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[P] Open Waters; Ahriman
Topic Started: Wed Mar 23, 2011 12:21 am (1,582 Views)
Nicodemus
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The waves ramming the pillars of the docks continued their battle, a battle that would rage for decades before progress was made on this invading force.

Nicodemus stood at the edge of the wide dock, appreciating the war being waged below. The ocean was filled with life, particles of living beings that held no conscious thought. As a whole, the waters were alive. His purpose here was a necessary journey, another pilgrimage on his journey throughout imythess. To travel the living waters, and to explore the inherent interest in the seas that so many mortals seemed to hold.

A pair of sailors walked by, hauling along a large crate toward the ships tied off and anchored at this particular dock. Taras was rebuilding, and well on its way. The paths had been for the most part cleared, opening trade routes. The nostalgia of old habits and ease of access to the towns had drawn in a number of sailors and merchants alike.

The two men glanced at the singular figure, nodding to each other before setting the crate between them down. One, the shorter of the two, approached the lich. “Looking for anything special, mate?” He asked, brushing his hands on the leg of his trousers. Shielding his eyes for a better view, an expression of understanding spread on his face. “Ahh, you’re the cleric, then? Sorry to say it, but you’re quite late. We already filled your spot. This is the last crate before we set sail. We’ll be back in about a fortnight or so, come see us then. Though, if you’re interested, I hear there’s another ship about that’s looking for crew.” His accent was odd to behold, obviously from nowhere in the area. Judging by the size of his ship, it was built to travel some distance. Nowhere on the continent, anyhow. Nicodemus extended a hand, offering a smile. Taking the hand, the sailor nodded. The lich allowed a small amount of positive energy into the man’s flesh, rejuvenating weary muscles and healing scrapes. “It won’t be an issue.” He offered with a flinty tone. The sailor looked impressed. “Wow! Quite a pity, you seem to be rather good at the job. Just what a man needs, besides a woman. We’ve got some of them around, though. Mite of bad luck, if you ask some of the men, but overall, quite good for morale.” the man winked and returned to the crate.

Nicodemus smiled amusedly, lowering his hood. His appearance was as normal as could be helped with the meager amount of shapeshifting magic he knew. He wore no mask, and the smooth, angled features marking him as other than mortal were, for the most part, gone. He looked distinctly elven despite the working. Nodding to the man’s back, Nicodemus looked over his shoulder once more at the sea before returning to the center of the dock, weaving through empty crates and loose equipment. The sailors boarded their rather large cargo ship, the plank being raised behind them.
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Ahriman Lordimar
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The sea air blew hard against the beautiful sails that held fast to the mast of the ship. Ahriman's pride and joy, and he'd never tell a soul otherwise as long as he lived. The ship was made beautifully, he had taken extra card to enforce the hulls and equip it so his job at sea would be one of leisure rather then difficulty. The head of the ship was adorned with a beautiful carved dragon head, which to an ignorant on-looker would simply be for decoration, but he knew better.
The sail of the Mille Figli was beautifully made, the symbol of the dawning sun being covered by a mailed fist. To some, it would seem a dark show of tyranny, but he and his crew viewed it as more of a symbol of rebellion. Let them think it, he mused.
The first show of the boat approaching docking was the caw of a friend high above. To most, it would seem to just be a sea bird, but the beast that flew high over head was something much more spectacular. Ahriman was rather proud of himself, having tamed the beast on his last journey inland.

The ship pulled into the port, the waters rocking gently into the docks as the ship blocked the blunt of the waves. He always loved the feeling of the waves beneath him, a comforting feeling if one could call it that.
The planks were drawn from the boat and his crew went about their work, pulling many crates filled with pilfered supplies off of the boat and down to the dock below. Luka called off orders from the top of the plank as the four others went about their jobs, not seeming to mind the working. It brought a smile to the young captain's face.
He approached the plank of the ship and put his hands into his pockets, his scarf billowing in the breeze. As he reached the dock, he let out a sharp whistle, which seemed pointless for a moment. A smile was covered by his soft scarf as the thunderbird landed on the top of the mast of the ship, relaxing it's large wings and watching the crew like a protector.
He wondered what anyone would think of that, even more-so if they knew there was another beast beneath the hull of the ship. He regretted that he wouldn't be able to give her time to stretch her legs, knowing the yeti never did like the rocking of the sea.

