Ember checks perception and war at normal. Critical Success! Ember is spectacularly successful.

Haakon checks perception and sailing at normal. Haakon is successful.

Scylla checks perception and sailing at normal. Scylla is successful.

Wash checks perception and sailing at normal. Wash is marginally successful.

Medeia checks perception and war at normal. Medeia is marginally successful.

Filshiar checks perception and war at normal. Filshiar fails.

Martinique checks perception and war at normal. Martinique is marginally successful.

The problem with the Eurusi is that no one knows where the Skal'dajan fleet will be. There's been whispers and shadows of movements on the wind, but no real information. So a group of sailors and adventurers have banded together in order to do some searching of their own, scouting out the waters around the Mourning Isles. It's a beautiful day, with enough wind in the air to keep the sails filled and the ship moving at a nice pace. The boat bobs up and down with the currents, and those standing near the railing can see tiny waves furling and breaking atop of the water and schools of fish are driven to deeper depths. That would all be fine for those who are out for a leisurely ride, but today has a purpose to it, and that purpose is filled with an air of anticipation.

That anticipation only grows when Wash, Martinque, and Medeia sound out that they might have spotted something. Is it a bird? Is it a dolphin? Or, is it, maybe, a sail? They're not quite sure, and help is called. Haakan and Scylla come over to check things out. It is most definitely a sail and it seems to be that of a longship. Hearing this, Ember steps forward and is able to identify other aspects of the ship and she thinks she sees colors of one of the Abandoned tribes. She's not sure which one, just yet, as they are at a distance, but it seems like it niggles at the back of her mind. Whatever they case, they are probably solemnly up to no good.


"...they're probably solemnly up to no good," Ember declares, standing on the deck and staring out at the sail in the distance. One hand rests on the pommel of her sword, and the Baroness is in full rubicund armor, cape and all -- the visor on her helm tilted up, so at least her voice isn't coming out all muffled. On the one hand, she looks well protected. On the other, she'll sink. She has to turn around fully to face the others, as her armor doesn't allow her to really look over her shoulder incredibly well. Her brows are furrowed. "I don't like it," Ember says, continuing her vague proclamations. Yellow-orange eyes survey the others present, before looking to Haakon, as if to say to the Eswynd: 'Back me up.'

The crew of the Candlelight is a mix of Crownsworn men and Thraxian volunteers. Wash brought it to the Thrax Leviathan because he firmly believes it's the fastest ship in the Compact, and that he'll need that speed to spy out the enemy and escape in time for the reconnaisance to matter. Once esconced int he fleet, he called the admiralcy of the fleet to dinner, and then explained his plan to scout out individually in a vessel that would not seem to be a military vessel. Since it would be a dangerous venture, he asked for volunteers, not just for crew, but for officers as well.

Haakon had regarded the distant longship with narrowed blue eyes. Ember's comment of not liking it earns a sharp sniff. "Abandoned. Don't oft run alone, given the choice, but they'll like being caught far less. If they run out oars they may row against the wind to slip us.." A look toward Wash as bows are strung and shields set. "Have the tack to to cut them off upwind, admiral?"

Martinique remains at the rail as Ember turns, squinting against the wind to try and suss out any further detail on that errant sail. Her armor is more supple and would let her simply look behind, but she finally turns herself as Haakon speaks, looking over at the weathered admiral.

Scylla leans against the taffrail of the ship with arms folded defensively across her chest. Her worn leather armor, the very suit she wears almost everywhere she goes, has been thoroughly cleaned and polished to a near-shine. No amount of scrubbing can ever make it appear like-new again, after so much exposure to the elements, but it will do. Piercing gray eyes focus intently upon the singular distant sail, her ears pricked up to listen to the observations others make. Knowing full well that Wash's ship is far faster than any she commands, Scylla defers to his decision to volunteer.

Wash nods his agreement with Haakon, "A change of course to avoid a single longship would give the impression we had something of value. Let's head toward the closest landfall. If they decide to rabbit, that's the most likely direction. Once we are upwind of them, we'll bring her about and run down on them." He gestures for the larger man to take the tiller if he likes. "Let's get sharp eyes up in the crow's nest! We don't have to hide that we are keeping eyes on them!"

Filshiar is here to observe and repot for the King's Own, and possibly put his sword to use, should the need arise. But, for now, he just tries to stay alert and keep his eyes on the waters around him. Often in a very squint-y fashion. He is not, strictly speaking, at home on the sea, but he's managed to keep his legs so far. So he's achieved that minor victory. Even if he's still on unfamiliar terrain in most other ways. His focus goes in the direction Ember indicates, and his hand automatically finds his sword hilt. He defers to the more experienced sailors, though.

With hand shielding her eyes, Medeia continues to look out across the water at what she now knows is a sail, on a longboat, likely belonging to some shavs. The lady's brow furrows as she looks to Ember and then Haakon. A mix of rubicund and shark leather armor lies over or under an aeterna dress - the symbol of a medic, with a belt of pouches containing various medical supplies at her waist, and a trident strapped to her back. Her right hand strays to pat at her thigh, as if to reassure herself that something is hidden there under the skirt of her dress. Turning from the water, her eyes survey the others around her.

Scylla checks command and sailing at normal. Scylla is marginally successful.

Ember checks command and sailing at normal. Ember marginally fails.

Wash checks command and sailing at normal. Wash is marginally successful.

Martinique checks command and sailing at normal. Martinique is successful.

Haakon checks command and sailing at normal. Haakon is successful.

The command of a caravel vessel like the Candelight's Promise takes a concerted effort of teamwork to make it all run smoothly. This is shown through the combined work of Scylla, Ember, Wash, and Martinque. Each play their part in getting the Promise to move in the correct direction, though some of the sailors get their orders briefly confused when given a command to turn the sail a certain way. Eventually it gets worked out through the combined and concerted efforts of the others. The Promise surges forward with power and strength. Haakon can see that there is land behind the Abandoned ship, but that ship does not seem to be close to the land. Rather, they are sailing away from it and appear to be heading in a direction toward one of the other isles that's maybe a few hours ride from here, or at least that's how it seems.

When they draw closer to the ship, Ember's memory pops into place. The colors. Who they represent. Clan Wavereaver; a bitter group of raiders of the Isles for centuries since they got ousted from their original holdings. Anyone from the Mourning Isles has likely encountered them before, raiding their lands. They are definitely solemnly up to no good. But they also see as they draw closer that the longship isn't on its own. There are some other ships that seem to be just leaving the same piece of land as the lead ship came from, traveling in the same direction. Those other ships are also flying the colors of Clan Wavereaver.

