Reeko slid down back to the floor cradling his arm's cut, he muttered to himself, "If only these dammed crew members knew real pain. Blasted oafs getting me hurt with their inabilities. Why me? Why me? Why me?"

He reached into his vest and pulled out a small green berry. He rolled it in his hands, considering its form, its taste, its after effects. He tossed it from one hand to the other, then back. He stared at it awhile longer, then returned it to his vest, "Maybe later... maybe later." He slid his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, "Long night."

boom

"Sounds like it just go-"

BOOM!

"got longer."

Reeko pushed himself up once more and looked around once more, there was figure lying nearby. He considered it for a moment, before leaving the room, heading towards the sound of the apparent explosion.

On the docks, Ticky and Derlan followed the path of an air elemental with more enthusiasm than sense. It was hard going: the elemental didn't see why pedestrians might be an obstacle to progress, and blew past them with casual ease that the gnome and the elf couldn't match.

On the ship, Keil's cabin was crowded with bodies, smoke and broken furniture. Marneus could barely make out the face of his enemy: the black tattoos set against the backdrop of shadows made the man's form seem broken, inhuman.

The tattooed man grinned in the darkness and twirled his knife in bloody fingers. The knight whispered a prayer for the suddenly deceased Jacien Criver and struck out, sword swinging in fast at a tattooed neck, and the man ducked under the blade with a movement that looked almost accidental. The tattooed man slashed at Marneus and cut a gleaming line along the edge of the metal breastplate. He didn't seem to care that he had hit steel instead of flesh--he laughed just the same, triumphantly, with an edge of crazed mania.

Behind him in the shadows, black-clad bodies stirred and moved. Shrapnel and the falling bodies of their comrades had knocked them to the floor, but they were not yet dead, and while they were not dead they would not be swayed from their mission. Hissing curses or grimly silent they pulled themselves up, five in all, with the tattooed man facing Marneus making six. Four were masked, one was not, but his face was a bland one that would not be remembered by any who would see it. He had tattoos on his throat, hands of jet curving along the edge of his jaw in weird, inhuman swirls of darkness. He stood above the hole where so many of those fighting him had vanished, contemplating the shadowed hold below as his comrade laughed and fought with Marneus.

The five black-clad men leaped into the darkness, vanishing down from the cabin and appearing from above in the hold. They landed scattered in the maze of crates and supplies: one atop a crate labeled "Salt Pork," two out of sight behind large piles, one almost on top of the Doctor and one, the tattooed one, right behind Raven del Cid. Knives gleamed in the darkness.

Destruction, chaos, death...it was all happening too fast for Doctor Nexaddo. At his feet the physician who had until recently been capably assisting him clutched his chest, face a picture of agony: and standing suddenly before him was a man with a knife and a killer's look in the eyes behind the black mask.

Something finally slipped in Nexaddo's mind. He was a doctor, a man of science. He was supposed to be studying new animals and plants on the Unknown Continent, not scrabbling with knives in the dark. He was no hero, just someone who wanted to discover new things, maybe write a book about them and enjoy a modest amount of envy from his colleagues at the University. That's what this was supposed to be about. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

The black-masked man slashed at the gnome, not with any murderous intent but rather just to get him out of the way, and the Doctor turned and ran into the darkness.

And nearby a reeking, crimson form stepped through the doorway of the hold. A crate was in the way: smash it aside, sending wood and coils of rope crashing to the ground, out of its path. It was a thing of death, bone and blood animated by malign purpose, and it walked through the hold in a straight line towards the circle of moonlight coming from the cabin above, brushing aside carefully-stacked supplies as it went.

Cepolada, aft section. Lower deck

A sudden clang rang out in the darkness of the lower deck followed by a short and sudden curse.
"Blasted barrels!" Alexis muttered under his breath rubbing his stubbed knee. He paused and listened intently to his surroundings to gather his bearings. Above deck shouts and screams filled the air, the sound of bodies sickeningly hitting the floor and sound of flesh comping apart haunted the dwarf's ears. He cringed at the thought of the battlefield that was upstairs but he had a job to do below deck. The ghostly voice drifted into his memory again..

"You could ignore my threats," it said, "and leave Mark to die, but I have prepared for this. While you have been preoccupied dealing with my assassin my servants planted explosives at the bottom of your vessel--enough to destroy any hope of survival. You have mere hours to bring me the boy before you will be sent to your graves in flames."

