the light more than enough for her to see. Then again, she knew with an hours wait she would no longer be able to bear the intensity of the morning shine. The next, a mechanical orchestra rang throughout the ship, the wooden supports on which she was perched vibrated almost violently. A flick of her focus brought a large, orange ball to attention. It soared through the air almost ominously, seemingly unaffected by the speed at which it traveled. It came to crash into the hull of the ship, sending her into desperate attempt to stay on board. Her attempts brought her off her perch as she landed on her back, the ship rolling back to an upright position. However, she fleetingly caught herself, able to roll out onto a knee once the vessel lurched back into place. Wynnter shook whatever fragments of weariness in her away as she stood, the commotion of the crew almost harmonic. She scanned the sky around the ship, entire seconds passing before she found the culprit, a large ship with a freshly opened hole among its large sail.

It didn't hold her attention for long, however.

She heard a loud cracking sound as the ship lurched once again, the sheer volume drowning out any coherent communication besides the shocked screams of those near the impact. She caught sight of a long, sleek ship screeching among the side of their own, wood squealing as the friction tore hull from rivets and supports. She once again toppled as the ship lurched, managing to find the corner of a small hatch in the floor as her side found the deck once more. The ship squealed as the other pushed off its side, the hull groaning angrily as it riveted back. She thought she heard something else as the ship lurched back, a soft thudding, almost unanimous in sequence. As if someone was running down a stairway, or jumping off an incline onto..

Her heart pounded as she heard boots fall inches from her head.

A sharp pain formed in her back as rough hands found their way to her, the grip on her shoulder tight as she began to react. Wynnter threw herself away, hearing a sharp crack of wood near her head, just behind her hood. She heard the tearing of fabric as she found her footing, stumbling as the ship rocked almost uncontrollably. A large, sleek man stood feet from her, a steel blade sunken into the wood halfway to It's hilt. The man quickly, yet smoothly found a blade of nearly two feet. The short sword lurched towards her and swung wide, circling back towards her as her palm found the hilt of the dagger concealed in her back. The jet-black blade was held backwards in her right hand as it flashed out from under her cloak. She sidestepped his blade and brought hers to contact it, her wrist flexing as the blades struck one another. "Not again!" She murmured as her dagger swept along his blade, clashing at the hilt before swinging free past his arm. She danced around his blade as his blade met hers in an almost fierce elegance. His black hood swung off his head and to his shoulders as he fought, the shine in his eyes revealing he hadn't expected much resistance. Embers and smoke began to bellow across the deck as the two blades struck again, metal screeching one more as Wynnter began her assault. Chaotic yet methodical, her dagger hastily flew as they fought, the leverage the small blade proposed keeping her on her feet. Seconds felt like hours as they clashed, dodging his gradually weakening swings and only catching fabric with her own. He thrust his sword once more, only to be caught with a swipe of her own. She leveraged her weight into the blade, bringing him to the ground by his wrist and pinning his blade against the wood of the deck. She thrust her knee into his chest as he fought for control over both himself and his sword. She brought her foot to his arm and pinned him towards the ground as she brought her dagger up and into a cut, flashing it across his chest and leaving a sizable hole in the leather.

"Not enough to kill..."

Wynnter sprung off of him as his arm gripped at the pain, the vessel still shaking. What she saw when she stood was a tragic sight, many lay on the floor and many still fighting ruthlessly. She had no time to remorse, however, as another man spotted her and began advancing. He held a long pole with a crescent-shaped blade affixed to the end, something she could never hope to contend with. Glancing over her shoulder, she pushed her foot into the ground as her left palm found the hilt buried underneath her sleeve, pulling it out smoothly as she used her momentum and weight. Her arm parallel to her nose, she took another step as she extended her arm, the dagger leaving her palm hastily. It struck the man in the leg, exceptionally low for where she expected, and prepared another one quickly. However, as her hand clasped around the next hilt, a arrow bloomed into his chest, sending him to his back in a rush of pain.

"Who are they?" Was all she could think.

 

[The Gunrunner]

Glazist Phairnaul, The Wanderer

"Make way!" "By the gods, who is that?" "Move, move!"
Glazist steps through the crowded hall, men parting to make way for the fully armoured knight. His axe rests in both hands, crossed against the chest. His helmet reverberates with his voice, the sailors' attentions grabbed by vows and chants unfamiliar. They come in a loud whisper, eminating from the mysterious figure and crawling along the walls. Shadows between the windows play against the metal plates, one moment the brass rims glinting in the sun, the next the steel is bathed in dark. As the unknown nears the door, he bangs the handle of the axe against the front of the steel cuirass - A repetitive, simplistic beat of combat. He steps through to the outside, cold eyes scanning over the deck of battle - Sailors and unfamiliars are about the place, fighting, dying, or dead. Their assailants were dressed in a variety of black clothes, all of which designed to hide their faces. The knight rolls his shoulders, fingers twisting around the wooden handle of the axe.