Haakon nods sharply to Wash in agreement, moving to help adjust sails and yards to get upwind of the Shav'arvani, with only ONE comment that if would, "Be much faster to turn if this tub had *oars*," his lip curling at Wash with the complaint. "Ho! More sails taking from the same isle!" he calls. "Looks as if the Abandoned had a Gather."

"Any signs they are leaving a reaving?" Wash calls back.


Ember isn't going to say out loud that it was her own blunt, clipped way of giving orders that got the sailors confused for a moment. She's not going to say it out loud, but she knows it well enough! Her eyes drift back out to the ship in the distance: "/Wavereaver/," the Bloody Baroness suddenly barks, loudly. She takes a few clanking steps forward as if she might draw her blade and threaten them to a swordfight from miles away. "Sinking them will be a service to the Isles no matter /what/ they're up to." She spares a glance to Martinique: "Consider this a practice run for dealing with Horderacht." Whoever 'Horderacht' is -- must be Redreef domain stuff.

"Wavereaver?" Medeia isn't familiar, and her Lycene accent suggests why - she's only been an Islander for shy of three months. She's also no help when it comes to actually /sailing/, but she's steady on her feet. Her eyes go to Haakon, then Ember and Scylla as the most likely to know, calling out, "They seem the type to take up with the Skal'dajans?"

Martinique is no master sailor but she's had to learn quickly since coming to the Mourning Isles, and she's able enough at ordering ables about, putting a hand of her own on the lines here and there to see things ready as quickly as possible. It's clear she's used to perhaps a smaller, less formal crew but she adapts readily enough. At Ember's barked word, she stiffens, then nods, grimly. "A service one way or another," she growls a bit, touching the dagger belted at her side before redoubling to her nautical tasks.

Wash raises a hand to interject. "Four longships will outnumber us in manpower. And we're not a threat at the moment. What we should do is hold our course, and then follow them. Could be they've been summoned by Helianthus and will lead us right to him. Worst that happens is we catch them in the middle of a reaving with their pants down." Wash probably should have chosen a saying less likely to be literally true. "We can smash them then with the element of surprise."

Haakon shakes his head. "I see no smoke riding, nor would reavers scatter after striking.. I'd wager on a Gather, or a Kingsmeet. With that many ship, they could have outnumbered us if they knew to strike. Best hit the nearest sail hard and fast, I say. Can hold their feet to the fire and find out what they were about, after."

"It is, alike, not a name I've heard before," Filshiar rather echoes Medeia's question about /Wavereaver/. "Are they allies of the Skal'dajan? Or the separatists?" Both options make him grip his sword some more. He offers no naval advice, but just tries to hold himself vaguely ready. For whatever is to come.

Scylla busies herself aboard the Candlelight's Promise wherever her skills are needed most. Years of her life were spent aboard The Black Tide, serving in every capacity, filling in wherever necessary. She climbed the shroud lines to reef the sails, deftly stepping over hazards and holding tight to the lines so as to avoid falling. She descends from the yard mid-ship, boots firmly thudding atop the deck, at the precise moment the name 'Wavereaver' is announced, and the look she spares for the Bloody Baroness indicates her lack of knowledge. "Raise the signal flag and my fleet will bring up the rear. I've two longships and a galley waiting."

Wash says, "Kingsmeet would have more than one flag flying. They might be headed to one though. They aren't afraid of us though, and that is what we want. We are here for information, not bloodshed."

Medeia's lips press thin. "Would be foolish to ally with Helianthus, as he's not fond of shavs. But people have been known to do desperate things in desperate circumstances." Her brow furrows as she watches the ships in the distance. "In any case, we won't know unless we ask."


"Raiders," Ember notes, then further clarifies: "Shavs." She draws in a breath through her nose that's almost like an annoyed snort. "I can't imagine that Helianthus would deal with /them/, but stranger things have happened -- and he could certainly make the right promises to bring them to the table, if he wanted. Whatever side they're on, they're not on ours."

Haakon gives Wash a skeptical eye. "Wavereaver means bloodshed. Only query is how much." As to allying with Skal'daja or Helianthus, "The Eurusi have bought Shav sails before. Our reavings into the Near Saffron saw a number of tribes turn sellsail for Eurusi slavers and their silver."


Ember makes a small noise like a growl, at Haakon's report.

Scylla turns to glance between Medeia and Ember. "Helilanthus does not need to like them to use them as tools; he may prefer to use them to carry out many of the tasks or duties he would not risk his own people to perform."

Wash issues the command. "Hold the current course till the horizon gives us cover, then come about. It may be these Wavereavers are the reason we are out here, let's see what they are up to when they think there aren't any eyes on them. Your Black Tide will be needed Admiral Scylla. How do you plan to signal them? A bird messenger would work best I think."

Haakon wonders, "How the fuck will a bird find a moving ship?" He's very helpful, you guys. We promise.


"There's always silver to be had to let the larger houses keep their hands clean," Martinique states, quietly, eyeing the raider sails. "But here and now, under their own colors...and that lead ship seems to be evading the others. Or at least in a hurry." She smirks a bit at Haakon's question.

"They're very smart, birds, they just circle around til they find a familiar vessel. Doesn't work over long distances, but I am sure that the Admiral of Redreef is keeping her allies close." Wash enjoins optimistically.

Scylla presses a balled fist to her chest. "Aye, my Lord." She then pivots on her heel and strides forward to get a raven ready to fly. Haakon's comment earns a private chuckle but no explanation.


Ember gives Scylla a nod of agreement toward her point regarding Ivan using the shavs. As further plans are made to involve other ships, she turns back toward the Wavereaver ships in the distance and glares. "Someone make a note of where they're sailing from," she says, sternly, too busy glaring to go make a mark on a map herself. One of the lowly sailors who don't have names can do that. "A visit may need to be paid."

"'Bird brain' isn't a kindness among my people," Haakon mutters back to Wash's optimism, with the ghost of a smile.

Filshiar nods, as to the 'raiders' and 'shavs' description. Good enough for him. "Enemies of one sort, then. Perhaps we shall see if they consort with our other foes."

"Which is why we don't say it to your face," Medeia says to Haakon with a wink, but she quickly sets her eyes back on the ships to see if she can pick up anything helpful.

Wash keeps it professional and just replies: "As you say Lord Eswynd."

Scylla checks command and animal ken at normal. Scylla is marginally successful.

Wash checks command and sailing at hard. Wash is marginally successful.

Scylla checks command and sailing at hard. Critical Success! Scylla is spectacularly successful.

