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Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 19, 2008 9:28:18 GMT -5
Leoxander ...was wasted. Frankly, there was a point he got tired waiting in his hold stubbornly for her. He hadn't gotten himself locked up unprepared. Sure, he'd already rammed a fist through the door and proven he was strong enough to break out, at anytime he wanted. But he'd also hurt his knuckles in the process and decided to let his prey come to him. It was a long bloody wait... but he had a few bottles to really mess him up in that time. She was gonna be sorry when she actually showed up, considering he could walk. Oh but the fight was still in him. A low growl from the cargo hold was followed by a deep belch. Yep. Bring it.
Tenebrae was -so- fricken sick of that rigging right now. She'd clambered back up, just in case he -did- break through timber. Again. The rumble of a burp erupted from the hold below, loud enough to reach even up there. "Never did have any manners." She was hanging by a stout rope, feet wedged to a crosshatch of knots, and swaying in the breeze. Her voice was raised, even though lycan ears were no doubt as sharp as her own. Sharper, probably, but what the heck, she was in a yellin' mood. "Hope your guts explode." It was the best she could do, with her sea-stomach acting up and the to-and-fro of the ship was really not helping.
Leoxander replied back with a sneer. "Don't you wish..." His voice a deep rumble of bass pitch. Oh - right. That was exactly what she wanted, so his comeback wasn't that great at all. Wait, where was he? Mismatched eyes rolled in the enclosed space he was kicked back in, one red eye squinting toward the light, even if it was the light of the moon. Stumbling up to his feet with an empty bottle in hand, he thumped his palm against the hatch hard enough to knock it open, the barring already snapped in half by a hand earlier that evening. He didn't crawl from the hold yet, knowing she had some horrible plans waiting somewhere on the deck. Jack had cheated and told him so. But he made it easier to hear and holler back. "Well... I bloody hope you get saggy and wrinkled... someday..." The pirate would gesture drunkenly. "After I'm gone..." Hopefully that clarified that. Maybe not so greatly composed words after all. "The hell're we talkin' about?"
Tenebrae was also sick of hiding out. She slid down a halyard, heedless of the way it made the sail bunch up. Bit like somebody's undies. "We're talkin about you. Cheatin' on me. With that flissy tart." The words'd be punctuated by each jerk of the rope as the canvas gathered up, until booted feet hit the deck, the necromancer in a wary stance despite limbs stiffened by chill winds. Nope, she wasn't running anywhere.
Tenebrae shouted, "You comin' out, or hidin' down there all day? Wuss."
Aerindir was keeping his distance, well away from the pair, as he purposely blocked out what all they were saying. He after all doesn't want to be labeled as an eavesdropper, or a snoop, especially not if it were Tenebrae doing the accusing. As such, he's letting his mind wander, so that while he is still aware of the present, the words spoken aren't understood, at least consciously.
Leoxander raised his voice into an angry yell that held a snarl, speaking too quickly to be lying. "I never bloody did a thing with anyone! I never -once- cheated on you..." Here the pirate would proceed to call her names. So many names. Every damned name in the untitled book of names he could think of. He was mad, and the vicious pound cracking strong built oak walls meant to tolerate things like sharks and sea monsters would prove this. The bottle he had was thrown, violently, onto the upper deck and somewhere in the direction of her voice, but far from the necromancer, glass would shatter along wood, clearly aimed blindly for her.
Tenebrae glowered, stepping across a crackling sheen of glass shards to the entrance of the stairwell. "Liar. You were seen. Callin her "pretty" and "doll" and she was all "babe" and "Oh... Leo.." Coulda had the decency not to shame me..." She'd kick what was left of the timber, sending splinters down in a wooden hail. ".. in public. Or anywhere. But no, not Leo, King of Skirtchasers." The necromancer was finding it hard to keep her rage at even keel, or sharp enough to want to cause him dire harm. But the all the names he called her helped some, fuel to a fire.
Leoxander said, "Oh for Sven's sake..." Yeah he'd even use a gods' name in vain for a moment like this. "You ain't never been one of those type, Joli. I bloody stuck my hand down a female's pants the other day." Probably not the best thing to say to a woman already infuriated by his lack of loyalty, but he clarified by adding rudely. "Yeah, stole fifty gold to buy you a pair of damn slippers, too! I'm givin' em to Jack, now!" Oh the things to come out of a careless thief's mouth. Enough to put any woman's temper to shame, but who would ever be more stubborn than that lycan? It might mean his death, but he was jumping for the edge of the wall, a few tattooed knuckles coming into view as he grasped hold to pull himself up, yelling in his drunken stupor. When did it become so hard to climb out of a hole? "He can do his business on em for all I care!"
Tenebrae's boot, fortunately not one of those deadly-heeled numbers she liked to wear for added height, would do its best to stop his ascent, the heel planted firmly to whatever part of his head showed first. "Down her wha...See? Not a moment passes, and you're chattin' up some doe-eyed bint or other, and Jack can chew em to pieces for all I care. What are slippers, when you're sluttin' about, and with one of our own, no less?" Not any more, but that wasn't the point. Shed punctuate the diatribe with a little pressure applied to that bootheel, which had by now shifted to punish his wandering fingers.
Aerindir just remained on the deck, far from the fight it would seem, all the while purposely making sure he still doesn't listen in on the pair. That he can't help but hear it on a subconscious level is apparant however, for every so often he does frown, or make some annoyed facial movement, even though he's consciously let his thoughts stray back to who knows where.
Leoxander let loose a breath with a heavy growl when he felt her shoe press against his head. She was just asking to be thrown overboard, now. Muscles tightened in his arms until she altered her footing to press onto his fingers, instead. With a yell breaking out of him in a snarl. "You damn bi-..." He managed a couple angry words as he swiped up his other nearly clawed hand, attempting to grasp hold of her leg. Either way the fingers of his other hand were bruised and useless, for the time being. Praise be to lycanthrope regeneration abilities.
Tenebrae might not have slipped in those gripped soles, had not the deck been wetted with the remnants of booze from the bottom of the bottle he'd thrown. But slip she did, yelling all the while, the lycan's handhold causing her to kick up a fuss, quite literally. "I'ma make you walk the plank!" Yeah, she'd pretty much lost the plot by now, and if her kicks made him let go, she'd grab a handful of whatever hair was available, and haul back as if to drag him toward the rails. "Teach you... t'treat me... like I dun matter..." He was pretty heavy, for such a bony man.
Tenebrae would not see it. Likely Leo wouldn't, either-- but Aerindir might sight the dark mass of land breaking the distant haze of the ocean. Meanwhile, Tene was trying to haul her lover overboard, wondering whether his doggy smell might attract or repel sharks.
Aerindir has snapped out of his reverie it would seem, after he'd realized the sounds of shouting are drifting out of range of his hearing. After this is done, he now turns his head, white hair now covering his eyes as a result, briefly, before he brushes it away while finally noticing the faint outline of land set against the sea. Still he doesn't move however, for he was told to stay where he is, and until hearing otherwise, that's what he'll do.
