Landlocked - The Scarlet Hydra, 27th of Chryil, MT

[Ezekiel Lee]

Rebuilt from an establishment that was left behind in the Duchy the Scarlet Hydra Inn still used its mascot, the wooden sign hanging out proudly, with the painted 5-headed dragon in vibrant scarlet. Perhaps once the establishment was the deep red that its name implies, but for now it was a mottled palette of colours ranging from muted pink to vibrant ruby - repainted so many times that the surface was now a hodgepodge of colours, resembling - once again - the scaley flesh of a grim beast.

The tall, two story building is as yet incomplete, with no apparent signs of construction going on. While the roof is entirely in tact, some of the walls on the upper floor are little more than sheets spread between columns, and many of those sheets appear to have been in place for several months. Numerous dormers peek out from either side of the high roof, suggesting living quarters (both with and without proper walls) on the upper levels. While it is easily the largest building on Nether's Gate, it is far from the most lovely.

The common room has massive tables and chairs with actual cushions scattered about, adding just enough wealth to entice the costumers to perhaps spend a little more. The long bar against the far wall is created out of heavy black walnut. The windows are made of strengthened lead casing and delicately stained, depicting the patron creature of the inn. The decor, while not overly so, is a bit on the tawdry side...much like the patrons.

Zeke was troubled. A tenday past he had been put ashore in an agreeable enough fashion, the Captain of the barque Black Harpy considering his time done, paying off the crew, and sending his vessel to the knackers yard. While the Harpy had been home for these past two years, Ezekiel was not particularly sad to say goodbye. The parting had left him richer in pocket by a few crown, and besides, it was a perfectly reasonable ending, and all crew had been satisfied with their compensation.

But ten days ashore, and the pirate's newfound coin had dwindled sharply in the face of the many entertainments the Scarlet Hydra had to offer a man of meagre wealth. A great deal of it had been, very literally, pissed away. A part of the rest the Hydra had claimed in return for the time of its whores. There was little left but change; and one full crown which Zeke had prudently stashed in the instep of his left boot, a place he considered it perfectly safe from anyone with a sense of smell.

Few of the former crew of the Harpy still remained on the island, most having signed articles with other crews and sailed out already. Some of the few that remained joined Zeke at his table, where they were collectively attempting to drink their own body weight in rum and decide where next to go, a pair of activies not best suited to one another.

And this was the reason that the young Lee was troubled. For, under the raucous voices of his companions, he was giving it much serious (though rather drunken) thought. There were only two vessels currently at port in Nether's Gate; one was the Fleche, little more than a smuggling vessel, a little merchant bilander and not at all Zeke's mug of rum, as it were... and the Revenge, which was a fine, well built galleon of much grace and appeal... if it weren't for the snotty little Captain aboard her. Zeke personally had little against adhiel, but was well aware of Linasis' feelings about everyone else... and considered his chances of joining that company to be slim to none.

He had itchy feet, that was the trouble. His legs were entirely unaccustomed to navigating the treacherously level floor of dry land, and the longing to go to sea once more was growing strong. Zeke took another swallow of his rum, noisily, and wiped his chin, frowning. Patience seemed to be his best option. Thankfully, he could be a rather patient man, at times, particularly when he still had money for grog.

[Grant]

They were collectively called Roarks, though they would have preferred people call them Revengers.

There were hundreds of them...and while most of them were busy scraping, painting, caulking, hammering, hauling, and managing the refit of Roark's Revenge...rumor had it her captain wanted to be underway before the end of the week...those who weren't working (it would currently be the Forenoon watch) were currently packed into the Scarlet Hydra as if they owned the place.

And who could say they didn't? With almost three hundred hands put ashore while the warship was shaken down, the population of Nether's Gate swelled while they were here. One in eight faces seen in Nether's Gate tonight would be crewmen aboard Roark's Revenge...and all of those crewmen would be armed, drunk, and ready for a fight. No one would dare to stand up to them...not while the Roarks were the only crew in town...and for this reason, the shouting, laughing pirates dominated the center of the Scarlet Hydra, shouting and laughing and drinking well over a ton of beer between them.

Curiously, the bulk of the Roarks were adhiel...a known preference to Captain Linasis of the same. There were rumors that the rather diminutive man frequently raided Royal and Mouthie settlements for the sheer satisfaction of skinning humans, though no one would dare speak of such things where any Roark could hear. Regardless, it was some time before Zeke and his fellow ex-Harpies were even noticed by the bartender...and far too long before someone could bring the men their required drinks.

So, it was amid drunken, shouted adhiel that Zeke finally got his deserved mug of rum with an apologetic look from a thin and haggard barmaid...but at least he got his drink, and so far, none of the Roarks had made much trouble.

[Ezekiel Lee]

The politics of Nether's Gate - if you could call such situations politics and not merely mob rule - were a changeable and fickle thing, and while the ex-Harpies and the Roarks had little reason for direct emnity, neither were they all best friends. Each crew was more of a family, and each family stuck by their own - you had to, sharing twenty eight inches of bunk space with your neighbour, and nowhere to escape aside from overboard. For this reason, Zeke stuck with the ex-Harpies stoically - he was usually a man of stoic nature - and attempted not to draw the attention of the rowdy adhiel overmuch.

While he was generally a man handy with his fists, he preferred not to fight three hundred alone.

