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Battle of Sungreet (AGAIN)

It's all been leading up to this. Those who hold strong in the belief that traditions will triumph turn their attentions to Sungreet. Once the starting point for this very rebellion.

There's even a rumour that a former Seraph will be making an appearance.

((OOC: Open to all. I may make a plotroom for the event. If you wish to do some diplomacy before then, shoot me a request and I'll run mini scenes for that)).


Feb. 11, 2023, 6 p.m.

Hosted By

Smile Crawfish

GM'd By

Smile Crawfish




Smile's Shadow

Largesse Level


Comments and Log

Corban has joined the Thrax Ship.

Vitalis has joined the Malespero Ship.

Ember wields Eschaton, an alaricite scythe decorated with black stones.

Victus wields Barathrum, the imperial oathlands alaricite greatsword.

Eirene wields Dawnstrike, an elegant diamondplate longsword.

Denica wields Little Devil, a fire-scorched diamondplate scramasax.

Thea wields Skystrike, the finely crafted diamondplate kopis.

Savio wields The Throngler.

Haakon wields winged war spear.

Gaspard wields Shepherd, a diamondplate blade.

Medeia wields golden ritual trident.

Quenia wields a diamondplate rapier with phoenix motif hilt.

Valdemar wields Widow's Lament.

Caspian wields Charm and Grace, alaricite chain knives.

Acacia wields Defiance, a diamondplate dagger.

Sorrel wields Anthem, alaricite sword of the Bladesong.

Lucita wields a sharp siangham.

Ian wields Ashfont the Sword of Ashcrest.

Lucita gets a simple band of polished star iron from a subtly textured sturdy yet lightweight trail pack.

Jan wields A simple cutlass of northern steel.

Pasquale wields True Shot, an alaricite bow.

Corban wields a simple and unadorned sword, polished and sharp.

Despite the circumstances drawing everyone together, it should be said that it is a wonderful day, if one can ignore the ever present faint red-tinged moon basking ominously in the clear blue sky. The weather is blissfully warm without being sweltering and it promises to remain so for the remainder of what is sure to be a bloody battle. Unlike the previous battles, the side of the traditionalists seems to be a little short, with many houses that had originally raised their voices in support of Prince Dagon no where to be seen. The prince's death (and the loss of Reafian), the lost fights and the increasing costs of the war have understandably turned many off. And although nothing has been said publicly, there appears to be something of an informal ceasefire. Nonetheless, there are still houses that are keen to fight on. Among them, Dredcall, Nightcove, Lostlan, some Darkwater ships, a few minor houses known for their staunch (some may say zealous devotion to traditions, those who would say the rebels haven't gone far enough) and some mercenary companies that have been hired for the occasion. The rebels also have ships belonging to Mercies stationed in the Isles who follow the Faith of the Anti-Dominus Waldo.

The Marquessa of House Igniseri rides on at the command of the Saik fleet, with the Igniseri Fleet trailing behind them. She'll have her work cut out for her this day, making certain that both Saik and Igniseri ships get a proper set of orders. They sail near to the Kennex ships, but far enough away as not to block the progress of their ally fleet. She watches the progress of the enemy ships, coming in from the east, making note of which of those who did not honor the ceasefire made only a few days earlier. Quenia's lips curl slightly downward and she shakes her head. "So it seems some have still decided to fight. That'll just make the deals all the more lucrative for the houses that chose to honor the ceasefire negotiated," she remarks to the others on her ship. She'd been part of that negotiation team.

The Eswynd war fleet is present in force, a hundred longships that had spent the battle's preamble action as scouts and skirmishers while the two massive fleets gathered for the looming clash. Now, with sails drawn up and oars run out, so that they need not rely on the fickle wind for maneuver, the Eswynders, their bold allies, friends, and Savio are in formation among the loyalist line, Haakon stands at the prow of one otherwise unremarkable longship. Round shield on his right arm, calloused fingers of his left hand closed around the oaken haft of a war spear as narrowed blue eyes watch the nearing Dagonites, picking out whichever familiar sigils on sails or silken flags he can spy. Noting the direction of the Dagonite approach, he rumbles aside to Mykael, who holds a signal horn, "Bid the ships strike south-east. Put us downwind of the lot and block their best retreat." The signal horn sounds, answered by shouts and horn blasts from the other ships as the reavers of a hundred ship row in unison.

Ian stands at the forecastle of the flagship of the Kennex strike fleet, one hand on a railing to help keep his balance on the pitching, swooping deck that he can't feel under his feet. In the almost two years since the first battle of this war, Ian has aged and wearied with each successive battle he's fought, looking more and more like his brother Aethan every day, and as he surveys the ships that spread out across the water from horizon to horizon, that effect is, if anything, more pronounced than usual. There are so many fights behind him now, so much blood shed, his own and the lifeblood of his fellow Islesmen, and all of it comes to this. His hand rests easily on the pommel of Ashfont while he makes a few last minute choices and snaps out a couple of final orders. Signal flags fly, and a few galleys adjust their positions. The sailors of the fleet can sense the gravity of the occasion, and the mood on the Kennex ships is keyed up and a little bit giddy. Everything about their commander's dangerously calm demeanor makes it clear that here outside of Sungreet, where it all began, House Kennex and its allies did not come to play.

Prince Victus stood atop the flagship of Thrax's standing navy. The greatsword rested against his chest in his crossed arms, its upper half extending beyond his shoulder. Clad in a mix of alaricite and leather, the High Lord would be visiting Sungreet under much different, much more unfortunate circumstances. His dark eyes watch the sky momentarily, a squinting gaze at the red dot that leered over the battlefield. It gave him unease, but his face only showed a crooked sneer. Now was not the time for showing any sign of weakness. He buried his discomfort under layers of cold neutrality as his attention turned to beyond their ship. Flanked by longships, cogs, and battle-ready reavers aplenty; Thrax's legions were lurching toward their foes like a glacial wall across the sea.

It is unclear just what secured Sir Corban Telmar's place on the Thraxian flagship for this battle. His role as a representative of the Crown's most loyal forces? His past as a commander of Telmar? Or, more likely, his long friendship with Princess Sorrel Thrax? His armor gleams in what light there is, his hand near his alaricite sword. Ready for the inevitable clash that lies before them.

Today, clad in a 'uniform' of midnight blue armor chased with gold and silver details, and witnessed from the typical distance, Pasquale doesn't look the least bit frail. Today he's pulling off a rather good impression of tall, regal and more than a little imposing. He has a cluster of officers around him to aid with signalling the other ships in the 'modest' Malespero fleet consisting of four larger ships, including two dromonds, and nearly twenty longships. Even the Gray Dawn herself, the ship he is standing on, has her own Captain. Today Pasquale is focused on something rather more than just this one ship. His eyes scan the water. He nods to a nearby officers and occasionally shares soft words, some of which get echoed down the ship at increasing volumes, and he waits for the true dance to start. Closer in he doesn't look quite so strong. He still has that pesky limp gained in an earlier battle and the occasional, sometimes vicious, coughs, have never been reassuring. "To begin with we will stay to the north of the Grimhall fleet." His explanation is mostly for Vitalis' benefit. Punctuated by him pausing to take a swig of something from a flask on his belt. "If I should be disabled, and you aren't up to taking over, that is where I want you to go."

Jan is peering through the looking glass at some of the mercenary ships "Well if it's gonna be a cereal bowl of assholes out here at least it's gonna be assholes in serious need of ending. There's at least one bunch of fart-goblins I've been hoping were on the wrong side some day." the glass moves slowly as she scans along the seascape to note who else RSVP'd yes to the party.

Ships are not Rufio's thing. So the entire time he's been pacing about, waiting to get to where he needs to be. Misery. Finally though, things seem to be kicking off and he gets on his fighting kit, looking more like a fighter in the pits than a soldier. On his ship, he marches up towards the front, punching Caspian in the shoulder as he goes by and gets into position, hoping that ALL of the enemy ships decide to retreat immediately and the Eswynd fleet gets to gobble them up.

Lucita stands at the rail of the ship gazing in the direction of the Sungreet Shrine as she talks to Eriene and Quenia. She trusts Quenia with command of her small fleet. "I was there, at the Shrine during the first battle here, was here before that battle, with Legate Ailith. We went out amid the city people, singing, praying, supporting Legate Ailith, and Archlector Brigida and a few others in their efforts. We could not hardly believe it when Duke Ivan gave the command to execute all the Thralls! We stood in the shrine as the helpless ones, women, children fled to the shrine for protections. We defended them, held off their attackers and saw something remarkable. Despite our being horribly outnumbered, not a single person who sought sanctuary with us was hurt, the tapestries of my songs endured and last I heard, still hang there. Fields of sunflowers surrounded the shrine and were blessed by Legate Ailith. Seemed none who sought to attack could pass by them. Maybe... the Gods will be with us today, too.


The Red Sails, the fleet of House Redreef, are a "quality over quantity" fleet. Though they are few in number compared to some of the more vast fleets of other Houses, they draw upon Redreef's roots as sailors, reavers, and warriors. They're the irritants, the goons, the small and deft and (pick one: brave, crazy) boats who buzz in, hit, and run. At the fore of the Redreef flagship stands Ember Redreef, the Crimson Countess. She's dressed for war, in shadowmeld armor, a shadowmeld cloak, and her now-signature grotesque skull-faced and horned helmet. One hand grips Eschaton, her alaricite scythe whose handle is spiked with thirteen onyx stones. The shadowmeld of her mask hides her eyes from view, making for a solemn blankness as she gazes out toward the enemies coming from the east. Ember says nothing -- there's only the barest lift of her hand from beneath her cloak, without so much as a glance backward at the ship's crew. From that one gesture, a well-oiled machine begins to run, as the Red Sails prepare to engage.

Acacia is there, a rare appearance of the Red Culler on the deck of a Kennex ship, watching silently. A hand drifts idly to check the bristle of blades worn and the buckles and ties of her armor. Chin lifting, she takes in a breath and quietly readies herself for what is to come.

Among the Eswynd ships, specifically on the one also bearing Haakon, Medeia can be found standing among the Prodigal Islanders. She's clad in shark leather and rubicund, holding a gilded trident, and strapped with various medical supplies. The skirt of her aeterna dress, that both sits over and under her armor, sways as the ship does. Her attention is focused out across the water. Perhaps she is looking toward the Nightcove ships. Really, the frown on her face is for all the so-called Traditionalists. With a sigh, her head shakes gently before she sets to work making sure her team of medics is ready.

Vitalis is Pasquale's shadow. Clement forces aren't committed to the fighting here, save the Ghost himself, he pads along the deck, eyes keen on the eastern horizon as the sight the sails and banners of the Traditionalist fleet. He lifts his chin, scanning the waves, the distant ships and bows his head, lips moving in prayer. He lifts his head from prayer, eyes clear, and waits. He listens to Pasquale's direction and nods, reflecting, "I will see to it, should you fall." There's a distinct undercurrent of 'I won't let that happen.'

Wind through her black hair, it provides some level of comfort to Denica Thrax who lingers in that feeling of freedom before the battle begins. Arriving on her family's ship, she isn't her usual cheerful self, but she isn't quiet either. Taking what opportunity to provide kind and encouraging words to the crew, checking in with others and making herself helpful. There's a sparkle in the princess's eyes that brings her natural determination to the forefront. The young woman is not only dressed for battle, but wears her armour as a statement. Finding her cousin in the mix, she would take an opportunity to whisper something to him, but otherwise, she is here to fight.

Considering the close bonds betweeen Malvici and their vassal house, it's no surprise Eirene sails under the golden-cat of Saik even though she is married to Riven and has brought the soldiers of her Riven battle medics of the Heron's Wing along with her. She wears her usual black and teal leathers, a short-brimmed hat lowered over her eyes to block out the sea's glare. She looks at Lucita and gives a grim smile. "Guess the Gods do give a shit, now and then," she replies. "Let's hope today is one of those fucking days." She stalks along the deck with a sailor's rolling gait as the ship moves ever closer to close the gap.

A swell from the North rocks the assembled fleets, and on the northern horizon a lowering stormcloud becomes visible on the horizon.

Sharing a ship with Haakon's Eswynders, bold allies, and friends, is.... Savio! HOORAY! One of several tropical lunatics who have joined their northern prodigal-islander allies, he has a big stupid alaricite bat-with-teeth situation in hand ready to start swinging as soon as the ships will draw close enough to board. "Nobody do anything heroic enough to die at," he warns. "I am not a good enough bard to make a proper epic about it if you do."

Sorrel stands with her arms crossed, a serious expression on her face as she watches the sea from beside Prince Victus Thrax, not far from where Sir Corban Telmar linters. But just because her expression is stern does not mean that music does not surround her, for she sings a battle hymn to inspire those on her vessel.

Standing on the Kennex ship is Thea. Her eyes slits through her helm. The Wyvernheart looks to be ready for anything, whether it be fighting or healing....nothing will come as a surprise today. At least those parts.

The Grim Fleet is present as well, the grey crosses on their blue and green striped sails a reminder of what happens to traitors. Valdemar commands them from the deck of the Song of Sorrow, a large dromond. He is watching the enemy when that swell comes from the north, and suddenly begins shouting orders at his crew to prepare the ship for the coming storm.

Caspian is here with the eswynds! or more accurately, Caspian is here with Savio, and Savio is here with the Eswynds! He walked across the deck of the ship watching Haakon stand on the prow like a conquering hero or a raiding pirate. funny how often they were same thing depending on who you asked. He wanted to help with the sailing, but that was never going to work out well for the champion. So in stead he walked among the rowers, offering encouragement and cheers. *Thunk* Rufio landed a punch on him as he walked by and Caspian offered a grin, "Glad to see the salty air hasn't ruined your humor.. or you hair" he laughed and clasped the man's shoulder a moment before looking to Medeia and haakon again. "Cutting of their retreat? i likes this.. maybe we can end it once and for all today." he looked to Savio and beamed then, "what? nonsense! we just have to be extra heroic so the epic writes itself!"

In gleaming white diamondplate, towering upon the Thrax's flagship - The Blackram Lord emits a dreadful presence, jaw set firmly with a calm, grim expression fixed upon his features, his azure-gold rimmed eyes scan out across the waters beneath them. With a shield worked onto his arm and Shepherd at his waist, he's not uneasy and queasy on his sea-legs, focused, silent and prepared for what comes next. This isn't the first time he's seen battle, evident in the dozens of scars that dot him, visibly alone.

Eirene reaches up to grab a rope to steady herself as the storm starts to make waves. "Guess I spoke too fucking soon," she says with a snort and a sardonic smile.

Ian narrows his eyes for a moment, looking to the north as the ships under his command bob in the surf. "Ray is going to be really smug about this," he sighs, mostly to himself.

Seeing the stormclouds on the horizon, Rufio grimaces under his helmet. "I blame you for this Caspian. Your luck just brings this kind of shit. And you know me. Have all the war essentials. Weapon. Armor. Beeswax for my hair." He then looks back towards Savio and says, "I'll make sure to fall flat on my ass so you have a good muse to build your songs from."

"Countess Ember," says one of the crewmen, "a storm brews to the north." As though Ember herself couldn't feel the rocking of the ship. Ember doesn't react to the crewman's words at all. She remains silent and still as a statue, staring toward the east, grip tight on her weapon.

Quenia grabs onto something when the ship starts to rock. "Steady yourselves," Quenia calls out to the others in warning, making her voice loud enough to carry to the next ship closest to them so the warning can be given to the others. The storm seems to worry Quenia, though she leaves that to her 2nd to keep an eye on while she watches how the other ships in the battle are reacting as well.