Leoxander wasn't paying attention to anything else. He was trying desperately to drag her into that enclosed space with him until she found a handful of the messy hair on his head. The rogue called out his misery with a few violent and colorful curses, blunt nails scratching the wood just as the tips of his ears started to sprout fur. His bared white teeth were sharpening at the canine corners, evident when he finished her newfound title rudely and tried to tackle her right onto the mahogany planks. Without regard for her as being anything fragile or delicate, he might manage to flip her over onto her back, and even might look prepared to swing like it was just another common drunken fight. On a ship. He'd been in plenty of those.
Tenebrae'd be flipped, alright. And with that fistful of hair, the momentum of it all and the way they landed, the sudden and violent pitch the ship took.. They were suddenly tangled and rolling; it could have been, at a slower speed and sans the snarling, mistaken for a more romantic moment. Things could have been better too, had they rolled the way of a saving set of rails rather than the gap where the rope ladder was coiled. The necromancer had the presence of mind, as she felt herself tip over the edge of the decking, to clutch for boardsand yell for Aeri to take the wheel. She knew those reefs.. And then, weighted by Leo's grip, or its lack, she was plummetting toward the wash of the ship's wake, pushed into the undertow. And then the world was water, and nothing but that.
Leoxander had missed! He'd missed the ladder. He knew them doomed when he felt the direction of their tumble, and all that was left for him was to hang onto her. So he bear hugged her and closed his eyes tight, held his breath and prepared to sink beneath the waves, beneath the tow of the boat that would pull them into a rip tide, and who knew when he would have the chance to breathe again? All that he could think about was drowning his mate with him, since she was the cause of that end. Jack was furiously barking even long after the two disappeared in the choppy sea.
Tenebrae vanished before your eyes, perhaps never to be seen again. Leoxander vanished before your eyes, perhaps never to be seen again.
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 20, 2008 1:13:51 GMT -5
The dying sun sent shimmers of gold and scarlet rippling toward shore, and like the shadow of a ship, Eternity had come to moor its silhouette before that light. The white sands showed recent sign of activity, footprints, the cold ashes of a fire. But none of this was apparent to the woman who lay chill and blue, wrapped in wet black and kelp green, splayed face-down in the faint wash at the edge of the evening tide. She was dead-- but that was nothing new, nor did it stop her splayed fingers twitching in her unconscious state, a soft moan coughed past pale lips, preceded by lungfuls of brine. Fresh, deep scratches, clawmarks where the Cap'n had clung through the rip's surge that carried them to shore bled red wisps into the water, drawing a myriad of tiny crabs, the beachfront's clean-up crew.
Leoxander had no Jack to drag him out of the water by the scruff of his shirt, this time. There was plenty of shallow reef to pain him into an awakening, which had torn through leather at his knees and the palms of his gloves at some point just after he'd lost his hold on Tenebrae to the rise of a strong wave, hopefully one that had carried her in to shore. Leo had just reached that point in their argument, not long ago, where he'd considered taking her out. As he pushed his bloody hands against the sand and stood in the failing sunlight with dull eyes drifting in an exhausted search, he saw her dark silhouette tangled on the shoreline, and took a moment to wonder if this wasn't Irony just rubbing his face in it, again. He started coughing up water even as his head ducked and he jogged for her shape, tripping once in his dazed and bleeding state to land in shallow, ocean foamed water with a groan. As he pushed himself back up, he actually noticed the terrible pain in his right arm, and squinted his sand and salt filled eyes open to notice the Man O' War tentacle stings creating swerving tails of red welts across dark ink. His left arm was used to haul Tenebrae out of the water, hoisting her up and hooking his arm around her waist to catch her against his ribs. Before he could take another step toward the sandy beach where footprints trailed, he noticed the slithering shape of the small but deadly crocodile and backtracked, carrying Tenebrae face down with her blood dripping into the water from her fingertips, which was only due to attract more unwanted attention. Uncertain if she was even alive (in a manner of speaking) Leo had to move for the path chopped out of the lush vegetation, up a steeper bank. Just as the fast reptile thrashed its scaled body in the shallow mud and went for his heels, he wrapped her up in a more secure hold with his other, injured arm, and leapt onto higher ground with the last reserves of his lycan strength. They'd probably both tumble into mud and grass. That was about his limit of any heroic acts for the evening. If she managed to survive, she'd probably just try to kill him again... stubborn wench.
As he lugged her from the water like a wet, rolled up carpet, the Captain's grip on her waist and the way she dangled head-down served to expel the rest of the seawater from her lungs, and brought her to a semblance of awareness-- the world was no longer water, but a confusing blur of motion and sound. The fight to gather her wits had not yet begun - most of any sort of fight soundly knocked out of her when buffeted against sharp coral on the way to land, and so when they'd collapse in a mud-smirched heap among the untidy grasses further up on the shore all she knew to do was cling and draw herself close, her instinct to do so more powerful the stubborn woman's waking mind. Parrots and yet more colourful birds screeched their disapproval of the pair and sang their evening vespers, while Tenebrae shivered and shook her head, hair still too wet to do more than cling to her features and skull and send only a few stray, cold droplets to add to the rogue's own soggy state. "Where..." If he was close enough, she'd bury her face against him. If not, she simply curled upon herself, arms wrapping to themselves.
Leoxander would land on his back, and there he would lay. Finished. Tenebrae could jam a silver dagger right into his chest if she wanted to, his stung arm was numb in a terrible, uncomfortable way and he couldn't muster the strength to pull his tattooed skin out of the mud. His head fell back, fortunately against a patch of thick clumped grass and he took some time to appreciate air, breathing... something he needed to do to survive... difficult in an unpleasant sea. He hadn't seen the ship through his blurry vision, but the scent of the group was evident through the rich smells of the plant and wild life surrounding them. Wherever they were, the others weren't far, but that didn't concern him just yet. Leo wasn't going to speak to her, and he wasn't going to move. Jack wasn't around to play referee if their argument should go on, and everything running through his mind was a mess. Wherever they were, Leo would determine this -her- fault, but he wouldn't throw that in her face just yet.
Tenebrae kept her features obscured in wet leather a few moments longer, the slightly pungent wet-canine scent more of a comfort than repellent, for as long as it took for her thoughts to knit back into some semblance of order. Sand. Beach. Grass. Leo. No ship. All these factors gathered, like pieces of a puzzle seeking their mates, to slot together into a picture. Memory returned in a backwards-running cellulose movie. Overboard... the fight... the anger. Tene planted one palm to the sand and lifted herself off of the rogue, gritted eyes cracking open and crimson with cleansing tears that sprang, emotionless, to wash the silt away. The anger. It cracked her ribs like a giant's fist, memory of --how-- they came to be so marooned. She didn't want to kill him, anymore, But she didn't really want his company, painful reminder of all the times he'd snubbed her, left her alone, called other woman things he did not call her.. anymore. But she did not want him dead, even if it might've made sure he wouldn't shame her again. The livid, snaking burns across his flesh could not be missed, and deadly shock would ensue, were the source of it not removed. And so, she found herself playing nurse, probably not as effectively nor as appealingly as some might have, casting her eyes about for some container to scoop seawater in. She'd been here before, and knew what the weed-like "legs" of a jellyfish did, and felt like. "Stay here, alright?" Her throat was hoarse with coughing, the words grating over her lips, and once she'd ascertained he suffered no mortal wounds, she rose on unsteady legs, starting the search for some way to wash the sticky, poison strands from tattooed skin.