"Aye lads, relax. Ya got an hour ta' get yerself some drink and comfort before we move out again, we got a schedule ta' keep, ya know!"
They all answered at once, a loud and resound, "Aye, sir!" before shuffling off of the docks and towards the town. He would stay with the ship, as always, and ensure the supplies were safe. It was good to be on land, for sure, but he could already feel the itch in his feet that begged to go back out to sea.
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Nicodemus
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Nicodemus approached a similarly-cloaked figure, bowing his head. The figure bowed back. “Drug me all the way out in the sun, sir. Rather disgusting day. No rain to be had. And I’ll suppose you’ll be leaving me to watch over Samuel and…” “Caine. Mind your manners, Cadfael. Or I’ll take your tongue from your mouth. And I doubt she’s entirely fond of you, either.” Nicodemus smiled coolly. Cadfael gave a light shiver as Nicodemus flexed his will over the draken lich. “I understand, sir. We’ll make sure to keep… unwanted guests from the abandoned district.” Bowing, the cloaked zombie hurriedly stalked down the dock and down the cobbled street.

Nicodemus neared the end of the dock, pausing a moment to observe the large blue-feathered bird flying over a well-crafted ship. The lich paused to admire the vessel, a masterpiece all its own. The figurehead was wrought in the shape of a dragon’s head, ship itself seeming near-flawless.

Nicodemus crossed his hands over his cloak, noting the men walking off the ship. None seemed to be after anything in particular on the docks, proceeding towards the town. One man stayed with the ship, looking rather uncomfortable on land.

Good day.” The elf approached confidently. “Seems like I’ve found myself out of a job. Would you happen to have an opening aboard?” Nicodemus lifted a hand, a white aura radiating briefly. “I’ve got a touch of talent in the clerical field. Seems a crew could use one.
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Ahriman Lordimar
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Ahriman looked to the man as he neared the dock area his ship had taken as it's own, watching from the corner of his eye until he finally reached him. The show was impressive, he'd admit, and a cleric was always something a ship was looking for. Especially a good one, as far as the conditions of the sea went.
He took a moment to think, before turning fully to the man and offering his hand, "I'll let ya know before we start off to the sea, this won't be a normal voyage. If ye can pull yer weight in a fight too it'd be welcome, otherwise we got someone who can guard ya. Is that fine?"

A battle at sea wasn't anything unusual, he was sure, but Ahriman's crew often went searching for them. You can't pilfer goods through a nice smile and sweet words, after all. After waiting a moment, he looked up at the bird and added a small note to it, "And hopefully ye don't mind a few non-human crewmen. We find it helps with the harder parts of the sea."
After being content that he had explained it all, he waited for the man to respond. Ahriman kept a reserved stance as he looked at the man, something of him disturbing him a bit. He attributed it to his dislike of clergymen, the way they clung to faith for their healing often disturbed him. At sea, the only thing you could trust was your skill, and that meant pushing yourself beyond your limits at time. The sorta thing faith often took out of you.

Soon, Luka wandered back to the dock, a few bottles of rum tied to his belt and a new fur coat held over his shoulder. He rose a brow as he passed Ahriman, setting the coat down before turning and walking back to the pair, keeping a few paces behind his captain.
"Who's yer new friend cap'n? Ya don't usually make such good friends so quickly."
He hid the sarcasm in his tone well, Ahriman mused.
"Ah right, This lad here is Luka, my first mate. And this is.. Sorry I forget to ask yer name."
He turned back to the name with a curious look on his face, subconsciously bringing a hand up to adjust the scarf to cover more of his face.
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Nicodemus
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Nicodemus smiled halfheartedly. “Oh, a guard won’t be necessary. I can hold my own fairly well. Got a couple of tricks of my own.” He winked cheerily, playing up the role. Being openly secretive and shut-in would cast a shadow of suspicion far more effectively than… enhancing the gaiety of the mood. “Appreciate the welcome, captain. You won’t be disappointed.

I can assure you, I’ve no debate with sharing a ship with those more than human.” The lich glanced at the ship, curious as to its nature. For voyages as the man was suggesting, it didn’t seem physically intimidating in a battle. Though he’d seen the like of the bird before. And felt something more aboard the ship, something large.

The lich turned to the city end of the docks, watching as sailors began to stream in. A majority of the other ships were beginning to set off. The man set down his coat, the man himself stocked with drink. Doubtless, the fur would be an asset on the sea, he was certain it got rather chilly, but the drink. Morale, perhaps, but how many bottles would come aboard with the men? A waste of life, sitting about and wasting one’s mind with a toxic substance. If they valued their own lives so little, should he show any more thought of them? Life that could be used productively.

Used to serve a cause.