The redhead sucks her teeth, glancing to the Kennex ships before looking to Ian and then back out across the water and gathering storm. Giving a small trinket or token a quick kiss, Acacia tucks it safely aside and then braces herself against the tossing waves.

Haakon snorts at the banter between Caspian and Rufio. "Don't be fucking daft, ye two. All folk know it's *his* fault," the snarling reaver states, with a short tilt of his head toward Savio. A terse exhale and he eyes the odd stormcloud as the ships row for position .

In spite of the danger that looms ahead, Sir Corban finds himself, despite himself, humming along with the war tune that Princess Sorrell sings, his eyes locked on the horizon before him. The storm is certainly noted, but it is not commented upon.

Caspian lets his head roll back into a laugh, "dont wander to close to a torch my friend! you are liable to burst into flames with all the gunk in your hair" he looks to the north and scrunches his face a moment. "hmm.. or maybe you should. we could use your hair as a signal pyre for the rest of the fleet to follow." he smirked, nudging Rufio with the jest. he looked to the experienced sailors.. the real sailors. Medeia, savio, haakon, "So do those change our plans? or just be ready to get.. well.. MORE wet than normal."

"Rude?!" Savio gasps at Haakon, theatrical and unsurprised and also not denying it.

Pasquale turns his gaze to the north and that sudden swell of water. His eyes stay there, studying the horizon, for several long moments before he turns his gaze back to the foe in front of them and starts giving the soft instructions that his crew so efficiently echo. A shift of formation and a slight change in the exact way the ships crew is organised seem to be all that he thinks is necessary just now.

Lucita turns her gaze away from the site of the shrine and looks back toward the sea and the darkening sky. "That... could complicate things. At least it should be as rough on enemy ships as our own. Are there any precautions we should take other than the usual?"

A glance towards Haakon and a snort can be heard from under Rufio's helmet, "That's... pretty bloody accurate actually." He then sputters at Caspian, "How dare you. My hair is a Proscipi symbol. Almost a banner of pride for our people. Men and women have died just to touch it.... catching it on fire... you turd."

Trevor Helianthus stands on the deck of his ship, calling out so his captains on nearby ships are able to catch his words as he discusses the best position for better manoeuvrability. There's a resounding enthusiasm among the men of his fleet as they prepare for the oncoming attack. Some seem a little disconcerted about the storm cloud on the horizon but they swiftly return their attention to the present threat. The men who want to kill them.

All but the one woman on the ship, Evelynn Helianthus. Her eyes are fixed onto the northern horizon and she doesn't draw her attention away. Her husband says something to her quietly and she barely seems to acknowledge his presence. Eventually, she retreats below deck.

Jan tucks away the looking glass and then notices the gathering clouds with a small furrow of her brow and twists her shoulders and tugs on one elbow and then twists the other way and tugs on the opposite to limber up.

Vitalis joins those looking to the north. And it had been such a lovely day. His lips purse and he looks to the Malespero captain, observing silently as commands flicker through the Nilanzan fleet. He tongues his teeth and squints towards the oncoming ships.

Pasquale checks command and leadership at normal. Pasquale is successful.

Ember checks command and war at normal. Ember is successful.

Quenia checks command and war at normal. Critical Success! Quenia is spectacularly successful.

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

Victus checks command and war at normal. Victus is successful.

Ian checks command and sailing at normal. Critical Success! Ian is spectacularly successful.

Valdemar checks command and war at normal. Valdemar is successful.

Lucita nods. "yes. We have that in sacks along the rails, not in the way but they do good to help stop arrows, too, if you drop down behind them. And barrels of water for ordingary fire."

The consternation regarding the weather is matched by those among the traditionalists but they seem equally focused on their targets. The captains of the ship ready themselves for the oncoming bout, telling the archers to ready themselves to fire once the ships get close enough to their targets. And then they let loose, thankfully with no fire. YET. It's only of marginal comfort to those hit by the shafts who watch blood gush from their appendages or throats rather than burn alive.

Corban checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Corban is successful.

Ember checks dexterity and huge wpn at normal. Ember marginally fails.

Pasquale checks dexterity and archery at normal. Pasquale is successful.

Thea checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Thea is successful.

Denica checks dexterity and small wpn at normal. Denica is successful.

Gaspard checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Gaspard is successful.

Sorrel checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Sorrel is successful.

Vitalis checks dexterity and huge wpn at normal. Vitalis marginally fails.

Victus checks strength and huge wpn at normal. Victus is successful.

Jan checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Botch! Jan fails completely.

Lucita checks dexterity and small wpn at normal. Lucita is successful.

Ian checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Ian is successful.

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

Caspian checks dexterity and small wpn at normal. Caspian is successful.

Eirene checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Eirene marginally fails.

Savio checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Savio is successful.

Medeia checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Medeia is successful.

Acacia checks dexterity and small wpn at normal. Acacia is successful.

Quenia checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Quenia is successful.

Valdemar checks dexterity and huge wpn at normal. Valdemar is successful.

Rufio checks dexterity and medium wpn at normal. Rufio is successful.

Ember checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Ember marginally fails.

Gaspard checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Critical Success! Gaspard is spectacularly successful.

Denica checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Denica is successful.

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

Thea checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Thea is successful.

Eirene checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Critical Success! Eirene is spectacularly successful.

Savio checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Savio is successful.

Pasquale checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Botch! Pasquale fails completely.

Caspian checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Caspian is successful.

Ian checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Ian is successful.

Victus checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Victus marginally fails.

Vitalis checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Vitalis marginally fails.

Lucita checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Lucita is successful.

Valdemar checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Valdemar is successful.

Medeia checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Medeia is successful.

Corban checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Corban is successful.

Sorrel checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Sorrel is successful.

Jan checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Jan fails.

Acacia checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Acacia is successful.

Quenia checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Quenia is successful.

Vitalis checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Vitalis is successful.

Rufio checks dexterity and dodge at normal. Rufio is successful.

Ian remains centered and dangerously serious as he gives out a string of commands that are translated to signal flags for the rest of his fleet and the Saik ships sailing alongside. Brilliant purple and white sails swell in the wind and sculls are pulled. There's been no spoken target, but Ian's captains and officers, and gradually his more experienced sailors begin to realize the target their commander has chosen, and pockets of cheering begin to break out on the ships. Ian is aiming the might of the first progressive house of the Isles, the grand "experiment" in freedom, straight at the cluster of extremely hardline traditionalists. As more and more people on the fleet begin to understand what's about to happen, the cheering swells. There are a lot of ex-thralls in the Kennex fleet, a lot of people who have a lifetime of wrongs to avenge, and they're being handed a chance like none other. Chanting breaks out here and there before eventually resolving to three words carried over the wind, shouted, sung, laughed. "FREE! LIKE! US!" The ships come together, Kennex and Saik working together in a flawless envelopment, and the fight that breaks out is a celebration with extra bloodshed.

Ian, however, remains deadly serious as he descends to the deck to become the tip of the spear for House Kennex, his face slack and calm, eyes gleaming like blued steel. He draws Ashfont, the sword of his house, and holds it aloft in a brief challenge, letting the many rubies set into its hilt catch the spring sun. Here he is, the Sword of Stormward. Be the man who kills him, if you can. The first fools who think to try their luck are introduced, in their last moments in this life, to how hard the Sword of Stormward is to kill.

When arrows set sail, the Redreef ships maneuver, showcasing their skill at weaving in between larger enemy ships and committing to the naval equivalent of death by a thousand cuts. It's only the flagship that continues straight ahead, a show of intimidation as much as anything. Ember remains at the fore. Arrows fly, and two of them are smacked aside by casual sweeps of her scythe, the alaricite blade spanging the arrows away from her. One arrow is more lucky than the rest, and embeds itself in the Countess's bicep. She doesn't cry out, doesn't stagger. It doesn't pierce the armor very deeply at all, but the visual of it is still what it is -- especially as Ember looks down at the arrow, grips it by the shaft, and wrenches it out, without so much as a flinch.

No matter how many times Medeia finds herself in battle, the lady always winces when the initial clash happens. As arrows begin to fall around her, she makes the best use she can of the much larger warriors around her - and their shields - to find cover. There is an advantage to being so short in battle, it seems! This protected position allows her to strike against enemies that make it aboard the longship with the benefit of surprise, planting the trident firmly into the side of one boarder. No taunts come from her, nor does she call out to encourage the Eswynders around her. Medeia is focused on the task at hand: survival.

In that brief lull when momentum has taken over the fleet around you, making it impossible to change anything on the tactical side, and the projectiles have yet to turn the waters red, Pasquale finds himself drifting towards the prow of the flagship with his crossbow in hand. He lifts the crossbow, fires it off, and half turns to get another arrow.. And thats when disaster strikes - One of the arrows soaring down from the other ships, an arrow that probably wasn't even aimed at him, not really, slams down into the gap between Pasquale's shoulder and chest armor. That tiny little gap that is almost impossible to hit on purpose. And Pasquale goes from standing up, strong and glorious in his armor, to sitting on the deck with a stunned look on his face and an arrow sticking out of his armor.

Briefly, Victus' eyes had been drawn to the northern horizon. Storm clouds rarely brought any sense of peace, especially not so far out at sea. Heavy waves rocked the dromond, causing it to teeter side to side. The rowers were only delayed seconds before the flagship had righted her course once more. So too did the enemy vessels draw close enough to engage them. The grip he held on Barathrum's hilt grew tighter by the moment. He slid the hefty weapon off his shoulder, its tip narrowly missing the ground as he strode across the deck. Orders were being barked left and right. Archers, taking aim. Reavers. preparing to meet the enemy head-on. Shields up, axes high, show no fear. There was a cry that pierced through the dense atmosphere. "HOLD FAST!" It demanded. Just as it rang through the ears of every crewman, Victus would suddenly hiss in pain. An arrow had struck him, although it probably shouldn't have come as a surprise. He was large target, in the literal and metaphorical sense. Luckily his armor had stopped the bulk of it from piercing his flesh, although it was sure to leave a nagging bruise underneath. He ripped it from his coat and tossed it aside, defiant. "Perhaps I should've taken up a shield at some point in my life."

Eirene is ready for both the coming storm of wind and water as well as the storm of swords and arrows that fly. "Let's send those fuckers to a watery grave, let the marin'alfar sort 'em out!" The gap is closed and she joins the fighting as sailors and marines of both the Saik fleet mingle. She stays on the Saik ship and meet the boarders with a fury. Before she can even make an attack, an arrow lets loose in her direction. She casually knocks an arrow aside with her blade before it can take purchase into her. It's a move as fluid as a snake's strike and just as quick.

Quenia catches the signals that Ian's fleet is giving out. Quenia directs both the Igniseri and the Saik ships to follow after his command. "I hope you all are ready to fight," she comments to Lucita and Eirene, "because we're about to get into the heart and thick of things." There are former thralls who also work in the Igniseri fleet. They join their voices to those in the Kennex ships in cheering when they see the target the Kennex allies are going after. Quenia made good on the promise she gave them all those years ago, to continue to fight for their freedom and the freedom of all thralls. The ships arrange themselves in a pattern that's most opportune to follow Kennex's lead and also do the most damage to the stalwart traditionalists ships. "Archers, prepare to fire!" she calls out to those she is commanding, ready to return fire once they get in closer. "Fire!" she calls, when that moment comes. A rain of arrows goes toward the enemy fleets from the combined archer force of both houses.

Quenia walks to the lower decks to resume her command there, sword ready in her hand to clash and dance with those who decide to attempt to board her flagship. She dances in and out of the fighters, hitting those she can and dodging away from the others, certain that Lucita and Eirene can take care of themselves.

Thea is practically bouncing on his toes. There's a glint in her eyes however, a dangerous one. There's the Malvici look, one that should be feared as she lifts her blade. Thea is ready, braced for what is what to come.

As the swarm of Eswynd longships row over the rough and rising sea, maneuvering to obstruct the best path of retreat for their enemy, as if victory itself was not in doubt, the Eswynders loose the first volleys of arrows at the Dagonite ships that draw within bow shot. A slow breath is drawn in deep through the nose, as Haakon nods once and chosen warriors grasp grappling irons to throw across the rails for the first boarding action. As is his habit, the notorious reaver prepares to join the first push, raising his spear overhead to command the attention of his prodigal horde. He roars, "WHO WILL THEY FEAR?" Haakon is answered from a thousand throats, "ESWYND," as the prodigals and pals swarm across onto the first ship of foemen, striking with bloody savagery.

Jan whoops and declares over her shoulder "This is why YOU are my favorite cousin, Ian!" A wide shark-like grin full of teeth and accompanied by a gleam in her slate-hued eyes "Let's shed these dingle-berries out of their mortal coil!" when they reach harm's way Jan overswings, failing to score a strike and paying for it with some of her own blood.

Acacia's long, lean form seems to swell as the battle begins. At Ian's signal, she moves with deadly intention. Eyes afire. Blades are drawn. With an sharp upticks jaw, the woman moves with purposeful strides into the clash of weapons and chaos almost inviting the enemy to take her on. The Red Culler is in her element. A grin, wicked and bloody, flits across face the woman's face as she gets down to business with the first, second and third slice.

Adjusting her breathing to compensate for fighting, Sorrel continues to sing as she faces down the enemy sword in hand. She works fiercely to keep the enemy at bay, for she is not one who will be shouting orders today. That is for her High Lord, on whom she keeps an eye, and when he takes an arrow, she scowls in the direction of those who fired it, determined to make them regret it.

More of the stormcloud becomes visible above the horizon, and there's a line of darkness on the horizon itself.

The weather changes and the coming clouds shadow the sea, but there's a storm brewing in Denica's vivid blue eyes. This isn't her element and she isn't familiar with battle, but the artist holds her blade up at the first sight of trouble. It is comfortable in her leather-covered hand, scorched with fire and made for her dainty grip. As arrows fly, it's a step to the left, a little like dancing, Denica lets herself just move with the moment. Her attention zeroed in on everything around her, she still shoulder checks on Victus and watches as he tears the arrow from his arm. "Some people are just better out in front," she gives him a relieved smile.

Vitalis is comfortable aboardship, but he wasn't born to it like so many on the decks and a swell he didn't anticipate fouls the aim of his lofted projectile. He turns to grab another and ducks into cover at the fall of arrows from the enemy fleet. There is a lull in the fire and he unclenches and the Clement lord looks around, scanning, scanning. Pasquale! Cursing low, Vitalis covers the distance between them, crouched and keeping an eye on the vessels ahead. He grimaces at Pasquale as a medic rushes up. Between them they silently agree to pull the arrow free. "On three," he counts, "One, two, three." He pulls and lets the medic do the rest. He looks off north, "The storm is coming."

Lucita has been in battles before and she points out to Eirene and Quenia the precautions taken by the little Saik fleet as Quenia cooridinates their efforts with Kennex. The ship crews are efficient and used to Quenia's command style. They are exquisitely responsive and move into precise spots. She has her short spear in hand as she drops down behind a sand bag in time to dodge some arrows incoming and still rise in time to use the extended reach of the siangham to slice at the arm of an enemy sailor reaching toward the Saik ship. She spares a quick glance at the blood spurting from the wound as he reels back, out of commission for that battle in any case.