One of their number charges him, swinging the pommel for his helmet. Glazist responds quickly, catching the swing by the shaft of his axe - The blunt end is then thrust forward, smashing into the man's teeth and sending him to the wooden deck. Glazist roars, charging into the fight, "A harbinger arrives!"

The first man happens to be fighting with one of the sailors, the edge of his sword cutting a red line on the man's chest. The offender's head suddenly swings to the side, the blunt of Glazist's axe knocking him from the battle. Another takes notice of the new combatant, throwing a hammer at the knight's back - It smacks him square, denting the metal, but he merely turns. The end of the shaft is thrust to the man's knee, and Glazist punches metal fingers against the man's throat - He's sent to the floor, coughing and sputtering. Another comes to him, an axe and a buckler held ready. Glazist charges him, swinging the blade low to catch the feet - The metal hooks around the ankles, and the man yelps as he's tripped to the deck. The knight dispatches the final move quickly, smashing a boot into the attacker's jaw. "Do not interfere with the Order of Spring!"

 

[yuckeroni]

NADYA LOTHRIC

It was becoming clear to Nadya that she was not going to be getting her handshake from the second Aryan anytime soon, so as quickly as she jumped on the opportunity to make her impression, she lowers her hand, albeit disappointed in the outcome. "Ah, never mind, then," her voice showing no hint of dejection. Nevertheless, she bounces back from the incident in a matter of moments. "Well, it certainly is a pleasure to be meeting you all, then." She says, now motioning towards the Elven newcomer. After the greetings were finally finished, the Captain took his place against the railing, bellowing a command, something she had not caught. However, at this time, Nadya knew that the time was near for the ship to finally take flight. As the ship lurches, luckily for herself she had managed to find her balance faster than the Elf who went down, her heart racing just a little bit while the wind blows into her and the ship sped away.

After that ordeal, one that the Deadlander enjoyed very much - the adrenaline still pumping through her body - the excitement died down during the tour of the Skyship, Nadya taking a mild interest in the vessel. "Certainly better than a horse, isn't it?" She comments, not bothered when her question goes unanswered. Yet at this point, it may have been obvious to her comrades that she tended to talk to herself quite a bit. The rest of the day for her consisted of wandering around the Anarthiren, bothering some poor fellows with questions regarding the ship, ranging from entirely harmless to threatening danger. ("What do you do?" "What was to happen if there was suddenly no magic and we were all plunging to our deaths?") After their... less than satisfying meal, Nadya quickly retires to her room hoping for sleep to take her quickly just as her earlier nap did. The wait was exhausting, at least while she slept time seemed to move much faster. Her sleep was dreamless, she had no thoughts to take her away like last time, in fact, she managed to knock herself out pretty quickly, almost on command. All she had to do was lay down, close her eyes, and she was out like a light.

Nadya awoke with a pain in her side from her uncomfortable position, pulling her face away from a puddle of her own saliva, rubbing her eyes furiously as she tries to focus on the cacophony of sounds, including that darn warning bell. The gravity of the situation finally settles, and as fast as she possibly can she jumps out of her bed and grabs her large weapon, praying silently as she wipes the wetness from her face with her free hand and scrambles out of the room, pulling her robes closer to herself. "Being attacked so soon? What an experience this is," certainly, Nadya would have sounded much more excited, but drowsiness still lingered on her,
visible by her slight stumble and difficulty to see. At least vision was much easier with her dust veil off. From behind her she hears a thud, and without thinking, she pulls herself to a wall and faces whoever it was that tried to attack her from the back. Her shoulder hitting the surface certainly wasn't pleasant, but she forces herself to move faster and attempt to fight. Nadya's assailant was a taller woman, from what she was able to surmise, who wielded two daggers, one in each hand. "Ah, welcome aboard! I don't suppose you're not looking for any trouble, are you, ma'am?" All she receives in return was a grunt, a sigh escaping the Vackhan's lips. "No diplomatic conversation, huh? Fine by me, then. Don't complain when I have your puny knife against your throat, though."