Wash gives the command to hold steady their course, to give the Compact time to discover the destination of the Wavereaver longship. The crew works on making sure to slow the ship down to match the longship's speed. But then it is pointed out that puts them in a bad spot, given the other Wavereaverships following them; they area mix of cogs and longships and they are working to speeding up to the other ship, having had a late start. Thinking on his feet, Wash turns the Candlelight's Promise away a bit to put some distance between the original ship and those catching up in such a way that the Promise won't be noticed right away. Meanwhile, Scylla works to send a messenger to her own fleet to tell them to trail behind the other Wavereaver ships.

The good news is that the bird makes it. The better news is that Scylla's Black Tide Fleet is so good at sailing behind that they lose sight of them for the moment themselves. Confident that all is good, the Compact sailors start after the Wavereaver group, doing their best to keep the ship moving at a pace that won't indicate their presence. They travel for about an hour on the open water until they see some flags rise and fall and then other ships slow down and draw in together. From the looks of it they might be conferring on something. Or, maybe transferring something? Goods? Prisoners? Money? It's hard to say. But the Compact sailors have to make a choice about what they intend to do.

Haakon barks a sharp, abrupt laugh at Medeia's insult of his intellect, but the good humor faded back into stony neutrality immediately afterward, as attention is divided among the Shav ships. Once the enemies cluster together, he calls toward Wash, "They're all bound up, oars shipped and sails drawn. This is the best chance we'll have to take them all. I say call in our shadows, pray the bird made it, and try our steel."

Wash says, "Only thing I can think of is that they found their destination, or they spotted us. We've no choice but to engage." Wash agrees. He doesn't have any relish to it though. "Admiral Redreef, standby with the red flag at your discretion. Armsmen to the bow! Full sail! Shake those skisrts lads! Where we are going, we don't /need/ oars!""

Martinique perks up at the mention of engagement on the horizon. This is what she sails for, ultimately, boats are just a way of getting oneself to the combat. Still, she doesn't neglect the nautical side of things in moving to action, and if there's a bit more of a spring to her step, well, good morale is nothing to sneeze at.

Scylla does as she's instructed and prepares to hoist up the red flag, all the while turning to smile wryly at Ember. Her blood is up, adrenaline is pumping as the Candlelight draws ever closer to the conference of shav ships. Silvery eyes focus intently upon the flux of bodies aboard, trying to make out precisely what it is they're up to, if it truly /is/ no good.

Scylla checks perception and sailing at hard. Scylla is marginally successful.

Medeia checks perception at hard. Medeia is marginally successful.

Haakon checks perception and war at hard. Haakon is marginally successful.

Wash checks perception and sailing at hard. Wash fails.

Martinique checks perception and war at hard. Botch! Martinique is simply outclassed. This is monumentally beyond them and the result is ruinous.

"Might be nice to know what they're up to, first..." Medeia says, looking between Wash and Haakon before moving towards a more advantageous spot to peer out at the ships.

Ember checks perception and war at hard. Ember marginally fails.


Martinique is perhaps overeager; she leans far out over the rail trying to see what these Wavereavers are up to, and then the ship hits a trough in the waves, flopping down somewhat abruptly. She gets a face full of seawater for her trouble and stumbles away spluttering to the laughter of a few sailors. Her murderous glare may still them but the damage is done.

Haakon adds with a wry grunt to Medeia, "I'll settle for seeing who to kill, first." He does not laugh at facefulls of seawater. Not even a little bit.


Ember, for her part, is distracted by Martinique -- she's the one /paying/ the damn woman, and so she clanks over toward the mercenary's position when it seems like, for a moment, the Barlinnie woman is leaned over so far that she might end up tipping overboard. To her credit, Ember doesn't laugh at the seawater splash. Her focus is too intently on other things -- or at least, it is again, now that she's leaving Martinique to her rage.

Wash focuses on the task at hand, correcting one or two sailors that aren't familiar enough with caravel rigging.

Scylla does not yet hoist the flag to signal the engagement of her ships. Not yet. Eyes are still peering out to see what she can see, hoping against hope that they can find a way to avoid hand-to-hand combat. That's just /not/ where her skills primarily lie.

The thing about any ocean or sea is that they offer natural distractions. A pod of dolphins comes up alongside the caravel for a few moments, and they play along side it, jumping and diving. It's easy to get distracted by such a thing, when it comes on so suddenly. Of course, there's also the rocking of the ship, or the bumping of the waves. Or, say, a boom that goes flying precariously because some sailor left it unsecured; any of these could be reasons that a person misses what's going on with the Wavereaver ships as they sail toward them.

Scylla, Haakon, and Medeia see what looks to be an exchange of crates. Large crates. Those crates could contain goods. Or, maybe, other things. It's a crate. It's hard to say what might be in them. Supplies? Food? Water? People? Probably not the latter. But it leaves much to the imagination.

Scylla spies the exchange of crates from ship to ship and then turns to level gaze anxiously upon Wash's features, as though hoping to glean whether the intention is to take no chances and engage in combat from the start. Her hands twitch with growing anticipation for his final decision and issued orders.

Filshiar can't help but take a moment to watch the dolphins. They are a thing /very/ outside what he deals with day to day, and a tiny bit of joy amid something that feels, at least, tense and grim. He doesn't let himself dwell on them for /too/ long, though. He remains alert, albeit still taking his queues from the proper seafarers in the party. He does give his armor a check while he's the time for it. Making sure all the straps are in place seems prudent just now.

"That's a good omen!" Wash agrees, knowing that dolphins mostly just like to coast in the bowwake of a vessel this size, maintaining a speed dromonds can only reach for short bursts. "Mangata is with us! Loose the hounds! Run up the Kennex flag! Pirates and reavers beware your doom sails before us!" Okay, so he really enjoys that part.


The dolphins certainly catch Ember's eye, once she's left Martinique's side. In the past year or two, Redreef Shores has seen a marked increase in its dolphin population, apparently the result of migration more than uncontrolled breeding (and okay, maybe a /bit/ of uncontrolled breeding; they're dolphins, dolphins are freaks). She watches them for a long moment, and takes on a distant expression.

Haakon observes, "Unloading the cog, moving haul onto the longships. Longer we wait, the more risks slipping away." Haakon very much still thinks like a pirate. Wash's declaration draws a slow, sidelong look. "Fucking Kennex," he sniffs with a wry shake of his head. Shrug. To arms!

Medeia gives Haakon a sharp look, but she sighs and agrees with his assessment. "Can't chase them all, need get them together." Her expression definitely says she doesn't love this.


A towel or rag or something was procured and Martinique dabs away the worst of the seawater, leaving her a bit more bedraggled but still battle ready. Extremely battle ready at this point. She would very much like to stab something, as shown by the twitching of her hands around her knives. She does at least appreciate Wash's theater in calling everything to ready--that means its nearly time!