Alexis shook his head to clear his thoughts, his breath the only sound accompanying him in the dark bowels of the ship. "Must find those explosives!" he muttered clutching his chest and feeling for his ammunition belt. "Must remove the explosives before...!". His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by the sounds of splintering wood. More screams penetrated the air but this time it was closer, much closer.

Alexis dropped to a defensive position and pulled out his crossbow. Someone or something had joined him on the lower deck!. He paused dousing the dull flame in his kerosene lantern and took cover behind an ale keg. Darkness engulfed him and all was silent for a while. The smell of brewed hops and malt drifted to his nose from the keg that made the makeshift barrier but for once Alexis did not lose his focus. He was a master of many arts and he had no greater friend that the element of surprise. He waited and watched.

A hundred feet or so ahead of him the ceiling seemed to have mysteriously opened. Through it two men in black robes had fallen through and landed hard next to some supply crates. Alexis knew the face of his enemy, he reached into his ammunition belt and pulled out a handful of iron darts. Quickly but efficiently he laid five darts beside him for easy access and slammed one into the crossbow's chamber silently and the other he held in place between his lips. He lowered the safety and dialed in his sights.

Pale light from the above deck streamed down through the mysterious holes in the roof and illuminated the path before the dwarf. In it he could see the still frames of the two robed figures. They still had made no effort in moving, a pool of dark red or possibly black liquid near their bodies told Alexis all he needed to know. He was about to sigh in relief and holster his crossbow when more commotion grabbed his attention. Several figures suddenly dropped down from the hole above, landing sporadically across the deck. Two of them the dwarf instantly recognized. The Mage, Raven and the fighter, Jonas.

"Oh thank the gods!" Alexis muttered to himself. The sudden and dramatic appearance of Raven, Jonas, and the two doctors would definitely make his quest to search the ship easier, provided they has survived the fall. Alexis was about to rush from his position and run to Raven when another explosion rocked the ship, sending him sprawling back to cover. The floor above shook sending splinters and dust in every direction. Even before the dust could settle more shadowy figures appeared. Three flurries of black cloaks crashed onto the lower deck barely a few feet away from the doctors.

Alexis ducked behind his cover and grabbed his weapon. The crossbow crosshairs leveled against the nearest cloaked figure's head. The dwarf mimicked his targets every move waiting for the optimum time to take the shot. One of the doctors turned and ran as the intruders approached him. The man in the lead however was making straight for Raven. The wizard did not appear to move.

Alexis squeezed the trigger, pulls the tension wire and snaps the second dart in, before the first dart lands home.

Blood splatters against the side of the wooden walls of the hull as the Iron dart embeds itself against the skull of the intruder. The cloak barely has time to hit the ground before Alexis fires the second dart, reloads and takes aim at target number three.

The second dart hits it's mark, right between the eyes. Blood trickles down along the black cloak, the figure drops to it's knees. Alexis maneuvers the crossbow to the last victim besides a stack of crates. He takes his aim...and begins to squeeze the trigger. However, something extraordinary happened interrupting his thoughts and precise aim.

The crate suddenly explodes, chunks and wood and debris begin to fly in every direction. The intruder reacts, Alexis's attention is diverted, his aim is askew but he fires nonetheless. The dart rips through the air, tears a gash against the black cloak and lands harmlessly against the far wall. Missed!.

Alexis cursed and scrambled to a new position. Raven will have to wait, hopefully the mage has enough time to deal with this foe.

Amid the sounds of death and destruction that had broken the quiet in the hold, there was a command. Those who were magically inclined heard it brush against the edge of comprehension; a sibilant whisper that faded too quickly to understand but left behind the impression of imminent danger, like the half-heard and vaguely threatening mutterings of the man drinking himself to murder in the corner of the tavern.

Awake, said the command, and in a sturdy crate innocently labeled "Grappling Hooks," it awoke. There was a small noise, a quiet click that went unheard amid the tumult, and the crate exploded outward, sending pieces of wood shooting through the air, disrupting Alexis' otherwise clean shot. Something unfolded from the ruin of the crate with a complicated series of whirrs and clicks, sounding either insectile or mechanical. It flickered in the shadows for a moment, half-visible, giving an impression of razor edges in the dark, and then some enchantment bent shadow and light and it vanished.

It stood invisible before the red abomination that was advancing through the hold. The undead raised its hands and smashed a crate out of the way, fragments of wood bouncing off an unseen presence in the air.