Leoxander locked his different color eyes upon her, suspicious from the moment she moved. The involuntary bath had not only sobered him of all that rum, but his half transformed state that cut claw marks into her back, evident when she turned to walk away. The jellyfish hadn't lingered on his arm once they were tumbling in coral reef, but it left it's mark scalding and swelling his skin. Still, this was nothing compared to the sick feeling he felt in the pit of his stomach watching her. She wouldn't believe him, wouldn't trust him... but she might try something worse and worthy of a vampire's mind. How could he do anything but not trust her in return? The moment tall grass covered her trail, he pushed up onto his elbows and winced at the jut of a rock in his back. He had to get up and defend himself, so with some struggle, that's exactly what he did. Turning his attention north for just a moment, he felt the allure of a murky swamp calling the beast inside him, to take refuge, to hide in his comfortable solitude away from the disaster being around people brought upon him. Her words echoed in his mind as his night trained eyes scanned along the vague trail, into the darkness. 'Stay here'... sang in his mind, and yet this new territory had his nose twitching madly. He hardly noticed when his right arm began to shake, irritated muscles under welted skin rippling from the toxin that would slowly filter out of his immune lycanthrope blood. Though he wouldn't suffer the same nerve damage and bruise blotching most shipwrecked sailors had, it still hurt like hell, yet it was entirely ignored.
She'd return, some time later, with a half a coconut shell and a small flour tin gleaned from Gomrak's unoccupied hut, both filled with brine -- having risked a mauling from that blood-tantalised croc to get it -- only to find not the lycan but a Leo-shaped dent he'd left in the sand. The vessels were dashed upon it, the shape of him given a hard scuff with the toe of her boot. "Damn you..." Once more he'd made her cry, and it irritated her anew. His trail was clear in the sand, vanishing into the encroaching night. "DAMN YOU!" The cry would rouse a flock of tiny parrots, who'd burst from their rest in the nearest trees, or just make sure their loud complaints were heard by anything with ears. The sand given another kick; she was torn between simply sitting down and waiting return passage on the Calico Queen and being shed of him altogether, and once more swallowing her pride and tracking him into the dark. He'd have quite a bit of time to get ahead, while she argued with herself. Finally, angry moreso now at her own perceived stupidity in seeking a contact that was surely unwanted by all, she turned to squelch in waterlogged footwear, brow furrowed, eyes keen for marks of Leo's trail.
Trick takes a quick step and then another, but let's not call them steps. It's a mess of sloshing water and mad laughter, one foot held out to tremble spastically before the man makes a half-stumble toward the next tree. The long-fingered hand that hits the trunk makes a dent, sodden bark peeling away amidst another peel of laughter. Swamp-Bugs play candelabra, bulbous backsides flickering and blinking nearby as they loop aimlessly through the groves. "Well, s*** on a shudder." It's a bleated curse, jovial if anything, with a whip-crack quickness to the delivery and a broken goblet's grace in form. The next lift of his foot's a disaster, a sandal gone, and worse his balance lost as he lurches forward again. "And so the hero trudges on, with its quarry long long gone. He's lost a shoe, he's lost his rhyme... can he lose his lost in time?" The rabble of his words is lost to the frog's chorus, and he's definitely not singing tenor.
She was some way off the sandy trail now, where footfall became tenuous lest it lead to a boggy fall, and the burgeoning dark was not helping the fact Leo's footprints were subsumed entirely by the marshlike ground. A breath was huffed from lungs that still rattled with the taint of brine, no-one near to see the way she spit off to the side, unlady-like. The jungle ahead was a clamour of night-noise, giant beetles grukk-ing for a mate, the cough of socially inclined big cats seeking their packmates and, far in the distance, the regular rhythm of drums muffled to a heartbeat by dense foliage. "Bastard." She'd lost the thread of his passing, which left her guideless in the murk, and without direction. There was a squelch, a wince, when she sat heavily on a fallen trunk with mosses aiding the general sense of damp discomfort, and rested her elbows on her knees. She sat there for some minutes, at a loss, and was about to make her defeated way back to the beach when a voice rose, like a drunkard's spiel, over the calls of frogs and other bog-critters. Who in hell...? She'd have to investigate. It was better than sitting here like a stunned mullet, at any rate.
Tenebrae shouted, "Ahoy!"
Trick said, "Ahay! A-hi! A-he, and most definitely a-she!" It seemed his movements were infinitely worse now, the water sucking hard at muddied feet and ankles as he performed his grotesque imitation of a heron picking its way along. No amount of dolling up could put grace to this man. A lost cause. The distance between them was substantial enough for him to make completely clear just how much effort it required him for him to move, and no amount of blame could really be laid at the bog's soggy hands. Bare-chested, he is a sunburned and mud-addled fool. The clots of it have come up to cling to his angled jaw and mat in the thick blond of his hair. A comb? Damned if it hadn't seen a bath in weeks. Her only relief as he approached would be the fact the marsh stunk too badly to notice. He surely didn't give a damn, all smiles as he thrust long digits toward her in greeting. "What the f*** are you doing in a place like this. Wet and rough and stinky as this. Lost and misguided and confused as this? Bliss. Hiss. Kiss. Piss."
Madeline shouted, "Oi! "
Trick shouted, "Coy, Boy, Toy, Soy, Roy!"
Trick is laughing heartily now, and it's a beautifully terrible thing. It peels out of him in uneasy and unsure ripples, trembling along as those cat-green eyes move about in erratic, unfocused movements. Keen? Doubtably. And you can be damned sure he's not landing on his feet nine out of ten times.
To say she was taken aback would be... well, quite literal, the vampiress making a hasty back-pedal when the filthy stranger straggled his ungainly way to close mutual distance, and she slipped on something cat-sized, wart-skinned and recently dead -- the heat had a way of reducing the shelf-life of carcasses enough to make the whole affair as highly unpleasant as one might never wish to experience. At least she couldn't smell him over the reek when he approached. His hand was stared at. "Looking for a man. Who the hell are you?" The island was still a refuge of sorts, hardly any aware of its existence who did not pay the Calico's first mate well, or came via sheer chance. Her nose would wrinkle, not unattractively, though the mud and wisps of black hair sticking to her face with sweat and evaporating saline, and the shreds of her clothes still thick with blood and clawmarks, surely made her as much a treat to the eye as the vagrant himself.
Tenebrae was fairly certain there was more than rum behind this man's behaviour. And wished she hadn't lost her knives to the sea.
Trick said, "A trick." It was likely to be the only clear answer she'd receive, and strangely enough his words were utterly and deliberately cryptic. If for only a moment the mad-glint in his eyes looked a little less mad, a little less unfocused, and a little less accidental. And then he started laughing again. Immediately "the trick" lifted a mud and grime stained hand and thumped it off his chest, sounding an impact of long-digits against his toned chest. And the note was, by the by, a lowly alto. There was never a beat missed in his crazy and distorted cadence, that wide smile growing wider as he eagerly leaned to the woman and spoke in a rush of non-sensical non-reasonable and definitely non-sequential rambles. "And I'm so glad to be looked for and then found, better than found without being looked for, or not found and to be looked for and certainly to not be found when not looked for. Bore. Snore. Door. Floor. Whore."