Scylla hoists the red flag to signal her fleet's flagship galley, The Black Tide, and her three accompanying longships to engage. They would know to ram into the port or starboard sides of each ship to disable them and allow parties to board.


Ember's reverie is broken, and she turns to Martinique. "If those things ever develop thumbs," she murmurs, nodding out toward the dolphins, "I'd be terrified of them." Ember doesn't sound especially serious -- how could the Bloody Baroness be serious in confessing to being terrified of any hypothetical? But after that moment of levity, her hand moves to her sword. She begins walking toward where she expects the boarding action will begin, silently steeling herself for war.

Wash checks command and sailing at hard. Wash is successful.

Scylla checks command and sailing at hard. Scylla is marginally successful.

Wash's call to arms does not go unnoticed by the other ships. The the crews of the various ships leave the rest of the crates that need to be distributed to scramble to raise the sails and take to the oars. As one they start to row but it seems given how they crowded around one another to exchange goods they're having some trouble getting started right away. However, they do work it out and get moving. They're no where near the speed of the Compact ships, given they were already hauling toward the Abandoned ships.

Meanwhile, the Compact ships split with the Candlelight's Promise and pulls around into a boarding position next to the cog. The Black Tide Fleet engages with the longships, with Scylla's galley and two longships ramming into them.

Haakon wields Cold Harvest - a diamondplate harpoon.

Wash wields Intricately forged ancient steel cutlass.

Martinique wields a well-loved rubicund poignard.

Scylla wields a simple steel scimitar.

Filshiar wields diamondplate arming sword with the emblem of the King's Own.

Medeia takes The Ender of Queens, a stygian-handled rubicund stiletto from black honeysilk garter.

Medeia wields The Ender of Queens, a stygian-handled rubicund stiletto.

Ember wields a rubicund sword called The Blood of Redreef.

Wash checks command and war at hard. Wash fails.

The quarterdeck of the Promise is only a few steps higher than the deck. Wash stays in the command position, just to the side of the man with his hands on the tiller. He carries his cutlass bared, but in his good hand is a dagger for throwing. He's more likely to engage in that manner than to leap down into the thick of it.

As the Candlelight begins to encroach upon the enemy cog, Scylla relinquishes her hold on the rigging which holds the red signal flag aloft. The leather hat she dons is lifted from her head and tossed aside, well out of the way of impending combat and the ebb and flow of sailors. It would only be a distraction in the battle to come. Her simple steel scimitar is brandished in her right hand, the weapon swung deftly with a roll of her wrist. Loping steps bring her to the side of the ship that pulls up to the opposite enemy deck, and she waits until the most opportune moment to board presents.

Haakon moves to the caravel's waist railing, muttering to Medeia, "Keep back from the rails until we've a foothold on their deck. Keep best your shield bearers to ward off arrows. Stab any that try to push close." Then, the last moments before they're near enough to board. Grappling irons are hefted for throwing, and the maille clad reaver places himself among the first to storm the lower cog. "East Wind, behold!" he roars aloud before the battle is joined.


Here one can see how Martinique gained the sobriquet "Mad," one rarely used in her own hearing. Her face simply lights as the ships draw alongside and there's action to be had. She yells, immediately, drawing her knives, and rushes towards the front, visibly frothing at the bit to leap over the rail and engage.


Ember is calm as she advances toward the boarding point. Some of this is sheer necessity. She's wearing rubicund plate, and not leather. She has to be careful to avoid, say, falling overboard and having dolphins giggle at her and poke her with their snouts as she sinks to the bottom of the Mourning Sea. Not that the thought entered her mind, or anything. The Bloody Baroness maintains this seemingly leisurely pace -- she boards with the middle of the group, rather than at the front lines like Haakon. But once she's on the other side, the fire in her eyes is barely human. She growls, audibly -- and then it's perhaps a small mercy for her enemies as she flicks her helm's visor down, blocking some of the visibility of her glare.

As the others ready to board, Medeia quickly takes one of Haakon's hand and squeezes it, nodding her understanding. She finds the most protected spot that still gives her a view of what is going on in case she needs to dart in and pull someone out.

Filshiar is in rubicund as well, and he /does/ give the waves a wary look. But he chose protection over the ability to maybe swim, and he lives with that choice. For the moment. He advances behind Ember, drawing his diamondplate blade, jaw setting and eyes intent. There is no rush of pleasure from him, but he's ready and resolved to move.

Wash checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Wash is marginally successful.

Haakon checks dexterity and medium wpn at hard. Haakon fails.

Scylla checks dexterity and medium wpn at hard. Scylla is marginally successful.

Martinique checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Martinique fails.

Ember checks dexterity and medium wpn at hard. Ember is marginally successful.

Filshiar checks dexterity and medium wpn at hard. Botch! Filshiar is simply outclassed. This is monumentally beyond them and the result is ruinous.

Filshiar checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Filshiar is successful.

Wash checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Wash fails.

The Compact sailors disembark their ship and board onto the cog enmasse. Medeia and Wash behind on the Promise. Many of the Abandoned surge forward with swords at the ready, while several others have bows at the ready. Wash, Scylla, and Ember all manage to make contact with several of the sailors, their swords hitting and doing some obvious damage to them. The Wavereaver that Ember is fighting goes down almost immediately, and he looks surprised by this. However, the ones that Wash and Scylla are fighting remain standing. The rest of the Abandoned don't seem to care about their compatriot falling right away; in fact that makes them ever more determined to push forward and counter their attack.

In the meantime, Scylla's ships are engaging in their own battle, and sounds of hulls creaking and grunts of fighting bodies can be heard over their own battle.

OOC: @check dexterity + dodge at hard - ALL except for Wash who did his roll already. Then pose.

Ember checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Ember is marginally successful.

Martinique checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Martinique is marginally successful.

Scylla checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Botch! Scylla is simply outclassed. This is monumentally beyond them and the result is ruinous.

Haakon checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Haakon is successful.

Medeia checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Medeia fails.

Haakon slams shield-first into a Wavereaver warrior, his harpoon thrust knocked aside harmlessly, but at least he's gained the enemy deck. A counterattack is deflected by his shield rim as the boarding action gets bloody.

Martinique leaps over the rail and launches herself at the first enemy she sees. He manages to avoid her frantic thrust but the manic light in her eyes remains as she weaves forward, dodging a counter-attack with at least minimal grace. She seethes through her teeth at them all; how dare they not die immediately?

Scylla checks 'permanent wound save' at hard. Scylla is marginally successful.

Despite the terrible damage, Scylla does not take a permanent wound.

Scylla checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Scylla is successful.

Scylla remains capable of fighting.