This environment left much to be desired, and Zeke was seriously considering leaving for quieter shores... when he remembered, with the inevitable sadness of the slightly worse-for-wear, that the Scarlet Hydra was the only drinking establishment that this little community boasted. There was nowhere else to go.

"...bloody pointy-ears..." He muttered to his neighbour, sotto voce, hoping none of the bloody pointy-ears would overhear.

[Grant]

It was a common occurence in any port town. Sailors were routinely put ashore for one reason or another, either permanently at the end of a cruise, or temporarily during a refit. Naturally, sailors were quite thrilled to spend time ashore, often spending their hard-won earnings on booze, women, and whatever else took their fancy. But before long, the money ran out. Not even the tradition of selling everything one owned...everything including the clothes off their own backs to a few items "borrowed" from the ship...could postpone the inevitable end of such a celebration. Without cash to keep them drunk or whoring, sailors had a tendency to become ill-tempered, contrary, and even pugnacious. In a word, they became bored.

For the crew of the Roark's Revenge, the time to ship out had long past...but the ship remained beached at Rande's Landing, still completing her refit. And for the ex-Harpys, the situation was even more dire, as they were paid out, put ashore, and already coming to the end of their shares. It was therefore almost expected that tempers would eventually rise...and all it would take was the right word, uttered in the right ear, to ignite the situation. To make matters infinitely worse, all of the sailors in the Scarlet Hydra...all of the sailors in Nether's Gate...were also pirates, born and bred not just to the sea, but to the sword, the sheet, and the slow match.

"Aye. Fukkin' pointy ears," repeated one of Zeke's shipmates, a tall, statuesque black man with an accent that spoke of Amun Rah (an accent he failed to lose after almost twenty yahren at sea). More than this, he was large...and as pugnacious and capable in a fight as anyone from the old Harpy. It came as no surprise to Zeke that he would happily pick one even now. Raising his voice such that anyone could hear, he continued. "How can Cap'n Linasis fight the Revenge with nothin' but powder boys aboard?"

And then...dead silence.

Almost thirty pairs of adhiel eyes turned to gaze upon the few remaining ex-Harpies in the Hydra, save for the stupid ones that couldn't master something as simple as the human tongue (who could be heard to utter "Qera?" at their comrades, as they hadn't the sense to know human or figure out what had just occurred). As fast as you please, all other patrons quickly slipped to the sidelines, including Captain Bisby of the Fleche. Fuck me! he thought to himself, certain that a few land-locked sailors were about to enjoy the experience of broken limbs.

[Ezekiel Lee]

Zeke smiled - a thin and long-suffering smile, feeling the inevitable fight bear down upon him before it had even begun. The Dortman had sailed with his considerable neighbour for some two years now, and was rather fond of the man; Mads was an excellent bloke to have at your side in a fight. (For Mads was the Amunic pirate's name - or rather, it was something very long and complicated like M'desjaienetnashté... which nobody could be bothered to pronounce... and so for the sake of brevity and out of pure laziness, he had long ago been dubbed simply 'Mads' by common consensus).

It was not at all surprising that being excellent in a fight, and being excellent at starting fights so frequently went hand in hand. Ezekiel was no mere amateur himself, but still, he quietly reminded himself that he should have known better.

...ah, well... might be fun, eh...?

"I dunno, mate." Zeke replied in an equally loud and perfectly innocent tone, his voice striking into the silence like a hand grenade. "Mebbe the inside a' his ship 's all miniature, like a fuckin' dollhouse? Or mebbe they're all just too busy fuckin' each other up the arse to bother much wiv fightin'...?"

His hands were already wrapped around the legs of his chair, the muscles in his body tensed, waiting for the first blow to come and prepared to launch right in. Once it started it was every man for himself, but it was really best not to get clocked squarely in the chin in the first five seconds and wake up later wondering where everyone else had taken your teeth, since both were conspicuously missing. Especially if your opponents were the size of small children. There were only a half dozen of the ex-Harpies in the Hydra, true... but there were only thirty odd adhiel, and it took at least three adhiel to make up one human, Zeke reasoned. So, all in all, fairly fair odds...

[Grant]

"Oh, fuck you all, whoreson buggers!" came a venomous, spitting (yet strangely high-pitched) shout as one of the nearer Roarks tossed his wooden tankard forward and launched himself to his feet fast enough to send his heavy, wooden chair sliding backwards towards the entrance. The tables around which the adhiel had been seated...there were five, all told...tilted and swayed as the Roark's Revenge's larboard waistmen clambered to their feet and charged the sparsely-populated Harpy table.

There were only six Harpys...and their table was relegated to a corner well away from the entrance. Even if they might have sought to escape, it seemed largely impossible in the face of at least thirty pairs of almost-shaped, angry eyes, all of which filled the center of the taproom leaving only a few tables around the exterior of the room available for others. However, the Harpys weren't interested in flight...and in another half flicker, they would be in perhaps their last melee as a team.

The closest Harpy to the adhiel...a short, thick man that never had any hair on his head in the yahren Zeke knew him...received the first of the adhiel and quickly turned the little pirate over his shoulder to land heavily on the table (naturally disrupting whatever drink remained). Beside him, Mads and one other shipmate rose and crouched to receive the coming onslaught. Next around the table was Zeke, away from the reach of the charging adhiel for now such that he would have another half flicker to prepare...or attack...before the adhiel closed with him.