Nick’s just fine. A pleasure to meet you, Luka. And you…” Nicodemus rolled his hand towards the captain.
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Ahriman Lordimar
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The man's attitude was at least decent enough. Ahriman wouldn't have to worry if things got especially hairy, unless the man was wearing a very convincing facade. And even then there was always a nice boot to punt him off the side of the ship. Or he could just let Mora guard him.
He held out his hand to shake the mans, pulling his scarf down to reveal a roguish smile, "Ye can call me Abel, to make it simple. The boys will likely introduce themselves at their own pace, once we get on board and everyone realizes what's what."

Looking back at the ship, he pointed and shouted some orders to his returning men to load up some supplies to prepare. They'd set off soon, and their query was one of the ships that had left a few hours before they arrived. It'd be a tough journey, but he trusted his ship could outrun any official ship, even if it was built for speed.
Turning to the man, he pulled his scarf back up to cover up to his nose, "We should be headin' out, if yer ready we can just board now and go? The longer we wait the more difficult the trip will be, I assure ya."
And he wasn't kidding. For the man, of course, the trip would probably be difficult anyway. But for the crew, the longer they waited the longer they had to hunt for that distinctive white flag with some inane symbol on it. A simple flag, and respectable if you followed that sort of official structure.
He turned and put his hands into his jacket pockets. He stepped on the plank and turned, waiting on the man. He knew he couldn't really hide the happiness on his face, or in his body language that gave away he was glad to be rid of the land. There was nothing for him here beyond supplies and a few pay days here and there. There was no need to stay longer then he had to.

Looking up, he let out a shrill whistle, and the resting bird let out a loud call, slowly lifting from the ship and ascending into the sky, circling above the ship in a practiced routine. The bird was their spotter, and even their initial guard and artillery. A useful thing in a career where war, and battle was an everyday health-hazard.
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Nicodemus
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Nicodemus shook the hand of the captain, a tingle running up his hairless flesh at the contact. This soul was familiar. Met once before, under another guise. As Luriel, he’d fought beside him. Waving off the thoughts, Nicodemus retained his grin. To him, what he’d done as Luriel was naught but the memories of another man. Even so. Abel Metharis.

Nicodemus watched s sailors moved to fill orders, performing routine tasks. From where he looked, the lot were but pawns, moved by a higher mind. “Agreed, the sooner the better. No sense in waiting, is there?” The lich stepped along, bowing his head as he set foot on the planks of the ship. Glancing up, he walked to the edge, setting his hands on the railing and looking out over the sea. Life was abundant here, energies to rival that on dry land. To plain eyes, nothing stood out save for the waves, a minor detail on such a beast as the ocean.

Nicodemus generally kept out of the way of passing men, appearing ready to lend a hand if needed. Nicodemus kept near the masthead, gazing out over the waters and letting off a light, chilly aura to unconsciously ward away some of the crew. His cheery, jovial mood failed to hold itself up as they departed, giving way to a deep brooding demeanor.

His fingers crossed and uncrossed, weaving like a spider’s legs over the wood of the railing, feeling the grain. It had not been long since their departure, but long enough one would usually grow bored and leave one droll activity for another. Ship travel was a long and wearying business, not for those unable to keep busy or entertained. Though the men certainly seemed busy enough.

Every so often a torch of life would show itself to Nicodemus, showing itself to him in the form of a fish or the occasional bird in the sky.
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Ahriman Lordimar
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Ahriman had a smile across his face as he got onto the ship, and drew the plank back on board. The comfort of the sea was one he loved every second he could enjoy it. Moving up to the helm of the ship, running a hand over the oak of the wheel, he felt a familiar tinge of excitement buzzing through his hands.
The ship cast off, the sails catching wind and the caw of the bird high above being the only signal to anyone on land that the Mille Figli had left the port behind, and headed far out into the vast blue of the ocean.


As the time passed the men kept the themselves, something about their passenger being very off-putting to most of them. They spent much of their time that wasn't going about their work below the deck, enjoying the merriment of drink and gambling. It was the usual sea-faring sport of many-a-crew, and they were no exception.
Ahriman spent much of his time at the wheel, guiding the ship with some charts he had nailed to a table that was a few paces behind him. He kept a small copper colored compass set next to it, occasionally readjusting it on the table so he could see it by simply turning around.
On the fourth day of the trip, he finally had something to be merry about. The cawing of the bird above as it did it's usual sweeps was one of warning, another ship on the horizon. A ship with a sail that he had trained the beast to track as far as it's avian eyes could see. With a shrill whistle, the crew seemed to be on edge now, the few below deck coming up with cutlass armed on their hips. Only a curious on-looker would notice that the thunder bird above had cut off away from the ship.
And only a member of the crew would know exactly why.