Ember doesn't bother with witty banter, or declarations of intent. She swings her sword and cuts down one man -- but that's really only just the start. Despite the weight of rubicund armor on her, she's able to avoid an enemy swing. Her cape is actually something of a useful measure, in addition to being just plain vain -- its billowing catches the eye, provides a target that isn't, say, Ember's neck for people to be distracted by. Ember makes a guttural noise within her helmet. Those who have fought alongside Ember already know the deal: The Bloody Baroness has well and truly joined the festivities.

Arrows. Medeia sees them coming for her, but the shields around her are less helpful than they could be and when she moves to avoid them, one lodges in her left upper arm. She cries out in pain, grits her teeth, and snaps the shaft off, leaving the point embedded for now. It might be poisoned, but she doesn't have time to stitch herself up. She sees Scylla and Filshiar already taking hits and prepares to have to extract them.

Scylla took a rather defensive position near the edge of the deck, preferring to watch and wait for the most opportune moment to strike. It presents it self at last. The shav that wounds Filshiar is her first target. She manages to catch him off-guard at the backside of his swing, wounding him with a swing of her own in turn. It cuts into the flesh and sinew of his shoulder and blood rushes from the slice to soak his leathers and puddle on the deck. However, this cut is enough to merely get his blood up instead of incapacitate, and so he swings back with violent intent. Scylla is not quick enough to dodge or parry, so the blade drives into her left shoulder. She backs away, gauntlet raising to press against the gaping wound.

Wash lets a dagger fly, but misses, forcing him to come to grips with the first brave counter-boarder trying to end this fight the quick and dirty way, take out the command crew and take over the helm. He bares his cutlass in inexpert hands, but with unstinting bravery. His leather vest takes a cut from a saber in reply. That will leave a bruise. He's not much of a fighter, but nevertheless he'll go down fighting if need be.

Things do /not/ go well for Filshiar in the initial clash with the Wavereavers. His movements, slowed to avoid the falling in the water and drowning, leave him open for assault by one of the shavs. He tries to get his sword up in time, but he fumbles it with the movement of the ships and almost drops the thing. It's all he can do not to plummet to a watery grave, and he gets clipped right good. His armor, at least, eats most of it. He grunts and tries to get his sword up again, offering Scylla a tight smile of thanks.

Arms and armor clash together for those engaging in hand to hand combat, and arrows are loosed at those that seem like easy pickings. The battle rages, and meanwhile there are those that are attempting to do harm to the ship, and some maneuvering must be done in order to keep her afloat. The other Compact ships help as best they can, waging in their own battles. Really, it's a fight to see whom sinks whom first.

OOC: @check command or dexterity + sailing at daunting - these rolls are for the ships and how they fare.

Haakon checks command and sailing at daunting. Haakon fails.

Scylla checks command and sailing at daunting. Scylla fails.

Wash checks command and sailing at daunting. Wash marginally fails.

Ember checks command and sailing at daunting. Ember is successful.

Martinique checks command and sailing at daunting. Martinique fails.

Medeia checks charm and propaganda at normal. Medeia is marginally successful.

Wash checks command and war at hard. Wash is marginally successful.

The battle rages onward. Two of the longships break away from the Black Tide Fleet to batter at the flagship galley, ramming it in the side. One of the Black Tide's longships, freed up from the Abandon's maneuver, turns about and comes after one of those longships, ramming them. The Compact galley and the Reaving longship have taken some substantial damage, but they both still appear to be sea worthy and able to do battle!

Now that the Compact has engaged in battle, it seems that things seem just a tiny bit easier. It could be that's because Wash, from his position on the quarterdeck overlooking things, is able to call out moves to those down on the ground and in the thick of fighting. Or, maybe it's Medeia giving a rousing display to help boost morale. Either way there seems to be a positive effect on those engaging in battle.

OOC: @check dexterity + weapon at easy

Ember checks dexterity and medium wpn at easy. Ember is successful.

Filshiar checks dexterity and medium wpn at easy. Filshiar is successful.

Haakon checks dexterity and medium wpn at easy. Haakon is successful.

Wash checks dexterity and small wpn at easy. Wash is successful.

Martinique checks dexterity and small wpn at easy. Martinique is successful.

Scylla checks dexterity and medium wpn at easy. Scylla is marginally successful.

A slow trickle of blood runs down Medeia's arm from where the arrow tip sits, fire in her eyes and steel in her spine. She stands tall (all 5'1" of her) and lifts her voice to carry on the wind. "Show them what the might of the Compact can do! Let them meet your blades and know that we are the superior force! Mangata is with us, and we shall be victorious!" And, because Haakon and Ember might need a bit more convincing, "EAT THEIR HEARTS!"

Wash calls out commands to the helmsman, encouraging him to ease the bow away from the enemy ship, leaving them unable to continue boarding on that end while grinding the aft end of both ships together. Fortunately no sailor is currently in the water there to grease that action. The sudden jar action forces Wash's opponent to steady himself against the rail with one hand. Wash pins that hand to the rail with a glittering rubicund blade, the advantage of wielding his cutlass in his offhand, he keeps his strong hand for taking full advantage of an opponent's momentary lapse of attention. He kicks the blade out of the man's 'free hand'.

With Scylla's shoulder in so sorry a state, she struggles to take down her enemy. Her swings hit but they don't drive deep enough into his flesh to do any life-threatening damage. This is infuriating to Scylla, who continues to drive into him harder and harder. She'll get him, eventually, right?

Martinique rages into the battle, slicing a man across the throat and sending a spray of blood onto his next mate as she ploughs into the fighting. "Calisse que ca me degoute en tabarnak!" If you don't understand, she has very dirty mouth when fighting. There is more stabbing to come of course. She won't relent and her eyes are crazed with bloodlust.

Haakon is pushing hard to clear the cog's deck of Wavereavers, trying to bodily force the foemen back from the rails to make more room for Compact boarders. An opening is glimpsed as his foe rears back for a chop, and Haakon's harpoon tears out the Shav warrior's throat. A shield push toppled the dying man over the rail and into the water. He punctuates Medeia's appeal with a shout of, "Feed them to the sea!"


Ember swings her sword, and someone dies. The 'whom' doesn't really matter to Ember. As long as it's someone on the other side, Ember's happy. If 'happy' is even the right word to use -- the Bloody Baroness is stomping through the skirmish like a direhorn with an attitude problem, and is currently hacking her way over toward Scylla. "HRRRAAAAAH!" the Redreef screams, which is either an encouraging message toward the Blackshore admiral, or just a scream of rage.

Thunk. Clang. Clash. Zing! Okay. No Zing! More like fwatttph! More swords, more arrows. Just more. It seems like there's a never ending supply of sailors. No sooner does one go down, than another comes up to take their spot. There are six now dead, with at least several more taking their place, all seeming to still very much be eager to kill the Compact people who, in their eyes? Attached without provocation. Of course, Clan Wavereaver might always see it that way.