The attacker rushes forward, wanting to catch Nadya off guard, yet the robed woman takes a few steps back and holds the snath of her scythe close to her chest, gripping the cold metal tightly. Once the attacker had gotten close enough, she attempts to slash at the smaller woman, discouraged by the sound of metal on metal. Using this short opportunity, the Vackhan bashes the harasser with the handle of the scythe, staggering the assassin just slightly. "I don't want this to take long, so please, kindly thrust your body into my blade, aye? Or is that too much to ask?" More than annoyed, the taller woman ups the ante and slashes her daggers at a faster rate, spinning in circles, reminiscent of a dancer. However, the tiny knives can't keep up with Nadya's constant blocking. Having enough of being on the defensive, Lothric spins her scythe as well, surprising the attacker with the brutal force of the sharp heel coming into contact with her groin. Now twirling it the other way, Nadya brings the toe onto the back of the hunched assailant, forcing her down onto the floor, the toe submerging into the ground, effectively keeping the assassin trapped. "Now I assume there are other more important losers like you to talk to, so I won't spare you nor myself the trouble of forcing you to talk," Nadya squats down to pluck the daggers that the other woman had failed to use wisely, unaffected by her whining. After pulling the weapons away, the Vackhan stashes one of them into her robes, and slides the other one into a specific spot in the woman's throat, humming a melodic tune as she quickly rummages through the assassin's belongings. Finding nothing important, save for a few more daggers, ("Who needs this many?") Nadya pulls the scythe from the bleeding body and goes on her merry way to group up with her companions.

Lekiel Blue Aisle The Gunrunner Con-Amore Velkyn

 

[Lekiel]

Cries of battle filled the air, interspersed with a temporary victorious cry of one of the Calenfari Moongardes. Standing on the main deck, each taking on multiple opponents at once, they parried and weaved in a battletrance against the assassins. They were all that stood between them and losing control of the entire ship. A few intruders had already sneaked below deck, perhaps in search of the solean crystal chamber; Talyndra was too preoccupied making sure she didn't lose her head to do anything about it other than pray that those below were not caught unprepared. Melianne had retreated her and the other archers back up onto the upper deck. The stood in a defensive ring around the pilot box where they kept their vantage and provided cover fire for the melee defenders.

Occasionally, she would spot one of her companions, doing their best to fend for the ship. The inquisitor had joined her, from the looks of him, Talyndra could tell that he did not take to flying very well. But if the click of his deadly crossbow was any indication, it did not seem to affect his ability to fight.

"I do not know!" Talyndra cried over the noise, in response to his question. She was exasperated. What did they want? The ship? To kill her? Kill them?

She drew another arrow from her quiver as she saw an assassin with a long crescent shaped blade swing over to the Anarthiren's deck. Talyndra let loose her missile but cursed as it went wide, clattering against the railling; she was no ranger. She felt her throat tingle as the stone necklace began to grow warm, but she resisted the urge to use her magic. Talyndra saw a flash of silverish hair and noticed that the assassin was advancing on Wynnter. The elf gritted her teeth and notched another arrow, determined to prove that she could be useful. It was difficult to aim without the risk of hitting a friendly. Taking a steadying breath, she fired her second shot. This time, her aim was true, hitting the assassin squarely in the chest.

"We need to get their pilot, or we'll be overrun!" Elheim appeared by her side, bloodied rapier in hand. A quick glance to the rear and their predicament was clear. Even if they managed to hold off the assailants from the first ship, there was a third quickly gaining on them from the back. From the way the assassin's ship had rammed diagonally into the Anarthiren, Talyndra could barely see the other Skyship's bridge. It was too heavily obstructed for a long range shot to be viable.

"Lord Hanar, think you can manage that-?" The Captain was interrupted by a sneaky (or not so sneaky) assassin who lunged with his dagger, thinking he had caught the Captain off-guard. Elheim almost lazily turned to parry the blade, and immediately riposted, breaking through the startled attacker's guard and stabbing him in the throat. Turning back to the others, Elheim grinned. "As I was going to say before Unlucky here showed up." Elheim nudged the assassin at his feet, still gurgling blood as he choked on the floor of the deck, "take a few men with you. They should be too busy attacking to notice. Take out the pilot and get back here as soon as you can! That should buy us enough time to disengage the ships."

Blue Aisle Velkyn

 

[The Gunrunner]

Glazist Phairnaul, The Wanderer

Glazist smacks the pommel into another man's mouth, filling it with his own teeth. It was amazing how much damage a knight could inflict without specifically killing someone. A dark, hoarse chuckle escapes his decayed lips as he knocks the shaft of his axe against the deck. The sound of wood-on-wood is drowned out over the fighting. Someone asks who these masked individuals are - "I do not know!" Talyndra answers. He turns, just at the moment to see her loose an arrow to save Wynnter. The undead nods his approval, it was a good shot.