Tenebrae backed up that bit more, the nasty mess she'd stepped in sticking to her sole and obligingly travelling with her. His echolalic chanting pegged him as not entirely sound of mind, even if his reeling and gibbering had not. Groping herself rather blatantly now for some kind of weapon perhaps kindly left to her by the rip's crushing swell, which there was not, she offered the "trick" a smile as wan as her features. "Wasn't lookin' for you. How'd you come by this place, anyhow?" Old trick of her own, keeping a potential assailant chatting til he showed his colours. In her dishabille and only recently recovered consciousness, she'd miss that moment of sharpness in him. Time would tell whether it was a grave mistake or not.
Tenebrae had been somewhat preoccupied with an odd stranger, and deafened by the furore of a jungle's evening noise, and had not heard Madeline's response to her 'ahoy'.
Trick said, "How do you know?" The question was sharp and on the heels of her assertion, traveling over her question and rolling along. As for him, he'd stopped his advance and the majority of his movements. In the still of it all it allowed a brief picture of normality, a lack of the stiff-jointed movements that plagued him so when he was trying or at least on the course of getting somewhere. The green glow glint of his eyes was quick to pass along her features, his smile remaining bigger and brighter than ever. "You came to a swamp to find a man and found one. And who is to say you weren't looking for me, or that I wasn't looking for you. If you said you were definitely not not in the process of avoiding the chance you would definitely not find someone you were not looking for than you'd probably be mistaken."
Serai trails behind Madeline, lead by the hand. His trio of blades were present as was usual of him, although he was thankfully barren of his over-large armor. Bare-footed, bare-chested, and scarred from shoulder to mid-calf, Serai looked like nothing so much as a strongarm, hired as a caravan guard. Of course, strongarms rarely came as slender as he. He abruptly firmed his grip on Madeline's hand, and quickened his pace to move ahead of her when two figures came into his range of vision.
Tenebrae shook her head, as though to clear it of words that gathered in her mind like a tangled skein of lianae. "Uhm. Alright, then." She was wincing harder now, at the stink below and its companion above, and she risked lifting her eyes away from the man to gather direction to the beach. "We both smell like something that dropped out a behemoth's behind." Aye, Captain Obvious, but her eyes were watering and she was cold, and dirty, and exhausted beyond measure. "Can you light a fire, without flint?" He had the look of self-sufficiency about him, a vagabond doesn't survive to his apparent age without that kind of savvy. If he was a dan ger, he'd have shown it by now. She turned back to the shore, presuming he'd follow. They always did.
Tenebrae halted abruptly at sight of a familiar couple, her green eyes blinking in the half-dark.
Trick answers quickly in the affirmative. "I'm adept at lighting them with torches."
Madeline hadn't been sure how to reply to 'ahoy.' She's not really the seafaring type, after all. The princess moves in from the south - holding onto Serai's hand - curiosity written all over her face. She manages to briefly catch sight of Tenebrae's form before Serai's slender frame fills her vision. Reminiscent of a child, she peeks around Serai's shoulder and raises her voice enough to ask, "Tenebrae?" She would have expected to come across a lot of people - people she'd never seen before, on this unknown island she'd been content to explore the whole day. The vampiress clan leader was certainly the last person she'd expected to see. Though, one of the most welcome.
Tenebrae nodded at Madeline's query, no doubt not much resembling the same bold woman who owned the Hanging Corpse. "Aye, 'tis the same. What're you doing..." She'd glance behind to the self-proclaimed "trick", frowning. "But with what will you light the torches?" This inquiry placed, she'd look again to the couple, Serai given a stiff nod both by way of her being stiff in general, and formality. "Let's get out of this swamp. I'm bleeding." A low series of bestial grunts booming from the foliage beyond might support her request.
Trick said, "A fire. Of course." His movements lacked any grace, and the sheer lack of coordination nearly concealed his intended destination. "Horse. Force."
Serai frowned abruptly. 'Bleeding' caught his ear. He lifted the hand not occupied by Madeline's, and lifted it above his head. A small flame burst to life, to light the area. "Is somebody hurt?"
Tenebrae frowned at them both, though less so Serai, seeing as he had a fire handy. "Wouldn't be bleeding for the fun of it, would I?" This was curt, and anything else she might grumble would trail off into the distance while she trudged the mire southward in search of firmer ground.
Serai wrinkled his nose, as he lead Madeline back the way they'd come. "Well, would you like me to see to it, or shall I stand around like a lump on a log?"
Trick hit the ground lightly as he stumbled from the mess of weeds and waters, algae clinging to the mud that had collected in thick clumps matted to his chest's hair. He's only a few strides away when he leans to greet Serai and Madeline, the cat-green light flickering in his eyes as he manages to follow along. It's hard to imagine him capable of running, knees bowed outward and wobbling with every disjointed stride. "Mom! Dad! Lookie' here! Two fine friends are a'comin' near!"
Tenebrae's frown deepened. "Nothing a couple of stitches and a good feeding won't fix." Surely the man wasn't thinking of using healing magics on her?
Madeline follows behind Serai this time, though she steps around him as they reapproach the beach. A few furtive glances are shot behind her. Those grunts sounds awfully familiar to her, and this thought brings her brows together in a frown as she answers Tenebrae, "Took my first trip on a ship. We're stopped here temporarily, I guess. How'd you'...?"
Serai let the fire die out, leaving illumination to the moon. He frowned. He certainly didn't like Tenebrae very much. They'd never quite had a friendly encounter. "Your choice."
Serai offers the strange bow-legged fellow a glance at his exclamation. Quite unsure as to how to answer, he returned his attention to Tenebrae.
Trick abruptly collapses in a pile upon bent knees and knobbled ankles. There's no hesitation or waste of breath, only a twitching mass of movement as his hands dive into the crotch of his battered pants. The coins are retrieved and laid triumphantly before him, his laughter returning in unsure rumbles that never quite get out of his chest.
Tenebrae picked a strand of kelp off her bodice, flicking it to the sand of a path that was looking more promising by the step. "I swam." Though as they broke back through into the beachside clearing, she'd raise a pointed finger toward the shadows of sails in the waves beyond. "From the ship." She didn't have the energy to explain that th ship'd been three miles off shore when she went overboard, nor about her fight with the Captain. "Let's get a fire goin' eh? I'm cold as a witch's ..." Another sharp sound from the jungle made her turn, wary. And paused a moment, to stare again at the lunatic she'd collected in the mire. "What are you doing?"
Trick said, "I earned it." The answer is clear and pleased as pie, his green eyes turning toward her. "I'm counting. Thirty four gold pieces. A good haul. Shawl. Ball. Call. Stall. Fall. Wall."
Serai frowned pointedly at the woman. He moved to the edge of the swampy jungle, and removed his longsword from it's baldric over his shoulder. He began hacking at what looked to be dead branches, and gathering what dry twigs he was able. "Did you see any dry wood around here, by chance?" He called over his shoulder.
Tenebrae gave him as kindly a smile as she might muster in the circumstances. Whatever got the job done, without her having to do it. "Want to earn some more?" She flapped a mud-spattered hand toward the mangroves. "Fetch us some dry wood, if there's any to be had." Soft sand made a good resting-place and there she flopped, the same hand raised to push wetly bedraggled locks from her eyes.