Elsewhere in the bar, the sound of deep, booming laughter could be heard...a cruel, strange, unnatural sound that could only be that of an orc laughing. This sound was joined by the instant cacophony of a hundred yelling voices either cheering the fighters on, or (far less likely) shouting obscenities due to a spilled drink or ruined trencher of poorly boiled lamb.

[Charlotte Estella Riddens]

"And again..."

A month back, such words, coming from Estella, might just have held a small touch of exasperation alongside its tone of general amusement...after all, didn't these thugs never tire of beating each other black and blue?...but by now Estella was too wise to question the unerring patience of pirates when it came to fighting. She had seen sufficiently of it to know that no sooner would landlocked pirates stop fighting, than they would stop drinking and whoring. Which wasn't saying little.

In the stoic calm of someone all too familiar with circumstances such as the building brawl inside the Scarlet Hydra, Estella quickly but calmly relocated to the bar. Her table was only next to the burly black fellow who started it all, and she knew full well that it too would be relocated in only flickers, presumably in a rather unpleasant and non-peaceful manner. The mug, the cutlery, and the wooden plate she had eaten from, including its pyramid of chicken bones and grease, were graciously left behind to serve as weaponry for whoever might take notice of it.

Grabbing a bar stool, Estella sat down to calculate the odds while the general cacophony rose to new heights around her. There was a thing that still almost surprised her - people's unfailing enthusiasm and excitement. I mean, we all usually know the outcome pretty much in advance, right? "For instance," she remarked knowingly to no one in particular, proving her point, "that black boy and his way-too-few chaps are likely to take one helluva beating."

[Ezekiel Lee]

As the first adhiel charged, Zeke took to his feet and swept up his wooden stool with him, its little legs comfortable in his calloused hands. It was only a small stool, but it was a traditional improvised weapon, and Master Lee was a traditionalist at heart. This was not exactly his first bar fight.

For some reason, he was grinning rather broadly as he swung the little wooden chair-club in an arc at the nearest attacking adhiel's chest-region (although, he may have aimed a little high - these people were always smaller than he expected), and then let it slip through his fingers as the arc reached it's zenith. Before it hit the ground Zeke's fists were balled and he was swinging for the next, his wiry reach practised, and helpfully just that little bit longer than any of his pointy-eared foes.

Oh, he expected to take a beating in this one; six could not stand up to thirty, no matter how dinky the thirty were. But that didn't mean he couldn't have a bloody good time of it while it lasted.

[Marcello di Angelo]

Marcello stood in the dooropening and watched the scene with detached interest, his chest on his shoulder containing his meagre belongings. He positively reeked of the sea, but still his frilly shirt was a trifly fancy, even if his weathered black leather breeches that fit so snugly were not. His brown curls were tied back in a casual ponytail, his tricorn hat providing covering from the sun.

There was fighting. Of course there was fighting. It is good to be home, he thought with satisfaction, not taking particular notice of the bloodshedding around him. What would be the Scarlet Hydra without a good tavern brawl now and again, really.

Not intimately acquaintaned with the men rolling over the floor Marcello watched for a flicker, trying to catch who was fighting whom, before cautiously making his way towards the bar, stepping over anybody that was already down. He had no desire to join in, giving apologetic smiles and half bows to whomever was in his way. The high amount of adhiel, and the fact the Roarke's Revenge was in port did not bode well. Better not mention my last name.

"Ahoy there pretty wench," He called to the maid behind the bar "Any chance of a beer?"

[Grant]

"Oh, aye, boyo...but you ain't smoked it, ha'ye?" came the rolling reply of the lively, plump barmaid who clearly ruled the bar at this mark. The reply went to Estella, whom she had clearly heard...though whether she mistook Estella for a boy or simply called everyone "boyo" was another matter entirely. Nodding at Marcello, she dipped a mug into a bunged keg without a flicker's hesitation, clearly recognizing the look of exposure upon the tall man. While it certainly wasn't common, she had seen these signs...the sun-reddened flesh, the chapped lips, the waxy tongue and gums...quite a few times before.

Elsewhere...

Hitting some unfortunate patron with a stool was far from tricky in the cramped corner of the Scarlet Hydra. The greatest problem with this maneuver was the heavy stool...which, despite Zeke's hardiest effort, simply would not shatter upon the adhiel's exposed skull in a way that was always quite satisfying. The reason for this was not as complicated as it might seem. It went something like this:

"I'm tired of patchin' this third-rate knacker crap! It's...oh, for the love of the One! Would you LOOK AT THIS MESS?"
"Oh, stow yer gob, husband! YOU opened a fukkin' inn in the Pirate Duchy! What can ye expect of it all?"
"Well how can I stay in business wi'such a mess every...damned...night?!?"
"May'ap ye out to buy right proper chairs, oi? Somat what doesn't start like a spring butt ever time the Lady Rose sails in ta harbor..."

And just like that, the Scarlet Hydra Inn began to boast chairs, stools, and tables made from stout oak bought at no inconsiderable expense and assembled using glue, screws (NOT nails!), and hemp frappings all together...making it perhaps the toughest wooden furniture this side of the world. For this reason, the stool in Zeke's hand thumped down upon the Roark waister's exposed head instead of cracking or crunching (and leaving the poor fellow resting in the swamp of spilled beer and sand growing on the floor).