More boarders fill the deck, and Glazist charges into the thick of them to fight them back. The first man to land draws his sword, an eagerness in his eyes - That eagerness is soon replaced by shock as the back of an axe is seen inches from his face. The knock sends him spinning, falling to the deck holding what is most likely a broken nose. Another grabs Glazist's arm, not equipped with a weapon to pierce the armour, while another charges with a mace. Glazist pulls the man forward, over his shoulder, and smashes his gauntleted fist into the man's face. One hit surprises him, the next stuns and dazes him, and the third puts him out of the fight. Glazist then feels the mace smash into his back, nearly flooring him, but he has much more endurance in his undeath - He pulls the axe around, the shaft behind the man's legs, and tackles him over. Two headbutts from his helmet take him out.

"We need to get their pilot, or we'll be overrun!" Elheim adds, taking Talyndra's side. Glazist's foot hooks the ankle of another attacker, and he shoves his elbow into the man. The masked boarder falls over, before a savage heel is sent towards the jaw. The weight of the knight and the angle is more than enough to send the man into a deep, agonizing sleep. "I am afraid I can not yet kill these men, but I can help us through to their pilot!" Glazist yells over the battle, his details aimed towards Lord Hanar. Another tries to subdue one of his limbs, but instead Glazist merely grabs the offender by the neck. The knight holds him tightly, requiring a moment of clarity to resist an urge to end him, before knocking a knee into his chest and smashing his face against the wooden railing. "Hanar, I think we'd best be quick!"
Lekiel Blue Aisle

 

[Velkyn]

Wynnter Velatha

She watched as the man hit the ground with a thud, sparing him no remorse. Wynnter spared a moment, taking note of the rapidly dwindling amount of figures on the deck, and the increasing amount of bodies littering the deck. She didn't look at them, couldn't bring herself to it. She couldn't know if the faces she saw whist roaming the ships corridors lied among the figures clad in black. She had little time to spare, however, as she watched the strange figures plunge through a hatch in the deck, ignoring the fight on the deck. She noted that one was not dressed as the others were, a silver lining and white symbol adorned his black uniform. She had little idea what it was, and didn't think about it as her palm found the hilt concealed within her boot. She took a breath as she used her momentum once more, the blade leaving her hand naturally as she completed the form, a transition from a crouch to a run. The blade through straight, the tip of the blade leading a slight curve, splicing its way through the wrist of the last figure trying to enter the hatch.

"Not quite where she meant it, but it would do."

She gripped the longer blade in her opposing palm as her legs carried her towards the man, his teeth clenched as he fought against the blade, which must have embedded itself into the trapdoor that was swung open. He attempted to free his hand as she reached him, her dagger plunging into his back as the bitter realization came across his face. She withdrew it quickly, pulling to the side as she did. She pushed him aside with a grunt and was thankful he didn't scream, it was never something she liked about combat. The horrors were, well, Horrors.

She didn't know how some found enjoyment in war.

She pulled the dagger that held his wrist in place, slowly wrenching it free.She kept it in her throwing hand, ready to be sent streaking at a moments notice once more. The blade had suffered some damage, something fixable later rather than now. However, perusing on, she took one glance at the deck, watching as many individual battles raged on. The guide fought with her bow as she slung arrows into adversaries, the large man seeming a statue among ants as he crushed his opposition. She attempted to lock eyes with someone, anyone, before pushing herself through the hatch. She braced before she hit the ground, her boots hitting the floor with a thud as she came to a crouch once more.

What she found was, well, quite the sight.

There was a large blade protruding out of the wall, the hilt inches from her head. It was long and sickly, almost three feet and but an inch wide. Yet it stuck straight, not a hair of give in its composition. She disregarded it and gripped her dagger, the comfortable feeling of confidence emanating within her again. She scanned the room, which revealed blood but no body. Streaks from swords lined the walls as scars, all of which leading to a door. A door that was now laying against the floor, completely torn from its hinges. She wasted no time and stood, putting emphasis in her step as she remained quiet. She was, after all, supposed to be a rouge.

She turned through the door, only to see the man clad in silver.

