Blood on the Docks

Featuring: Amahl, Analai, Crispin, Darryn (NPCed by Lexa), Demetrius (NPCed by Sebastian), Lexa, Marco, Maximillian, Mister Burke (NPCed by Sebastian), Neifion, Quintus, Rei, Sebastian, Vikesha
Date: September 17, 2004
IC Date: July 13, 3930
Summary: It all comes down to this, the reason for the invasion, the force behind the pirates' unity. Revenge.

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Navale - Docks - Parnassus
Surrounded by the sounds, sights, and smells of the estuary and the dockyards, where the Navale meets the water is an area of perpetual activity. Fortified against the wear and tear of the water's constant motion, the cobblestone landing extends out into the estuary with several long piers that allow ships to take berth at Parnassus.

For visitors and cargo alike, the Navale provides the first taste of the unique region that Parnassus inhabits. While Empyreans and their Mongrel slaves and employees abound, those of other races are easily in evidence, moving and working about the district. Sylvan, Atlantean, and even Varati make use of the largest, most accessible landing for ships that come into the Mahpe River's estuary. Though those who work the area tend to be coarser individuals, often someone of the upper classes can be seen tending to their business affairs, or the arrival of esteemed guests.

Carriages and wagons stand ready to take visitors or cargo up the steep hill to the white walled Empyrean city or to the impressive expanse of the bustling enterprise of Pons Pactum. Across the water can be seen the island, Insula Garum, and further across the tiered levels of Irha-Esh. Directly to the southeast is Mongrel Town.

Announcement: From the Sylvan fields southeast of the city of Parnassus tendrils of smoke begin to rise. At first it appears to be nothing more than a campfire, or perhaps a farmer burning off some refuge, but the tendrils of smoke grow thicker and darker, filling the sky over the fields with heavy clouds of black soot. A few farmers rushing into the southern gate of Parnassus with their carts laden with personal goods cry breathlessly about a fire spreading through the crops and there is worry as well that the fire is heading towards the forests.

Announcement: It is almost as if the Varati fields do not wish to be outdone by the Empyrean ones, for plumes of smoke begin rises in the fields west of Irha-Esh. They too start small, as if campfires were being set, but soon the skies over the Varati city darken with smoke as the summer crops begin to burn.

Announcement: The fires in the Varati fields begin to flicker and fade at once, as if suddenly deprived of their fuel. But even as one fire ends, a massive *BOOM* comes from Irha-Esh as the area before the Temple explodes into stone, dirt, and fire. The entire City shakes with the force.

Announcement: A second *BOOM* follows the first, but it seems close to the first as the Obsidian statue of Khalid Atar that stood at the Southern Gate of Irha-Esh topples. The way from the Varati City to the Bridge is now blocked by solid stone and many buildings have erupted into flames from the splashed oil in His hands.

Lexa comes hurrying out of the Nereus at the sound of the first explosion, wincing at the sound of the second. She glances over her shoulder at the Nereus, someone else peering worriedly out of the doorway, before looking over towards Irha-Esh, and then further afield to catch sight of the plumes of smoke.

It is.. or at least was, a fairly lazy morning aboard the Adelaide. Rei has been sitting on one of the benches amidships, mending a small rip in one of the sails, but now the woman has climbed up on the bridge, shielding her gaze from the sun with one hand as she peers towards Irha-Esh also.

Announcement: Above Parnassus Praetorians and gryphons stream across the sky, carrying buckets and barrels of water for without fire mages of their own, they have only one way to extinguish the flames on their own fields. Many of the Praetorians return to the Eyrie covered in soot, filling the Parnassus skies with a host of artificial darklings.

Announcement:In Irha-Esh, Atarvani are swarming about, bringing the wounded out of harm's way to be healed or tended to and trying to control the fires in their own City and on the northern part of the Bridge. Agni-Haidar have brought out the wyverns and have them at the statue, working to move it so that there may be at least some passage.

The Amarada stirs, a number of sailors coming up on deck and leaning over the edge to peer at the darkening skies. Many point and there is a buzz of quiet conversation, but they for the most part don't seem terribly .... surprised. A few of them even smile at one another and there is some dark chuckling that wafts occasionally down to the docks.

Lexa yells back at the watching faces in the Nereus: "Can't see, but there's a fire in Irha-Esh, an' more smoke over th' fields..." She glances across to the Amarada, brows narrowing just a touch as she tries to make sense of the crew's reaction.