Ahriman came to the head of the ship, keeping a safe distance from the strange preacher that had joined them on their voyage. He didn't mind the man, a feeling of familiarity seeming to come from him. A very distant feeling, something he had seen before somewhere that was very distant in the man... as if it was buried deep. He tried to ignore it whenever they passed on the ship, tossing a polite smile or greeting the man's way.
But now he was here on business.
"Thought I'd warn ya that we're comin' up on our target, if ye'd rather go below deck. We got some business with a man on that ship, and it ain't gonna happen quietly if history is a good measure."

To accentuate what he said, a loud bang cut through the air. The sky flashed white to the west, where they were going. A spiky contour of lightning left an afterimage burning in the sky for many moments, soon followed by the mass of the thunderbird flying over the ship, a caw of victory following close behind as it landed atop the mast of the ship, flapping it's wings a few times to blast wind into the sails. A column of smoke came from the west, the enemy ship's mast had been cut in two by a strike of lightning and they were likely fighting the inevitable fires of it. A well thought out strategy Ahriman had devised to keep enemy ships from running.
"And that'd be first call that things are startin... Stations ready, boys!"
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Nicodemus
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Nicodemus didn’t mind the avoidance of the crew, encouraging it when he could. He never joined them below the deck, generally keeping topside. As far as the crew knew, he didn’t sleep during the nights they spent, and they were right. Most of the time was spent looking over the waves or into the sunset, the harsh light not bothering him.

Every so often, he’d glance over at Abel, watching the captain move with his ship, smoothly navigating the waters, reading charts like a book. This was his place, his lot in life, and he looked perfectly happy with it. He belonged at the wheel of the ship. Chuckling, Nicodemus turned back to the waters, leaning over the railing. His elven features hadn’t shifted once since his initial shift, managing to hold the enchantment, keeping it from fraying.

Thank you for the warning, but I’d rather remain atop the ship. Better view from here. Maybe I’ll see to joining in the action. Can hold my own in a fight, don’t need anyone to watch over me.
Nicodemus smiled at the same moment the shriek of lightning and cracking of wood came from the neighboring ship, mast split in half. He could feel the beat in his chest, a grand show of destruction, though relatively undamaging to the crew. Not a life was lost, though a man near the bolt had received minor burns. Their sails fell to the deck, leaving their ship quite immobile, and rather busy.

The ship approached the other, seeming confident in its movement. Nicodemus put on a smile, one he didn’t need to fake. Death would follow behind disaster, and behind death, himself. “I can hardly wait.” Nicodemus extended his right hand, a silvery, ethereal blade growing in hand. It extended a full foot and a half before slowing to a halt, giving off a faint glow. The blade ran up his arm, blending into his flesh, made of the souls that surrounded his very being.

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Ahriman Lordimar
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The captain was still a little off-put by the priest, but he couldn't help but enjoy his enthusiasm. He just hoped he'd listen to the rules the captain set down for his crew when they entered battle.
He moved back to the helm of the ship, turning it so their ship was directly behind the enemies. He showed a toothy grin as his scarf whipped from his face, pulling down to his neck and kicking in the wind. A shrill whistle passed his lips, and a startling shake shook the ship. An iron grate in the center of the deck slowly opened as if a clasp was opened on it, and a distant roar was heard from below.
First, a paw of white and blue fur grabbed the edge of the hole, and slowly a yeti's shape pulled itself onto the deck. Mora had a look of rage on her face, and sleep still rimming her eyes. The crack of thunder had woken the yeti from a sound sleep, and she was none too happy.
But there was more important things for him to worry about now. He pulled a small sigil from the desk he had mounted behind him, lifting it up to his mouth for a moment. He recalled the words in his mind many times over, ensuring that everything was just right. As they neared the ship, a few hundred yards now, he cackled happily and called into the sigil, "Awaken, Dimitri! Show them the sound of thunder!"
Another crack of thunder split the air, this time from the dragon head mounted at the tip of the ship. The beasts head moved as if alive, a yellow light glowing in it's pitted eyes. It's mouth seemed to let out a stony roar, quickly followed by a crack of lightning, rapidly turning into a spray of electricity that overtook the back of the enemy ship. The ship was burned and crippled, the mechanisms working the rudder being broken by the sheer shock of impact of it all.