Attack, came the command, information on targets and threats flowing through the ether, and the unseen thing leapt. It intercepted the undead abomination at the upper torso, and blood misted the air as invisible blades cut at dead flesh. The abomination made no sound. It was not bewildered as a mortal enemy would be by the invisible thing attacking it, for the dead have no need to see with eyes that rot out of their skulls. The abomination struck out, and sparks glittered in the air as some unseen carapace broke under the blow. A rune blazed in the air for the briefest of moments, outlining a thin razor limb: a burst of magic crashed over the abomination, energy that would have stopped its heart had it been mortal. But the dead have no need for hearts.

It had been all of five seconds since the crate exploded and the invisible killer had emerged in their midst, and most of those in the hold had their attention seized by the conflict. Two did not. A black-masked man slunk along a row of crates behind Raven del Cid, intent on only two things: the bloody knife in his hand and the poison that flowed in his veins, the poison of the Doctor's serpent. Through a crack in the wall of supplies he saw the man he had stabbed one floor above, the man who had dropped him through the floorboards, and upon his face appeared a hideous expression that might have been intended as a smile. He raised his knife, and behind him someone else raised another knife, and a moment later his body hit the floor, the burning of the poison cooling now as the blood stopped moving it through the veins.

The second man who was not watching the clash of the abomination and the invisible killer was the man with the slender tattoos on his neck. He had dived for cover when the steel dart from Alexis' bow had pierced his cloak, and watched now from a position crouched on top of a sturdy crate. His eyes were narrowed and thoughtful as he examined the scene. He couldn't reach his targets from here: the dwarf would put a bolt through his skull if he tried. He would have to be...cautious.

"Cat and mouse," he whispered. "Who is the hunter and who is the hunted, I wonder?" He slipped from his perch and crept through the shadows, trying to stay out of Alexis' line of sight, inching ever closer to his mark.

There was a third black-masked man still standing, but he wasn't doing much, being extremely unnerved by the sudden appearance of the invisible killer. He struck out at Jonas Thrace halfheartedly, and received an equally weak kick to the kneecap for his trouble. The man stood for a moment, swaying, and then Jonas was surprised as he collapsed forward, banging the swordsman's wounded leg against the floor and making the room go black for a moment as the pain surged across his nerves. When he could see again the black-masked man was lying on top of him, dripping blood from a neat wound in the back of his neck, though there was no one nearby who could have stabbed him.

There was a brief moment of almost silence, broken by the clash of blades from Keil's cabin directly overhead. Marneus had managed to fool the tattooed man with a quick feint to the right, intentionally leaving a hole in his defense. The man lunged with his knife, cackling wetly, and the knight slammed his sword into the hand holding the dagger. Bone snapped with nasty little crack upon the impact. The tattooed man didn't react, his laughter continuing unabated, and he didn't move as Marneus lunged. The sword went clean through the man's body, not stopping until the hilt slammed into his chest.

The tattooed man laughed once more and leaned his bare head against the helmet of his enemy. "Not...bad," he whispered, the words rattling through his throat, and with his last mustering of muscle and will he spat blood through the eye slits of the knight's helm. Marneus stumbled back with a curse, wiping at his helmet with one gauntleted hand and trying to blink the blood, mucus and spit out of his eyes, and the tattooed man spread his arms wide and slowly toppled backwards, pulling the knight's sword with him. He fell through the gaping hole where Criver's last laugh had blown away the floorboards, and was dead before he hit the crates below.

"Make way! Make way for the Provost's Guard!"

The drunken crowd shattered at the cry as people incapable of thinking clearly tried to remember if they'd committed any crimes lately. They couldn't recall any, but you could never be sure, that was the thing. If the Provost decided that he didn't like your face, bam, the Guard has you in irons, because that's a crime punishable by having your features rearranged. Best to stay out of the way.

"Make way! Move, you louts! This is Dockhouse, and we are pissed!"

Somehow, despite the press of people obstructing progress, the crowd managed to move faster. The Provost's Guard was bad news, but Dockhouse patrol was something else entirely. They pounded down the street towards the docks, following the reports of explosions coming from the harbor, riot armor of dark hardened leather gleaming red in the light of the torches. And may the gods help any who stood in their way, because surely no one else was going to.

A surge of energy burst through Raven's veins. He was broken, exhausted and on the brink of death but now, facing his own demise he had never felt more alive, it was a force that sputtered him to life. His stab wound still ached, his lungs were filled with his own blood and his eyes robbed him of the truth but despite this, despite the wounds that would skewered an Orc he could still feel the loom of life churning his lifeline. He was meant to live through this.