With a felled adhiel and an unbelievably whole stool cluttering the floor just by Zeke, the man was free to charge the next Roark waister...a rather tall adhiel who had clearly run afoul of his own Articles sometime in the past (evident by the absence of one pointy ear and a fine number of scourge scars criss-crossing his back). The Roark waister prepared a fine dodge...indeed, it would have been interesting to see if it had worked...but the footwork of both combatants failed (Zeke's no doubt partially due to his perfectly fabulous boots) on the sandy, swampy floor, giving the Harpy to overreach and slide too far forward, and the adhiel to fall and end up crouched right at Zeke's feet. In addition to this, another two Roarks were charging up, clearly indent to help their crouching, vulnerable compatriot.

Back at the bar...

Thunk, "Here ye go, sweety," came Marcello's beer, dropped down right before him in a wet, wooden mug carefully branded to say "Property of the Flying Dortman" (to insure it wouldn't be stolen). Turning her attention back to Estella, she gave the girl an exasperated look and jerked a thumb as the growing melee in the corner to Estella's left. "Don't you worry about them, boyo. It ain't about winnin. I reckon them right bastards are lookin' for a job."

[Ezekiel Lee]

Zeke was rather surprised to find the little adhiel fallen at his feet, and he might have had some barbed quip to throw at the man (something along the lines of being flattered, but not swinging that way) were it not for the immediacy of the Roark's two friends. It was such a shame to do it, but...

smack!

...Ezekiel cheerfully put his precious, valuable boot in as hard as he might, and hoped the man's face wouldn't damage his beloved footwear overmuch. The boots were a damn sight more valuable than any pointy ear, of that he was quite certain.

This accomplished, Master Lee brought his fists up in readiness for the adhiel's two diminuative friends, and took a step back to avoid any further repercussions from the guy on the floor, grinning like a shark who smells blood in the water. The first Roark to reach him would get a bloody nose if he had anything to say about it; the Harpies were no poxy waisters like these adhiel scum, and Zeke intended to make a point of that. With lots of hitting people, mainly.

[Charlotte Estella Riddens]

"Hell, you'd think that when you're in a fight, you'd want to come out the winner," Estella insisted in a laughing tone, half humourosly and half seriously. She had known enough inferiority through to yahren to develop a sometimes fiercely competitive nature, so while fully capable of appreciating that such brawls as the current one could have entirely different underlying motivations than winning and losing as such, in her mind that still wouldn't mean the taste of being bested weren't as bitter as always. "I mean, who likes losing? - no matter whether the whole spectacle is some sort of a freakin' deep-sense ritual or whatchaknow."

The girl gave an incredulous and inviting smile at the barmaid at this observation, and extended it also to the salty new seadog presently busying the same barmaid. She couldn't recall seeing his face at the Scarlet Hydra before during the weeks she'd been around. And, sure enough, judging from that breeze that accompanied him...this fellow just sailed in.

[Grant]

It was then that Estella and Marcello enjoyed the very special treat of Annie's rather strange laughter, a sound not unlike a parrot hiccup. "Hic hic hic hic hic HIC! Oh, aye...Hic hic!...ye wanna win, sure as sure, boyo...but where's the courage in a fight ye know ye can win? Any ol' bugger can pick a fight wot 'e knows he can win, aye...?"

Meanwhile...

Sinking a booted foot into the face of the crouching adhiel, something gave upon his face...most likely the nose, judging from the sounds (both the sickening, wet crack from contact as well as the explosive gasp from the smaller man in shock). He had managed to clutch at Zeke's foot for a time, but the impact from his other foot took much of the strength out of his hold. It was enough for Zeke to step back, but not before the other pair were upon him, diving in to grab what limbs they could to bring the taller Harpy down.

And grab him they did, far faster than Zeke could anticipate. One snaked in at his right arm...away from the table...while the other dove low to clutch at Zeke's left shin (the very same that recently rearranged the other waister's face). For now, they were content to hold while more Roarks continued to flood in...though it gave Zeke a few flickers before any more of their shipmates arrived.

Elsewhere...

Two of the Harpies were down, one of which had been tripped and clubbed with (of all things) a wooden trencher, banged home using it's heavy edge such that it most likely broke an orbital bone. The other had been dragged to the ground by no less than four Roark adhiel, and still clawed, scratched, and kicked at his assailants even as more piled upon him. One tall, majestic, black man still stood before the table, a pair of fallen adhiel at his feet, though his luck was about to end: Both of his arms had been caught, and his yelling, enraged face was covered in blood from a blow to his brow that had neatly opened. Curiously, another Harpy was standing upon the table itself, kicking at an adhiel thereupon and clearly crazed enough to consider diving upon the flock before him, while the last of the Harpies tucked to the far side of the table away from Zeke slammed an adhiel against the far wall, banging his head upon it not once, but numerous times before more Roarks could work their way around to help.

Back at the bar...

"...but to take the long odds...well...that's courage, boyo," pondered the barmaid, almost ignoring the skirmish in the corner by now. "I reckon many right bastards here at the 'Gate value nothin' more than this. After all...every ship that sails out from here is always outnumbered and outgunned. But somehow, them boyos still cut 'em out...and still bring 'em in."