As ships collide, the sound of wood smashing against wood, yells and shouts, screams and battlecries ring out, the sound of metal clashing, arrows phwooshing through the air, the smell of blood and the cry of sharp, searing pain floods Gaspards senses, sending immediately active his instincts, going from a looming, immense statue, springing to life, hunkering down underneath arrowfire without a moments glance. "SHIELDS!" He bellows, barreling forward as he meets the front line of the jumping forces, daring to share the same wood beneath their feet. As arrows bounce off his shield, Gaspard tears through bodies upon bodies of soldiers, leaving them stunned and trampled behind him to the rear forces to finish off. Smacking weapons away, disarming and headbutting a few of them to subconscious with his gleaming white diamondplate helm, he growls murderously low, azure eyes fierce and unbrittled in in battle fury. Lost to the frenzy of this bloodthirsty comeabout, he moves with a cool calmness to his step, brutal yet precise, measured and tactful in the way he positions himself and fights against his several opponents. The sound of metal screetching acoss metal is heard in his near vicinity, moving with exceptional speed for his massive size, which he uses to his advantae. Vicious and unforgiving, he punches, kicks, headbutts, skewers his way through the front line, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.

The minor houses who thought to be empowered and emboldened by the righteousness of their cause aren't quite sure what to do with themselves in response to the barrage of attacks from Kennex. Perhaps they thought any ex-thrall would be a thoughtless savage in battle or that a progressive house wouldn't have the discipline to take on fighters such as they. They were surely wrong.

Admiral Anders Nightcove is as adept as ever in managing his fleet, ensuring that they do not lose face despite lower numbers or a setback. Nonetheless, he too looks toward the storm with a furrow of his brow. It seems the storm wasn't exactly expected and is (unsurprisingly) far from welcome.

Caspian is braced on the side of the ship, a borrows shield in hand to block the first volleys of arrows. sure enough, arrows thunk into the shield and he grins as he tosses the shield aside. Close now for boarding, he looks to Haakon as the man bellows out his cry, the reply booming from the voices of the other warriors and sailors. "What will we hit them with? COCONUTS!" did it make sense? not at all! but hey proscipi was here, so he had to make their presence known just a little!

Pasquale lifts a hand up in a vague sort of don't swamp me sort of motion when it starts to feel as if half the ship has hurried to his side. Theres something in his eyes that suggests he might want to complain about them pulling the arrow out if he had the breath to do it. Luckily he does not and pulling the arrow out was exactly the right thing to do in the moment. Immediately taking his breathing down from deadly bad to merely awful. Most telling of all he stays on the deck for now although he does attempt to wave both Vitalis and the medic away again afterwards. "I just. need. a. moment."

Vitalis stays close to Pasquale, shielding him from incoming fire and giving the medic a nod that 'yeah, he's got this.' The medic hurries off to tend another. "Do you still want me heading into that if I take command?" That storm is off north, where Pasquale had said Vitalis should head.

Savio has fought alongside Eswynders for many, many boarding actions over the last five years, and he seems confident as he surges forth with his fellow prodigals to attack! One look is cast each to Caspian and Rufio, keeping track of them, then he strikes the first enemy that's foolish enough to get a knee in strike range. That enemy loses a kneecap and then his throat, and it's on.

Things have been pretty easy for Rufio thusfar. Just basically hiding from incoming arrow fire by keeping low against the bow rails. When a ship finally comes in and Haakon bellows his cry, Rufio stands up and clangs his twin swords together. He throws the first, impaling someone, then yells, "Shit! I need that! Bring up the coconuts, Cas! Whee!" Over the rail he goes to get his sword back.

The arrows go whizzing by Sir Corban, thankfully, despite being on the Thraxian flagship, and standing ever too close to the High Lord that is sure to be the target of very many arrows. When the battle is met, however, the First Captain throws himself into the fray with the rest, simple, sharp alaricite sword flashing in the light of that moon. Just how Silver used to do it.

There's a beat after the revel of a victorious bout where Trevor looks around at the corpses of his enemies laying on his ship. He readies himself for anymore that attempt to board, a firm grip on his sword and careful with his footing. Then his gaze drifts to the storm cloud once again and the darkened line. He looks below deck for a moment before a nervous look crosses his features. He shakes it off soon enough, so as not to worry his men and he readies himself for another attack, slicing and dicing his way through combatants without another glance toward the north.

"Looks like we'll be fighting in the rain," Eirene barks, her voice rough over the din of clashing swords. Around her, the Riven and Saik forces continue to trade blows with the rebel fleet. "Deckhands, brace for the storm," she says for the sake of those still manning the ropes. "Let the rest of us handle these salty shits so you can get the sails under control." Her warm blue eyes take a moment to take in the northern horizon and the coming dark clouds. She ducks a sword as it flies at her face and counters angrily with a kick to the shins and a stab at a shoulder.

The stormcloud looms higher. Beneath it, the line on the horizon moves rapidly closer, resolving into hundreds of sails of different sizes and colours, with a host of emblems on display.

"Countess Ember! The storm worsens!" says the Redreef crewman. Only then does Ember look to the north, in time to see the horizon line resolve into hundreds of ships. Ember's response: "Hm." She looks back to the rebel fleet, and points her scythe toward the Nightcove flagship. "Keep focus. I promised Lord Anders Nightcove in a letter once that I would kill him. Whoever those ships to the north are -- they will not make a liar of Ember Redreef."

Jan says, "The unholy fuck is all that?" she casts a hand towards the sails and leaves that question to anyone on the Kennex ship "Were we expecting latecomers?"

Vitalis checks perception and etiquette at hard. Vitalis fails.

For a moment, Medeia gathers her breath and looks toward the storm that now appears to be ships. She finds her way to Haakon's side and says something low, gesturing toward them.

Pasquale checks intellect and sailing at hard. Pasquale fails.

Quenia continues her fighting while others around her point out the other coming ships. She disengages her battle for another of her sailors to take her place so she can gauge just who it is that's approaching, a dark frown touching her lips. "I don't like the look of the storm, but I like less the look of those ships on the horizon under that storm. Let's hope if they are more of the enemy that the storm is doing them no favors."

Consumed by the front lines, Gaspard works his way through, battle form impeccably championing past soldiers guards only to be impaled upon by his sword. He doesn't speak, rather elicits grunts, hot puffs of breath, azure, gold-rimmed gaze hardened coldly into a warriors resolve. His mission, cleave through as many as possible and work towards leadership. And so he defends flawlessly, countering and striking out with merciless ambition.

Eirene checks intellect and sailing at hard. Critical Success! Eirene is spectacularly successful.

Ember checks perception and sailing at hard. Ember fails.

Ian checks perception and sailing at hard. Ian is successful.

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

Victus checks perception and sailing at hard. Victus marginally fails.

Denica checks perception and diplomacy at hard. Denica is successful.

Medeia checks perception and etiquette at hard. Medeia is successful.

Caspian checks perception and sailing at hard. Caspian marginally fails.

Thea checks intellect and sailing at hard. Thea marginally fails.

Rufio checks intellect and etiquette at hard. Rufio fails.

Quenia checks perception and diplomacy at hard. Quenia fails.

Valdemar checks intellect and sailing at hard. Valdemar is successful.

Gaspard checks intellect and etiquette at hard. Gaspard fails.

Sorrel checks intellect and diplomacy at hard. Sorrel fails.

Acacia checks perception and sailing at hard. Acacia fails.

Lucita checks perception and diplomacy at hard. Lucita is successful.

Ian spares a swift look to the horizon, and then calls to Thea and Jan, answering them in a clipped tone. "It's trouble. Best guess, Waldo found those shavs he ran off to rally." Maybe acting on this guess, maybe not, he holds off several people coming for his blood long enough to bark out a new series of commands to the officer he's got on signal duty. "... And tell Quenia this isn't going to be like any storm she's seen!"

Haakon had ordered his fleet to the south-east at battle's outset, intent on coming around behind and cutting off the rebel retreat.. Alas, this puts Haakon in a terrible position to recognize what is coming from the north, and only once the first boarding is complete does he spy the storm shrouded arrival of this new fleet. A small shake of his head is given to whatever whispered words Medeia had offered. "Nay. She'd draw night from the south-west. And the great ship in the center bears the Faith's blazon on its mainsail. ...the fuck would the Faith get such a fleet?"

Pasquale takes advantage of Vitalis' sheltering presence to haul himself up to his feet. His breathing already starting to come easier. He takes a half step away from Vitalis once he's standing again and peers out over towards the north. "On the nort flank of Grimhall." he says so quietly to Vitalis that it would get lost if he wasn't right there besides him. "Not to the north." He rubs at his eyes, looks agin, but doesn't seem to be any clearer than when he looked to start with. Another squint, his actions still dogged by the shock and pain of his injury, but getting better by the moment, and then he turns to one of the signal officers. "Tell the ships that break free of engagements that they should avoid boarding until we can work out who's side they are on."

Medeia frowns as she gets a better look at the ships, reluctantly agreeing with Haakon's assessment. "That's... Their emblem... But..." She doesn't seem so sure about it actually being THE Faith.

Valdemar and his men cut down the enemies that board their ships, the Duke himself snarling as he swings Widow's Lament in a wide arc that sends an enemy sprawling. When he takes a moment to look to the north again, he frowns deeply and looks confused. "Signal to the others to watch those ships to the north with caution! That emblem does /not/ mean they are on our side!" he yells to the men with the signal flags, who begin moving them sharply to relay the orders to the rest of the Grim Fleet.

"Waldo must have a silver tongue and a huge golden penis, becaue he's got the Faith AND several Abandoned who wouldn't be caught dead in the same room let alone the same fleet sailing our way." Eirene shakes her head as she yell to Quenia and Lucita. "Assuming that's Waldo's fleet. How'd the fuck they pull this diplomatic miracle off?" Peace in our time and it's on the wrong side. Great...

Thea grunts as she pushes someone off her, ducking from someone else. "Great,"she mumbles at Ian's words. Then she's off again, dodging.

Caspian looks off toward the oncoming ships, ducks an axe, and then looks again. "No way its the faith. To many people in this army would have been aware of it. Would this our be friend waldo then? i think i owe him a stern talking to as he missed our last appointment. i promise it will be with charm and grace of course..."

Jan growls "Aww, for Magnota's tits-I should have known this was looking too damned easy!" She scans the horizon and succinctly declares "Fuck." she gives a roll of her shoulders "Hold onto your funbits!"

Ships? What ships? Acacia is far too busy smashing the ruined face of an opponent into the deck to be noticing that. Rising from the bloodied deck again, she wipes blood off her blade. Ian's shout to Thea and Jan seems to have caught her attention, however, and she grimances and glances towards the ships and coming storm. But there's not time to linger as another enemy warrior rolls her into her path in an attempt to escape the cyclone known as Gaspard. She fights on unless Ian calls her to engage in a different vein.

Moving to be back to back with Caspian, fighting as he can, having picked up his other sword, Rufio says, "Are you even fighting? What are you doing? Just... waiting for bears to ride into battle? Cassowaries?" He holds up one hand, looking out over the water, "What the bloody hell is that even. Is that fake? Can you have mirages at sea?"

Lucita says, "maybe some good rousing hymns to our gods can help counter. A shame some of the true Dominus Faith are not here to lead them, to beseech. In any case, a song should not hurt wether that is the false Dominus or whoever. Something to Mangata to turn away the wind, to drive their ships into each other. And to Gloria for our fighters... and others for protection.""

"Great. Just great." Quenia remarks back to Eirene, furrowing her brow at the oncoming fleet. "Send signals to Ian letting him know about the Abandoned coming with the fleet and whatever version of the Faith that is." Quenia tells those who signal the flags. "I guess we'll see soon enough what side they'll be fighting on," she says with a smirk. She spies the message about the storms and frowns. "Ian is saying this is not like the usual sorts of storms, so maybe you were right Eirene. There might be fuckery afoot indeed." She's not one usually to curse, but in this case a curse-like is likely warrented.

There's an equally perplexed look on much of the traditionalist captains who are unable to answer the questions of their men. Some shake their heads and bid their soldiers to continue their fight. Others continue to squint into the distance as though disbelieving at what they may be seeing. Others seem to look a little encouraged at the sight of more ships. Lord Anders Nightcove stands at the prow with a look that's begins as surprise but slowly becomes uneasy. Nonetheless, he doesn't allow himself to remain distracted from the enemies close at hand and keeps his guard up for any new attacks his way.

Trevor sees the ships in the distance with the many emblems and the first word out of his mouth is, "Evelynn!" Aimed at the door to below the decks. Much to the surprise of every one aboard his ship. He doesn't offer any explanation and is soon swinging his sword at anyone else who dares their strike.

"Ships," Vitalis offers helpfully of the sails and hulls that appear on the horizon. He looks back at Pasquale with some concern, squinting across the engagement to identify them if he can. He shakes his head, "I can't make them out." He screws the butt of his palm into an eyesocket and squints more shaking his head again. He growls and spins from the rail, studying Pasquale as he does, tonguing the backs of his teeth. "I'll go where you point, Pasquale."

The fleet to the north closes on the fleets of the warring Houses. In the middle is the largest ship; it can only be a caravel, with the symbol of the Faith on its sails. More ships to either side are also carrying the symbol of the Faith, but beyond that, there's a riot of colours and different emblems on the sails of ships large and small.

Ember glances toward the giant Faith emblem. "Typical," she grunts. Her crewman looks to her for some kind of clarification as to what she means, but none is forthcoming.

On a ship made of timber so dark it seems nearly black is a one-eyed man with pale hair, mane whipping in the wind, his features stoic and calm. He flies no colors to claim his people, his ship manned by Abandoned, sailing with many, many ships crewed just the same. He holds a simple disc-rapier in his hand. Those that have met him know him to be Lord Raemond Dredcall; the ships that remain from the first rounds of battle that bear his family's crest look confused and aghast to see of their own among the fleet led by the faith and astounding collection of others.

Victus lets out a sharp sigh, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Damn it all. We had them. We HAD them!" The Prince stomps his boot, allowing the moment of rage to pass him by before regrouping. "These are no allies, do not drop your guard!"

Eirene glances at Lucita. "Are you sure now's a good time to 'sing'?" She puts emphasis on the word. "We need to be ready to handle that if it becomes a problem and if you have a backlash you know that shit hits you hard." She frowns hard as she turns to Quenia. "And I think this is going to be a problem, I don't think they're here to sit at the table and have a pot of fucking tea while we work out our differences."

Haakon snorts once and gives the succinct order for his warriors to, "Feed the dead to the deep! We'll want for clear decks, afore long." The hasty hurling of dead men over the rails is undertaken in pairs as the battle looks to have grown more.. complicated.

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

Pasquale checks command and leadership at hard. Pasquale is successful.

Quenia checks command and war at hard. Quenia marginally fails.

Ian checks command and leadership at hard. Ian is successful.

Ember checks command and war at hard. Ember is successful.

Jan says, "As the gods as my witness adding a few friends doesn't change my plan of kicking every zealot I find trait in the family jewels and shedding them from their mortal coils!" She does cast a look towards Ian "Unless you say otherwise, cousin?"

Victus checks command and war at hard. Victus is successful.

Valdemar checks command and war at hard. Valdemar is successful.

Lucita says, "Plainsong, Auntie Eirene, just plainsong, nothing 'special'. unless it seems a horribly dire situation. No desire to drop at your feet and miss the outcome of this.""

It's an enviable advantage for Ian to have that his captains, every last one of them, learned seamanship from Wash Kennex himself. The skill imparted on his captains means that the number of orders that he has to give them to manage their choices in the heat of battle is limited, and he's leaving them to their own devices, now. Instead of sending out a constant string of signals to his fleet, he shouts back to his signaling officer: "Get Wash's old lexicon flags out of storage!"

A few minutes later, some very old flags begin to fly over the Kennex flagship, flags first introduced by Wash way back in the days leading up to the Gyre war and kept circulating with the naval lexicon book that he penned. For those with the history and experience to read them, loyalists and rebels alike, there are three flags: "ENEMY" "FAITH" "SHAVS".