He was still alive.

A mute sound rang across his bleeding ears. He turned just in time to see the second cloaked figure crumple under a force of a projectile weapon. Two were slain, one remained. Raven tried to get up but a sharp pain from his body resisted movement. He took a deep breath trying to control his energy for a spell, yet try as he might, he could not focus on anything besides the internal agony. The sudden exploding crate beside him didn't help matters either. He could feel the call of magic as the crate erupted, something stirred from within and quickly disappeared from Raven's grey vision. Meanwhile the third cloaked man clearly had taken cover from the unknown sniper, cleverly avoiding a clear line of sight between him and Raven. The wizard smiled at his predicament, this had brought him some time, at least till he could muster up the concentration to summon something delightful. He looked around in the gloom for something to defend himself with. To his East was most likely his mysterious sniper, to the west was the enemy, scattered throughout was Nexaddo, Jonas, Keil and the physician but nearby him something familiar gleamed. A dull metal blade, with a silver handle adorned with a single emerald at the hilt. His sword. It must have fallen from him when he fell through the hole.

He stretched gingerly towards the weapon, his feeble fingers wrapping around the hilt. A firm grasped obtained, he took a deep breath and used it as a makeshift walking stick to support himself on one knee. Cautiously and after some effort he got to his feet and turned to face the last position of the enemy.

Must bring him out to the open. Raven thought to himself. Even if he could muster the concentration for a spell he was weary in using it below deck. The multiple crates marked "munitions" made him nervous. A stray spark could set the whole ship ablaze or worse. It was hard to tell with Verdan munitions.

"Show yourself!" Raven finally yelled at the darkness. "It is blood you seek is it not?" he eyes the shadows suspiciously. The world was still a blur but he was not going down without a fight. "Come and claim my life if you dare!" Raven spat blood on the ground and took a defensive stance.

Raven was out in the open, hopefully the sniper would know a set-up when he sees one and would take the shot..if the man in the black cloak took the bait.

Marneus grunted, as he looked upon the hole that the man had fell into, and didn't bat an eyelash at the quiet thud of the corpse landing. He slumped slightly, leaning against a mostly-intact wall and allowing himself a moment of rest before he was reminded of the urgency of the situation.

"Show yourself! It is blood you seek is it not?"

The voice of the mage echoed up through the hole, directed at some unseen foe. Marneus, not willing to lose his sword or a useful ally, quickly turned and exited the cabin. If memory served, the hatch to the hold would be...

Marneus froze.

His horse was in the hold.

That horse had been with him through nearly every battle, through thick and thin, and now he was in danger as well as multiple allies. Marneus quickened his pace, metal boots stomping against the floorboards, and anyone who tried to stop him would get a nasty reward for their efforts.

After all, using a two-hander sword really works wonders for your physical strength.

Reeko worked his way through the labyrinth that was The Cepolada's lower decks. He muttered incomprehensibly to himself as he turned another corner. He kept going, then up a ladder, through a hatch, then a left turn, followed by a right turn, followed by another left turn, through a hatch down a ladder, he continued this for some time before giving up. He was clearly on a fool's errand anyway.

He examined his surroundings and groaned, he was lost, entirely and utterly lost. He pulled out his dagger from his pocket and twirled it in his hand. He thought for a moment. Somewhere he thought he heard the sound of cracking wood. He thought for another moment. He heard heavy footsteps pound on wood from somewhere else in the ship. He thought for a third equally sized moment. Then Reeko Jalbrook smiled, his decision was made.

He started stealthily down the halls of the ship once more. There were clearly enemies aboard, and if any of them happened to run into this half-drunk, half-awake, half-crazy, Painted Elf, they would be sure to get more acquainted with the pointer of the two ends on his blade. That was his plan at least.

Alexis grimaced as he rolled behind another stack of crates and reloaded his weapon. Some very weird things were going on and he had no idea why. What was that monstrosity upstairs and what just jumped from that exploding crate?. He quietened his breathing to listen for the third intruder, his dwarvish senses working feverishly. Off in the distance he could hear footsteps and stumbling. Probably an elf by the sounds of things, Alexis shook his head in amusement. Nearby he could hear the sound of scuffling feet, he risked a peek from cover.

The mage had gotten to his feet and through the dim light Alexis could see that the he was not in a good shape.

"Show yourself!" the mage called out to the shadows. " "It is blood you seek is it not?"