"So what's yer story, kiddos?" this directed at both Estella and Marcello. "If'n your looking for a crew, well, I'd say you come to the right place. Any man as take on forty with six...well...he's worth the twenty eight inches to sling 'is hammock, ain't 'e? Hic hic hic hic hic!!" Curiously, the number of Roarks had already been exaggerated to forty in her telling...and the fight was not yet over. No doubt by nightfall it would be sixty...eighty...no doubt Linasis' entire crew of one hundred ninety four.

Outside...

"Cap'n Linasis, sar...a couple o' yer waisters are kickin' up Jack's A-Dyin' in the Hydra. Seems a few landed Harpies got mouthie w'em..."

Sigh. I knew I was pushing my luck. At least I know who'll get no rum rations tonight. "Let's go."

Leaving the final phases of the refit to his first, the tiny ex-Emerald Guard-turned-pirate turned towards the Hydra across the square and jogged off to put a stop to it. On any other night, it might be better to just let them fight...but he really did want to ship out on tomorrow's morningtide, and he needed all hands to do it fine.

[Ezekiel Lee]

It might have been sensible for Zeke to concentrate on the Roark clinging with all his meagre weight to the Dortman's right arm, but the other waister, the one attached to his shin, had made a very stupid mistake. He had dared to touch Ezekiel's precious boots, his pride and joy and the one thing he considered sacrosanct (aside from, perhaps, gold). Uttering a small cry of fury, Zeke attempted to stamp his small foe off with his free heel, largely ignoring the adhiel who was grappling with his fighting arm.

"Get yer..." stamp! "...grubby..." stamp! "...fuckin'..." stamp! "...paws..." stamp! "...off me..." stump! "...feckin'..." stamp! "...boots!"

On this final stamp, Zeke resolved to grind his heel into the adhiel's face with as much force as he could, giving him punishment for touching one boot with a healthy touch of the other.

[Marcello di Angelo]

Slamming a few coins on the bar with an obligatory wink at the wench Marcello accepted the mug of beer. He picked it up with great relish, taking four, five large sips in one go. "Aaaaaaaah," he exclaimed with some satisfaction, slamming the stolen mug down again. It could have been the worst piss in the world and the cool draft could still have been the best he had ever had.

"Now that is what a man needs, for starters." He gave Estella a charming grin as he started to look around for his other needs to be met.

"Aye, looking for a crew," Marcello admitted, giving the fight a sideways look "Though I'm not sure I'd join a tavern brawl just to gain the attention of a cap'n. Marcello di A..." Just in time he remembered that it was the Roarks crew fighting here "Marcello Angel, at your service, M'am."

He looked at Estella again, trying to guess if she was a wench for hire or not. A little bit too flat chested, he decided, widening his gaze to include the entire Scarlet Hydra. "I've just turned into the harbour after my last stint at the Sea Mistress. Oh, there be some strange tales to tell of her fate."

[Grant]

One of the difficult conundrums faced by those trying to run businesses in Nether's Gate was the insoluble value of cash. While coins minted in World's Mouth and Dort were typically good anywhere, prices in the 'Gate tended to inflate due to a lack of any financial standard. A coin was only ever worth what it could truly buy...and in Nether's Gate, where supply was inconsistent, goods were fickle, and there was no rudimentary taxation or economic basis, they routinely had to be traded...a process that quite literally required them to be collected, shipped to some other harbor like Roque or King's Court, and used to purchase materials.

Some enterprising individuals had already arranged a form of supply trade to do just this...and thus was born the Packet...but the system was hardly perfect. Today, beer was plentiful (rumor held that it was Dortese this week, thanks to a shipment borrowed by the good Captain Linasis)...but next week, it might be gone entirely...and the price would skyrocket so high that only barter would suffice.

But Annie didn't have to think about this overmuch. She simple took Marcello's coin without thought, attending more to his words. "The Sea Mistress? What 'appened to her?" came the instant question from the barmaid, well before Estella could get in another word. Indeed, news or rumors of ships and their fates was a prime topic of conversation in Nether's Gate...as in most harbors, to be fair...and Annie had a mind to learn this story first-hand.

Elsewhere...

There were just too many...but that wasn't enough to stop the Harpies from giving what they had. Zeke's brutal, downward kicks were horrifying, but they were incomplete as the dead weight of one adhiel, pulling on his pinned arm as he tried to kick, forced the valiant Harpie down to the wet ground, a curious floor made of old timbers and coated in sand (the moisture seemed to have disappeared rather quickly, leaving only wet sand behind).

Less than a flicker later, and several more adhiel were charging in, one of whom tripped over the felled comrade with the broken nose (and the impossibly un-broken stool) to fall beside Zeke, but at least two more piled atop him, driving tiny fists and heels into Zeke's left cheek bone (which surely opened it) and spleen (quite painful).

SLAM!

Captain Damon Linasis was simply not a very commanding presence in the inn...especially standing near what few orcs were within. Towering to a lofty four-foot-nine-inches, he was scarcely tall enough to see, much less bring order to the room. Despite this, he was flanked by a few of his gunners...thick men with hard, weathered faces clearly cracked in amusement...and was quickly appraised of the situation.

"Stop this at once! STOP!" he shouted, instantly grabbing the attention of the Roark waisters as well as everyone else in the Inn.