Caspian looks over to the kennex ships and sees the flags waving. he scrunches his face in confusion a moment, then begins to jump!, "oh! Oh! i know that one i know that one! that's Wash's flag thingy he made me read the book on." he heaved a body over the siude. "um 'Enemy' well that was a good guess. 'faith' ok, yeah." he squints, "'SHOWERS!'" he nods, looking up, "Kennex thinks the storms about to break! and watch out for the enemy faith ships!"

Its the flags hoisted up by Ian that make Pasquale go from standing at the stern, with a railing clasped tightly in his hand, to softly cursing before he starts giving rapid instructions to the sailors around him. He has to pause a couple of times to cough, a fact that seems to annoy him greatly, but once it is all several of the longships are moving into a position that will help keep Pasquale's ships from being overrun by the northern fleet. "Make sure Duke Grimhall has seen the signals." he tells one. "See if Captain Rossante can get the Gray Wind out of that action." is said to another and finally he looks to Vitalis. "I hope you're ready for a boarding Vitalis."

"Overboard with their dead, and take defensive positions before that shitstorm gets here!" Valdemar yells at his men as he shifts his grip on his greatsword, holding both the handle and the blade's ricasso to wield it almost like a spear.

Denica is short and it's hard to see, but she is standing on her tip-toes in boots to big for her small feet. There's quick words with her shipmates, but the expression on her face doesn't change. It is defiant in the face of what is to come. "Whatever the weather-- we will walk through the storm. There is -always- hope!," her voice is loud and clear and while her eyes are wild with emotion, she believes her words without surrender.

The oncoming fleet from the north get to within ballista shot, and bolts begin to fly. Soon after the longbows start their lethal rain, peppering both sides of the conflict without apparent care or concern.

"It doesn't look like it's just us who think they are going to be a problem. The traditionalists look uneasy too." Quenia remarks to Eirene, nodding in the direction of the Nightcove ships and Dreadcall ships. "So, I tend to agree." She looks around her ship and tells the signaler. "Tell folk not to let up. Stay the course. Also, ready their ships for the storm. Since the new ships haven't signaled, we're not changing plans." This might cause some worry amongst her crew, given that the FAITH is involved, but she does her best to try to reassure them that things are status quo. "If things start to get dicey, Eirene, you've a better hand at commanding a fleet than I do. I'll want you to take over, and follow Ian's lead as best we can."

On the decks sailors grip weapons, ready to begin boarding.

Haakon slowly turns to fix a state on Caspian. The glare doesn't break, even as a bead of Dagonite blood drips down Haakon's helm to cross his eyes. A terse exhale and he finally looks away with a shake of his head. "Sea and Sky strike me down if I lie, it's like he's managed to infect the others with stupid, now." The newcomers lash out at both sides, and Haakon calls, "LET NO DAGONITES FLEE. WHATEVER COMES NEXT, THEIR CAUSE DIES THIS DAY."

Vtialis looks to the signal flags on the Kennex flagship that have Pasquale reacting thus and his brow furrows. A boading though, a boarding he knows. He undoes the stays of Defiance at his side and the shimmering white whip comes to life in his hand, skipping sidewinder across the deck before a twist of his wrist has it leaping into his palm. Vitalis is ready.

Vitalis wields Defiance, an Oakhide whip in glinting white.

There are a few ships straggling near the back of the swiftly closing fleet, not quite maintaining formation or speed. These also bear the flags of the Faith.

When the traditionalists find themselves peppered with weaponry from their presumed "allies", they're taken aback. To their detriment as it leads to some backstabs as they turn their attention to the attacks coming from a whole new direction. A captain from a Darkwater ship shouts, "What the fuck, Waldo?!" as he ducks.

Lucita says, "Both sides? Either their aim is horribly off or they are attacking 'all' of us, both sides! Blast it all, as if we don't have enough troubles."

"Faith or no, remember what these salt-licking manatee fuckers have been doing to civilians," Eirene barks at her lads and ladies. "Stand and prepare to repel boarders!" She lifts her glimmering diamondplate blade. "If they want to take us all on, we're going to bring it." She hopes the traditionalists feel the same about their betrayal.

"Shower? You could use one, Cas. You smell like the ursine you wanna snuggle." Rufio says and then hunkers down as ballista and arrow fire starts anew, "Bloody hell, what is happening here. SOMEONE POINT ME TOWARDS SOMETHING TO KILL." With no shield, he takes cover against railings, or hunkers down behind Caspian. Good pincushion. Catch those arrows baby.

"Uh. Huh?" Corban, it seems, was expecting for the newly arriving Faith ships to be directed at the Victus-led fleet. That they are peppering the Traditionalists as well is, well, it is unexpected to say the least.

Jan says, "I guess dagonites have outlived their usefulness. Festering asspimples!" She looks actively discontented when she turns to Ian "We have to help them or we're fucked-right? That's what I'm seeing. PLEASE tell me I'm an idiot and that's not what this salad-tossing insanity is coming out to say!"

Tesha has joined the Malespero Ship.

The Redreef ships continue their stated mission, weaving through enemy ships and causing chaos and strife like the malcontents that House Redreef are. Ember's flagship approaches the Nightcove flagship. Beneath her skull mask -- Ember smiles, just a bit, as the grappling lines are thrown and hook in. She adjusts her grip on her scythe as she prepares to board the Nightcove ship and attempt to kill every living thing that's foolish enough to come between her and... "Aaahhhnnn-deeerrrsss~," Ember sing-songs. Ember speaking in a sing-song voice is in no way playful-sounding or reassuring.

Quenia eyes the ballistae bolts going towards both presently combating fleets and her eyes widen a bit. "They're attacking their own side of things?" she seems to be echoing Lucita's earlier words. She glances over at the Darkwater ships and the Dreadcall ships, as though trying to gauge how they are reacting themselves. When she sees the surprise that cinches it. "They're attacking the Compact, whomever it is," she decides. "This might be a good time to decide whether it's worth it to fight loyalist vs traditionalist and work together against those coming at us all."

Closer the dark ship sails, but while the others in the 'Faith' fleet volley and prepare to board, Lord Raemond Dredcall has yet to issue any commands. He stands on his deck, arms folded, watching with an expression that borders on conflicted, gray eye casting between ships as shouts ring up and attention shifts. For the moment, the pale-haired man appears to be a neutral entity even as they approach with the others.

The distance between fleets begin to close and those nearest that creeping edge start to come up with casualties. At first, arrows are blamed as it's unclear why people fall, but soon it's clear that it's nothing so obvious, nor so simple:

A sailor on a Loyalist ship, ready to handle the oncoming boarders, suddenly drops his sword and curls his hands towards his throat. In horror, his comrades around him observe his skin go pale and wither, his body curling inward as his scream goes dry, as dry as the rest of him as he becomes a husk of tissue and flesh, collapsing on the deck with a distressing -crunch-. And what's worse? For several moments, his eyes move above his stretched, gaping mouth, still alive in a body robbed of moistures.

A scream comes up from another ship, and another, and another, as more fall to this strange affliction, a mist of humidity shooting upward in a spray of life's water torn from living victims as the line of Abandoned ships creep closer and closer, eating the distance between fleets.

Eirene mutters, "... I hate ... right."

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

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

Victus checks strength and huge wpn at hard. Victus is successful.

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

Caspian checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Caspian is successful.

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

Valdemar checks dexterity and huge wpn at hard. Valdemar is successful.

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

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

Medeia was distrustful of the 'Faith' ships from the moment she recognized them, but seeing their assault include the Traditionalists causes her eyes to go wide. Even her mouth hangs open a bit. And then the horror sets in.

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

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

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

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

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

Lucita checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Lucita is successful.

Vitalis checks dexterity and huge wpn at hard. Vitalis marginally fails.

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

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

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

Pasquale checks dexterity and archery at hard. Pasquale fails.

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

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

Denica checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Denica marginally fails.

Eirene checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Botch! Eirene fails completely.

Thea checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Thea fails.

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

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

Victus checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Victus fails.

Caspian checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Caspian fails.

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

Haakon checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Haakon fails.

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

Valdemar checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Valdemar marginally fails.

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

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

Tesha checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Tesha fails.

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

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

Gaspard checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Gaspard fails.

Lucita checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Lucita fails.

Vitalis checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Vitalis fails.

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

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

Sorrel checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Sorrel marginally fails.

Eirene drops a black leather hat with silken underlay.

Crawfish gets a black leather hat with silken underlay.

Lucita checks mana and performance at daunting. Lucita is successful.

Lucita spots the strange effect that seems to be afflicting the two flicts and sings, sings, sings to protect those on her ship. The battle is too vast for her effort to carry very far without being bolstered in some way. She lifts her voice and does as much as she can but... an arrow has lanced her lower leg and the pain seems to leech some of the volume from her voice.

"You want to try reasoning with these assholes right now?" Ian calls to Jan. Because the melee between the Kennex ships and their targets, the zealot traditionalists, is still going on, and he's pretty busy trying to hold off a shocking number of people who seem intent on making the Sword of Stormward a man in past tense. Between the sheer number of people he's having to fend off and trying to get the signal flags for the rest of the ships on the water, he's only just barely holding his own right now. As a sword swings his way, he grabs it with his alaricite-gloved left hand and jerks the wielder off balance before the hapless rebel can think to let go of his weapon, swinging him around to form a human shield between himself and an arrow coming from the fleet of the False Dominus.

That horror has Medeia grasping at figurative straws and fumbling her trident as she pulls her attention back to the fight immediately in front of her. Catching only air with the barbed points of the weapon, she manages to step aside from the blow intended for her as she shouts to Haakon and the others, "We need to get out of range of those ships! I do not know if what is causing that withering is carried on the bolts, or not, but we must not be close!"

It's inevitable, that a man who demolished his way past the initial wave would find himself under dire threat, and so he takes a glancing blow to his arm, fresh blood spraying faintly with a grunt of dull pain and a faint grimace to boot. Gaspard retaliates in kind, killing the individual before him with one fell swing, teeth knit, eyes wild and focused on the battle at hand.

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

Denica checks charm and diplomacy at normal. Denica is successful.

Those who bear witness to the sight of Ember Redreef boarding the Nightcove ship -- and who survive to tell of it -- will exaggerate in their stories, no doubt, but they will compare her frightening competency and utter lack of mercy to the legendary reaver, Sir Johanan of Wycke. The way Ember moves through a crowd of Nightcove sailors is nothing short of mesmerizing, as if it had been choreographed in advance. She uses the momentum of their bodies against them while also making use of her scythe's weight and heft -- and occasionally pulling in sailors to act as human shields before shoving them forward as weapons in their own right. "LORD ANDERS NIGHTCOVE!" the horned skull-masked woman bellows. "For the high crime of TREASON against HIS GRACE Prince Victus Thrax, RIGHTFUL AND TRUE Highlord of the Mourning Isles, you have been sentenced to DEATH." Ember continues her terrifying advance. "For your crimes against the County of Redreef Shores, its citizens, and House Redreef itself -- I /IMPLORE/ you, Lord Anders -- /RESIST/ me."

Eirene hears Lucita singing and knows this is important. The screams of dessicated sailors reach even above the noise of war and the stream of fluid upward tells her so. She goes to defend Lucita and as the arrow strike the Saik, a second whips right into Eirene's face. She lowers her head to duck and the projectile lodges itself in her hat, her lovely, low-brimmed, steelsilk and leather hat. All the same, the arrow pierces and grazes her skull. With blood trickling down her black and white braids, she tosses the hat aside and stands watch over the Baroness.

Quenia checks charm and diplomacy at normal. Quenia is successful.

Jan wiffs and ducks "WANT and necessity are NOT the same damned thing! What I WANT is to make these insecure momma's boys choke on their own turds but what we NEED to do is defend sungreet. From where I am standing I am not sure how we can do both!" her attack goes wide and she is backpedaling towards Ian looking EXTREMELY displeased at current circumstances.

Tesha checks charm and diplomacy at normal. Tesha is successful.

Quenia glances askance toward something Eirene whispers, momentarily missing out on the fact that some people are just dropping dead. That is, of course, until she sees someone from a nearby ship falling over, looking withered and withdrawn. "Fuckery, indeed!" she repeats in exclamation. "THESE ARE NOT OUR FAITHFUL!" she calls out to those on her ship. "ONLY THOSE ALIGNED WITH THE ABYSS COULD BE USING SUCH FOUL MEANS. WE SHOULD ALL CHANGE COURSE TO INTERCEPT THE NEW SHIPS." Oh yeah, she screams that to any can hear it; traditionalist or loyalist.

Ember checks command and intimidation at normal. Botch! Ember fails badly.

Victus is briefly left awestruck by the chaos that unfolds. He looks to the sky as the clouds eclipse it, then to the fleet that had heralded the storm. Arrows, ballistae, glinting steel was spelling death all around them. The last thing he'd expected was to be involved in a triple threat, led by an unnatural power. The crew who almost literally shrivel and collapse leaves him stunned, the cruel affliction like nothing he'd seen before. "How... How do we...?" His hand runs through his sweat-slicked locks, pushing them from his face as he addresses the battle anew. "Defensive positions, repel the boarders!" The rest could wait, they needed to get this surprise assault contained before that foul spell could grip anymore of their number. He hoists his blade high as the first of the Heretical, or the Shav, whatever came over that rail. The greatsword cuts one down in an arc, sending them tumbling back to the sea below. But there are many, too damn many, and the High Lord is soon struck at his side by a cutlasses' bite. A tint forms close to his hip, but he's still standing.

Tesha wields wings from the ashes diamondplate longblade with elegant flames handle.

Ian checks command and intimidation at normal. Ian is successful.

As the new force assaults from the north with steel and spell, there is an inevitable pressure pushing the Dagonites south with increasing desperation. Haakon's orders are being carried out admirably, this far: the hundred prodigal ships have held their chosen line, keeping the bulk of Dagonites from the dubious safety of open waters, but the blood flows heavy on both sides, now. Haakon wrenches his spear out of a dying man's guts and shield pushes another backward. The weight of bodies slams into him, forcing Haakon back a step and notching his shield as one shoulder takes a sword blow that bruises and bleeds the muscle beneath, but does not break the maille. Often accused of being short sighted, the reaver holds fast to his resolution that the Dagonite fleet should meet it's doom, here.

Thea mutters,"I know I can't talk ANYONE into--,"gasping when she's knocked in the gut. "Fucks sakes!" She starts working on defending herself again, struggling a bit.

The ground grows slick and Acacia missteps. A wicked slash of a blade thrown wild as she reels around to meet another. Her opponent takes the opportunity to return the favor, his hamlike fist firmly clamped upon his sword and swinging for her with a vicious undercut. There's little time to react, but somehow she manages it and avoids the impact. The battle rolls on as she draws a quick breath and moves back into the fray and slowly begins making her way to try to help the over burdened Lord Ian.

Trying to get a better look, Denica finally sees something that makes the colour drain from her already pale face. It's enough to catch her off guard and as she processes her thoughts, her footing is all off. Wasted attempts with a weapon, she cries out when she feels an arrow graze her thigh. "Fuck," she blurts out bluntly at the sudden pain she feels, but she waves off any assistance seeming to be more painful than debilitating. Watching what unfolds she looks at Victus, "the enemy of my enemy? I am willing to try to reason with the Traditionalist, it might be our only choice," she looks hesitant about this, but her eyes are on Victus to see his reaction. Denica is always ready to make an impassioned speech on queue.

It's hard to be sure whether Ian's taken Jan's words to heart or not, but as Lucita starts to sing, he seems to calm and become more focused. Not that this makes him look kind OR gentle. It makes him look like he is just fine with running through anyone who gets in his way, and is fully capable of doing so. But at the same time, like this level of violence from him is no longer a given. His friend's music has pulled him back from the edge of something that nobody wants him to decide to dive off of.