"What is that fool doing?" Alexis cocked and eyebrow and then instantly the answer hit him. "He's luring the intruder out in the open for a shot", a smile appeared on the Dwarf's lips as he steadied his aim against the darkness. "There is hope for this mage yet" he muttered to himself.

Marneus arrived at the hatch to the hold without incident, and set down the ladder. It would take a bit to safely climb down while encased in his battered armor, time that he used to evaluate the situation.

Battle Situation.

Goal three is to assure the safety of my horse.

Marneus' feet touched the floorboards, and he turned to survey the area.

It was dark. He felt likely to be eaten, though he could not tell why.

The sphere was made of blue tinted crystal, hazy with magic and refraction, at just the right size to fit snugly into the palm of a hand. It was also disconcertingly silent. The tattooed man held it at his ear for a moment longer, then tapped it lightly against a nearby crate. Still nothing. Damn. He knew what that meant--the master was either abandoning the mission or had achieved his true objective and no longer needed his men alive.

Well then. The others, put in this situation, might have frozen up, listening to the silent communication orb until the enraged blades of their former victims found their backs. Some of the recruits they were getting these days, they couldn't function without the master's voice whispering constantly in their ears. Useful for cannon fodder but not much else. The tattooed man liked to think of himself as more intelligent than that. Certainly he was more clever, which might be more useful than intelligence in a situation like this.

The tattooed man dropped the orb back into his pocket--it might come in handy later--and scanned the hold. The undead abomination and its assailant were still hidden in a cloud of red mist, gore splattering everything around them: nearby was the dwarf with the crossbow, peering into the dimness. The tattooed man would have to be careful of that one. Dwarves tended to have better night vision than most, and what's more the crossbow this one was using looked to be a custom-job marksman's weapon. There was bone-breaking power behind those shots, the reload time looked to be cut down quite a bit by some mechanism that he didn't recognize, the drop was almost negligible and the bastard knew how to use the thing. Not good odds there.

The wizard he could ignore now, he thought. He'd be surprised if the man had enough power left to light a candle. The boy, Keil, he was still unconscious, and the one-armed swordsman looked to be slipping away as well. Don't need to worry about them.

No escape routes sprang to mind, though...

The tattooed man looked up at a soft whinny from nearby, and a slow smile spread across his face.

He was sitting at a dark corner table, by the back door of the tavern, when Ticky's air elemental found him. The sylph fluttered around the table, whirling about the seated figure, singing, It's him! He's here! The elemental's movements pulled at his cloak, and he had to snatch at the edge of the hood to keep it from slipping off his head.

Ticky and Derlan were a little behind the sylph, due to the elemental being able to slip through spaces where they didn't fit. They came through the door of the tavern warily: this was not a place either of them would normally frequent, at least not without heavy armament.

The man in the cloak stood suddenly when he saw them, shoving two crystal spheres in his pocket. They were only visible for a second: one was pale, misty blue, while the other was pitch black and dull as a dead eye. They couldn't see his eyes beneath the hood--most of his face was concealed, actually--but he still gave an impression of staring them down from across the room.

Such a thing tends to be noticed, in a tavern like this. The other patrons were surly, hard-drinking sailors, but they knew bad trouble when they saw it. Most of them cleared a path between the gnome and the elf and the cloaked man, except for a few who were too drunk to get the memo.

The bartender drew forth a club of lead-cored wood and set it down on the counter with all the casualness of a death threat, and started clearing the glasses off the counter.

"Come on, you stupid beast, let's be friends, eh?" The tone was soothing and calm, but the horse glared at the tattooed man all the same. It was a warhorse, well-kept and strong, sequestered in an old stall that looked like it had been recently swept out and cleaned. He had no idea who the horse belonged to, but he wasn't one to question opportunity when it came knocking. Or whinnying, in this case.

The horse tried to take a bite out of his face, teeth closing on air with a tombstone click, and the tattooed man decided to forget about the subtle route. The horse was trained to respond to its master's voice and to kill the hell out of everyone else: he wouldn't override that training with a few soothing words and an apple. He leapt, swinging around the neck and onto the horse's back before it knew what was happening. The beast tried to rear, found that it couldn't, and smashed the stall door open instead.

Heads turned at the sound, but whatever they expected to see, what appeared wasn't it. The tattooed man clung to the back of the warhorse, tight against its back, as it tried violently to shake him off. Alexis reflexively pulled the trigger of his crossbow, but he had been expecting to be shooting at a man on foot, and his bolt shot past the horse's neck with an angry whine.