Among those on the deck a lanky Atlantean strolls almost casually to the side of the rail and peers over the edge, as if studying the waters. "This way lads," Neifion calls out a bit too brightly to a pair of mongrels rolling large barrels over to the edge. The barrels are opened and some water sloshes out of them, much to the anger of the Atlantean. "You're going to waste it!" he shouts, smacking one soundly upside the head as he points out to the estuary. "Dump it out there!" The mongrels follow the Atlantean's orders and spill a mass of red- tainted water overboard and into the estuary below. "Now get the others," Neifion barks with a snarl and quickly more barrels are brought forward.

Aboard the Amarada, the crew is mostly mongrels, though there are a number of Varati amidst the gawking sailors. More fingers point and shoulders are slapped in an almost congratulatory fashion. "Lookie dere, ye see dat Empy up dere? Look at 'im, all black wi' soot. Whot a pity, aye?" By the sailor's tone and the laughter that follows, he is clearly mocking the struggling Praetorian's who are trying to save their crops from complete destruction.

And then there's Max, who even on his day off is prone to work. Like now. The deck freshly swapped, tools put away, he's re-emerged from below with a fresh scent of sandalwood and sea. Shirtsleeves rolled up, it is with an entirely too casual air that he approaches the Captain. One boot propping against a ledge, the exploding city, pluming smoke, and mass chaos is eyed briefly in silence. And then? A snide comment. "Well, then. Do we get to rape and pillage now?"

One of the sailors from the Amarada glances down and gives Max a big thumbs up, crowing, "That's the way of it, mate!" Another sailor whacks him against the back of the head, giving him a heated glare as if he had just said the stupidest thing possible. "Blimey, Jacon, shut yer trap, will ye??" Snorting, Jacon rubs the back of his head with a broad smile and returns to watching the chaos unfold in the city beyond. "'Is is bett'r than de play ye put on fer us dat time, 'member?"

A sound, soft at first, soon joins the low chuckling of the Amarada's crew, a jaunty little tune hummed on presumably feminine lips. The tune itself is far too jolly given the circumstances, the drifting notes thus taking on a rather ominous feel.

Announcement: The waters of the estuary slowly begin to darken with a sickening red color, as if blood is being poured from over the side of one of the ships. Frantically those who witness the destruction point to the docked Amarada as the culprit. Atlanteans who had headed into the water for protection find their home invaded by a strange red algae, making breathing rather difficult, though not completely impossible.

Tilted eyes turn upwards, watching the Praetorians filling the skies. Rei wears an expression that's rather more stern than her customary smooth features; a glance goes in the direction of the other ships nearby, then back towards the estuary-- though it's a look of consideration the open waters receive, now. "Not we," she murmurs back to Max below-- the two seem to be the only people on board Rei's boat, at least for now. "What do you make of this?"

Lexa blinks, something dawning on her, and heads for the Sweet Adelaide at a flat run, taking a flying leap onto the deck, whether or not anyone's about to stop her. "Rei..." she yells, as she does. No doubt the folks in the doorway of the Nereus think she's taken leave of her senses.

"Probably the Triumvirate." Dryly stated. Lexa? Earns a single arched brow. Such passion and drama - but really, not completely unexpected from a woman. Granted, the city and fields were awash and flame, and now the waters flow with a sickening carmine hue that resembles his own blood, but really that is neither here nor there. "Given that Ol' Cap' Demetrius was inducted, well... I s'pose there's probably some really pissed off people trying to make a point out there." Stark eyes lift, Max's attention flowing onto Rei, gauging.

Announcement: In Parnassus it seems the fires are drawing too close for comfort. Smaller blazes have erupted in the noble neighborhood of Aventine Hill and cohors of Praetorians are quickly angling in that direction to save the homes that are threatened by the flames that lick at the well-tended gardens.

Well, that yell at least brings the black Atlantean out of her reverie. Head whipping around, the woman is climbing down from the bridge in no time, gaze darting from Max to Lexa. "We're taking her out on the water," she shoots for the former. And nevermind they're the only sailors around to do it. "What?" is demanded of the mongrel woman in the same breath, even as Rei moves towards one of the lines that ties the Adelaide to the dock.

Lexa grabs the captain's arm. She mutters to Rei, "... crew.... 'em."

Announcement: Most of the fires have been doused in Irha-Esh, but there is still massive destruction and injury from the odd explosion. Houses and tunnels have been ruined while others threaten to collapse. The entire Qajar district seems to be in disarray and in some parts have collapsed completely.