The enemy ships close, ladders and hooks follow, and then bodies. Vitalis lays about himself snaring feet and fouling blows, harrying boarders back from the rail. He is relentless, sending one after another into the sea below, but there is another. And another. And jabbing spears behind the ones trying to gain the deck. One such spear drives home, and he grimaces falling back, a hand pressed to his side. It comes away bloody and he bares his teeth at the boarder, pulling a short blade from its sheathe, eye charm glinting at its pommel, as he moves back in to defend the ship.

Caspian is working his way back toward the eswynd ships as the call to regroup is made. he slips past the last few attacks, slicing at them as he darts past. A twist out of the way of one blow however places him in the line for another. A club crunches into his stomach and tis only his reflexes to dive back with the blow that kept his ribs intact. He scrambles back up to his feet and coughs a few times before setting himself.

Pasquale picked up one of those pre-loaded crossbows not to long ago and lifts it to take a shot before tossing the spent weapon back into a barrel thats presumably been put there just for that purpose. Unfortunately he still seems to have been pushed off kilter by the combination of taking an arrow and being attacked by a whole new fleet with a strange water sucking something somewhere and the bolt doesn't go anywhere useful. It seems fairly unlikely that Pasquale even aimed in truth. The Malespero Voice does however manage to duck under a shield just before the latest volley of arrows pitter patter down and an incoming ballista bolt shatters against the ships reinforcements this time. A lesson learned there it would seem. And whilst he's in the shadow of that shield he closes his eyes for a moment and attempts to refind his mojo. His eyes open a moment later, he stands a little straighter, and he tells the fleet to "Pull back if they will allow it. The new fleet is our primary target."

As horrifying as the fighters may be seeing captains fall to their deaths from apparent rapid dehydration that SURELY must have a normal explanation, surely. Things are about to get more perplexing. A shav ship, one of those with a ballistae, becomes engulfed by a pale mist followed by horrifying screams as men and women find themselves disemboweled by an unseen enemy or their bodies split into 13 pieces. There's a rain of gore on the first ship attacked as the mist clears. No assailant is visible but an attack commences on another ship, much the same as the first. The bodies appear to be dismembered in uniquely horrifying ways. It seems the attacker takes pride in their art.

There's a look of relief? on Trevor's face as he looks upon the carnage on the shav ships and he orders his men to sail closer towards them.

"Just..." Victus sets his jaw and grinds his teeth together. There's ground needed to be given, and it hurts his pride terribly. He starts shouting back to Denica, "Damn the lot of them-- we'll finish the traditionalists another day. This is beyond our grasp, we need everything. Everyone. ANYthing-"

Following along behind Caspian, Rufio ducks an incoming blow and sticks his sword into the fighter who manages to club Caspian, "Get up, you lazy ass. We need to get back!" His voice is twinged with a bit of hysterics as he catches sight of whats happening on some of these other ships with the mist. Hard pass on that. He pulls at Caspian to get the better fighter moving.

Who needs both eyes to fight? Not Tesha! The Voice of the Telmarch has been keeping herself busy trying to make sure that the deck was cleared around her. The one eyed woman wasn't looking forward to the sudden interjection with the mystery fleet, but, it was the way of things. She steadies herself with her sword at the ready. She misses the swing that she aims at one of the people and well...they don't miss in the retaliation as it cuts her hand. It causes her to juggle her sword for a moment, "I'm going to make a rather unconventional suggestion!" she calls out as she keeps her sword up. "Whatever that fleet is bringing WE..." she motions to the ships she's with and the traditionalist, "Do not want to deal with it as a seperate entity. Can we make a truce and take this on together?!" she calls out.

"I am with you, Your Grace," Sorrel mutters to Victus lowly, clearly looking a bit unnerved at what is going on. Maybe very unnerved. She glances around at the others on her ship, then nods to Denica. "If I can help you with diplomacy, I shall do so."

Casting a briefly apologetic look in Haakon's direction, Medeia moves to position herself daringly - out in the open and extended toward the Nightcove ships - to try to catch Anders' or another captain's attention. She hopes her words will reach the hearts (or minds) of the men of her own fleet, as well. "Nightcove! Look upon the carnage wrought and know that we must set aside our differences to survive against... Whatever fell horror Waldo brings!" She raises her voice further, "We have all been betrayed by his false Faith! I know there is honor within you. Join us, for now, so that we might be victorious over true evil and handle our disagreements later."

Corban throws himself in to the battle once more when ships come together, driving his longsword into the Traditionalist sailor rushing towards him with a cutlass and pushing the fellow off before he glances around once more. "What is this?" he asks, of what goes around. "When the attacks were on us, that made //some// sense. But how upon the others?"

The squall arrives with the fleet from the north, sudden winds battering the embattled ships and lending an air of desperation to the conflict. The Abandoned have fully joined the fray. Most are difficult to tell apart from the Compact's own crews, leading to even more confusion and chaos in the battle.

Lucita's color goes a few shades pale as she reaches down and with a gasp pulls the arrow through the lower leg, nothing serious just painful and messy. She finds she has to stop singing long enough to lower her voice and say to Quenia and Eirene "Shadow warriors? That sounds like them.. and from what little can see. We saw them at the Sungreet shrine.. they killed some Knights of Solace before Legate Ailith could stop them with the blessed sunflowers." She catches her breath again and goes back to trying to help protect those on her ship from what she perceives as abyssal harm.

As the new fleet closes, flags are run up on the small group of stragglers at the back of the Abandoned force. At first, these merely appear to be yet more of the Faith's banners (as if those ships weren't decorated enough), but the symbol of the Pantheon isn't usually painted over with the eye of the Sentinel. And the eye of the Sentinel doesn't usually have a big red 'O' painted around it.

There are maybe a dozen ships in total, mostly dromonds but with a scattering of longships, packed to the absolute brim with armed men and women, who are, as one, pounding the butts of their spears against the decks and chanting. Towed behind the ships are perhaps half and again that number of...dinghies. These are also packed with as many people as possible, which amounts, more or less, to three each, and these people are also pounding the little boats with spears and fists, chanting along and threatening to capsize themselves. As the ships draw nearer, the chant can be made out, and it's getting louder and louder. "Orazio, Orazio, Orazio, Orazio, ORAZIO, ORAZIO, ORAZIO!" The captain of the most forward vessel draws her sword and shouts, "JUSTICE FOR THE DOMINUS! KILL THE PRETENDER!" With a mad, gleeful scream, Orazio's Sentinels crash into the back of the Abandoned fleet and swarm over the railings.

Jan's eyes wash over the horror-show and she growls "Alright you raisin-dicked zealots! Let's get these goat-courting turd-munchers!" lifting her sword and stepping back to make it clear she's indicating the latest arrivals are the enemy."

"Well fuck." That's all Eirene can manage, all creativity drained in light of the grisly abysal death before her. "That's a new one for my nightmare list," she says weakly. Then the storm lands and she's grabbing the ropes to stay steady. She answers Lucita with, "It could be. It's not the Claws of the Eater. Too... precise." Then Orazio's Avengers arrive and she giggles a little. "Way to go 'Razi," she says in disbelief.

Although she is little, Denica is loud and the small princess positions herself so she can project it. It is not a favour she wants to ask, it is not a deal she wants to make, but her eyes are filled with determination, none-the-less. But the love for the isles she calls home shines through, and it is from that place she that speaks her words. "The Mourning Isles are under threat. Our Home. The place we all have said we are fighting to protect. So. Let's protect it. I mean that's why we are here right? Because we say want what is best, I implore you to think about what is at stake. To put our politics aside, not forever, but for today. Now. We will all loose if we do not unite. It is as simple as that," Denica is direct, she shouts until she is red in the face, matching the crimson spikes of her battle garments.

"FUCKING DIE," Ember contributes to the diplomatic discourse, as she cuts a Nightcove sailor in half.

It's striking HOW FAST elements on the Kennex ships start to pick up the chant of the Orazian Sentinels, and with how much fervor. It's not everyone, and it's not anyone in command, but boy it's the loud ones. Reactions to this turn of events are mixed, mostly positive, but a few people are looking maybe a little bit nervous.

Haakon gives a furious look aside at Medeia as the lady makes an impassioned appeal to the remaining Dagonite ships for an end to the violence which Haakon seems only too willing to continue. So long as there are Dagonite men holding weapons within reach, the reaver continues seeking to slay them. So long as they are armed as enemies, the fight on this ship goes on.

Thea blinks at all the crazy around her. Her lips thin as she lifts her blade, but not before the pause. She listens, closely. It's then that she hears the Avengers of Orazio and her those thin lips of her break into a smile. Thea straigthens, seemingly to take a second a wind.

Ships both of traditionalists and loyalists continue to suffer from that husk affliction, people rapidly drying out. While those on Lucita's ship are spared, the others aren't so lucky. For every handful of sailors, one submits to fall, screaming and horrified until their vocal cords go dry and silent, even as their eyes swim wildly about in their final throes.

As Ember approaches Anders with her battle-cry and lifts his head to square off against her, mouth opening to reply, nearly as one the people around them begin to collapse. Her people, his people, a fountain of water bursts forth from their mouths as screams are muffled by torrents of liquid. Anders is taking backwards steps, water sloshing over his boots not from the sea that he knows but from the throats of those around him. His look of shock becomes horror, and then discomfort-

The handsome face of Anders Nightcove goes dark as his torso begins to distend and expand, and the frothing, discolored water that burst from the mouths and throats of his brethren does the same to him, spraying the deck as he struggles to breathe, clutching his throat and falling to his knees. Eyes are wide in disbelief and panic, his neck bleeding as he claws at his own skin, collapsing to spasm, booted heels beating the wood beneath him as he flails, and dies, drowning with his comrades on his ship before Ember's eyes.

"Why would shadow warriors be killing those on the new ships though?" Quenia queries to both Lucita and Eirene, furrowing her brow deeply. "Not that I'm going to question that /too/ hard considering those people are using magic to kill us.... but.... I'm confused." And that confusion shows. She sidesteps someone attempting to attack her, swinging out to hit them, but missing instead. She's back in the fray of the battle, it seems. "Eirene, I think it's best you lead there rest of the battles," she decides. "I'm not quite equipped to handle this." The unspoken part is she thinks Eirene has seen freaky shit before.

Acacia has no idea who these people are or what it means, but that's not her issue nor concern. She focuses on the fight at hand. The tall leather clad woman glances to the reactions of the others but doesn't seem moved by any of it. She does, however, silently fight on as hard as ever.

"Set aside our differences?!" A blood soaked Savio wakes up briefly from the red haze of combat, shocked at hearing that twist from Medeia over there. He looks back down at the most recent corpse on the deck in front of him, which has a Throngler-shaped rift in its head now. "...You want to talk about it?" look he tried.

Ember checks composure at hard. Ember marginally fails.

In a lull between fighting for their lives, Vitalis swipes a hand across his face, teeth bared. "What in the name of all that is holy is *that*?" He flings a hand out at whatever is happening to Anders Nightcove.

Eirene shouts out to rally the Saik fleet. "For Orazio SAIK! For our Dominus!" She takes up the chant of Orazio's name for her fallen friend. "Orazio!" It's a good a battle cry as any and it may distract from the horrors around them, which Lucita is sparing them from.

As Anders bloats and gasps and bulges and wheezes and /dies/ -- as does everyone around Ember -- the Crimson Countess whirls around like a feral animal that's been trapped in a cage. "Wh--" she hisses, watching the light leave the eyes of entirely too many people. Her body trembles. "No," she croaks, her voice hoarse from sudden strain. "No. NO!" Ember Redreef does not take being cheated well, especially out of a murder she wanted to commit. A /lawful/ murder. She swings her scythe downward in a brief but (literally) pointed tantrum), to spike it into Ander's swollen, mpreg-esque torso.

Caspian elbows a Dagonite in the nose and kicks him over the said. "Do we have Lady Medeia? Whats that saying? if you wouldn't talk to me at my worst, you dont get to talk to me when there is murdering magical maniacs behind us?"

Medeia checks composure at hard. Medeia marginally fails.

The impassioned pleas from the diplomats among the loyalists seem to have the affect one would hope for. That's not too much of a surprise given their supposed allies fired on them and are -abandoned-, who'd they always considered subhuman scum. They look into the faces of the normal non-abandoned fellow Isles women who beg them to cease their fighting and many of them do in fact yield. Some of the captains of the minor baronies, the Admiral of the Dredcall fleet with the approval of Viktor Dredcall, known hater of shavs, Lostlan captains, the soldiers in the Darkwater fleet despite the please by Baltus Darkwater to continue onwards.

Not Nightcove, though. No... the survivors look on in terror as Admiral Anders Nightcove succumbs to... something. They aren't sure what. But they are /certain/ Ember has something to do with it and refuse to give a truce a chance. Death to the traitors! Anders' cousin, Fred shouts to his men as he calls for bloody vengeance against Redreef and her allies.

Lucita says, "I don't know, Cousin Quenia, I just don't know. Maybe not. Perhaps when you call out for something evil to happen, more than just that occurs or those are sacrifices to fuel this... affliction." She says this between repeating her protective song and goes back to trying to protect her ship again."

Medeia stumbles back from her perch after witnessing what happened to Anders. She's very clearly not okay, but the lady gulps and pretends. Hard.

"Well, that is unfortunate." Tesha looks in the direction where Anders has...dissolved. "More unfortunate that the Countess didn't get to murder him or maybe her words did." she mutters as she shakes the blood that keeps welling up from her hand. "Looks like Nightcove is going to continue though." the scarred woman frowns at that.

Eirene checks intellect and occult at daunting. Eirene is successful.

Whatever Ember's intentions are with stabbing Anders Nightcove's corpse, the result is a spray of viscera and guts under pressure and mostly in her direction, covering the Crimson Countess in the color she so covets, plus a few others. That might be part of a liver on her shoulder, intestines looping over her arms like grotesque jewelry.

Haakon has left the Eswynd Ship.

Haakon has joined the Eswynd Ship.

Whatever else Quenia might have been on the verge of saying dies within her throat as she observes Anders Nightcoves going out in a spray of water and collapsing. She shoots a glance toward Ember and all those also laying dead around her, gawking at the horrifying scenery before her. "Lucita," she addresses her cousin. "For the love of the Gods, please keep doing whatever it is you are doing," she seems to plea. Yeah. These are all things directly out of her element; things Eirene and Lucita have likely both seen aplenty. She was fortunate enough to not have taken part in the Gyre War. She swallows then sidesteps another swipe that was intended for her, most of her own swings still going amiss as each new horror is unveiled.

Pasquale checks mana and occult at daunting. Pasquale is successful.

Ember is covered in a pressurized bath of viscera. After it sputters to its last, Ember stands there for a long moment. The skull mask hides her face, and her body language is terse to the point of frustration. But -- as she stands there, it seems like she's /exulting/ in this. Like she /wants/ everyone on the Nightcove ship, and everyone with the ability to put eyes on it, to see her awash in the guts of her enemy. Her head turns, and the horned skull gazes right -- at -- /Fred/. Then, without another word, Ember pulls her scythe free of the husk of Lord Anders Nightcove -- and moves to pick it up, to carry it back with her toward her own ship. She'll of course fight anyone in her path. Even with Anders in one arm and her scythe in the other, she can still /kick/.

Eirene is watching the chaos with studious eyes. As much gore and carnage as it is, but she's over her initial shock. "Someone specific is doing the water transfers. It requires someone to be channeling that kind of abyssal power, shifting their humors in and out of the bodies. If we can FIND the caster," she says, trailing off. No need to say what they would do when they found them. "The other shit is shadow magic, maybe the Smiling Shadows on contract? Or some assasin wwith a kind of speed and invisibility."