The horse pounded through the hold, heading for the wide doorway where Marneus stood. It leapt over Keil's prone body, sped past the red cloud where the undead abomination was slowly being torn to pieces, and crashed straight through one of the flimsier crates. The tattooed man looked up and saw Marneus bearing down, the knight's glare making itself known even through his helmet. The tattooed man scrabbled for his knife for a moment, then gave up and rolled off the horse's back as Marneus' armored fist swept through the air where he had been moments before. The tattooed man hit the floor hard, and only luck brought him into a roll that took him behind Marneus and out the doorway. Unlike his comrade-in-tattoos in Keil's room he didn't waste time trying to kill the armored knight with only a dagger, opting instead to sprint down the corridor, moving towards the hatch with a staggering run.

He would have made it, too, if Reeko hadn't stepped out of the shadows and thrown a knife into his eye.

Boots pounded on the upper deck, sounding loud and urgent in the stillness. Captain Grummond glared at the ceiling, listening furiously at the sound of yet more intruders on his ship. The footsteps thudded to the hatch and came down fast: sounded like there were at least six people up there.

Grummond turned the corner, pistol at the ready. "Bastards trying to attack my ship--" he began, before a truncheon swept his gun hand up above his head and planted a neat blow to his solar plexus. He stumbled backwards with a gust of expelled air, and looked up into the point of a sword.

"This is the Provost's Guard," said the armored man with the blade at the captain's throat, "and until we figure out what's happening, I'd suggest not moving a single muscle."

Dockhouse Patrol

Ticky smiled. The moment had come. He thanked the sylph graciously, sweeping a deep bow (for a gnome), and turned his attention to the target. Ticky had caught two flashes as they entered; one black as pitch and the other a hardly tangible blue. The gnome made a mental note to thoroughly examine both.

Approaching the man with his hands outstretched, Ticky gave the man a wide smile. "Sir, if we may speak to you outside for a moment? We mean no harm; we only seek your cooperation in a small endeavour." The man watched him warily, his eyes flitting between the bartender's club, the door, and the odd pair that stood before him.

Ticky kept his face serene despite his tumbling doubts. He did not desire a fight, not in this situation. Nor did he much appreciate the idea of letting his prey get away. A flash of thought and a few muttered words (inaudible against the quiet rumble of the semi-intoxicated patrons) later, and Ticky laughed aloud.

He pressed his hand into his coatpocket, causing the prey to tense visibly, and removed a small bag that tinkled as it moved. "Of course, we will compensate you appropriately, based on your decision." Ticky purred; the threat was inherently obvious in his voice.

He quickly surveyed the room. Not much maneuverability, many obstacles, and, almost certainly, a number of hidden foes.

Raven's challenge went unanswered. He let out a sigh of relief to himself, he knew the enemy was out there but thankfully in the eyes of the predator, Raven did not appear to be a worthwhile fight. He sheathed his sword and concentrated on his wounds, enough of time had passed for him to become desensitized to the pain. Perhaps the wounds were not as fully healed as he would have liked but enough to move with only occasional stabbing discomfort.

Raven grabbed Keil gingerly and together they both slipped silently into the shadows. A stack of crates nearby provided a break from the line of sight of potential hostiles; as far as cover would go it was less than ideal but still it was the only spot available to rest and recuperate. The wizard laid down besides his burdens and peered at his surroundings. The dwarf was somewhere, he could feel the piercing gaze of a sharpshooter nearby. As for the others, he could not hear nor see them. He knew that both Nexaddo and the physician were nearby in the darkness along with Jonas but Raven did not wish to risk calling out to them.

He needed rest and rest he would get.

Marneus looked from where the man lay, to Reeko, who had made quite the entrance. Feeling Reeko had earned something at least, he offered a small nod before turning to his horse.

He quickly checked for any wounds, and was satisfied as he found none. The horse was still a little jumpy, so he spoke a few calm words to it to assure that it's owner had returned.

"There we go. Now, follow."

Veneratio was a well trained horse, and he began following Marneus as soon as he heard the simple command. Together, the pair moved off deeper into the hold in the general direction of the hole.

The cloaked man stared at Ticky for a moment, then snorted. "Yeah, sure," he said. "That's likely to happen. If you want to talk to me, you'll do it right here. And if you try anything..." He paused, and something pistol-shaped jutted beneath his cloak, its full shape hidden by black cloth. "We'll see how well you can speak with a bullet in you, eh?"

"The hell is that?"