Lekiel Blue Aisle The Gunrunner Con-Amore yuckeroni

 

[yuckeroni]

NADYA LOTHRIC

You're doing it again, Nadya. The voice rings in her head, unheard by outsiders. Nadya flinches from the unexpectedness, not having heard her bondmate's voice in many hours. "Oh, now you talk, hmm? Where've you been this whole time?" She says, halting to bring the scythe closer to her face as if holding a blubbering child. Unlike the chosen Vackhan herself, Melora was much more austere, yet still very much incorruptible and noble, as shown through the Lothric lady's lack of mercy towards the pirate assassin. Nadya was everything Melora wasn't, but the way they both seemed to balance each other and bring more abilities into one, was what had won them (or rather, Nadya) the title of Vackhan.

Having fun, committing these.. acts. Melora replies, earning a scoff from her mate. "You're just jealous I get to be here and you don't, isn't that it, huh? There's nothing wrong with making the best out of a bad situation." If Melora had a physical body, this would have been the part where she rolled her eyes and shown her disappointment towards Nadya. Yet this isn't a bad situation for you, is it? All Nadya gives the scythe is a vigorous shake of her head, choosing to stash the scythe on the sling of her back, choosing not to speak to her anymore. The woman presses forward, a slight frown embedded on her face. "Stupid M' trying to force her boring ideals on me, whatever, I don't need her anyway. At least I'm not rotting six feet under the ground." She says with a huff of annoyance. Of course, had her trip companions ever been in this very same situation with Nadya, they would have found that she would always forget her anger towards Melora, and come back to her as soon as shit hit the fan.

As she continued her search for her comrades, there was no trouble for the woman, besides a few pirates who she had thrown overboard. After a good few minutes, she found herself in the vicinity of one she had recognized as the Elven rogue (the name she failed to catch earlier), the annoyed expression now gracing into a smile, as she makes the effort to follow her through the hatch. Nadya was indeed a loud person, so hiding her presence from the rogue would have nearly been impossible. Regardless, she does not notice the need for stealth, nor the man in silver that the elf had just stumbled upon, and thus declares herself. "You, Elf! Pardon my rudeness, I seem to be at a loss for your name. Also, I don't quite remember this man, he a friend of yours?" She says, attempting to put her hand on the Elf's shoulder and using the pointer finger on that hand to point at the man. Now, Nadya Lothric wasn't dumb, but her excitement and lack of sense for a lot of things may have made it seem as if she were.

Velkyn

 

[Lekiel]

Glazist Phairnaul, The Wanderer

"Hanar, I think we'd best be quick!"

""Amin nauva auta!" A soft spoken, yet firm and clearly audible male voice interrupted their brief seance, causing both Elheim and Talyndra to turn at the same time.

"Isra`fael.." Talyndra acknowledged the ranger with mild wonderment. The Isilhin was one of her four escorts and had been the most outspoken with his dislike of collaborating with the foreigners. Yet here he was, willing to work with them and possibly lose his life for theirs. Jet black hair shone in the dim early morning light as his dark eyes glared intensely at the enemy ship. The Calenfari ranger turned to regard Glazist. Crossing his twin blades across his chest, he bowed to the knight before turning to the port deck. Grabbing one of the lose rigging, he put a foot against the railing and turned back to the Deadlander.

"Nev`ana hilya rava, guinahiroo." Isra`fael casually commented over his shoulder, before swinging across the divide.

Elheim snorted at the comment, before translating it for Glazist's benefit. "He said, try to keep up, undead man." Turning to the Cloudmage pilot, he brandished his rapier at the Assassin's ship. "Come on! Give them some distraction!" Upon hearing the order, the pilot immediately directed the Anarthiren to collide and bump violently against the enemy ship. The sounds of crashing timber drowned out the cries as many onboard the two ships were thrown off their feet. Despite that, anchor harpoons which bound the two ships together remained intact.

Isra`fael landed on the enemy ship in a roll. Almost immediately, he was beset by Assassins who had remained to defend their ship. Using his forward momentum, the Ranger came out of his roll blades drawn. In one fluid motion he twirled in the air, his body near parallel to the deck as he spun in a blur of flashing blades. Caught on the offensive, the first assassin could not bring his swords up in time to block and was slashed in a clean cut from the tip of his forehead down to the groin. Blood sprayed the deck crimson as the Calenfari ranger pressed on. There was no time to pause, if he held back for a moment on the enemy ship, Isra`fael knew he would quickly be overwhelmed. He hoped the Deadlander was as good as he looked.