Madeline nods her head methodically at Tenebrae's response, emerald gaze shifting to follow the finger that points out to the ship still on the sea. That same vibrant gaze then moves towards the outline of the Calico Queen, not far offshore. Releasing Serai's hand, she skirts around the huddled form of Trick in order to stand near Tenebrae. The princess looks more worried as she gets closer, frowning at the vampiress in a scrutinizing manner - assessing any visible wounds, "Let me take care of your wounds, Tene." Her voice is firm, and though she's prepared for Tenebrae to say no, she seems adamant nonetheless.
Tenebrae said to Serai, "Be careful over there. There's poison flowers, and vine-snakes."
Trick laughed then, his eyes a jade glint in the darkening evening sky. There'd be tranquility here, beauty even, if not for his demeanor. A band of companions licking their wounds while he licked his fingers to count the rewards. A thick laugh leaves him before he settles, words backdropped by a misleadingly easy lap of waves to shore. "Don't gather wood for gold, I gather toes. Bows. Nose. Rose. Foes."
Serai glanced over his shoulder. He flashed Tenebrae an odd look before nodding. He let his magic sweep once over the nearby area. He did so love using nature-magic. Of course, he couldn't force the plants to move out of his way, but he could identify certain harmful plants from the harmless foliage.
Madeline's soft insistence would be greeted with a scowl that would not have been out of place on the features of a three-year-old. "I'll be alright. Need stitchin'. Gomrak'll have supplies, I just need a rest." The blood had coagulated for the most part, and only a sluggish trickle remained to add further enticement to the voracious little crabs that acted a beach-cleaners. "Wouldn't have a flask of something decent on you, would you?" Trick was given a rather dim appraisal. "Just pretend you're gathering the toes of trees, then. Dead ones."
Madeline scowls right back at Tenebrae, hands planted on her hips as she stares down at the vampiress. A long moment of the frowning and finally she'd grumble out a few choice words in elven. "I'm checkin' on you in the mornin', Tenebrae." Brushing sea-tousled hair from her face, she glances toward the hut, "I'll just get you a bla-" Any further words are muffled as she smothers a yawn and heads off toward the hut and the creature within.
Serai gathered as much wet-wood as he dared without damaging the nearby forest, or trodding on some of the more poisonous growth. With a small armful of wood, he meandered back to Tenebrae and the others, neatly building what would eventually be a fire. After the sticks, and branches were in place, and his longsword was cleaned and sheathed, he knelt by the pile of sticks, and closed his eyes. Bloody wetwood. Fireballs were fine and all, but it was a job to light the stuff.
Tenebrae shivered, a marbling of blue intersecting the raw red of her wounds where skin was visible. She waited eagerly for the fire, calling back to Madeline, "Careful-- he doesn't like intruders..." The elven woman would likely be alright, since Tene was there, though. She canted her gaze upward, the first glimmer of darkling stars awakening their diamante-eyes. She wondered where Leo was. Probably stalking some half-clad wench. Or dead. Both thoughts had her frown deepen, and she'd find her mind put to better use when the first cleaner-crabs tested her skirts for edibility, flicking each away with forefinger and thumb, and watching them advance again.
Serai was already sweating by the time a fire built to life. Though small, the blaze crackled merrily. It gave off a gentle, radiant heat. The half-clad half-elf opened his eyes once again and sighed. "I've some mead on the ship, if you'd like some in the morning, Tenebrae."
Tenebrae said to Serai, "What good's mead in the morning, when I'd skin an ogre for a sup of whisky now?" Her tone was not too abrupt, though, "Thanks all the same." She scrinched across the sand on her behind, so as to move closer to the fire's bloom of warmth. The half-elf was given a nod of gratitude, before her gaze rested on the rising flames.
Madeline has a loud, and familiar interaction with Gomrak. There's grunting and what sounds like yelling, and then the princess reappears. She's carrying a blanket and glaring back at the hut, "You'll get it back in the morning, you big brute!" She yells at the hut as an afterthought, though there's no outline of the large creature to even indicate he's listening anymore. The blanket's woolen, and probably ragged - but it'll serve it's purpose. Which is to keep Tenebrae warm. Like a mother tending her child, she wraps the blanket over the vampire's legs and brushes her shoulder with a light hand, "There you go, Tene. Something to keep you warm." Another yawn is muffled with the back of her hand and she settles herself into the sand beside her clan leader. Though there's concern on her features, so many questions settling under the surface, she doesn't ask anything. Instead, she seems to be making herself quite comfortable next to the woman, leaning back on her elbows as her eyes start to shift shut. The gentle slush of the waves back and forth over the sand is lulling, to say the least, and she slurs sleepily, "'is beautiful 'ere."
Serai shrugged his shoulders. He motioned to his figure, "Unfortunately I've got none with me. The offer will stand come morning, all the same." He shifted back, to settle on his rump. His eyes flick back up to Tenebrae, "You're the captain of the Eternity, right?"
Tenebrae snickered at Madeline's interaction with the massive orc, her own relationship with him having started much the same way. She allowed the woman to coddle her, a soft goodnight spoken from beneath harsh fabric tucked about her nose which were quickly dropped when the stink thereby trapped become suddenly more fulsome. Hang it, she’d bathe in the morning. Following that was a snort, in reply to Serai. "Cap'n? Not me. Cap'n is a ... Er. He's here, somewhere." And that was all anyone'd get out of her, on that topic, til morning at least. There was a bit of spare blanket when she'd done securing her warmth, which she tucked over Madeline's back.
Serai shifted his shoulders tenderly. He nodded slowly. Glancing balefully at his fiancé, -he doubted Tenebrae would take kindly to him cuddling up as well- he slid to his feet. Quietly, he moved a ways down the beach, and began the gatherings for another fire. Eventually, another small blaze appeared a ways down the beach, where Serai laid himself down.
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Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 20, 2008 7:45:03 GMT -5
Tenebrae, probably some hours later, was a huddled lump of tattered wool beside the eddying ashes of a long-cold fire. A dent in the sand beside her spoke of some other company gained, as might the array of footprints meandering across the area. One bright coin, spilled from a madman's pants, shone under the waning moon. The vampiress herself had, despite the swamp-reek that clung to her, managed to gain some proper rest and slumbered now, fitfully, below orcish-woven cloth.
Leoxander lingered. He was beckoned, some hours later, long after his change, by a scent. A lycan head would lift, torn armor still suffocating his increased size, and fur tipped ears rotated toward no sound in particular. A tilt of his head, his feral eyes aimed to the sky, and a long territorial howl claimed the night, very close by.
Leoxander would pace the northern boundary, mostly. Amongst mangrove trees and darkness, just far away to make others doubt their senses.
Tirla jerked as she heard the howl pierce the night sky. Fear tingled down her back as she thought about pigmies, the little buggers had been chasing her all day. Here she was, resting in the branches of a tree, gaining her strength back so she can flit her way back to the mainland, and they were coming for her again. She would stay and fight, hear the ground was not so bound by the trees, and even if they came riding wolves, the wolves could not climb trees. Eyes slid to a mango and she reached out, plucking it for a snack as she waited for the little ones to make her life hell again.
Leoxander shouted, "(A howl rings across the island.)"