Rufio has left the Eswynd Ship.


"No. The mist isn't our concern." Ian seems to have decided on a change of tack as events unfold on the battlefield, and is now communicating this to his signaling officer. "Relay that it won't bother us if we don't bother it, Lieutenant. Our concern are the Orazian Sentinels. We're not going to leave them unsupported. Shit's going to get weird. Make sure they're ready." "GOING TO GET WEIRD?" The lieutenant shouts back, half taken aback, half laughing. There might be a tinge of hysteria there.

Vitalis checks mana and occult at daunting. Vitalis fails.

Whatever Ember's intentions are with Anders' body, she doesn't get very far; she takes two steps and his body becomes liquid, melting from flesh to bone into a slush that stains the deck and mixes with the others that suffered the same fate as he. There is nothing to take, they are all liquifying into discolored water.

Eirene's commentary seems to confirm Quenia's belief. However, she doesn't look like she understands just what it is that Eirene is explaining. "Just how do you find a caster?" she asks, her voice verging on a bit of her own hysteria. Outside of one short experience and some trees attempting to eat people on a beach once, she hasn't really had experience with magic anything. She glances to Eirene, waiting to hear the answer. It's possbile some of the people trying to fight them have stopped at the moment, eyeing the chaos around them and looking for their own answers.

Jan says, "Keep your assholes puckered! If it attacks stab it if it tries to get past us we get in the way! Same orders different menace!" She works some tension from her neck and surveys the chaos abounding "Don't let the assholes flap your buttcheeks!"

Ian's order overheard draws a sour look from the bloodied redhead, though she makes no comment. Acacia's lips twist for a moment into distaste as launches a savage kick at her opponent. Breath drawn deep and ragged, she sets to trying clearing the decks for what is next to come.

Thea briefly looks over at Ian. "Going to get?" She just looks to agree with the liuntenant and readies for the next wave.

Lucita hears the 'GOING TO GET WEIRD' and rolls her eyes. She reaches out to Eirene in front of her and taps her on the shoulder. "Whiskey, you always have whiskey, I need a flask to wet my throat to keep singing." She leaves it to Eirene and Quenia to figure out what the Ships are doing and just keeps singing, and slowly bleeding into her boot.

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

Eirene checks command and war at hard. Eirene marginally fails.

Ian checks command and leadership at hard. Ian marginally fails.

Valdemar checks command and war at hard. Valdemar is successful.

Pasquale checks command and leadership at hard. Pasquale is successful.

Schhlooorrrppppp. The noise is probably something like that. One moment, Ember is carrying a ripped-open corpse. The next, Ember's cloak and armor are much, much more wet than they were. "Hrrrrrr," Ember growls. So much for the big, fantastic plan to hang a nobleman's corpse from the gates of the Crimson Keep.

Victus checks command and war at hard. Victus is successful.

Ember checks command and war at hard. Ember is successful.

Pasquale stares out at the abandoned fleet for several long, long, moments before finally wrenching his gaze away and throwing up. He ducks fully back under one of the shields and actually pulls his helm off so that he can throw water over his head before shoving the entirely too-warm thing back over his now soaked hair. Is he feeling better? Maybe. He certainly doesn't look as if he's going to throw up again. "Only one thing to do." he mutters before lifting his voice to the captain making a speech sort of level. "We can't run. We Won't Run. Our foes are over there" he points over in the general direction of the abandoned fleet. "And when they are all dead we will be at Peace!" Another commander might back that up with a charge but Pasquale isn't quite that reckless. When his ships start to move its in formation and with whatever allied support he can muster.

Eirene reaches into her coat and hands Lucita a flask. Of -course- she has whiskey on her. "I guess Ian knows what the fuck is going on," she says as the signals are relayed to her. Even if she's a little puzzled herself. Her blue eyes scan the horizon and the Waldoian ships. "Some kind of... I don't know. Person with their hands in a bucket of water and blood? I think that they'd need to keep their concentration up on this, it couldn't be easy. Look for the one in the back waving their hands and muttering is usually sound advice," she tells Quenia. She's thinking hard about something as if weighing her options. She is a little distracted but gives the orders to follow Kennex and provide support.

Eirene gets a standard steel flask decorated with black kid leather from an alchemist's belt with a variety of bottles, vials, and pouches.

Valdemar has managed to keep his crew on task so far, in spite of the people very messily falling dead around them. "Do not give chase to anyone withdrawing! Focus on those who are still attacking us!" he barks new orders to his men between repelling waves of attackers. The Duke moves with a very slight limp at this point.

Haakon's world has shrunk to the southern edge of the sprawling chaos where his longships hold a Loyalist cordon. The magic and madness may cast much into doubt, but until orders from Thrax arrive commanding otherwise, he doggedly continues grinding away at any Dagonite resistance. Abandoned remain a more distant concern.

"Orders, Countess?" asks a Redreef captain. Ember removes her skull helmet after re-boarding the Redreef flagship, so that she can pour some disgusting Anders-sluice out of its interior. Her face is smeared with the color of his dissolution. "We still swear fealty to His Grace, do we not?" Ember says. "Into the fray. We assist the Isles' ships until His Grace calls an end to this."

One end of the Abandoned fleet detaches from the rest, and bears down on the medical ships. It seems that nothing, to them, is sacred.

Ian is asking a lot from his captains at this stage in the fight. They were ready to follow him to victory against a bunch of slaver assholes, but now he's asking them to stop killing the slaver assholes and also go TOWARDS the source of people turning to liquid. TO LIQUID. LOOK AT WHAT JUST HAPPENED TO ANDERS. Also, there's a certain amount of disquiet in his fleet's command as some of the people shouting about Orazio start to get more and more carried away. It's not that they don't know how much he's seen, it's just that they know a little too well how he often fares when he picks those fights. The captains are willing to follow him, but holding discipline on their ships is taking a lot of their attention.

Lucita drinks from the flask once, sings a verse, drinks again and then a l-o-n-g drink that near drains the flask before singing with a little stronger a voice and handing the whiskey flask back to Eirene. "Thanks."

Ember checks dexterity and huge wpn at hard. Botch! Ember fails completely.

Acacia checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Acacia is successful.

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

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

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

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

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

Victus checks strength and huge wpn at hard. Victus fails.

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

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

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

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

Valdemar checks dexterity and huge wpn at hard. Valdemar is successful.

Caspian checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Botch! Caspian fails completely.

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

Pasquale checks dexterity and archery at hard. Pasquale is successful.

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

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

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

Vitalis checks composure at hard. Vitalis marginally fails.

Pasquale checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Pasquale marginally fails.

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

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

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

Caspian checks dexterity and dodge at daunting. Caspian is successful.

Quenia checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Quenia marginally fails.

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

Acacia checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Acacia marginally fails.

Lucita checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Lucita fails.

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

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

Medeia checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Botch! Medeia fails completely.

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

Jan checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Jan fails.

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

Vitalis checks dexterity and huge wpn at hard. Vitalis is successful.

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

Tesha checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Tesha marginally fails.

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

Vitalis sends his senses over the crashing ships and waves, stretching his awareness to the horrors sweeping at them. And he begins to weep. A relentless wash of water down his cheeks. He flinches and his mouth falls open, an inarticulate phrase tumbling forth. He crunches his eyes shut and swipes at them. He cannot stop weeping. The Clement lord stills and looks with wide - and weeping - eyes at Pasquale and Tesha, scared. "Gods, it won't stop." He swipes at his eys again. Is it going to get me too? He clenches his hand around the handle of Defiance and closes his eyes. He's done this before. He opens his eyes, expression resolute, cheeks wet. He wades back into the fray.

Medeia checks 'permanent wound save' at hard. Medeia fails.

Medeia has suffered a serious wound!

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

Medeia remains capable of fighting.

Haakon has left the Eswynd Ship.

Haakon has joined the Eswynd Ship.

Trevor is not having a good time of it, not at all. He has a wound on his arm and is just about avoiding being popped like some of his captains. He stops and breathes heavily as he boards another abandoned ship. Strangely, one that is currently engulfed in mist, as though he feels most comfortable in its presence. His soldiers shout, "My lord, you can't---" and race after him to protect their liege.

Caspian is very confused with all the shouting and magic and blades and he cant help but pine for a moment about the good old days. the days when you just had to worry about the guy in front of you stabbing you and not sucking all your water out. He skewered a man on his knives... only for the man to suddenly explode as the water was ripped from his body. Caspian jumped back with a start.. eyes going wide as the daggers fell into the man's viscera. "Shit!" he dove forward as another blow came at him, hitting the deck and rolling past the corpse to pop up, knives bloody but retrieved. "We need to find who or what is doing this magic and end it before we all end up REALLY thirsty!"

Pasquale looks to Vitalis and initially thinks the man is about to do that drying up and exploding thing. His expression turns hard and grim and he turns until he can only see the sea and the battle swirling around them. He tugs his bow clear of its quiver as he watches, upgrading from those pre-loaded crossbows to his beautiful alaricite bow this time. He pulls it most of the way back, winces, and then tugs the string the last inch or so before sending an arrow hurtling down into the foes attempting to stop him from sinking every last abandoned ship. "Maybe." he mutters before noting that Vitalis is still alive with more than a touch of surprise. "Maybe" he says again "It's time to actually use Arvani Fire." Another look to Vitalis then to Tesha before he looks back to the fleet ahead. Just how much of a mess will that stuff make right now and where is he going to find some..

The chaos is a killer. Or, at least, a serious wounder. Medeia's stumbles and terror have her open to taking a grievous hit that knocks her to her back. With a lot of blood, too much blood, pooling around her. Her breath catches, seething between her teeth as a couple of Eswynder try to get her out of the way of being trampled or further injured. She's not completely out of the fight, but it isn't entirely clear /where/ the blood is coming from.

As the Redreef ships sail into the midst of sheer and unadulterated chaos, Ember is about to bellow orders -- but they just come out as: "BALLISTA!" Ember hits the deck, in the process dropping her scythe, to avoid a ballista bolt that would have comically launched her over the horizon like a cartoon. Ember doesn't grab the scythe just yet as she looks to ensure that the ship's sail is still intact, and pulls on her helmet once more.

As the battle continues, sailors (except for Lucita's ship) continue to dry out rapidly, but now and again someone starts to drown on their feet, discolored water guzzling up until they collapse, unmoving, and liquify on the decks of their ship.

Jan may not be commanding this battle but she is setting a good example! She presses on-wards seeking enemies and no matter the nightmare fuel she sees she presses on and goads and prods the men and women around her with her colorful vocabulary trying to show them there are plenty of problems more immediate than trying to ever sleep again after this.

A cheer goes up near the very back edge of the Abandoned fleet as the Orazian Sentinels secure themselves a ship. Two ships even! Two ships. The dinghies have been properly emptied now.

"We're with you, Lord Malespero." Tesha gives a nod to Pasquale when he is going after the fleet. She then gives a look over to Vitalis when the man is weeping and for a moment she pauses, "Lord Clement...are you alright?" she asks. She'd never seen Vitalis cry and honestly she wasn't sure what to do to comfort someone in the heat of a battle. "It'll be alright." she tells him. Though she does follow in his shadow as he jumps back into the fray. She stabs at one of their foes, but gets another lesser wound in return for it. She'd had worse, but they'd start taxing eventually. "I'm not entirely sure with all of the chaos if fire would be the best of options, my Lord. But I trust your..." she trails off as some sailors start to dry up. "Or fire wouldn't be too bad amongst whatever else is already going on I guess." she breathes out. "Vitalis, if you start to feel any weirdness please shout." she tells the Clement.

"The Mercy ships!" calls out Corban, though, on the Thraxian flag, it is unlikely that they are to sail to take on that side quest. Yet even in the battle against the Traditionalist forces, the former Valardian is a strong believer in the neutrality of the Mercy flag. He smashes an attempted boarder aside with his shield, driving the sword into his back.

Bam, bam, CRACK! Nothing like a little backalley brawling to set a foe back on their heels. Acacia's fists fly as she renews her attack, that is until one of her blades flashes forth to open up an ugly gash that gushes a wave of crimson. Fiercely, she jerks her head up at her opponent as they begin to fall before her. Perhaps a final insult. But her boldness costs her. The blade that bites into her has her hissing a curse like a vexed cat and she's spinning on her heel looking to return tit for tat.

Vitalis shouts from nearby, ""I'm feeling weirdness!""

Among the ships flying Kennex's purple and white, there's a lot of people asking each other, giddy with excitement or terror or a mix of the two if this is REALLY going to be an Ian fight. One of THOSE fights. It is, isn't it? Oh gods, what what this is about to be. And yes. Yes it is. Some will tell stories of this day to their grandchildren, no doubt, but a lot of people aren't going home at all.

Aboard the flagship, Ian bats a spear out of the air with a swipe of his sword before it can hit a sailor standing next to him as the little strike fleet sails into the teeth of the abyss, seeking to link up with the captured vessels. They wind up skirmishing along the flanks of the piecemeal shav fleet, where Ian proves himself just as willing to kill the followers of the False Dominus as he was to kill the followers of the False High Lord.

As bodies keep liquifing, Thea may become distracted here and there. Because---liquify. But she shakes her head and manages to duck just in time.

The mist clears on a shav ship leaving Trevor in the middle of a grotesque blood bath. A man swings above his head, held from a sail by his entrails. A Helianthus sailor throws up on the side of the sea. Between this and the melting corpses, it seems he can no longer hold it in.

It's hard for anyone to be entirely sure of the current state of affairs given the blood shed on either side.

Nightcove are making for the Redreef ships specifically but are not spared the mysterious attacks on their captains. Nonetheless, they have vengeance in their eyes and hatred in their hearts.

Valdemar checks command and war at hard. Valdemar fails.

Eirene checks command and war at hard. Eirene is successful.

Victus checks command and war at hard. Victus fails.

Ian checks command and leadership at hard. Ian marginally fails.

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

Pasquale checks command and leadership at hard. Pasquale marginally fails.

Ember checks command and war at hard. Botch! Ember fails completely.

Quenia continues her battle against those attempting to board the Saik flagship. At this point, it is the Abandoned she finds herself fighting. She does her best to keep out of reach as she dances in between the various forces, stabbing, cutting, jabbing, and slicing here and there. Unfortunately, she's not quick enough to keep all damage from her person. Her arm gets sliced up pretty good as a sword finds its way past some of the chinks in her armor. She finds a moment for another sailor to dash into her place so she can chat briefly with Eirene and Lucita over a few things, making motions toward the Orazian ships, so they can plan their next move. Then she finds a spot where she can keep watch of anything unusual. She frowns faintly as she tells Eirene. "I'm pretty sure everyone looks the same here, Eirene. No one seems to be doing anything unusual other than falling over into splatting puddles of water." Or, you know, dying from evisceration from the mist, but she leaves /that/ business alone. One horror at a time. That horror is not presently threatening them.

Haakon snarls and swears as he turns aside an axe with his increasingly battered shield. A look aside as Medeia falls and Eswynders drag her clear. A short nod, "Wounded back to the longship- Fuck-" His own spear thrust is blocked, "Spill the sand!" he shouts, as barrels of sand kept on hand to smother fire are upended to give some measure of traction on a deck suddenly swamped with sloshing vitae. "Draw half the fleet clear by a bowshot - every second ship, and signal twice if the mist abates," he orders tersely, carrying on the stubborn fight against the remnants of the Dagonite rebels.

Pasquale mutters "Fire would be terrible." mostly in answer to Tesha "But the source of this magic" he looks to one of the sailors collapsing from the water-plague. "Is in there and I don't know exactly" he looks angry for a moment as he takes a moment to shoot at an enemy sailor before turning his gaze directly to the abandoned ships again. A slightly bloody handprint on his bow revealing that he is Not in fact Fine even as he attempts to work out which ship it is he actually wants to sink. "Which one. I'm trying" he sounds frustrated as he admits this. "to decide which path will cost the most."