"I have no idea," said Deslock, staring at the cloud of red mist where the undead abomination was being torn apart, reforming, and being torn apart again. "I'm pretty sure I didn't authorize anything like that being loaded on the ship."

"This is no time for jokes, Mr. Deslock," said Inspector Felkin of the Provost's Guard.

"I wasn't joking," said Deslock. The Inspector ignored him and waved his men forward. They had thundered down the ladder to the hold with proper police speed and violence, but had stopped in the doorway, surprised by what they saw. They had picked up Deslock on the deck above, striding through the ship with a pistol and a bruise on his forehead that he refused to explain. They had given him the same treatment they had Grummond--disarmed and held at swordpoint--but after a sufficient shouting and cursing has passed, they determined that he probably was who he said he was and carried on.

Now they advanced into the hold, weapons at the ready. Inspector Felkin paced evenly behind them, grey-green coat sending up eddies of debris and ashes.

"Throw down your weapons!" he shouted into the dimness. "This is the Provost's Guard! Anyone who is still holding a weapon in three seconds will be shot, arrested and fined! Dalson, get some lights up, will you?" That last was to one of his men, who nodded and opened a bulls-eye lantern, sending a stream of light into the darkness, for the first time illuminating everything in the hold.

His target had disappeared from view. Alexis spat in disgust at the thought of waiting in his position till something happened. "The best defense was offense" his grandfather Silgurd Moonspear had said. But anxious as he was Alexis was in no mood to pick a fight with the remnants of the enemy he barely understood. For now his crossbow and some distance would be the best bet for survival, after all if these men could overpower most of the expedition, kidnap one member, severely cripple the other while besting Marneus the knight, Jonas the fighter and Raven a full fledged Mage that only a few days ago defeated the pirates with a tidal wave, a dwarf from an airship might not be as lucky against such mystical advisaries.

Alexis paused to peer into the darkness. He had spotted the mage scurrying for cover with another expedition member when a new voice rang from the main deck.

"Throw down your weapons!"

"This is the Provost's Guard! Anyone who is still holding a weapon in three seconds will be shot, arrested and fined!

"Looks like the cavalry is here" the dwarf muttered to himself. "I wonder if they know what they are getting into?"

"Psst!" Alexis hissed at the mage. "Tis me, Alexis. Are you ok?. What say we head topside. I see no signs of pursuit and I am frankly getting tired of this hold."

Ticky's face twisted in an expression of mock hurt. "Sir, you insult my honor? Alas... I suppose there's no two ways about it." He bowed deeply, took a deep breath, and began.

"Sir, I do not know your name, nor do I care. I am Tickyvanillius Leviticus the Third; a member of Explorer Deslock's Expedition upon the good ship Cepolada. You, Sir, have threatened a man upon our ship, as well as the crew itself." Ticky stared the man down. "This is unacceptable."

The man's fingers twitched on his concealed weapon and Ticky held up a hand for pause. "Sir, allow me to finish. As I illustrated previously, we mean you no harm. We only ask that you agree to help us find your so-called master, so we might discover the root of this issue. Of course, you will be properly compensated," he held forth the tinkling bag once more "if you help us. And... if you don't..." Ticky let his voice trail off with a laugh.

"I'll just remind you that there are two of us, one of you, and I happen to be in a rather bad mood."

"Psst!" Raven heard the sound interrupt his deep meditation. He instinctively reached for his sword ready to defend himself against this new intrusion.

"Tis me, Alexis. Are you ok?. What say we head topside. I see no signs of pursuit and I am frankly getting tired of this hold."

"So you were the sharpshooter then!" Raven muttered with a sigh of relief. "Yes, yes perhaps we should leave but not before we find the others!. I know that Jonas is around here somewhere, if he is beyond our position then at least we should seek out Marneus. He'll be easier to find with that tin suit of his, I can even hear it now clanking near the stables of the ship, he must be checking up on his mount!" Raven paused as he caught sight of the dwarf crouched with crossbow in hand.

"The Provost's Guard seems to have graced us with their presence" he continued after hearing their call from above. "I am not sure what they are going to do with that red-corpse-ogre thing but it's not our problem for now. We have to get to the main deck and find the Captain and Deslock and get Keil recovered. I've had enough of this hide-and-seek game. It's time to punch the schoolyard bully in a sensitive area!"

Raven stretched his limbs, the pain was slowly dying down. Be it luck or natural affinity with magic but his wounds seemed to be healing. The only alternative explanation was that he had lost enough blood to become delusional.