Tenebrae was startled awake, whether by the terrifying dream she was having or the howl that pierced the oncoming dawn like a savage's spear, and threw her blanket aside, eyes casting for the source of that sound. When none other came, she had to assume it part of her fearsome dream.. or at least, that was the thought most comforting to her now. The others were gone, the couple likely canoodling somewhere more private, the madman having wandered off. She stood, shook sand and dried mud from herself and eyed the coin that glinted a yard away. Strange feller. The wounds on her side were mainly healed, bar a few stubborn gouges that defied even her self-healing capacity. Brows knit against the pain, she lifted the torn fabric of her bodice, inspecting the rents gingerly. Needle and thread. There'd be some in the hut. Moments later she knocked on the whalebone struts outside, waiting for any reply. Not that Gomrak'd mind sharing his gear with Tene, but better to be safe than to surprise a nine-foot orc in his lair. "H'lo? Gom?" The tree-sitting avian wasn't noticed, yet, though Tene might wonder why the pygmies' drums were louder this eve than they'd been since she murdered their chief, last trip.
Leoxander would be tracking the necromancer the moment she moved. Pigmies or not, he was the bump in the night for them, now. The rustle of leaves and the sudden silence that would proceed to disease them in cases of goosebumps. Feral, haunted eyes would catch light now and then to shine amidst the silhouettes of tangled trees. Not once would he wander into the light well enough to be seen, but sometimes a sigh of heavy, husky breath almost sounded like a word. Yes, a curse word.
Tirla took a bite from the mango then stilled, yes, the drums were beating in the distance, but it all felt wrong, this was not the way it had been the last few times she had encountered the pigmies. Thankfully she'd escaped those encounters with only a few scrapes and a ruined bodice that really didn't hide much. But this new threat, sending goosebumps rippling along her skin didn't feel like a threat from the little ones. So she slipped from her branch as Tene started seeking the owner of the hut. Ebon gray wings brought her close to the ashes of the dead fire and for a moment she simply stared at the woman she had not noticed in her fatigue. But beyond those few moments the woman was given little heed as she bent down and touched the earth. A green glow permeated her form as she sought an answer for what sought them. If it touched the earth, she could tell where it was. Her first move was to look for the little footfalls of those devilish pigmies.
From within the hut came a grumble so deep as to be barely heard, despite its volume, and she heard the creak of the orc's stoutly-woven hammock, the slap of his feet on the packed-sand earthen floor. "Just after your kit..." Tene said, by way of apology, and the orc's shark-bitten features would appear in short order through the door flap, his small eyes squinted against the unnatural silence. "Woman." The word - one of the three commonish ones he knew, the others being 'food' and 'kill' -- did for his curt greeting. That hideous mien disappeared, to be replaced by the orc's frame, stooped over so as to not knock his thick brow on the whalebone above. Under one arm he carried a black-enamelled box. Tene had stepped back to allow him room to exit, and now was glowering at her friend, who pointed a sausage-sized finger at her ribs. "Not lettin' you do it. Give the gear to me..." A snap of his slightly-tusked lower jaw and a grumble to follow indicated that it was best she assent to his playing nurse, so she'd perch on a barrel and let out a breath of resignation, tugging up the hem of yet another near-ruined garment. "Just.. remember, my hide's not as thick as one of your own." Nor as tastily appealing to the cannibal, which was lucky. But Gomrak did not respond-- the massive man was abruptly still, poised like some great Rottweiler, chin jutting first toward the mangroves, then to the winged figure that alit from the tree nearby. A guttural grunt, and he shoved the box to Tene's lap, the vampiress joining him once she'd put it down. "Ere!" Her voice was sharp, and she planted one hand across the orc's washboard stomach, to prevent him surging forward. "Who are you, then?" She spoke a few soft words in halting orcish next, to which Gomrak only grunted and scrunched his badly-scarred face into even more of a grimace that the shark had already --and permanently-- bestowed on him. And while she waited on an answer, her eyes would drift back to the too-dark and swampy treeline, a small shiver trembling her frame.
Leoxander only knew that something had crept down closer to Tenebrae. Thus, he attacked. The attempt was sudden, no challenging, bullheaded roar from the wolfman, just a pounce of for legs that would land on two, while padded 'handpaws' would try for Tirla's throat. Aware of her winged status, if he managed to catch hold of her he would try to push her to her back so that she wouldn't be able to take off from the lycan... he'd seen ducks escape his dog that way a time or two before. The scuffle would sound at a distance behind Tenebrae, but might possibly catch her attention during her time spent with the orcish one.
Tirla simply blinked when she felt the orc hit the ground, and the words that ran through her mind were simply, oh crap, how can this day get any worse, but soon her silent question was answered by the approach of the wolf, felt through her magic. She truly wanted to answer whatever Tene had asked her, she was sure it was a question, but her orc was really just one word and a few she'd heard before. But she didn't know what the question was, not had the time to utter its answer. There wasn't even enough time to draw her sword before the wolf lunged at her, all she could do was bend down and stick out her arm as if she were using a shield. Lucky for her she had one, and when she called it in it appeared on her forearm, putting a plate of meatal with an inscribed pair of wings and the symbols for the fore elements emblazoned upon its face. When she felt the impact she took a step back and looked to Tene holding back the orc and wondered if it was a good idea to draw her sword.
Tene was already looking that way, thanks to Gomrak's vigilance. The wolfish attack that seemingly came from nowhere had the orc lower himself to a crouch, springing to an almost animal-like gallop toward the fighting pair. "GOM!" Tene's voice rose across the beach; like as not, the large man would break up the scuffle to the detriment of both parties. Leo.. she didn't voice his name, but only hotfoot behind the colossal sailor, shouting in broken orcish. Whether she'd told him to stop or do his worst, Gomrak was soon upon them, and arms thick as a young oak were wrapped about the lycanthrope's midriff to lift him clear of the bird-woman. He had never forgotten Arysel, for whom he'd held a secret and abiding adoration, and so associated the avian with that gentle individual. A crushing squeeze would be attempted while the orc's hoarse growls sounding like thunder over the small beach, interspersed with Tene's bad orcish, the vampiress shouting gods-knew-what at a shrill and panicked pitch. And if Leo bit-- well, that'd only add to the trophies the green-skinned sailor wore, proud as if each twisted knot of cicatrised skin were a medal, earned in the fray.
Leoxander went to snap at her face, all for show mind you, but it was one hell of a show. The shield was suddenly there, evolved from her magic armor, and a clang sounded when it hit his jaw and knocked his head back with a crack of the bones at it's corner. "Damnit..." The wolf almost seemed to say in his growl. Was he drunk? Well, not since the wash ashore had sobered him like nothing else. So the lycan began to wonder how -his- day could get worse, as he reeled from the pain, and as his ear flickered back to hear the thunder of an approach he was also answered. Just as both lynx-tipped ears flattened to his bristled skull, he felt a crushing grip encase his center, and as he yelled out in alarm a wolfish yelp penetrated the sound, splitting across the air. To say the least - it hurt, not a friend hug at all. His lean frame thrashed violently, vicious claws swiping to wound anything near. He hadn't intended to hurt the one following his mate, not immediately, but now he was due to tear into anything within reach. Unless... he was suffocated first. "I'll KILL you." The only clear warning the werewolf would give in a snarling voice, and the solid impact of his elbow find even break against the orc's jaw. Lycan bless regeneration abilities, but if that contact was made, he would limp out of the embrace and hobble to his hind feet.