Some people are desiccating. Some people are exploding in a watery fashion. They are here to fight and Savio is fighting, watching over his cousin and Caspian, the course of the fight having taken him near Haakon for now. He's doing his best to watch the other man's back, but then... one of the other prodigals on the same task seems to suddenly... liquify... and this necessitates a status report. Numb, maybe having difficulty processing this beyond the next dodge or swing. Still, the report is factual. "Shit's fucked, Haakon."

Eirene is holding off boarders better than she is killing them, but sometimes staying alive is what really matters. "Press on," she shouts to the Saik vessels. "Vengenance for House Saik! Vengence for Orazio! For kith and kin." They continue sailing onward, closer to the enemy fleet to provide backup to the Orazio Sentinels. But getting closer also means she can try to spot where their enemy is who is controlling the magic.

"Countess Ember!" shouts a Redreef crewman. "Nightcove, coming from behind -- Abandoned ahead -- we're boxed in!" Ember looks to the enemies blocking off both forward progress and retreat. "We don't have any options, Countess!" the crewman panicks. Ember is using every iota of willpower in her body to avoid screaming in anger. "Don't be stupid," she hisses, instead. "We /fight/."

Lucita is busy singing and bleeding from the first wound and 'OW' then bleeding more, not very fast, not very much, just a small graze against one arm. The throbbing pain makes a good rhythm for ongoing singing. She sometimes speaks briefly between verses. "Look for what may be a ritualist, or mage or... something. Somebody has got to be better at stopping this than me. It is all I can do to try to keep our protective song going. If you can't do anything else, ram some ships to try to disrupt this 'weirdness'. It has to stop, soon, somehow! A shame a 'choir' is not here." And back to singing she goes.

Vitalis curls himself away as a gust drives dust that was once a man into his face. It makes a soft sussurus against his helm, like sand on a windy beach. He clenches his teeth, jaw muscles bunching and looks to Pasquale, "Don't think," he shakes his head, thumping the man in the chest, "Pick. We'll follow you into the Abyss." Still weeping, Vitalis looks over at the strange ships and the rampant chaos. "

"I think we might have already." Vitalis finishes.

Jan continues to press her way forward, her head turning as she bellows and cajoles her fellow fighters to follow with her into the chaotic confusion-her attention divided she takes another blow and gives a pained shout "Puss-guzzling goat-gropers!" more blood beginning to seep from beneath an opening in her armor. She doesn't seem to be loosing momentum even if her annoyance is beginning to snowball.

"Gods damn it! Get your shit together! You're men of the Grim Fleet!" Valdemar growls at his men as the mist, the people desiccating and the ones that are exploding all takes its toll on the discipline of his men. Some are just shaken, some are vomiting, and some stand in wide-eyed shock at what is happening around them. The Duke himself remains in a defensive stance, stabbing at any Abandoned who try to board the Song of Sorrow.

There's a booming sound from the largest of the Faith ships that has so far retained most of her crew. A man stands at the prow, one many may recognise as the Anti-dominus himself. "It didn't have to end this way. I had given you the chance to turn against your folly!" There's a look of fury in his face as he looks upon the damage done to the ships of his shav allies.

Just as Ember says "we /fight/," her flagship shakes -- as crew of a nearby Redreef ship wither and/or water-bloat, making the briefly out-of-control ship bonk into Ember's cog. It's far from the finest military moment in Redreef's history, and Ember will specifically note that the historians and storytellers of her County should not bring up the time that an entire longship's crew mysteriously died for no readily apparent reason, and that longship ended up ramming its own fleet's flagship. "Hrrrr!"

Tesha checks mana and theology at daunting. Tesha fails.

Everything is happening all at once and Denica is watching everything unfold with overwhelmed blue eyes. But, she stands her ground. And while the dagger might shake in her hand, Denica manages to move like she stole it, out of the way.

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

Victus checks strength and huge wpn at hard. Victus marginally fails.

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

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

Valdemar checks dexterity and huge wpn at hard. Valdemar is successful.

Vitalis checks dexterity and huge wpn at hard. Vitalis marginally fails.

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

The Orazian Sentinels are nowhere near where Waldo appears, but his appearance does not go unnoticed. They start chanting even louder. ...That said, thanks to the efforts of the Kennex and Saik fleets, they are increasingly near allies, even if they aren't exactly paying attention to it.

Denica checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Denica is successful.

Lucita checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Lucita is successful.

Haakon gives a short snort to Savio, muttering, "Damned if I'll admit it after, but you may be right," he rumbles. Surveying the sea of torment surrounding them as half the Eswynd fleet draws back, and a signal horn is sounded twice. "Hrh. Some luck: a bowshot back the fucking sorcery lessens. For now, let's get we there-" He points his bloody spear at the besieged Ember's cog. "And cut the Redreef loose of the mess she's landed in. Damned Dagonites, paying more attention to a Barony than a March. A fucking insult, that."

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

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

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

Acacia checks dexterity and small wpn at hard. Acacia marginally fails.

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

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

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

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

Caspian checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Caspian fails.

Victus checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Critical Success! Victus is spectacularly successful.

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

Acacia checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Acacia fails.

Denica checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Denica fails.

Vitalis checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Vitalis fails.

Eirene checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Eirene fails.

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

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

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

Haakon checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Haakon fails.

Tesha checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Tesha fails.

Pasquale checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Pasquale marginally fails.

Lucita checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Lucita fails.

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

Savio checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Botch! Savio fails completely.

Valdemar checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Valdemar marginally fails.

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

Ian checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Ian marginally fails.

Medeia checks dexterity and dodge at hard. Medeia marginally fails.

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

Eirene remains capable of fighting.

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

Tesha remains capable of fighting.

Savio checks 'permanent wound save' at hard. Savio fails.

Savio has suffered a serious wound!


Its only a few moments after Pasquale admits that he was struggling to make his decision that he makes it and that decision is to order an all out attack on the abandoned fleet. Ignore the traditionalists. Ignore keeping reserves. Abandon the Dromond and put everything, everything from sailor to signaller, into victory. He throws everything he can into the fight against the shavs and his signals to the other fleets ask that they do the same. If only there were signals to cover exactly what he needs to convey which wouldn't take an hour to code and convey. Driving the dromond directly into the side of another vessel he draws his flamboyant mirrorsilver veined sword and lifts it in emphasis of his shout "Death or Victory!" And with that cheery battlecry he hops over the rail after the marines that should already be swarming that way, intent on finding that blasted mage before they can murder any more of his crew. It should be mentioned that Pasquale is not the most artful or brilliant of swordsmen and he takes more than a few strikes and bashes as he attempts to push his way through the enemy. How lucky he came prepared with both heavy armor and determination. His blows might not do more than scratch his foes but theirs dont do more than scratch him neither. Still, considering how many times he's been hit today, and his general lack of vigor, its something of a miracle that Pasquale is still going.

From the thick of the fighting on his ship, Ian's voice calls out, responding to Waldo with a voice trained to carry over the chaos of battle and driven even louder by a surge of some emotion that he himself may not fully comprehend: "JUSTICE FOR ORAZIO! DEATH TO THE PRETENDER!" He appears at the edge of the deck at the tail of this shout, literally cutting through some unlucky shav who didn't get out of the way fast enough, as though parting a curtain with his blade. A very, very bloody curtain. His face is spattered red. Some of the blood shining on his alaricite gauntlet is probably his, at this point. It's almost incomprehensible, the way that he's started fighting, that it's not. But a lot of it isn't. A lot of it belongs to the shavs who put their faith in Waldo. His electric blue eyes are on fire, almost luminous. He's in no position to actually try to carry out that threat, but his eyes are not the eyes of someone who would hesitate, if he were.

Ember finally makes it to picking up her scythe, and as she looks up, the Eswynd fleet is coming to the rescue -- fifty Eswynd ships helping to clear a path for the much fewer in number Redreef congregation. "Hhh," Ember breathes as she grips her scythe tight. "I suppose I'll let Lord Haakon keep borrowing Lady Medeia for another year."

Like all Saik women, for better or worse, Medeia is STUBBORN. Which means that the lady is still brandishing her trident as she bleeds profusely. Even as her guards drag her out of the way, she jabs the barbed ends of the wepon at the face of some assailant, taking an enemy's eye in the process. She almost gloats, but that same enemy lashes out in their pain, and Medeia is in no shape to properly defend herself. The blade finds a weak spot as it falls, causing the lady to cry out once again as new blood pours from her. (Her guards aren't so much concerned as annoyed. Feebly, yet with conviction, the lady is overheard muttering about justice.

"Orazio was my friend, you abyssal pig-fucking son of a forgotten asshole," is Eirene's battle cry as she makes her way for Waldo's vessel, cutting through any of his Abandoned or loyalists who stsand in her way. "FOR SAIK," she continues, rallying her soldiers. "FOR THE FAITH! FOR ARVUM!" Her fierce shout is cut temporarily short by a slash to her leg by an abandoned with a lucky shot. She responds by headbutting him with her already bloddied scalp and running him through. Ever closer to her target.

Some time during the fight, the dark ship that arrived with the Anti-Dominus' fleet and his horde of Abandoned, has slowly shifted towards the other Dredcall boats. Indeed, it's noted that as some ships draw back and the effects of the strange, horrifying magic lessen, Lord Raemond Dredcall is leading his kin and other Traditionalists ships further back and away. He does not attack and those that follow him cease their efforts to attack as well.

They wait at the edge of the battle, and while Raemond and his crew have remained neutral, they are a silent sentry as the ships around them recover and tend to their wounded, their arms laid down. White flags are slowly being raised on every ship. Every ship, save Raemond's, who continue to drift stoic and unarmed. Even his rapier is sheathed.

Acacia hisses with pain. Her hand, still clutching her blade, vigorously pressing to the wound as she squares up with the man. Her temper seems to spike and gets ahead of her and she hurls herself hard into her attacker. Teeth bared and eyes blazing, her brain is clearly not thinking. They're ready for her and her swings are easily blocked. A thickly muscled arm coils back and a heavy fist driven into the Red Culler's jaw that sends her reeling into the crowd. Can't win them all.

"For Orazio,"Thea cries out loudly, blade high. She rushes forward with a bit of a stumble. Thea ducks and never wavers, conviction on her face.

Lucita near yells as she takes a fourth small wound. "You scummy offal from the underside of a diarrhea afflicted skunk! I just had this armor cleaned and repaired, now just look at it!" She sings more, anger driving her voice to be stronger and that poor man who managed to score a cut on her finds her short spear driven through his throat and him shoved overboard.

Between the efforts of the Loyalists, the Traditionalists, and the Orazians, the Faith's flagship is beseiged and stormed. In short order the flag is struck, the caravel surrendering to the warships surrounding it. Waldo himself, still screaming vile imprecations at his foes, is hauled from the prow; after another short fight between the victorious he's transferred across ships to be brought before Victus himself. Around them the battle starts to die, leaving spars and beams and broken hulls scattered upon the stormy seas, and the bodies of sailors strewn to mark the boundaries of battle.

With half the Eswynd fleet drawn back in a wide line along the edges of the sorcery afflicted battlefield, the remaining half drive toward the Nightcove ships besetting Redreef, a fresh round of shouted battle cries raised as the prodigals strike at the foe who so loathes them. Haakon stabs one sailor through the throat, and boots the staggering corpse over a rail into the storming sea. His lip curls in something between a smile and a sneer as his gory weapon is raised toward the countess in salute.

In the eye of the storm, it is calm. There is clarity, there. But it only takes a moment, to get knocked back into the fray. Blood soaks the wood under Denica's feet, her delicate figure moving quickly, and trying to use her smaller stature to her advantage. But those around her are just so much bigger, it's easy to get overwhelmed. With fire in her eyes, she keeps her blade held tight in gloved fingers, drawing it through space like a brush across canvas. In that moment something shifts and she narrows her eyes and she lunges at one of the men out for blood. It was a bold move, and while her knife pierces through the flesh with her eyes dead locked on her opponents, her scream echoes his as someone hits her so hard in the back she is knocked forward pushing the lifeless body in front of her.

Jan bellows and echos Ian "JUSTICE FOR ORAZIO! DEATH TO THE CANKLE-WORSHIPPING TURD-NIBBLER!" sweat mingles with blood but the tall broad-shouldered woman continues to press on, occasionally pausing to push bodies out of the way with a foot or hop-scotch to clearer killing ground.

Vitalis fights, grim-faced and tear-struck, dagger and whip, doing little more than keeping his hide intact and making a hash of that as another blade slips his guard. He falls back to Pasquale and Tesha, blood a dark and spreading stain on his armor, eyes bright with the constant tears. "Doesn't seem to be getting worse. I'm awfully thirsty." He smacks his lips and shakes it off. When Pasquale leaps the railing, Vitalis follows, determined. He did promise, after all.

When it comes time to rush the Faith's flagship, or, well, "the Faith's" flagship, Sir Corban places himself near the front of the boarding party so that the eager Thraxian forces do not tear Waldo limb from limb. And so it is that Sir Corban marches with the other sailors to place the anti-Dominus before the High Lord. "The prisoner is secured, Your Grace, so that he might answer to the True Dominus for his crimes against the Faith."

"For Orazio, For Saik, For Arvum!" Quenia echoes the cries of those on the ship she's on, dashing continuously between those who board her ship, sword arm moving with precision as she fells enemies around her and dances out of their way when they come for her. The number of battles she's been in since the start of the war has been significant and the skill she's picked up in fighting shows. This is something she knows how to do, and while the normal death and carnage around her doesn't seem to bother her at the moment, it will assuredly do so late.

Prince Victus moved with surprising speed for a warrior of his build. Swords and arrows miss him only by inches. Injuries thankfully won't bog him down as he fights alongside the crew, Denica, Corban and Sorrel. Every arc of his greatsword sends a spray of blood through the air and knocks aside another traitor. Whether they be followers of the Anti-Dominus or the Traditionalist rebels, the Thrax ship manages to hold their own as the battle wanes.

Finally finding a moment of reprieve, Victus takes his time to catch his breath. His armor was still stained and he'd surely be sore in the morning-- but for now, they could count their lucky stars they were alive. Less fortunately, the Anti-Dominus Waldo himself had been dragged onto Thrax's flagship. Striding beside corpses and loyal soldiers alike, Victus kneels down to observe their new capture, closer to eye-level.

"Well." The High Lord doesn't look happy, necessarily, but his eyes are shining with hints of satisfaction. "Isn't this good news? Your faith was always misplaced, you sore zealot. Pity it took this long to realize it."

Tesha is starting to become worried. The older woman tended to keep calm and collected, but Vitalis' tears and Pasquale's frustration is something that is not something she has in the playbook against armies or dealing with soldiers. Maybe she needed to add a note to focus on this some more. IF THEY LIVE! She gives a nod, "Alright." is the only thing that she says to Pasquale. In with the Malespero soldiers. "Vitalis, you cannot die here." she tells the man. But, then Pasquale is leaping and Vitalis follows. "Well fuck!" the Telmarcher states as she yanks her sallet off and throws it onto the deck. Revealing the scarred face and one eye. Her one eye is frantic as she jumps over the railing after them. She gave her word. She wasn't going back on it.