The Gunrunner

Amin nauva auta! = I will go

 

[The Gunrunner]

Glazist Phairnaul, The Wanderer

"Amin nauva auta!" It is an unfamiliar voice. One Glazist would have ignored if it hadn't first caught the attention of Elheim and Talyndra. The knight's own curiosity is peeked, and the origin draws his attention - He smashes his armoured elbow into another man, just to free him of his most pressing concern of the moment. As Glazist turns, his eyes behold another elf - Dressed and armed in a different manner from the others though. This one carries twin blades, and seems to carry himself far better than the regular fighters of the ship. The elf approaches, and the Deadlander turns his body to offer his full attention. The ranger crosses his blades and bows, immediately turning away and taking a piece of loose rope. "Nev`ana hilya rava, guinahiroo," the man says, swinging from the ledge at that final comment.

Elheim finds his way to the knight's side, snorting - "He said, try to keep up, undead man." Glazist breaks into a laugh, banging the axe's pommel hard on the deck - "Oh, did he!?" The ship moves to crash into the opposing craft. In the collision, most are thrown off their feet in the sounds of crashing timber - But Glazist is not one of them. As the ship turns to meet the other craft, Glazist charges the edge. Two try to move into his path, but the knight barrels through them - The first has his jaw cracked from a metal fist, while the other's knee is dislocated from a hard smack of the axe. He continues his charge, leaping from the ledge just as it is about to collide.

Isra`fael lands in a graceful and deadly roll, using his momentum to quickly transition into a whirlwind of blades. Glazist, however, is far less graceful; he leaps from the ledge, falling into one of the defenders and both of them crashing to the ground. Another swings a pike into the knight's back, but it barely even stuns him. The monster smashes its helmeted head into the downed man, over and over, until it draws blood. The attacker places his foot on Glazist's back, desperately trying to pry his weapon free. 'Keep up'!?" he yells, grabbing the man behind him and smashing his head into a knee, "We'll see who needs to keep up, spring-legs!" He breaks into laughter as he steps forward on the deck, the large pauldrons of his armour shifting as he rolls his shoulders. The axe had not killed, true, but its shaft and back still faced various sprays of blood from broken teeth and other blunt-trauma wounds. The deck seems to swarm with assassins, with various weapons drawn, coming forward to defend the assault on their ship. Glazist sees the ranger through the mass of bodies, his blades twirling through the crowd. He is fast the knight notes, chuckling.

For the ranger, he needs to be quick and precise; the swarm is thick, and it only takes one lucky blow to end a mortal life. For the Deathknight, he has far more leniency. The assassins would learn this quickly; as the first is pulled from his feet, time spent to smash his face into the deck again and again, they would learn that it takes far more than one lucky blow. Glazist stands, backhanding another man simply to purchase space, and swinging the edge of his axe to the ground - The blade slices through a man's boot, drawing blood from what is now missing of his toes. An arrow bites into the deathknight's armour, breaking through a gap in the armour and penetrating his arm. Still, it doesn't slow him down - He sends his fist for another man's jaw, knocking him out in a powerful punch. Another arrow sticks into the monster's back, not even stunning him as he sends an angled kick to break a man's leg. Brass-lined armour flashes through the crowd, punching kicking and beating. Glazist merely laughs at their attempts to end him, plowing through the bodies like a living tank.
Splinters of wood whine and snap as the axe is pulled free again, and the steel flashes as a wide arc is spun to clear a circle. One man who attempts to take his arm instead earns a broken jaw, the others moving back to dodge the swing. Swing after swing, arrow after arrow. The armour is not easy to penetrate, and its wearer skilled enough to dodge and block, though even when one does get through it is only enough to draw his attention. Broken and bleeding bodies, unconscious or too injured to continue fighting, fall bit by bit. A path slowly forms under a carpet of fallen adversaries, a path chipped away to slowly lead to the ranger's side. One man comes for the elf, sword raised in the air and the tip pointed forward. His head knocks to the side under the blow of a wooden pommel, and in his place the armoured form of the Deathknight replaces him - His body sees damage to prove his fight, arrows sticking from the armour and a warpick stuck in the back of the plate. Still, he continues like it's hardly even noticed. "We aren't counting kills, are we!?" the knight yells in question, shoving a man to the ground and smashing a heel against his throat, "Because I think that tally would be unfair!"
Lekiel

 

[Lekiel]

Isra`fael merely smirks upon hearing the knight's competitive, albeit good natured banter. He briefly affords the Deadlander a glance. Seeing the knight stuck with various weapons like a pin cushion a broad grin crossed his face. The elf parried another charge, deftly twisting is blade and forcing the assailant's guard out wide. Reversing his grip on his own blades, Isra`fael did an about turn stabbing backwards at the assassin, slim elven blade piercing through his leather armor.