Tirla didn't even feel the impact, the shield was her only piece of armor, her broad sword her only weapon besides magick. Both of them were beautifully crafted pieces each with a special enchantment. Her shield absorbed impacts, letting her feel just enough to know something impacted it, nothing more. Before the woman could decide wether or not to draw her sword the lycan was caught up in a crushing hug. A hug that could snap bones and eventually kill someone. She winced at this, wanting to now help the wolf, damn her sensibilities towards creatures of the wood. Though when she took a second look she lost all care for the well being of the lycan, seeing the odd shapes the hung about his form. With the orc distracted she'd shift herself behind Tene, not understanding a word she said, but the orc seemed to listen to her, so the safest place would be to stand behind her. At this point she was thinking on chancing the flight back to the mainland, lest the pigmies show their ugly little faces again.
The pygmies had long fled back to the oddly-shaped Temple in the jungle that had served as their home for untold centuries; they were no fools, and when not only their two most-hated enemies, Tene and the orc, as well a lupine creature they'd learned to fear since Senka's visit appeared, the gnomelike people melted away into the forest. Not to mention that they hated the beach as though it was the very devil itself. And speaking of devils.. Tenebrae watched in dismay as her large companion was raked with knifepoint claws , though the orc didn't seem to mind the great and bloody gashes these produced as much as the words that growled from the Captain's furred throat. On hearing these, and on the sharp jab of elbow that split a bloody line across his jaw and brought his great head to a painful-looking backward snap, Gomrak would toss the lycan down like a hairy sack to the sand. "Kill." This he understood, and with a subtle nod of his inch-thick cranium he planted his feet squarely, arms cast wide in the manner of a wrestler in a ring, ready to rrrrumble. "Don't kill him! NO kill." The command was backed in orcish, in case Gom didn't quite get it. She stepped back toward the avian, though could not tear her eyes from the men. "Listen... you got wings. Get away, if you can, or stand by me in case one needs help. You know any medicine?" That black box wasn't far away. Worst case.. well, she -was- a necromancer.
Leoxander could barely walk after that. He pushed his previously injured, now furred but still welted arm into the sand and rolled from his back onto his stomach like an agile, sandy coated wolf just might. Only, he had the ability to rise into a large, seven foot bipedal stance. Which he did once he was able, teeth bared at the orc as he grunted a word. He hardly heard Tenebrae's shout passed his rage. "Right!" The word was a vicious bark as he clashed with the giant being, clash of the titans, really. Leo didn't growl and make as much noise as a real wolf might, he was more grunting rough sounds each time some terrible impact was made, be it a crushing blow to his ribcage, or a fisted right hook splitting his fang into his whiskered maw. A tousled shake of his head to spray blood, and he went right back into the fray like Gom had insulted his mother, snapping his bloody jaws and using his strength to try to get the lumbering orc to the sandy ground. Bones snapping, hair ripping, rough painful whines and roguish curses, all a chorus he was plenty familiar with. The sounds of war. He was no less deadly in this form, just a little stronger. But the orc... well matched to say the least.
Tirla stared with blazing green hues at the fight and took a loose stance as the two giants clashed. Somewhere in her clash with the lycan what was left of her bodice had come undone and had fallen away, which she noticed now much to her dismay. Her shield was suddenly held tighter to her. When the strained words fell from the vampiress's lips she nodded, "I'm no full fledged healer, but I'm a druid, I know my herbs, and I have decent healing magicks, as for escaping, my options are to fly to the pigmies, or collapse on my way over to the mainland, so I guess I'm staying to see the finish to this." All this is said in a calm tone, it was obvious this woman spoke her mind, and didn't lose it in adverse conditions. Though right now she was reasonably frayed, and would probably snap if someone insulted her in any form. After a moment she looked to Tenebrae, "I'm more fighter than healer, I specialize in earth and fire magics, I could stop them, but I don't think that would be good for my future health, what do you think?"
Tenebrae wouldn't have cared whether the female was a druid or a dryad, when her top sprung off like that. She'd had --quite-- enough of indecently-clad females in the vicinity of her mate, as it was, and after all that's how they'd come to this impasse to begin with. So, she bore no lack of speed in grasping the woman by wing or scruff of neck, whisking her about to face the hut and planting one flat-booted heel to the avian's backside, hard enough to send a minotaur flying. "Go and get some bloody clothes on, you scuffy wench, afore I clip your wings off at the root!" Men be damned, she wasn't havin' free-range boobs a-swingin' anywhere near her Leoxander. Meanwhile, Gomrak was swinging a couple of his own... fists, that is... and laying the smackdown on Leo like a pizza chef pummelling dough, even though his green hide was torn widely in at least two dozen places.
Leoxander hit the ground once, and planted a paw to the ground to push back up stubbornly. He hit the ground twice, and saw white stars dance before his eyes with a spit of dark red on the pale sand. The orc had him down and was laying in with a relentless beating, indeed. But he -had- snuck in that advantage, and for once, the rogue was just getting too tired to fight back. One more time his shoulder blades quivered and he tried to stand, stumbling forward in a weak attempt to tackle Gomrak down, but to no avail. Two clasped hands weighed down on the back of his head and the pirate fell, scratched by coral, stung by a poisonous jellyfish, snapped at by crocodiles, exhausted from a transformation, missing a patch of hair or two and now beat down by a massive orc. A sharp whine cut through the hair and broke through his grunt as his chest hit the solid ground and even as he could barely move, his hand flexed to grasp a handful of sand, intending, eventually, to get up and fight to his end. It never occurred to him that he might not be helping the necromancer, after all.
Tirla had had it at this point, she'd been peaceful, and its not like her assets weren't hidden, first underneath a flimsy under shirt, and then by her shield, she didn't show herself to strangers. But when the woman grabbed her, and then kicked her, she lost it. Oh she was sent flying, and her wings caught air before her feet slammed into the side of the hut, bending till she almost crashed anyways, before she was sent hurdling back at the Vampiress, her shield arm clocked and ready to deliver a nasty blow to the woman's face with the slab of metal, or be damned, lycan be damned, and pigmies be damned, she wasn't going to take any of it anymore. Wether or not she connected she landed a few feet away and started screaming, "I'll not have you pushing me around for something I can't help, I was shipwrecked, I've been chased around for the past two days by men about the size of a pineapple, and was friggin attacked by that meat sack, " her arm waved and pointed to Leoxander, "And just because my only top, which was shredded before he attacked me fell off, you're gonna yell at me and act like a damn queen, nah uh, I ain't naked, and I ain't taking any crap from anyone at the moment, so either give me something to put on over this stupid undershirt that so offends you, or damn well shut up!"
Tenebrae's troubles with the scant-clad avian aside, there was still a fearsome battle going on in the background, which fell silent when the orc's rear end was planted firmly on Leo's back to keep the lycan pinned. An arm bent around to cross his back wouldn't help the Captain's cause, either. Gom would stay there, until Tenebrae told him otherwise, even if there was a second battle to ensue. That looked to be women's business, and even an orc knew to stay the hell out of -that-. Tene was a vampire, and even though she too had faced ordeals these past few days, and was beyond hungry, she retained enough of her naturally heightened reflexes to doge all but the edge of that metal-covered arm, and that clipped her shoulder rather than marring her face with a bruise or broken jaw. The necromancer was snarling by the time the avian backed up and started caterwauling her list of complaints and demands. "Listen up, Boobs McGee, I ain't letting you flop yourself about in a place where seafaring men are gathered, and that's a fact. There's a shirt in the hut. Put it on, or f...lap off." Hey, at least she remembered to keep her cussing to a minimum.