Savio will later blame this on Haakon, for shifting his paradigms mid fight and saying something so shocking as YOU WERE RIGHT. But it isn't Haakon's fault, it's an enraged enemy who -- recently Throngled -- takes one more swing at Savio before he falls, and cracks a greatsword into the Saffron Islander. Steelsilk is great, but it doesn't stop /everything/, how could it? "AGGGHH oh my GODS you fucking wet-dry genocidal old-school ass-backwards dog-licking piss pirates! You broke my fucking arm!" He kicks the corpse in the head. "Negotiations are totally fucking over!" Cause way back there they were gonna talk this out.

Medeia checks 'unconsciousness save' at easy. Critical Success! Medeia is spectacularly successful.

Medeia remains capable of fighting.

Eirene says, "Razi would want justice. A fair trial and a proper defence. Sentinel and all that." She sheaths her sword and sets onto the second half of her duties. "RIGHT! Heron's Wing! Triage and treat," she says to her battle medics. "Spread out and coordinate with the Mercy's. And kick anyone in the teeth who resists care." She stops to watch the dark ship sail away with a scowl. "Fucker must be there," she surmises. "Wonder who it was..."

The Orazians are only bolstered as their call is taken up on all sides, and by the time Waldo is hauled before Victus, they're simply mingled in amongst all the rest, yelling with delight (and for blood. With delight). "Justice, justice, justice!" Which? Who knows, but they're very pleased, and very intent on Victus now.

Pasquale slowly drags to a halt as the battle peters out around his headlong charge. His sword somewhat bloody and his expression filled with that wild battlejoy that takes men sometimes. He lets the tip of his sword droop towards the deck as he realises its over and only then starts looking around, tallying his lost.

A professional bodyguard, Sir Corban can feel the crowd begin to form around the Anti-Dominus and the High Lord and it puts him on edge, even as he steps to the side of Waldo, in a practiced positioning. "Your Grace," says the First Captain, urgently. "I can take this man below and secure him in quarters. We risk much keeping himself out on deck."

Caspian was hacking away at the last of the foes, alaracite biting through armor and flesh easily. He turns in time to see a massive blow dealt to savio! Concern flashed on his face, his grin fading "SAVI--OH!" He was so focused on his patron he failed to see the man behind him with an axe. the blow caught his helmet, and the high quality steel turned the blade and deflected it to his shoulders. The blow drove him to his knees with a grunt. without thinking, he drove his elbow back into the man's groin, then spun and slit him from navel to neck. that dealt with, he headed back over toward Savio. Savio was quick showing his good health by cursing out the enemy in spectacular fashion.. so the smile returned to caspian's face.

On the Kennex ships, an electric atmosphere of near hysterical controlled fear mixed with wrath gives away abrubtly to an equally near hysterical atmosphere of celebration as the ships start to link up freely with the Orazians they sought to support, and the Saik ships that have been their close allies through this entire, terrible nightmare. Men and women who'd never met before this moment are hugging like old friends reunited. Aboard the flagship, Ian, not yet swept up by this atmosphere, scans the battlefield, and is left looking at the black ship that floats off on its lonesome, and at Lord Raemond on the deck. He angles his head and then, with a faint flicker of a smile, lifts a hand in salute, before turning his focus back to his command.

The appeals for justice and a trial are punctuated by an enthusiastic shout for the Eswynd contingent as Haakon bids Victus, "SAIL BACK WITH HIS HEAD ON YOUR PROW, THRAX."

Jan scans the decks for any prisoners and barks orders for one of the men she brought onboard with her to fetch her first aid kit. She makes her way towards Ian, stepping over bodies and trying not to slip on entrails and other stuff she'd rather not fall face first into.

Vitalis fights alongside Tesha and Pasquale to the last, until the enemy are dead or surrendered. And, suddenly, with the false Dominus' capture, and the cries of 'Justice' and 'Orazio' the battle is over. Is it? Vitalis swipes at his face, making a bloody-watery mess of it, and looks to the traditionalist ships. White flags. Vitalis blinks and follows Pasquale back to the Gray Dawn, swiping at his eyes all the way.

Victus rises to his feet once more, his sword hovering beside the Anti-Dominus' face. "He is an enemy of the Faith, it's true. Yet his lies, his bravado have cost countless Islander lives in this war. The pain you have caused, the blood that is on your hands against the Mourning Isles... That cannot stand." He hoists the blade up and back onto his shoulder, his attention shifting to the myriad of Orazio's Sentinels calling for retribution to be done. "Justice? You want justice?!" He shouts over the crowd. "Then for the fallen Dominus, for our kin, for this pretender to DARE raise his hand against the Mourning Isles-" Barathrum was held high above his head, the bloodstained alaricite gleaming in the light. "JUSTICE BE DONE!"

The High Lord swings his blade, aimed to snuff the Anti-Dominus' life at the traitor's neck.

Lucita hears Eirene start to organize the medics. She lowers her weapon, manages to rummage in her pack for a bottle of whiskey and takes a couple of gulps before passing the bottle around to the ship's crew, medics, and healers. She sinks down to sit on a sand bag near the rail, leaning forward with her elbows braced on her knees and hands holding her head. "I'm tired, I'm so tired, exhausted and my head. ... Oh... my head!"

The turn of the battle's tide catches Acacia off guard. Her sprint to get back into it is paused by the large hand of a man as she passes buy. She growls and turns to face him, blinking a moment as she recognizes a friend not a foe. Disoriented, she glance about at the happy hugging people. Her hand fall loosely to her side and she slinks off to get out of the way of the frivolity apparently seeking a space to retire and see to her cuts and bruises alone.

"It's done," Valdemar tells his men as the battle wanes and finally dies down. Taking his helmet off to have a look around, his brow furrows for a moment before he raises his voice and orders, "Set sail for Grihem's Point." As orders are relayed to the rest of the Grim Fleet and its ships begin to sail west, he heads below decks.

"Wait, what?" Eirene looks up as Victus bellows and raises his sword high.

Valdemar has left the Grimhall Ship.

Sir Corban might be able to keep the Orazio's Sentinels from making a move on the Anti-Dominus, but the High Lord rules on this ship and the judgment is passed. There is a brief shake of the First Captain's head in his barbute as he steps aside from his position at the Anti-Dominus' side, moving off towards below-decks before the blade lands, tension in his shoulders, whatever is said solely said below his breath.

Ian turns towards Jan and cracks a brief smile. "Baroness Saik? We're all blasted lucky to have her. I'll tell you about Lord Raemond once I'm a lot more drunk than I am right now." Moving through the ship, now, he claps Acacia's shoulder as she starts to retire. "I don't think I ever promised you adventure, did I? Probably should have. That was some damned good fighting." The cheer that rises as Victus administers his justice catches his attention, now, and he looks towards the High Lord's ship, and grins. It's only a brief savoring of the moment, though because Thea is right; the wounded will have to be seen to. There are a lot of them. "Let me assign some officers to your command, Countess."

Face both red and pale at the same time, blue eyes wrecked with pain and exhaustion, Denica watches as Waldo is executed. There's a sense of comfort or relief to see justice served. Taking in a slow breath, she lets her eyes glance about, but she doesn't quite move. Rather, she just stands there in silence and tries to feel the wind in her hair again.

The Orazian Sentinels all quiet as Victus begins to speak. It's almost reverential, if still somewhat...energetic. They're completely, utterly silent as Waldo's head hits the deck, and for a few moments after. Then one of them starts cheering. And the one next. And the captain from before. And then they're all erupting into elated cheers. "Justice, justice, justice!" along with the occasional, "FOR THE DOMINUS!" and the slightly more occasional correction, "...THE CURRENT DOMINUS TOO!"

Acacia grimaces as Ian claps a hand on her back and offers him a dry look. "Of course. What did you expect?" she offers back with a light lift of her chin. There's an upnod to Jan, Thea and Gaspard and she continues her retreat.

From the Redreef cog, Ember watches as the distant figure of Victus turns the distant figure of Waldo into a figure whose head falls off. Ember's sailors cheer and applaud the Highlord, but Ember herself is deathly still, watching from behind her demonic-looking mask.

Wordless shouts of acclaim are raised from the Eswynd ships at Victus' pronouncement, judgement, and sword blow. Spear hafts, sword pommels, and axe handles are struck against shield rims in a great clatter of acclaim; despite the myriad horrors, the visceral roars of approval carry the sense that- at least among these prodigals- their war for survival is won with Waldo's death.

Corban has left the Thrax Ship.

Victus holds the head of Waldo high, letting all see the demise of Waldo, and to what would hopefully be the final blow to this heresy. For the first time, he cracks a smile in the exultation of the battle-hardened sailors, joining in their cheers. "TEARS IN OUR WAKE! NEVER AT OUR WAKE! We sail to Arx with a gift for the Faith!"

Jan says, "I'll hold you to that, cousin! And I'll be sure to bring the whiskey." She nods to Acaia in greeting and goes to help Thea "This will be fun."

"No use crying over spilled blood," Eirene says as she shakes her head. She has more important things to do, myriad of wounded to attend to. "Let's turn Waldo's flagship into the hospital, bring those who can be moved there, treat the rest in place. Send my orders to Deia and Thea," she continues to one of her soldiers. Now comes the butcher's bill and the medic's turn.

Vitalis joins in the calls, "For the Faith!" He lifts a bloodied fist and then turns to go collapse below deck.

Ember has left the Redreef Ship.

Vitalis has left the Malespero Ship.

Denica has left the Thrax Ship.

Tesha has left the Malespero Ship.

Jan has left the Kennex Ship.

Pasquale has left the Malespero Ship.

Eirene has left the Saik Ship.

Ian has left the Kennex Ship.

Trevor returns to his ship and greets his wife as she stands, on the deck. She's damp. Did she take a dunk? Then they retreat below.

Quenia has left the Saik Ship.

Lucita has left the Saik Ship.

Victus has left the Thrax Ship.

Event logging is now on for this room.

Server Announcement: Server Message of the Day: The game has had a catastrophic data failure requiring a reboot from the last save, which was three weeks ago. All game data since February 4th has been lost. Please see the post on the News bb for more information. Staff is working to restore what we can from logs, but it will likely be a few days so any non-critical requests should be held until we can get that done.

Victory for the loyalists! But not without cost. The events of the second battle at Sungreet are sure to remain ingrained in the participants' brains for eternity, no matter how much they'd wish to scrub the memory. It had seemed an easy victory in the beginning, given the dwindling forces of the traditionalists thanks to the diplomatic efforts that had prompted a ceasefire from many traditionalists houses in the wake of Prince Dagon's death and numerous losses. Houses Dredcall, Nightcove, Lostlan, the Darkwater rebels and some minor baronies seemed willing to keep the fight going. Even if they were to lose, they would lose with honor knowing that they served a righteous cause...

While Waldo's arrival was not a complete surprise given many had expected a confrontation with the so-called 'Anti-Dominus' at some point. Very, very few had expected him to arrive heralded by a storm cloud (which no scholar had predicted) and few hundred ships bearing shavs with their unfamiliar emblems. What had come as even more of a surprise is that the shavs began to fire on their traditionalist 'allies' as well as the loyalists. What had proceeded was a blood bath. Some captains began to drop dead from some malady and/or drown, depending on who tells the tale. Some insist that the malady had caused spontaneous dehydration and that the were drownings due to the expelled bodily fluids but others are pretty sure this madness brought on by shock. Still, they do not seem inclined to rethink what they saw, even after the fact.

The shav ships did not fare much better as an unseen assailant, shrouded by the mist, tore many of their number to shreds in increasingly grotesque ways that many struggle to describe. The assailant seems to have seen the murders as a form of 'artwork' and no one has yet claimed them as their own.

A turning point came when numerous traditionalists, realising their hopes of an honorable victory were lost given their Anti-Dominus was allying with their dreaded enemies, were swayed to side with the loyalists to defeat the shavs and the anti-Faith. All but Nightcove. For while these impassioned pleas were being expressed, Countess Ember Redreef expressed her desire to butcher Admiral Anders Nightcove, followed by the man, along with his soldiers', subsequent drowning. Or as some more imaginative folk would claim, 'dehydration followed by melting into a puddle of goo'. The Nightcove forces, horrified by this turn of events, turned their rage to the Redreef fleet, keen on vengeance for their Admiral's demise. The strange Orazian Loyalists known as the Orazian Sentinels has snuck into battle with Waldo's fleet, only to turn on the man's forces for vengeance for their beloved Dominus.

With a majority of the traditionalists turning their attentions to the shavs and Waldo, Nightcove locked in battle with Redreef and Eswynd, the Orazian Sentinels attacking and overtaking the anti-Faith's fleet, luck seemed to turn around for the loyalists. After an extended and excruciating fight, the Anti-Dominus' ship was overrun and Waldo was brought before High Lord Victus himself. Between calls for justice (in whatever form) from the Orazian loyalists, a fair trial from some of the loyalists and a swift execution from others, Victus had quite a selection of choices. Admonishing Waldo for his acts that had claimed the lives of many, the High Lord swiftly brought his alaricite axe down and freed the man's head from his body, hanging the head on the prow of his ship on his return home.

Traditionalist forces were given the choice of kneeling and swearing to end thralldom in their domains or face a similar justice. Around 30% of their forces had refused to fully submit and were executed to send a message that the High Lord takes abolition very seriously. The surviving Nightcove forces had retreated, presumably to their domain, and seem to be the sole traditionalist house that refuses to submit.

All, in all, it was a successful, albeit costly and very, very confusing endeavor.

Given Arx's location so very near the sea, storms are not unusual, especially during the shift of spring into summer. So, at first, no one seems concerned when dark clouds gather out at sea. As usual, the citizens of the city hunker down and prepare to wait out the storm, which is usually mercifully brief.


Yet as the dark clouds sweep over the city of Arx, the strength of the storm is something of a surprise as heavy rain, strong winds, and rumbling thunder make the city streets almost impassable save for the bravest and most determined of travellers. Even worse, the storm lingers, leaving some ships stranded on the docks and preventing the arrival of other ships. Even worse, there are some ships that are missing and have not been accounted for, along with their crews.

The stormy weather is the most common topic of conversation whether it be lamenting a flooded garden or speculating on when the storm might end. Temples in the city see an increase in activity as some choose to beseech the gods to turn off the rain for a bit so that the city can dry out, particularly as the storm rages on and there seems to be no end in sight...

Arx endures the strength of the storm, but the longer that those dark clouds drop endless rain on the city, the more its people begin to suffer the consequences. Flooding and accidents are rampant. While the upper parts of the city also have to deal with the excessive water, no part of the city floods worse than the Lowers and, by extension, the Pravus Ward. Only the valiant efforts of the Lowers denizens keep that part of the city relatively safe while the organization of House Pravus and its vassals do the same for their Ward.

The closed markets, empty for days due to the storm, mean that many merchants and middlemen suffer the economic cost of the storm as well. They aren't the only ones. Dockworkers cannot work in the thundering rain and miss their wages. Ship captains with perishable goods in their ships' holds face financial loss, maybe even ruin. Even the highest eschelons of the city are not spared as the flooding leaves some of the great manors and compounds of the wealthy almost uninhabitable.

Many citizens turn to the gods in such a time. The shrines of Mangata, Gild, and even the Sentinel are crowded with far more supplicants than usual. The Faith may appreciate the increase in the faithful and their generous donations, but even the clergy begins to fear that if their prayers aren't answered soon, the people might begin to blame the gods for the deluge instead.

After a night of the strongest winds and fiercest rain yet in the course of the storm, the dawn comes with sun and the beginnings of blue skies as the dark clouds sweep back out to the sea. Now that messengers are able to reach out to the further reaches of the Compact, it becomes apparent that the rest of the kingdom did not suffer from such a storm. People might find it strange and, perhaps, privately wonder if this is the response of the gods to the recent conflicts that have rocked the Mourning Isles, but as the city of Arx begins to recover from the damage of the storm, most don't try to wonder too hard about the cause as much as cleaning up the aftermath.

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