Then, he turned the mass of the boat and came along side the ship, grinning another toothy grin as he looked out at the enemy ship. Many naval men were lining up for battle, preparing bows and swords. The ship wasn't large enough to support the artillery they'd need to down the Mille Figli, not with the beating their ship had already taken.
Loda, one of the youngest of Ahriman's crew, rushed to the grappling boards, rigging the system to the enemy ship and hooking in tight to the wood. He held fast to the banister as it was brought down, a similar, secondary plank being setup by Len not ten paces away. The enemy ship was hooked, and not a soul would get them unhooked until the entire crew was dead. Either of the crews.
As Ahriman stepped down to the deck, he raised his hand to hold back his crew-and their addition- to let him examine the enemy crew. There were a few that looked like they were barely ready to hold their swords.
"Don't kill anyone who doesn't fight back. Those who can't fight can skip away on a life raft."

His men nodded, and Luka rushed to the rail first, raising his cutlass to sparkle above his head. A guttural call of battle rang from him, and he rushed forward with battle-lust in his eyes. He was the best of the crew, beyond Ahriman, and as soon as he reached the enemy ship one of their front line-men was on the deck bleeding. The rest of the crew followed after, Ahriman waiting for last, pulling himself onto the netting that was hung from the side of his ship. The pirate drew an arrow on his shortbow, firing into the enemy crowd and narrowly missing an enemy archer who threw himself to the deck to avoid being hit. Crafty one that.
He knocked back another arrow and looked for a proper target. He focused hard, and finally fired. A pang of guilt hit him as he realized who he had hit. A boy of barely twelve from the looks of him, shaking as he held his sword. A man who was used to these things would have seen the attack and at least tried to dodge, but the boy seemed to freeze in time as the arrow flew at him, fear over-taking instinct. A casualty of war, he rationalized, and pulled back another arrow. They were warriors of the sea, and that was something they all had to cope with eventually...
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Nicodemus
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Nicodemus nodded to the captain, eying the yeti warily. The beast seemed capable of doing serious damage. His best hope for countering the thing’s sheer strength would likely be Samuel. Thankfully, he had no reason to stand against the creature. Even more so, given Samuel was currently with Graham, teaching and preparing the first among many to join Nicodemus’ order.

The priestly elf awaited the captain’s signal, listening halfheartedly. His disinterest in any particular order of battle was obvious, watching several choice members of the enemy crew. Most were relatively young, green to the sea, not to mention the blade. The back deck of the ship held a robed man, fingers waving intricately. Nicodemus felt the waters beginning to stir underfoot. The man was a weather mage, on land fairly harmless. But in the open sea, where everything in sight was a potential weapon, they could be disastrous as they were helpful.

The lich followed the crew aboard the opposing ship, clash of steel ringing through the air. Making his way for the wizard, the elf lifted his spirit-blade. The human spread his fingers towards Nicodemus, throwing a bolt of lightning. The bolt struck the lich dead-on. Silvery mist formed between the elf and the bolt, absorbing the brunt of the impact. The remaining energy sputtered, scattering over the lich’s form. Grinning at the wizard’s expression of surprise, he lunged forward, driving his blade forward.

The edge passed through the man’s clothing without damage, hissing as it touched the man’s flesh. Skin parted easily, burning at the edges of the wound. Grinning, the lich swept upwards, splitting the front of his torso open. Blood spread from the wound, soaking into untouched clothing.

Nicodemus turned, feeling the next death on the ship approaching. He spotted the captain in time to watch him fire, the arrow tearing into the chest of a small boy. He watched as his sword fell to the ground, thumping against the wood underfoot. Amid the fighting, the boy slowly fell forward, impact pushing the arrow through.

It was not his time.

Nicodemus shuddered, watching in horror. Walking forward, he began his way through the fight, passing through smoothly. His rage built, expression growing darker. A lightly bearded sailor stopped between he and the boy, turning to face the lich. Nicodemus lifted a hand, conjuring a spell on the spot. He batted away the man’s forearm carelessly, planting his palm on his sternum. The sound of bones snapping echoed like cracking wood. The forearm went loose, bending anew where Nicodemus had batted it away. The main portion of the spell went into the man’s chest, shattering his sternum and the ribcage surrounding it. He fell limp, gasping a scream. Nicodemus planted a boot on the mush of the man’s chest, walking over him and to the form of the child, lifting the boy in his arms. Wrapping a fist around the arrow shaft, he pushed it through the rest of the way, sliding the shaft through the hole. Blood covered the child’s jaw in a red sheen, staining his shirt. Throwing the arrow to the ground, Nicodemus turned to face their own ship, walking through the men without further problem. None who had seen wanted to be in his way.