"You ready to re-unite the expedition?" he asked Alexis

-removed-

"Throw down your weapons!"

Marneus paused in his search.

"This is the Provost's Guard! Anyone who is still holding a weapon in three seconds will be shot, arrested and fined!"

Marneus glanced at his empty hands, before covering his eyes with them as a bright light pierced the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the source of the light. A lantern, in the hand of one of the guardsmen. More importantly, was that he saw a glint of fine metal, tainted with blood as it sat atop a crate imbedded in its victim.

Mentally marking the location, he raised his hands and turned to the guardsmen.

The Provost's Guard advanced through the hold, Deslock pacing behind them and examining the damage to his supplies and his crew. "Expedition, expedition, expedition..." he muttered into Inspector Felkin's ear. "Everyone alive down here is one of mine. I don't think you need to relieve them of their weapons, Inspector."

"Sure we don't," said the Inspector agreeably. "However, if they don't drop their weapons now, I'm legally in the clear to order them cut down. Which is the point, really."

"I see," said Deslock. The line of guardsmen swept past Marneus, and Deslock nodded at the knight. "Nice policy you got there, Inspector."

"It's prove useful in the past," said Felkin.

The Guard secured the area with minimal fuss, making sure that everyone in the hold except for the Expedition was dead. Once that was ascertained--and a few people sent upstairs to go over Keil's room--Inspector Felkin leapt to the top of a large crate and clapped his hands.

"Well then," he said. "Who wants to lie to me about what happened here first?"

In a tavern by the docks, a cloaked man gave a coarse laugh.

"Fuck you and your pathetic threats," he said. "I'm nowhere near outnumbered. One of you is a gnome, and the other a prepubescent elf on his period."

He paused for a moment to deliver a practiced sneer from the shadows of his hood. "I don't give a shit about your money. If you want to talk you'll have to do it now."

Marneus looked around, and decided he should tell the tale first, as he had been heavily involved in it.

"I believe we should start with the murder of sailor Feron. Our first night aboard the ship, someone broke into my cabin, and a sailor was murdered. Throat cleanly slit, head cut open, and brain removed. An expedition member, Keil, was frightened and attached a bell to his cabin door to wake him should someone sneak in."

Marneus paused for breath.

"Later that day, we were attacked by pirates. During the attack, an expedition member by the name of Mark had his cabin vandalized. A rather pointed message was left, and his possesions were stolen. The pirates were defeated, and we continued to Tyb. Our first night in this city, I was woken from my sleep by a bell."

He paused again, for dramatic effect.

"I crept out into the hall, and heard the sounds of combat coming from Keil's cabin. Upon investigating, I found a masked man poised to plunge his dagger into Keil's back. I stopped him, but he managed to escape. The rest of the expedition was waking up, and split between helping Keil and assisting me in chasing the would-be assassin."

Yet another pause.

"We chased him up onto the deck, but were stalled by a sniper, allowing him to escape. The sniper was not so lucky, and was taken to the brig. I then took a guard position by the ladder up to above-deck. The ship was then attacked by a group of cloaked individuals. I, and an Orc, battled five unholy abominations, they moved unnaturally and felt no pain. We only won by hacking them apart."

This was taking forever.

"During the fight, an amplified voice stated that they would leave us in peace if we handed over Keil, that they had kidnapped Mark, and that they had explosives planted on the bottom of the boat. I suggest you look into the last two. After beating the five, I went to check on Keil. I arrived too late, an expedition member was dead, and a hole had been made in the floor. After dispatching a cloaked, tatooed human, my sword became stuck in the body, which fell down the hole into this hold."

Almost done.

"I came down to retrieve it, and you arrived shortly after I did."

Ticky sighed and let his arms drop to his sides. He could handle many things. A week-long voyage with no other gnomes to have an intelligent conversation with, a witless Painted Elf who had proved marginally useful, and let's not forget nearly going batshit insane looking for a solution to this problem.

He could not handle a gnome-hater.

Ticky tapped his finger to his throat, causing his voice to become loud, deep, and booming. "Listen, you black-clad knave! I've not time for your shenanigans! You will lead us to your superior, you will go without a problem, or Gods help me, I'll boil you into a stew my goddamn self!"

Ticky looked to Derlan, his voice returning to normal. "Derlan. Relieve this gentleman of his weapons. If he does anything suspicious," Ticky gave the man a meaningful glance. "run him through." He turned back to the black-clad man. "Now. This is your last chance. Or would you prefer to be cooked and salted like a goat?"