"Do not let these Compact scum take our ships!" one calls out to them.

"Death to the Thra-" one starts to shout, until he's gurgling in his own blood at taking a gut wound.

"For The Wavereaver!" comes a shout from one of the archers.

"Take prisoners if you can!" comes another. "Otherwise cut them down and we'll take their ships!"

OOC: @check dexterity + dodge at easy

Martinique checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Martinique is successful.

Haakon checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Haakon is successful.

Wash checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Wash is marginally successful.

Scylla checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Scylla is marginally successful.

Filshiar checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Filshiar is marginally successful.

Medeia checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Medeia is marginally successful.

Ember checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Ember fails.

Filshiar fares better once he's gotten a more solid footing on the deck, and his sword in the proper position. And once Scylla has defended him. His wound is a shallow thing, the rubicund having absorbed the brunt of it, and so he's able to recover and fall upon another of the shavs with a blow to the chest. The cut is too deep for /that/ one to make a good prisoner, which makes him wince some, but it beats a watery grave. Or more wounds.

Both combatants are wounded, Scylla and her persistent target, and despite the massive wound she suffers where blood oozes freely, she remains upright and manages to dodge every swing the man takes at her thereafter.

Martinique moves with a dancer's grace among the blows aimed at her, parrying some and lancing away from others, dagger flashing as she goes. She isn't in plate armor, and this seems to be her preference; a dance with great stakes, and in which she is not touched.

At the shout of 'death to Thrax' from a dying Wavereaver, Medeia shouts back, "The blades of Eswynd, Redreef, Kennex, and Blackshore will end you and the Queen will welcome your souls back to the Wheel! FOR THRAX!" More arrows come in her direction, but she is able to get out of their way as she continues to shout a mix of morale boosting things to her comrades and demoralizing things to the enemies.


"GRAAAHHH!" As Ember stomps her way through the battle, plate armor only does so much. She has a knife sticking out of her that wasn't there a moment ago -- stuck right into her side, mercifully not piercing any vital organs but still painful. And... she somehow didn't notice being stabbed. Maybe it was while she was killing someone. Maybe it was after. She's still on her beeline to Scylla's position, to aid the wounded Blackshore even if she's now wounded herself.

As the aft ends of the deck close, Wash chivvies two other sailors with him to lash the boats together. As the fighting shifts in favor of the larger caravel's crew, sailors look for anyway out of the fighting. Wash ducks or parries several attempts to use their aft connection as a boarding point.

Haakon turns to face the next press of Abandoned warriors, toward whom he shouts, while catching an arrow in his shield, "You lackwit FUCKS, run while you can still swim to land! And Wavereaver is a DAFT fucking name, beside- every body reaves on the waves!"

Not to be daunted by the likes of Haakon or Medeia with their return cries, the Abandoned sailors continue with their catcalls, half-mews and gurgling to their death string of insults at the Compact goers, telling them just how they're going to gut the heart of their people, etc, etc. Meanwhile, the ships continue to rage in the background, some of them catching on to Wash's ploy, while others are still fighting the Black Tide longships and galley that just won't sink. Though, somewhere during the battle, the Abandoned lost one of their longships. Perhaps from when Medeia rallied the troops? It's quite possible!

OOC: If you'd like to opt to do so: @check command or dexterity + sailing at normal.

Wash checks command and sailing at normal. Wash is marginally successful.

Haakon checks dexterity and sailing at normal. Haakon is marginally successful.

Scylla checks command and sailing at normal. Scylla marginally fails.

Ember checks dexterity and sailing at normal. Ember is successful.

Wash checks command and sailing at hard. Wash is successful.

There is the marked sound of hauls screeching against on another as a Compact longship collides with one of the Wavereaver longships. Meanwhile the galley seems to be making great progress against sinking another of the ships. That doesn't mean they don't do their own damage back as another rams into one of Scylla's other longships. But the battle wages on there.

"We will take our lands back!" one of the sailors claims.

"We'll set your menfolk out to drown!" calls another, harking back to old traditions in the Isles.

"We'll make slav-" another gurgling sound.

"Who are you calling FUCKWIT?" comes an incensed voice. And there might be a slur of obscenities that make make some menfolk blush even. The battle presses on.

OOC: @check dexterity + weapon at easy

Wash checks dexterity and medium wpn at easy. Wash is successful.

Martinique checks dexterity and small wpn at easy. Martinique is successful.

Ember checks dexterity and medium wpn at easy. Ember is successful.

Haakon checks dexterity and medium wpn at easy. Haakon is successful.

Medeia checks charm and propaganda at normal. Medeia is successful.

Scylla checks dexterity and medium wpn at easy. Critical Success! Scylla is spectacularly successful.

Filshiar checks dexterity and medium wpn at easy. Filshiar is successful.

Haakon casts his harpoon into the torso of the warrior who had taken issue with the Eswynd's insults. After yanking back hard on the chain to drag the impaled Shav to the deck, Haakon answers, "If you hear 'you daft, lackwit fuck' and have to ASK who the lackwit it?" He wrenches the harpoon loose, shouting, "Then you're the bloody fuckwit!"

Martinique ducks beneath Haakon's harpoon as it flies, sliding along the deck to lunge up and skewer another shav rushing forward. "Ostie de colon!" she swears at him as she empties his guts to the deck with a sidewards slice. Remembering that not everyone speaks hick Oathlander, she adds "We'll fucking murder every one of you!" And she turns, knives in hand, intent on doing just that.

"Look who's become a connoissieur of wit." Wash banters. "Who knew there were so many lesser forms of wit." He matches hilts and elbows with a man trying to ascend onto the Promise, leans back as if the man is winning and when the gap between the ships starts to grow again, it isn't his center of gravity caught over open air. Insert wilhelm scream here.

"You will NOT!" Medeia answers the Wavereaver shouting about their lands. "You face Haakon Eswynd, reaver of the seas and he gives no quarter! You will gain no ground against him." She keeps moving, trying to throw off the archers as she continues to respond to their attempts to intimidate. "HAH! Te Bloody Baroness has bested hundreds of men! She will see you driven beneath the waves and your women liberated!" She doesn't even bother with the slaves comment, but laughs at Haakon's retort to the man he just killed. "Choose wisely, Wavereavers! Die now with the gods on our side, or surrender to us and me /might/ not set you upon crosses."