Nicodemus sat near the railing, resting the boy’s head on his knee, holding the corpse. The boy was young, eyes amber and hair golden. His complexion was slightly rough and tanned, but his features were strong. “Too young. It’s not your time.” The lich remained bent over the body, holding it close to himself.
Edited by Nicodemus, Sat Mar 26, 2011 1:26 am.
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Ahriman Lordimar
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He couldn't hide the fact that the preacher was impressive. In what seemed like a single moment, he had rushed from Ahriman's ship across to the enemies vessel, and dispatched the one threat that they would likely face beyond numbers. He quickly knotted himself out of the netting that edged his ship, rushing over to give aide to the man as he rushed back to their vessel, though why he was he didn't know until it was a bit too late to protest.
He felt a choke of distaste as the man carried the dead boy back with him. Was he that opposed to casualties? Or just the young ones? He shook his head, letting the man have his comfort...

Ahriman stepped onto the enemy ship, letting out a sharp whistle as he rushed into the thick of combat. He came up next to Luka, his agile form barely making a sound beyond the sound of steel leaving sheath. The enemy who was bearing down on his prized first mate barely let out a scream of surprise as a cutlass slit his throat, sending him sprawling back against the deck. Many of the crewman turned their heads, seeing their captain-at-arms defeated breaking morale.
He always had a good eye for finding the leaders.

The few that fought back were ended quickly enough, Ahriman's own intervention playing a big part of it. His men were tired, and slowly were retreating to the planks before their captain crossed to the thick of it. Shep was even injured, though he wasn't quite sure how bad until he had seen the lad. It was a shame, really, the boy was barely of age and he chose such a tough life. And now, because of Ahriman, he was bleeding from a large wound on his hip.
He frowned, running a hand around the wound. His own abilities of healing magics was good, but he could at best patch up the wound. He drew down his scarf and held his hand over the wound. He was glad they had picked up the preacher now, his powers would be needed if Shep was to see shore again.
"Mend ossa, carne e cucire insieme... Get 'im on the ships lads... I'll finish checking for what we're here for."

The others nodded, Allen and Loda lifting Shep into their grasp and carrying to wounded pirate back to the ship, to take him to the infirmary. Ahriman was sure that what little he had done for him wouldn't last too long, especially with the location of the wound. He shook his head, going into the bowels of the ship. Most of the crew was killed, but those of them that weren't that had been armed were lined up on the deck, Luka taking care to keep them in line. He knew the boy would make a great captain himself one day, as great as he was at his duties.
He moved into the bowels of the ship now, moving towards the private cabins. He could hear frantic footsteps, and the sounds of cursing. There was a bureaucrat in there if ever Ahriman had heard one. He likely just realized that his men had been slaughtered or captured, and it was the best time for him to disappear.
He stepped up to the door, putting extra care to make his steps light. He heard the man rushing to the center of the room now, mapping out the room in his mind as best he could from the sounds. If he were to bust the door down now, whatever weapon the man had would have little effect beyond being a projectile. Now if the man had a projectile weapon?
He was always a gambling man.

He kicked the door down, the weight of his boot breaking it off of it's hinges as he drew the blade from his hip. The man behind the desk-a robust looking man, adorned in emerald green robes that one could only get from such a high ranking life- fumbled with a dagger he had retrieved from his desk. Ahriman had no trouble deflecting the thing as it was tossed at him.
He flew over the desk, slamming the man's chair into the wall behind him. With a single hand the pirate hoisted the heavy-set man off of his feet, bringing him up to almost ceiling level of the small cabin. He looked over the man for a moment, "You tax collectors always have a certain fashion I find so endearing. So unique and pompous all at once."
He sheathed his blade, looking through the man's pockets. After a few moments of taunts and grunts, he had found what he was looking for. The gemstone, a ruby of some grand color, was beautiful to behold indeed. He pocketed the thing, tossing the man down to the corner of the room.
It was the sniveling and groveling portion of the routine now. He held up the gemstone again to have a look, sighing once at the waste it would be going to the man who had asked for their services to begin with. Putting it into an inner pocket of his jacket, he slid his blade from it's sheath and ended the man before he could say anything to the matter.