At the bar...

"Ooo, hold on with that story, dearie...here's Cap'n Linasis now. He runs the Roark's Revenge, where these sad buggers hale..." she offered, nodding at the swarm of thirty adhiel. Indeed, it didn't seem as though too many in the Inn really cared that Captain Linasis had come to restore order...but the ones who did care mattered most. All at once, every adhiel swarming the battered Harpies in the corner halted, maintaining their hold upon their opponents but clearly shocked at the swift arrival of their one and only Captain.

[Charlotte Estella Riddens]

"Thinkin' about it, that does make perfect sense," Estella noted at the barmaid's reasoning, twisting the logic to her own ends. "After all, with a fight like this," she nodded towards the quickly evolving small massacre, "not only is a given captain able to affirm the courage of a man. At the same time, he is also able to affirm the same man's complete-lack-of-healthy-skepticism for setting out into shit that holds shitty odds, like pirating - outnumbered and outgunned, as you say." Hell, that did make sense...!

"For my own part," Estella continued, "I prefer to keep the wits and tune down the courage. Makes a lot more sense, you ask me. So while I wouldn't write off finding myself on a ship, I have no plans for getting there by way of sacrificing half this pretty row of shiny nice teeth." The girl smiled excessively to illustrate the point. "Estella's the name, by the way."

Meanwhile, the newcomer was making himself comfortable. Estella studied the chip with some interest. Sumethin'-Marcello-ya-ya-ya, was it? Not quite sure, was he? And not quite sure what to make of her either, by the looks he was sending her.

While Estella wasn't the girl to look the other way at insults in general, not at all, neither was she the girl to act uptight on insults she considered to mean no harm. In Nether's Gate, inquiring male looks directed at her own person easily sorted into the mean-no-harm category. Hell, out of the total female population in Nether's Gate, the greater majority is probably up for sale, so I can hardly blame them, can I?

That wasn't going to stop her from having a good time about it, though. "Hey slacker," she explained, grinning at Mr. Big Boy. "While I mightn't necessarily be out to join a crew, at least not by the manner of those bastards," indicating the brawlers, "that doesn't mean I'm up for bids, get it?" Keeping the chuckling grin to her face, she thumped him hard in the shin.

At the very same moment, Captain Linasis decided to step inside the Hydra, with all that came with it.

(OOC: Cross-posted with you, Grant - but tried getting away with it by editing in something perhaps resembling an elegant last-liner flourish (?). Please let me know if you require me to edit further, and I'll be straight on it.)

[Ezekiel Lee]

Despite his best efforts, and with great inevitability, Ezekiel found himself overwhelmed and toppled as though (it must seem to the petite adhiel) he were a tree. Probably a mighty oak, or something along those lines. He hit the deck (well, the inn floor) with a thud and quickly found two more of the little buggers sprawling upon him, using their sharp little fists and feet to batter the Dortman as thoroughly as they might. One of them succeeded in opening a fine gash across his cheek - which bled prettily, but hurt less than the other, whose (inferior) boot had found his spleen.

Zeke rallied marvellously, managing to keep most of his shouts of pain drowned in colourful curses and intent on hurting his opponents back at least equally - though there was precious little he could do but flail ineffectually from the ground, hoping one or two of his swings landed. He certainly did not consider the fight over just yet. He was down but not out! He had just begun to struggle out from under the blows of one of the pair of waisters, when...

"Stop this at once! STOP!"

...the whole jolly affair was rudely interrupted by a dwarf. Zeke squinted across the bar room at the little figure, comically tiny beside the orcs and gunners. No, ain't a dwarf. 's bloody Captain Linasis, ain't it? An' e's a pointy ear, not a feckin' dwarf.

Pouting a little at the fun being over so quickly, Master Lee took this opportunity to shove the waisters off and struggle to a somewhat more reasonable sitting position...

Ah well. Fun while it lasted, at least.

...and also to sock one of his distracted opponents hard in the jaw. It seemed a fair enough exchange given the damage to his guts.

[Marcello di Angelo]

The pirate rose his mug to Estella upon her words regarding wit. "Hear hear." However things did not continue to go swimmingly, her foot impacting strongly with his shin.

"Ouch," Marcello grinned despite the acute pain, taking the correction in stride "A pity, Estella, we could have gotten real comfortable. Are spring nights still so cold these days at the Gate? You might regret not taking me up on my offer." He wasn't particularly disappointed, as if they just had a normal business negotiation. Nor did he even consider taking what she wasn't offering. Why rape a woman who seemed used to defend herself, when there were enough willing Jennies about able to serve him for a few banner?

"Of course I've been to more warmer weather meself, for the last couple of months. Cap'n Hawkins found himself a nice hunting ground around the coast of Sabata," the pirate settled easily into his story on the fate of the Sea Mistress.

At the acute order to belay that talk, Marcello was quick to close his mouth though, trying to looking inconspicuous as he hid his face behind the stolen mug, drawing a few more swallows of beer. GLUCK. GLUCK.

[Charlotte Estella Riddens]

Estella had been about to burst into laughter at the express verbal return of the revered Mr. Marcello...this chip knows the sugar, doesn't he? She liked the fellow, at least so far - playing to the rules and keeping his mood up about it. Hell yeah, she'd like to her his falsified tales from the coast of Sabata any day...