"If you collect more weapons from them, perhaps you could sell-" The elf paused to kicked the stabbed assassin, sending him stumbling against two more. "-them and save enough to buy some fine elven armor. Much lighter than that metal box you're wearing." As he finished his sentence Isra`fael, sprinted forwards. Using the downed assassin as a springboard, he vaulted into the air and over a whole bunch of charging assassins. The ranger wasn't too worried about them catching up, knowing that the knight was close on his heels. Admirable, for one so big and bulky. He was nearing the pilotbox, and the startled look on the Cloudmage's face gave away his fear that both the ranger and the deathknight were seemingly unstoppable. The mage begins the workings of a spell, even before directing two more assassins to stand in Isra`fael's way. They were dressed slightly differently, both their blades seemed of better quality, as was their silver trimmed armor.

A challenge finally! The ranger shook his head as he let out a low growl of eagerness, moving in as the two engaged him in a deadly dance of blades. Isra`fael parried and riposted, slowly finding his rhythm. He hoped the Deadlander would reach the Mage soon, before a spell was flung into the mix.

 

[The Gunrunner]

Glazist Phairnaul, The Wanderer

"Hah! A metal box for a dead man, that seems appropriate don't you think!?" He punches a man's face bloody, breaking the bridge of his nose and splattering blood around his mouth. The fist retracts to elbow another right on the chin, strength continuing the hit and knocking into the person's throat. As they go down, the Deadlander has the pleasure of seeing Isra`fael's agility as he launches himself over a group of the assassins. Glazist frowns under his mask, eyes glaring down the fighters between him and his new elven comrade. One visually swallows, the light angled just right into the Deathknight's visor to show his cold white eyes.

Glazist wastes no time with words or threats. He smacks the first with an uppercut from the pommel, hard enough to send him to the floor - Another tries to jump in, but his teeth are loosened from a blunt thrust that brings him to his knees. He is finished via a knee against the face, another hurling an axe towards the breastplate. The attacker's hit scrapes against the steel, and he feels himself backhanded to the deck. Another thrusts his sword into a joint in Glazist's armour, finding purchase through a hole in the chainmail - It doesn't even slow the Deathknight down, the sword pulled away and the pommel swung across the man's face. Of the final two, one is knocked to the side from a blunt strike of the axe, and the other merely shoved out of the way. Glazist slams the door shut behind him, wedging the retrieved sword to temporarily block the door and buy some time.

The tinking and scraping of swords draws Glazist's attention at first, witnessing the elf's fight with the two guards. His agility and dexterity is impressive, certainly, and easy to notice as the fighter dodges and parries in a steady rhythm of muscle memory. His attention is suddenly pulled away as he notices one other enemy in the room: A man seemingly without a weapon to fight in the battle, instead on the workings of some form of magic. Interesting; he hadn't seen the foreign magics in person yet. A shame. A real shame. Glazist steps in, turning his body to begin a flurry of strikes from his axe - The blows would come in a quick set: The blunt of the axe sent towards the stomach to knock the wind out of him and hunch the body, then the weapon would turn to sweep the legs with the back of the handle, and then the weapon's end drops to smash the blunt of the handle against the man's face.

 

[Velkyn]

Wynnter Velatha

Wynnter braced against the wall as the ship lurched once more, this time expecting it. She put her feet forward and heard the voice behind her, half panicked as she turned. It was the mysterious female that she roomed adjacent too, one that she had yet too find out about. Yet she knew the face all too well, knew that she now had a friend in the maze of the decks. She put a finger to her lips, an urgent sign of silence, and turned to face the door once more. There was a loud noise, quiet against the loud hum of the ship, but distinct none the less. The sound of a door slamming, of someone moving from the room that she lurked outside of.

Wynnter hissed at her hesitance and slowly probed the door open, not a soul in sight any longer. She double checked the room, before moving onward. The door that had been slammed now stood ajar, framing a long, darkened hallway. A hallway that she had recognized, one that sent a sense of urgency down her spine. The hallway led to the large crystal, the one the guide said kept the ship in the air. She ditched all worry of soft-steps as she hastened her step, closing the distance. Her heart began pounding as she knew there would be a fight, and she only spared a glance over her shoulder for her ally. Nadya, she thought was her name.

The door to the Crystal's chamber creaked open when she pushed against it, and inside were three masked figures. Less than she had counted before, meaning two others still roamed the ships interior. The two clad in plain robes immediately drew eerie-appearing shortened swords, and the silver-clad individual held a long, pike like object in his hand. However, he refused to take action towards her entrance. It wasn't long until the two were bearing down upon her, faster than she had believed.