He left the office now, a few more pieces and doodads stuck into his pockets until they were fit to burst. Such beautiful things, seized property. They usually went for a nice price if they weren't being given back to their owners, and even then the pay for the job wasn't usually too bad.
But he was distracted again, a sound coming from the bowls of the ship. A metallic sound, locks trying to break apart, and someone kicking into bars. They had a prisoner aboard the ship. With a frown to his own conscience, Ahriman descended into the bowels of the ship to search for the captive. As he descended in, his hands grabbed the keys to the brig and placed them in his pocket. Useful things, those.

As he began to descend the steps, however, the noise stopped. Now it wasn't a conscience, but curiosity that drove him into the bowels of the ship. Moving in, he saw only one prisoner. A woman, from the looks of her, a black cloak covering most of her form. A clasp he didn't recognize kept it shut tight around her, blocking all but her white hair from view.
Without a word, he moved to the cage and put the key in, opening the door.
"Yer free to go, lass."

She shot forward, a small handcrafted knife coming from her cloak. As she came in on Ahriman, he quickly drew his blade to knock the attack aside, bringing up his free hand to grab her oncoming punch. A quick one, this prisoner. She had obviously been useful enough to be kept alive, however...
"Ye didn't hear me? Yer free. My ship can take ya to the shore, this ships crew isn't gonna waste a life boat on a prisoner."
The signs of recognition washed over her, and without a sound she nodded and moved to the stairs and went towards the deck. An old sailors belief came to the pirate's mind, that a woman aboard brought bad tidings to the crew. He wondered if that wasn't true as he saw the fate of the crew that had ran this ship.

Coming back to the ship, he whistled. Luka nodded and followed after his captain, a brow raised as he saw the prisoner following shortly behind him.
"Don't worry about it, go start getting the ramps off, we're leavin."
He nodded and went across to their ship, starting at his work. As Ahriman and the woman followed, he saw the preacher was still with the boy he had retrieved from the enemy ship. He indicated for the woman to go below deck-not wanting her in the way of his crew as they made for the shore- and moved towards the preacher.
He leaned down next to the man, looking over the dead boy's face. He felt a pang of guilt as he looked to his dead eyes, the look of terror frozen in them for what he thought would be forever.
"Ye can't help him anymore, friend, but we got a sailor on board that could use a healer with skills a bit beyond mine."
He avoided the comforting shoulder pat that he would give to anyone else, bringing himself back to his feet and heading for the helm of the ship. Mora had long since went back to her home beneath the bowels of the ship, and the sun was starting to go down on the horizon. He would need to start them moving to their port of call soon, or they might have some trouble along the road...
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Nicodemus
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The lich’s horror seemed rather out of place, not even those who didn’t pay mind to the balances were as bothered. But the children. A child was far out of the acceptable norm of death. Unable to hurt anything with half a mind to defend itself, ultimately shapeable in their futures. Nicodemus rested his palm on the child’s brow, lowering his eyelids as he drew his fingers across the boy’s face. His eyes were growing clouded already, heat fading from his corpse.

Curling the body close, he held the head to his breast. Rocking in place, he leaned the boy’s limp head forward, exposing the back of his neck. On a suspicion, he pulled the collar down slightly. The brief seconds of life he’d caught had been familiar, touched. The cloth shifted, showing a sigil inked onto his neck.

"Ye can't help him anymore, friend, but we got a sailor on board that could use a healer with skills a bit beyond mine."

Nicodemus replaced the cloth, hiding the mark. Peering up with some amount of rage in his eyes, he hid it immediately. “I will do what I can.” Standing, he lifted the boy in his arms, keeping him close. Picking out the wounded sailor, he strode over, assessing the damage. Lifting a hand, he jabbed the tip of a finger against the flesh bordering the wound. Pressing, he channeled a healing spell into the bleeding mess.

The flesh itself reknit, pulling together, new skin and muscle growing at severed ends. In seconds, the wound was gone, all that was left was a stripe of shiny new skin.
It will scar. Fair reminder to watch one’s step, wouldn’t you think?
The lich walked to the masthead, holding the child atop the rail.
One of his own.
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Ahriman Lordimar
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He was a bit disturbed at the show of love for the boy that the preacher had shown, but he was never one to judge the ways of preachers. His idea of being religious was not drinking on a Sunday, so he would leave the man to his grieving. And he wasn't going to question a man who had just saved the lives of one of his crew.
He nodded his thanks to the preacher as he left and knelt down next to the bed Shep had taken as his resting place, placing a gemstone into the man's hand. He nodded, smiling without a word to his crew-member, then nodding to Allen as he moved back out to the ship's deck. The moon was fast rising into the sky, the stars passing and shining through the fingers of the clouds.
He sighed, setting the helm in place so the ship would move on it's own. They'd put in near the shore of the Taras refugee camp, letting their cargo off and maybe taking a small break before returning to work. The battle for this victory was a stressful one, and he wondered if he'd ever get the look of terror of the boy out of his mind...