But the laughter was quickly and uncomfortably swallowed as best she could, when the tavern all of sudden seemed to goddamn freeze in thin air. Somebody had entered, and it was obvious that simply keeping it to the sideward glance, then to continue chattering in your own corner, was not an option.

Estella registered that the brawlers seemed the more unsure than anyone, and that the newcomers included up to several real big cats, as well as one small, but for the moment she couldn't be bothered with such insignificant trifles. She was fighting her own private battle, which for the moment required her full attention. The enemy was a well-bred laughter forced halfway back down her throat, which at the moment was feeling suspiciously much like a saw, though that in itself had been okay. The bad news was that it was using every available sawtooth it could muster to cutting its way back up and out as a distorted and no doubt very ugly and insulting edition of what was once a pretty and innocent laugh.

Making all the faces she knew to compensate for the overwhelming need to release, as well as inventing a series of new ones on the spot, Estella prayed to a God and the heavens that the spell holding the bar room be broken before her she ran empty of distractions. And make that fast, will ya!?

[Grant]

There had to be something more to it than the Articles. Certainly, pirates tend to be very loyal to their Captains...and totally loyal to at least most of their shipmates, to a certain degree. And of course, there was the binding truth of cash that always kept a tight-knit, sea-going community together: Pirates were out to win, and to do that they needed to work together. But none of these things could explain the silent, obedient response of the Roarks as they carefully gathered up their fallen and withdrew towards the door, clearly imagining just how much trouble it might cause if they were to draw weapons and leave these lubbers keel up in a pool of their own blood.

But they obeyed, and they did so quickly. Not even Zeke's parting shot could draw a reaction from them, rancorous as it was. And while anyone in the Inn could see that any of the thirty-two waisters would have loved to explain their actions to Captain Linasis, it was clear that the adhiel pirate was simply not interested. He had bigger problems to tackle...and this little incident was nothing more than a natural result of his biggest one. Come hell or high waters, I'll make sail tomorrow. Any longer in this town and we're done. "Any of you fail to answer muster in two burns forfeits his shares," hissed Captain Linasis towards the retreating adhiel, words that did have a strong impact on all onlookers in the Inn. Forfeit his share was a polite way of saying Kicked out of the Company, but without a pay-out. Whether or not Linasis had the right to do this to his own people might be debatable in accordance to their articles...but it wasn't uncommon, and it was the kind of punishment that ranked only slightly better than marooning.

Still, even that threat couldn't explain why the pirates were so obedient. After all, they had already spent their shares...and they could no doubt find another ship before too much longer. No, it was something more. The respect they gave their Captain came from something in their history...a past that pre-dated signing their Articles and joining the company. Linasis was once an Emerald Guardsman (albeit hardly a very noteworthy one), and many of his adhiel crew knew this. To them, serving with Linasis made it seem as if T'aquar hadn't yet fallen entirely. For them, it wasn't about the money. It was more about revenge.

Not that Linasis knew this fact. For him, it was simply a matter of expediency. He needed to be gone in a couple tides...and he needed his waisters to be at their stations and ready to work. He was always short on hands...and he couldn't afford any of them to be detained through injury. "As for you..." Linasis turned his attention to the ragged and bloody Harpies. "Show up at the Landing by morning tide, and you can sail with me. Otherwise, stay away from my people, or I'll cut out your guts." The Captain reached for his boarding sabre, clearly intent to follow through with his threat. Cutting out one's guts was far from an unusual threat, especially coming from a Captain...and while it didn't seem that Linasis held any great anger or ill-will towards the Harpies, it did seem that he was impatient enough to do it just to save time.

At the bar...

"Ooo, I say...haven't had a man's guts cut out in almost four days..." murmured Annie where Estella and Marcello could just hear...though she didn't yet interrupt the pair. Finally...as if waking from a dream...the inn started to gather noise again, and the plump barmaid turned her attention back to the pair, checking their glasses and refilling them (if necessary). "Sorry fer the interruption, dearies. That'll be talk of the town tonight. Now what's this you say about the...Sea Mistress, was it? She was your ship? And she's gone?"

In the corner...

The Harpies weren't really hurt. Oh, they were wounded...Zeke's face was bleeding like a stuck pig (typical for brow cuts) and it was painfully obvious that Rat-Tail Roger (an Easterner so-called because of his long, dread-locked hair) had at least one broken bone in his arm (readily apparent by the awkward, impossible angle at which it hung)...but despite these wounds, they couldn't really be called hurt because they didn't lose. Indeed, even Roger had a smile on his pale and clearly shocked face as he was helped to his feet. Oh, they couldn't be said to have won....but no one would dare suggest for a flicker that they had lost. And that's a pretty good result considering the odds.

[Charlotte Estella Riddens]

Luckily, the Captain was in a hurry, and he evidently had the authority to have his men act accordingly. As the familiar common room soundscape returned, Estella was relieved to set loose a short stream of the choking guttural sounds that had built up deep inside her throat, only to empty half a glass of the cool beer the barmaid provided, feeling it refreshingly wash down and clean up the system.

The girl let out a deep sigh, and began systematically to pick up on the standings from where she had left them. Surprisingly obedient an example of a pirate crew, she noted as she recapitulated the events of the last few flickers - but then, perhaps pointy-eared pirates were less rebellious? And apropos...a rather lucky crew, those at the other end of the beat-up, she noted too.