With The beast of a shav proves a worthy opponent, persistently anticipating every swing and lunge Scylla makes at him. This dance goes on and on for what feels like an eternity, and despite the mixture of pure anger and teeth-gnashing pain she feels, the rush of adrenaline and thrill of battle manages to etch a cruel smile into her face. The shav is one of the few mouthy sailors, his voice egging her on. "Come and get me, little girl," he spits, laughing all the while. And that just really, really sets her off. And so when he is finally backed against the taffrail at the far end of the ship, nowhere else to go, he makes the mistake of taking his eyes off his opponent. The cut she makes across his neck is clean and final. The head flips in the air several times and then lands with an audible splash in the ocean. With a forceful push, the rest of his body follows.

Before Scylla can fully catch her breath, an onlooking Wavereaver shav steps up to the plate, but he completely misjudges just how angry and done with everyone's shit she is. A quick bend forward dodges his swing, and as they pass each other by, Scylla slides the blade of her scimitar across his neck.

Filshiar does not call anyone a fuckwit. Possibly he's still too worried about the chances of drowning in his armor to try to banter. He does not drown, though. Or even do anything fumbling to get himself skewered again. His own kill is quick and clean, and he doesn't linger over it, save to look up and try to keep a bead on how the others are faring. And his distance from anything that looks probable to tip into water.


Another raider moves between Ember and Scylla's position -- there's a brief clash of blades, and then a moment later, a rubicund sword through the raider's belly, poking clear through his back. Ember lifts her boot to push him back and off of her blade, just in time to see Scylla behead a man. "HAH," she says, somewhere between triumphant laugh and vicious bark. Still with a knife stuck in her side, Ember moves to stand back to back with Scylla, still in a combat-ready stance. "I'm the eyes in back of you," she says, her voice tinny from the face-covering helm. Her voice sounds borderline possessed, like it's a tremendous strain for her to even say /that/ without screaming it.

"Oh yeah? I'd rather be a FUCKWIT than a SHITTURD," someone screams from afar.

There's just screaming from one warrior as he goes all Indiana Jones on someone, "AAAAAAAAAAH" only to realize that most of his comrades have fallen down around him. Oh. Oops!

Bodies are literally littered everywhere as the Abandoned keep falling to the Compact. Twelve. They've killed twelve of the sailors on the cog they're attached to.

Their forces are thinning out, dwindling, leaving only largely the sailors behind. They do their best to attack, to defend their places. With just two of the dedicated warriors left, the sailors are probably pretty easy to dodge.

OOC: @check dexterity + dodge at easy

Ember checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Ember is marginally successful.

Wash checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Wash is marginally successful.

Scylla checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Scylla is marginally successful.

Martinique checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Martinique is marginally successful.

Medeia checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Medeia fails.

Haakon checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Haakon is successful.

Medeia checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Medeia is successful.

Medeia remains capable of fighting.

Filshiar checks dexterity and dodge at easy. Filshiar is successful.

Medeia gets a little cocky and steps a bit too far into the open, and as she dodges another arrow she slips and lands /hard/, her left knee taking the brunt of the impact. "OW FUCK SOMEONE BRING ME THAT ARCHER'S SKULL!"

Scylla does not /stand/ back-to-back with Ember so much as she slumps against her, using her strength and steadfast position as a crutch. It seems that her wound is beginning to make her head spin, the bloody trail she's left behind in her wake indicating just how much she's actually lost during this battle. However, thankfully, nothing beyond that massive stab wound has further added to her physical distress. "Thank you," the admiral rasps to Ember, and then finds her second wind, drawing up out of that slouch with all the willpower she can summon. The archer must die.

Martinique narrowly evades several attempted swings at her person, a few deflecting from her leathers or parried with an able blade. She's untouched for now, and flicks a strand of hair away from her face as she spins to readiness once more, evaluating who next should get a good stabbing--most of the warriors are down, and now it's just sailors eh?


Ember is, for someone with her own stab wound that will require medical attention in the near future, a remarkably sturdy post against which one can lean. Maybe it's the armor -- maybe it's conditioning -- or maybe it's sheer adrenaline, but the Bloody Baroness still seems ready to fight. When Scylla steps, she steps too, keeping the two covering one another's back even as Blackshore blood stains the Redreef sigil of her seasilk cape. Ember deflects and evades attacks coming her way, and only Scylla might be close enough to hear another growl from somewhere within that helm.

Wash's helmsman with the help of the current has diverged the ships further from each other, now they are end to end, slowly rotating in place. Wash taunts those left at the aft end of the cog, challenging their navigational skills with creative insults while ducking arrows aimed up at his own bulwark.

Shitturd? "You people are shit at insults," Haakon scoffs back with thick disdain and a disgusted shake of his head as another blow is set aside by his shield. He hears ladylike profanity from the Compact ship, and an appeal to bring an archer's skull. "Fuck," he echoes under his breath, blocking a second sword blow while looking around for an archer...

Scylla checks dexterity and sailing at normal. Scylla is marginally successful.

Haakon checks dexterity and sailing at normal. Haakon marginally fails.

Ember checks command and sailing at normal. Ember is marginally successful.

Martinique checks dexterity and sailing at normal. Martinique is marginally successful.

Filshiar winces some as he has to turn in certain directions. That strike he took in the early boarding still pains him. But he's steadier on his feet now and, even if he isn't insulting the shavs, he's stabbing them effectively. Which is an insult of a /kind/.

Ember checks 'recovery check' at normal. Ember is marginally successful.

Wash checks 'recovery check' at normal. Wash is marginally successful.

Filshiar checks 'recovery check' at normal. Filshiar marginally fails.

Scylla checks 'recovery check' at normal. Scylla is successful.

Haakon checks 'recovery check' at normal. Haakon is marginally successful.

Medeia checks 'recovery check' at normal. Medeia is marginally successful.

Medeia checks 'recovery check' at normal. Medeia fails.

Wash checks command and sailing at hard. Wash marginally fails.

The Compact sailors rallied again when Medeia put out the call to do more, do better, fight harder, and so and so forth. It really shows in their efforts as another of the longships falls to the Compact's forces. That leaves two ships, one longship and the cog, floating. One of Scylla's longships seems to be doing poorly, and is still floating for now. It'll likely need repairs before doing any more combat, however. The Compact forces continue to hammer and ram at the Abandoned forces and their numbers are slowing dwindling. More yelling can be heard across the seaboard. Apparently, the Abandoned never give up, never surrender. Or do they? Some of them seem to be wavering even as they still call out insults. Maybe just one more push. . .

ooc: @check dexterity + combat at hard

Wash checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Wash fails.

Haakon checks dexterity and medium wpn at hard. Haakon is marginally successful.

Martinique checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Critical Success! Martinique is spectacularly successful.