Tenebrae rubbed her shoulder, her arm growing less numb as she did so, until she could at least swing it without gritting her teeth.
Tirla sighed, once again, her mouth and actions had pissed someone off, here she was, a possible friend in the making, then a small incident, and some free flowing words and she was the damn culprit, the evil little priss out to steal other women's men, out to cause nothing but trouble. She was fairly sick of it and was almost to tears, there wasn't much she could do about it, she'd already ruined it by opening her mouth and snapping at the woman. She walked into the hut and grabbed a shirt, sliding the baggy thing over her top half before walking out, "You think I wanted that to happen, I don't show myself to anyone I'm not in love with, but you probably think I'm just some little whore now, don't you. She wanted to seem angry, to looked pissed off, but right now, she was hurt and tired in several different ways, she turned towards the lycan and orc, not expecting any forgiveness, sympathy, or even a kind word anymore from the woman, "Do you still want my healing skills or should I just get out of your sight?"
Leoxander might be heard groaning, or gurgling depending on how one heard it, from underneath the fat orc. "Gerroff..." Tenebrae rolled her eyes. Drama queen or not, she -did- need another pair of hands. "Grab that black case over there." Her tone was brusque, businesslike. While the female was off retrieving a suitable garment, the vampiress had inspected Gomrak's wounds -- and Leo's -- and decided that he was in need of some hasty attention. The orc was in no fit state to argue, as he otherwise might have, winded and weak from lack of blood. Leo looked to be unconscious, but Tene didn't ask the seafaring greenskin to move, motioning with her palm to that effect. "Hook me up two needles with the catgut in there-- and there's pots of pink salve, to stop gangrene." Gom's near-miraculous berry-and-walking-fungus salve would never have better use; Leo had done a real job on him. "You start patching his left side, I'll do the right." She stopped to make a more careful examination of the lycan, or as best she could with an orc-butt in the way. Gom was definitely worse off, in the wounds department, so her triage decision was correct, even if she wanted nothing more than to make sure the man she had been trying to kill for two days was alright. Women, huh?
Tenebrae almost missed that garbled mutter Leo gave. So he wasn’t KO’d after all. Damn. "Sh, Cap'n. We've got to see to Gom, 'fore he bleeds to death. You'll be alright...."
Leoxander tried to push with his shoulders, but the orc just weighed... too much. Sprawled flat on his stomach, his tail swatted the sand and sprayed some of it in some random direction, possible toward a person's eyes. The furred beast below Gom' didn't care. He fell still and silent and feigned that dead look because he was, honestly, tired. His ribs hurt and he had to concentrate on breathing as the orc threatened to crush even strong bones. A baring of back teeth and a few minimal growls was all he could muster in his heavy pant, billowing sand. He wasn't sure whether it was Tenebrae, or the bird-woman's ankle he was grabbing for, but one of them might be caught by a lycan claw.
Leoxander would grumble again. "Get-.... get him off me..."
Tirla showed little and asked for nothing as the vampiress informed her of what to do. She wasn't a drama queen, she kept her thoughts to herself and tried to show as little of it as possible. Once the supplies were fetched she slipped back to the hut and grabbed a bucket. A few flits took her out over the water where she dipped into depths that were not as brackish as near shore. When she returned she threw the water against the orc, knowing full well it'd hurt like hell, but it'd also help clean the wounds and prevent infection. Once this was done she rased her hand, letting magic course through it and a flame leapt from her palm. With this she heated both needles, sanitising them at the same time. It was obvious, the change in her mien as she concentrated on what had to be done to help them heal, "Perhaps we should cauterize the wounds?"
Tenebrae frowned deeply, feeling a bit bad for poor Leo, but not in any hurry to let him up either. Instead, she would focus on the orc, nodding to Tirla. "He's got a few bad ones. But wait..." She spoke a few words to the sailor, who was glaring suspiciously at the woman who'd charged his friend, and was now holding needles and using some sort of fire magic. The instructions in orcish were to stay put, and grit his teeth. He'd add a slew of grumbles to match Leo's own, and plant a calloused, hard-soled bare foot down on the hairy wrist of the lycan before that grasping hand could claw either woman. "....right," Tene sighed, frowning more deeply. "Let's get to it." She reached to pluck a needle from the avian's fingers, picked up a large flap of flesh, slapping it back into place, and started suturing muscle and skin together in a series of efficient knots.
Tenebrae said to Tirla, "Burn the worst of 'em only-- that salve heals things fast. Pack it in the ones that don't need fire." The pink goop was sludged into the one she was sewing. "Gotta remember to take some back, this time."
Tirla kept her needle planted firmly between her fingers as she went to the worst of the wounds, moving the skin into place before, in a quick move, she ran a flame over it, knowing full well that most of the wound would need a bandage to cover it. After a moment she unsnapped the pouch of supplies she kept strapped to the small of her back and pulled out some wax sealed cloths. She broke these open and laid them on top her pack before moving to spread various salves over the wounds she was working on. When she was ready she placed the bandage on and made sure it was secure before going about sewing up the next wound, "Once these are done I want to weave a healing web about his wounds, it'll look like a spider's web, but it will release magic into him, helping to heal a little faster, and keep the wounds clean, would you please tell him that so he doesn't attack me."
Tenebrae said to Leoxander, "You alright, down there?" The vampiress knelt to the sand, leaving the very worst orc-wounds to Tirla, who had a better grasp on it. "Gomrak..." A few gestures and orcish words sufficed. She said to Tirla, "You'll be safe." Tene had that half-sorry, half angry look on her face, when she focussed on the Cap‘n again. You know, the one people wear after a fight that has gone too far. "Leo..."
Leoxander was either too tired, too suffocated of breath, or had his pride too wounded to say much to Tenebrae. His anger reflected in yellow tinged eyes, and his whiskered maw stayed crinkled in an offended snarl. Unable to move much, especially with his wrist held captive by the orc, he suffered his humiliation with a rude snap of his jaws in Tene's direction. This was her fault, too.
Tirla finished up the wounds and then simply settled her hands on the orc, a green glow taking both there forms as she lays the webs over his wounds. When this is done she takes a step back and nearly collapses, she was obviously pushing herself beyond what she should, two days without rest, attacked again and again, then the healing of the orc. She made her way over to the hut and sat down, placing her back against, never one to be adverse to sleeping outdoors. She would look to the vampiress, wanting to say something and hear the answer before she passed out, or was needed to help the lycan, "Miss, I've lost too many potential friends to bad situations and my mouth, and this all here is a bad situation, can we just forget about the happenings a few minutes ago?"
Tenebrae got down on her belly, but not so close those jaws could snap on her. "Leo. I love you. And... I'm sorry about the knives and the.. punching. And the overboard thing. But you hurt me, making eyes at... you know." Whether he was listening or not, she's say what she had to. And with it said, waited glumly for the next round of snarls. She lifted her head briefly, nodding to the avian. "Of course. And thankyou for your help." There was a throated grumble from the orc. "Gom says thanks, too."
Tirla nodded her head, keeping herself conscious long enough, "T'was no problem, I'll be right here if you need me," and with that she passed out.
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