The more peculiar fact, though, was the strange resolve of the Captain. The elfy mate was no doubt this so-called Captain Linasis, Estella reasoned, having often heard mention of an elven captain by that name since arriving in the Gate. There was probably something wrong with the chip, acting funny and being an adhiel and all, and she didn't trust him. And people Estella didn't trust, she had a habit of referring to as the so-called Joe or the so-called Linasis or whichever, finding it only natural and appropriate to question the authenticity of their names. In Estella's mind, simply the name Linasis itself had an unmistakably suspicious ring to it.

And in addition to all of this, there was his sudden but explicit job offer to his own crew's fighting partners. The whole affair might even be worth investigating...

However, Estella had yet to enjoy the wonderfully true narrations of new buddy Marcello, and this, for the moment, had first priority. Clearing her throat to get her voice back into function, Estella applauded the request of the bar girl. "Now then, nitwit - bring it," she demanded.

[Ezekiel Lee]

Ezekiel replied to Captain Linasis' offer of a place on the ship with a broad grin and a very slight bow - more of a closing of eyes and a head bob than a proper bow at all, and made even less appealing by the sheer amount of blood now smeared nicely across his stubbled face. It seemed perfectly fair of the adhiel captain to make such an offer; after all, he was surely direly in need of men of bravery and stature to make guncrew.

It was a shame that being guncrew didn't exactly appeal to Zeke, but it was still nice to have it offered, he supposed. Besides, the fight had been a complete success in every way. Not only had it been a great deal of fun, but the Hydra was now empty of raucous pointy ears, which was ideal as far as the Dortman was concerned; and he had until morningtide to decide whether to take Linasis up on his offer, and sail out on the Roark's Revenge... assuming she could be pulled free of the sand and make sail at all, of course.

"A good result, mates." Zeke smiled at his ex-shipmates as soon as the Captain had left. "An' I suggest a drink ta mend any hurts, seein' as how the bar is now ours," he added cheerfully, upon seeing Rat-Tail's arm. There was little, in Zeke's opinion, that rum could not fix.

That decided, he meandered his way bar-wards assuming the other ex-Harpies would entirely agree, and plonked himself on the barstool next to Charlotte without so much as a by-your-leave. Slouching against the bar, he quickly discovered blood on his hands and, with some small experimentation, determined it was coming from his face. This was easily remedied by stuffing a somewhat grubby sleeve against his forehead to staunch the flow and gesturing to the barmaid with the other fingers, "Spirits fer this wound, 'f y'll be so good."

[Marcello di Angelo]

Marcello eagerly held out his mug for more. Now that the adhiel captain had gone it was once again safe to show his face and enjoy some merry tales. Yet he carefully schooled his accent so that no mouthie local slang slipped past his lips "Oh yeah, completely gone down under, the Sea Mistress, but not by natural means. It was dragons you see. Terra Incognita is infested with them, they are all over the place." His arm, mug and all, made a wide sweep for emphasize, tipping over some beer that dropped on Zeke. "Excuse me mate," he smiled.

The alcohol was slowly aiding Marcello's creativity, though it would take another mug or two before matters would get really fantastical. "Hawkins, now he was a good cap'n , but as mad as a hat, Dominicus rest his soul. Fer some reason he had upset this water dragon. We figured it might have somethin' to do with the treasure that we found in the nearby caves just out of Sabata, but, who can tell with such fierce some creatures what sets them off?" Marcello declared with a slight slur in his voice. The sunburn made him more vulnerable to the alcohol he noticed.

"The creature, it followed us, giving chase. Now believe me fella's. A dragon is a fast flying monster. No matter how much sail we put in, there was no way we could escape her. It didn't want to catch us right away though. It played with us.. .almost like a cat. Huge waves, even a tidalwave at some point. Waterspray like you wouldn't believe. Immense torrential rain so that we could not see our own hands in front of our face. Yet every time it was just short of killing us."

Marcello was getting into his own tale, taking a deep sip of beer, then staring mournfully at the empty bottom. "Cap'n Hawkins. He never left the wheel. Stood there, braving the storms."

[Charlotte Estella Riddens]

"Hell, yeah...a dragon??...bloody fuck...the bastard..." Commenting as appropriate, Estella settled to follow Marcello's tale of the Sea Mistress. She had no delusions regarding its veracity, but had long learned to enjoy the tall stories exchanged in places like the Hydra, obviously never considering to question their frame of reference. They were an art in themselves, these stories, and that art had nothing to do with truth or the lack of it.

"I tell you, that's a man worthy of remembrance," the girl declared at Marcello's words on his captain. "Did he stay at the wheel to the very end? How'd you escape?"

In the meantime, one of the many blood-stained fighting cocks had checked in beside herself and Marcello at the bar. "How about you, mister..." Estella nodded in greetings to Zeke. "Taking the pointy-ear captain up on that crew offer of his, are you? S'pose you earned it, man," she noted, "but not sure he's the quality captain like the late Hawkins here."

(OOC: Due to Easter, I'll be unavailable for posting until Sunday/Monday. Please feel free to assume Estella will chat along with whatever comes up or just stuff her in the background for the moment - whatever is appropriate.)