Ember checks dexterity and medium wpn at hard. Ember is successful.

Scylla checks dexterity and medium wpn at hard. Scylla is marginally successful.

Medeia checks charm and propaganda at normal. Medeia is marginally successful.

Filshiar checks dexterity and medium wpn at hard. Filshiar marginally fails.


Martinique is a beast. She may contain this in public functions for the most part, but when it is time to release, she is unhinged. Not unaware; she knows friend from foe; but she is maddened and angry. One of the last two warriors is stabbed in the throat, and she yanks her blade free with an angry growl. The other, the /archer/ she simply tips her knife up into her hand and throws it, impaling him directly between the eyes. He looks startled for a moment, that missile weapons could turn against him perhaps? And then he falls to his knees and then to the deck.

Martinique marches up and reclaims her knife with a yank, looking around for any further resistance, dark eyes flashing a warning at any impulse to do so.


Wash is happy to just keep the cammand crew on the back of the cog busy. He is more threatening than effective.


Ember keeps up with Scylla -- should any sailors peel away to make a move, she's ready to defend Scylla's posterior, just as she hopes Scylla is ready to defend hers. When one sailor takes the chance, Ember opens him up with a single sword-slash, and her attention is briefly -- briefly -- drawn to Martinique's rampage. She lets out a low utterance of approval, and then surveys the rest of the ship, looking left and right to see if there's anyone else who might come at her. She doesn't look ready to stop.

With some effort, Medeia pulls herself back into a standing position and surveys the littered bodies. She lifts her voice now, speaking in Isles Shav and inflecting her words with conviction.

Medeia says, "I am Lady Medeia Eswynd of House Eswynd, Prodigals of the Compact and fearsome enemies of all who oppose us! See your kith and kin around? Their skulls will adorn our altars! Surrender, or suffer the same fate! You have seen our strength, don't be foolish."

Scylla moves with Ember at her back, sometimes using her as a crutch, sometimes holding her body upright on her own. It's a sluggish movement, but she does manage to follow along and protect her back. It's a successful pairing; Ember slashes and Scylla prods with her sword, making sure he's completely dead, before they move on.

Medeia says in Isles shav, "I am Lady Medeia Eswynd of House Eswynd, Prodigals of the Compact and fearsome enemies of all who oppose us! See your kith and kin around? Their skulls will adorn our altars! Surrender, or suffer the same fate! You have seen our strength, don't be foolish."

Haakon slashes a foe across the dense muscle of an upper arm with the hooked barb of his harpoon, leaving the sailor wounded but still kicking. He adds aloud to Medeia's appeal, "You'll not hear words of mercy, again. Heed her well!"

Filshiar's footing fails him again when the boat shifts, albeit not so badly as before. He's learned a little from this adventure. He's learned marginally. He leaves himself open again as he makes a slash at the shav facing him, though the exposure isn't to a far less vital area of his leg this time. Also he's nowhere near the side of the ship and /probably/ not at risk of tripping and drowning, so in all it could be going far worse for him.

Wash checks command and sailing at hard. Botch! Wash is simply outclassed. This is monumentally beyond them and the result is ruinous.

Scylla checks dexterity and sailing at hard. Scylla marginally fails.

Haakon checks command and sailing at hard. Haakon fails.

Martinique checks dexterity and sailing at hard. Martinique fails.

Ember checks dexterity and sailing at hard. Critical Success! Ember is spectacularly successful.

Medeia's morale boosting for the Compact also works as some sort of morale busting for the Wavereaver folk. Oh, sure, some idiot might have shouted one last insult at them, something something, yo momma, something, but in the end, it was Martinque that changed the final script there. That last archer had just opened his mouth to say something when a look of pure shock and horror came to his eyes at the knife aimed for his head. He just couldn't get out of the way fast enough.

The sailors of the cog? Yeah. They're backing away from the members of the Compact like they've grown horns, just seeing their best of the best (which doesn't mean they were great, but certainly better the sailors) knocked out of service. They are lay people who know rigging and sails and maybe a bit of merchanting. Some might even be folk that were pressed into service. They give up the ship, dropping whatever pieces of rigging they might have been using as layweapons to defend the ship.

The Wavereaver longship pushes away from the battle and tries to make an escape of it, or is doing its best to do so. The longship manages to escape when the Compact gets some signals mixed up, but not before one last volley of attacks that damages Scylla's galley some.

All of the Compact ships are still seaworthy, but they'll definitely have some repairs that need to be completed, including the Candlelight's Promise. A thorough search of the cog shows that there are maps and other documents that suggest that Clan Wavereaver were hired on by the Skal'dagan Fleet. And, more importantly, the map shows the location of the fleet, and includes other bits of paperwork and correspondence between them. None of it is good, assuredly.

Martinique is less than interested in the paperwork at the immediate moment; that's not her task at this moment. Instead, she locates a longer sword or "sailor's knife" of suitable dimensions and works on decapitating the archer that had so plagued their healer. Once this is done she will bear the severed head back to the Promise, to Medeia, and present it with a bow. "The skull, my lady, though perhaps a bit enclosed still."

Ember checks willpower at hard. Ember marginally fails.


With no one else to fight -- for a moment it seems like Ember might leap upon the sailors that are fleeing or surrendering and start trying to kill them as they run. She actually starts to give chase, and it seems for all the world like she's going to keep this killing high going -- but she isn't so much stopped by her own will as by the sudden realization, via pain, that there's a knife inside of her. Ember falls to one knee and, with the hand not clutching a sword, rips the knife out of her side. She flips up her visor, spits on the deck, and barks out in unsatisfied rage: "FUCK!"

Medeia's eyes widen in surprise, and then her expression melts into one of gleeful appreciation. "I can take care of that." She reaches out and grasps the skull in her right hand. It will have to wait, though. There's an arrow in her yet, and a knife in Ember, and Scylla probably needs... Well. Everyone needs attending to.

Wash drops onto the quarterdeck of the cog and issues commands to have the cog put under way. He threads his way through the battlefield to Ember's side. "You turned that for us, at the last moment Baroness. I swear it."

Despite her own pain and suffering, Scylla turns to assist Ember, offering her /good/ arm as a companionable crutch, whether she needs it or not. "Let's regroup and see about our wounds. I am glad I fought at your side, my lady. I'll never forget it."

Wash is overheard praising Ember.


With her visor flipped up and one hand clutching her side, Ember turns and glares at Wash and Scylla -- the look in her eyes is like a wild animal's, the yellow-orange hue of her irises all but glowing like an open flame. She draws in a breath in a bestial snort, and it seems like it takes great effort for her to sheathe her sword, and not necessarily from pain, before she allows herself to be helped up. No words in response. Just unresolved anger.