As he moved to go to his cabin, he saw a figure in black on the same place the preacher had taken as his perch. The woman they had found in the brig of that ship. She seemed to be staring off into space, not bothered by the chilling bite of the sea wind at night.
He moved over to her and stopped some ways away, not feeling comfortable to ask her what she was doing here. Something was off about her, something that made him think of the preacher below. Almost like something was missing from them. He gritted his teeth and turned, moving for the door to go to the lower decks of the ship. In the morning he would guide the ship through the winds and try to find the biggest current of the south-winds and make it to port.
He could really go for a drink that didn't have a tinge of sea-water in the taste.

As he moved into the bowels of his ship he felt a tinge of discomfort shiver up his spine. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and the smell of embalming fluid filled his nostrils. His eyes narrowed, but he moved on. Ahriman Lordimar wouldn't sleep well that night, and for a few days after that he would likely be filled with nightmares of terrible things...

A feeling of impending doom seems to rip into him. All he can see is darkness, and feel teeth lashing out at him. His blade is swinging wildly, never seeming to fail to find an enemy. They are endless, bearing in on him and pulling his energy down and down into a pit of nothingness.
As the light begins to shine, all he can see is a figure in all white. There is no face, but his hair is of snow white color. Slowly, purple light begins to glow from his eyes and wash over the man. He can't help but feel fear wash over him..
Wake up... open your eyes

He clenches his teeth and swings his blade, the figure dispersing into smoke. He looks around frantically and turns to face the cliff.. but when he turns again the purple eyes are baring down on him.
Open your eyes to the truth.. your life is forfeit now...
His own blade is in his chest.. and Ahriman falls back bleeding. Tumbling from the cliff, he can smell the saltwater below.. and all he can bring himself to do is smile..


He opens his eyes for the rest of the night, sweat sliding down the edge of his brow. What had he just seen..? Would he ever know?
Edited by Ahriman Lordimar, Sat Jul 30, 2011 1:29 am.
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Nicodemus
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Nicodemus kept an eye on the captain, making sure nobody would bother him. The moon had begun its ascent, night following closely at its heels. The crew began preparing the ship to sail on its own, retiring below deck. Nicodemus remained above deck, cradling the corpse of the wayward Istani child. He ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, opening his eyes slightly to look into the clouded amber gems there.

Not the boy’s time.

The lich stood up, producing a mask from the folds of his robe, the gold-tinted steel and bronze glimmering in the moonlight. Lifting the item to his face, he felt the metal touch his skin, holding on as if it had a will of its own. Standing straight, he grew in height, fingers lengthening, limbs stretching. The color of his flesh shifted from gold to the color of graying wheat.

Setting the boy down on deck, Nicodemus knelt over him, placing his hands over his chest, fingers interwoven. Nicodemus lowered his face closer to the child’s, hood falling over his own. Power glowed at his hands, while a silvery mist poured from around his mask, settling over the child.

He inhaled.

The child sputtered, coughing and wincing at the pain the healing chest wound gave him. The lich set his hand on the child’s back, lifting him to a sitting position. He gave the healing magic a boost, adding a second healing spell to the working. The boy’s eyes fluttered open, darting back and forth as he regained his sight, eyes unclouding. Nicodemus placed his hands on either side of his head, drawing eye contact. “Shh, you’re well again, child. Calm.[color]” A brush of magic ran over the boy, soothing his emotions. His breathing slowed, coming to a normal pace. Rubbing his thumb over his cheek, Nicodemus smiled behind his mask. The child looked up at him, eyes wide as recognition dawned on him. Nicodemus placed a finger to the boy’s lips. “I look after my own, Istani.

The lich leaned the boy against the railing. “Sleep now, my son. Your body needs it more than i.” Nicodemus stood, settling a net of calming magic over the boy, bringing him to a quick sleep. Standing upright, he turned to face the rest of the ship, having been awash in his own troubles.

The woman. He hadn’t noticed her come aboard. Perhaps sometime during the battle, she was brought back. But something about the woman nagged at him, aside from her appearance. Looking more deeply, he frowned. This warranted investigations.
He approached her calmly, confident in his abilities to handle any situation that might come up. “Curious thing, finding one of you here.
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