 

[Lekiel]

While the remaining two assassins largely kept up with the ranger, Israfael quickly grew impatient and tired of their little game. With a little huff of annoyance, he pressed the attack instead of lazily parrying their blades. He jabbed and pirouetted, his blades swinging in wide arcs. One of the assassin's saw the wide attacks as an opening and lunged in. It was anticipated. Israfael reversed his spin, pivoting on a single foot. The ranger near inhumanly changing his momentum as he slid scant inches from the assassin's thrusting blade, coming in from his backhand and putting the thrusting assassin between himself and the other. The ranger carried on with momentum, tucking in his right blade before snapping it out wide. The slim elven blade cleanly decapitating the first of the two assailants. Now alone, the Calenfari wasted no time in dispatching the last fighter in their vicinity.

Looking up, he nodded in approval as he saw the deathknight takedown the mage but he frowned when he noticed the strike wasn't fatal. Israfael itched to end the cloudmage's life, but his own code of honor bound him from striking a hapless foe. "You should have killed him-" Suddenly, the Skyship lurched violently. A groan of steel and wood reverberated throughout its length. With the Skymage out-cold, the enemy ship struggled to maintain its elevation.

"Quick, the ship's going down. We must return!" Even before he finished his sentence, Israfael was already out by the deck raillings. Their skyship was tilting dangerously, dragging against the Anarthiren as the latter ship struggled like a beast breaking free of restraints. The ranger retreated several paces back, before breaking into a sprint. Leaping off the side, he spun through the air over several feet of empty space to land in a roll on the Anarthiren. Already Elheim could be seen giving orders to the ship's mage to unfurl all sails and take off.

Israfael turned and to check on Glazist. "Come on Deadman! Jump!" He braced a foot against the railling ready to provide assistance in case the Deathknight didn't make the leap.

 

[yuckeroni]

NADYA LOTHRIC

Nadya can almost hear Melora’s voice, almost breathing down her neck, urging for silence and stealth in this very moment. Begrudgingly, the Deadlander closes her mouth. However, as soon as her Elven companion begins to move quickly and push the door of a room Nadya barely recognizes, the older woman springs into action quickly as she realizes that there would be enemies descending upon them the instant they’d walk in. ”Woah, watch yourself!” Nadya proclaims, attempting to grab at any part of Velatha’s clothing that allowed her to pull her back, trying to make sure she wouldn’t be in the way of the intruders.

Nadya almost cuts her hand on the blade of Melora, having accidentally grabbed the weapon wrong, but once her grip wandered to the correct area, she whips it out and forcibly places her body in between Wynterr and the plain pirates. Looking back at the Elf quickly, she offers a wink before taking on the two herself.

Velkyn

 

[Velkyn]

Wynnter Velatha

The room they entered into was the largest of those in the ship, still small in scale however. It would be harder to maneuver within the walls of the ship, and especially hard to use a weapon longer than the span of an arm. In the center of the room stood the crystal, the one that gave the ship its life and energy. It towered from a hole that spanned most the room, a catwalk encircling it on all sides. There were a total of four intruders within the chamber, all of which did not look happy that they had company. The closest appeared to be one of the henchmen that initially boarded. He was in the process of drawing a sword of sorts, one of mid-length and of a bronze colored material. The next two were of more significant stature than the first, each dressed in fine silver garments, most likely the same two she had caught a glimpse of earlier. They held long, plus shaped blades that came to a point that appeared gruesome yet elegant, and probably worth a pretty golden marck or two. They stood on either side of the crystal, advancing towards Nadya. The final stood in red-accented robes, furiously flipping through a book in his hand. He stood in the furthest part of the room, with no apparent weapons.

Wynnter caught the wink and couldn't help but smile, a diligent and probably overconfident smirk on her face as she turned her attention towards the one on the left. Silver-clad and fierce in appearance, he let his blade trail behind his leg. He appeared to be attempting to intimidate, walking as if stalking a victim. She could see the other, who was fixated upon her instead of attempting to distract the Deadlander. Now having to make a move, she took a quick breath and called out to her companion.

"Let us see how you fare"

Her accent definitely came through as the second-to-last dagger left her belt. Beginning what she could only describe as an elaborate dance, the dagger left her palm and soared into the ground, just in front of his foot. It was only ever meant as a distraction, the quick glimpse towards his boot bought her enough time to close the distance. The man was quick on his heels, however, and her slash was parried by a surprisingly light blade. Her wrist shocked from the force, she forced herself to carry on. Creating a circle with the tip of the dagger, she perused aggressively. Each stab or slash was met with the tip or side of his blade, but each time their metal clanged, she gained a pace of ground upon him.

'A talented swordsman needs not a shield to protect himself"