Immediately Max is in motion, lithe body over the side and upon the docks, unhitching the boat, ropes wrapping around the muscled lengths of his forearms. "Give th'word." He's ready, and if Lexa's going to hang around on Rei's boat, well then... she'll just have to hang a little longer. No expression, and again that similar dryness of tone. The ex-pirate, right now, is all business.

Crispin comes down the street from Mongrel Town.
Crispin has arrived.

Halted in her progress, Rei's brow furrows in irritation, but the mongrel's comment has her looking over towards the Amarada a second time, eyes narrowing. She doesn't look too surprised, though. "Not my problem," she grunts. "If they've come to dole out some sort of punishment, I'm not going to be caught in the middle of it." Shrugging to free herself of Lexa's grip, she continues towards the gangplank. "And unless you get off my boat, we'll take you with us."

Lexa weighs it for a moment, spying Crispin approaching, then shrugs, and jumps back on the dockside. Her parting shot to Rei is a somewhat savage "screw you, then."

Crispin runs in from Mongrel Town to the docks his eyes scanning the scene. A shout goes up behind him and he whirls around to see another smoky tail rise into the sky. He reaches dockside to spot Rei and Lexa speaking. "What news here?" He asks without so much of a hello.

Like he said. Drama. A mere glance for Lexa, and Rei's words are taken as anticipatory command. A quick shove of his legs, a hop over and onto deck, and Max is aboard, with the ship properly removed from the docking planks. He's been missing the sea, anyways. Right?

Suddenly, and without warning, the crew of the Amarada roars loudly as one! Like a sea of flesh they storm over the side of the ship, weapons brandished and swinging wildly. Any that get in their way are instantly cut down, their numbers too great and too concerted to be stopped by a sailor here or a soldier there. Blood spills out upon the docks but they don't tarry. Clearly there is a destination in mind. They head in a violent attacking herd toward the Bridge.

Neifion comes down from the main deck of the Amarada
Neifion has arrived.

"What do you want me to do?" the black Atlantean shouts at Lexa's back. "Run out there and single-handedly do away with all those men?" Frustration tinges her words, but in the next instance Rei has kicked the gangplank away with one booted heel, pretty much at the same time as Max rejoins her on board. "Raise the little sail," she tells him, one glance warning him of voicing any complaints about her un-heroicism. "We'll try to take her out of harbor, at least." Away from potential blood-baths.

Lexa hurries over to Crispin, somewhat breathless. "Dunno... who those are, but that's not 'Tian's crew."

Max'd snort - or at least huff indignant air - if that saucy woman's look was caught. But it was not, of course. Heroic. Him. Bah. Easy and swift steps bring him quickly across deck, sea legs immediately adapted, sail etching towards the sky with a few hearty pulls.

Maximillian boards the Sweet Adelaide.
Maximillian has left.

Announcement: Some of the fires in the Empyrean and Sylvan fields seem to be dying down, but the problematic fire that concerns all of Parnassus are those that have flared up in the Forum and on Aventine Hill. Praetorians continue to fly through the skies, ignoring the soot covering them, to keep the water coming and to end this hell on aether.

And with the sail raised, Rei climbs back up to the bridge and grabs a hold of the wheel. The Adelaide begins, ever so slowly, to move out of the line of boats, aiming towards the harbor's opening now, and the waters beyond-- where she won't be quite so likely to take damage. Rei's got an investment to protect, after all.

Neifion watches his mates dive into the fray and laughs loudly at the chaos erupting around them. With a wicked twinkle in his eye he darts away, not towards the bridge, but in the other direction, toward the Bottoms.

Neifion heads southeast towards Mongrel Town.
Neifion has left.

With no one to stop them, the pirates are soon gone, leaving behind them only dead bodies, groaning victims, and plenty of blood. Slowly patrons, dockhands, and others come out of hiding, starting about in shock at the chaos before hurrying to wherever it is they need to be.

Sweet Adelaide - Parnassus Docks has left.

Announcement: Even the poor mongrels don't appear to have been forgotten. The waters of the estuary rise and fall unnaturally. Heavy waves crash over the Bottoms and threaten to flood all of mongrel town as larger waves head west towards the bridge, threatening to rise up and sweep the red-stained water over the heavy stone walls.

Crispin wraps an arm round Lexa and pulls her back towards the buildings away from the ships. "I don't recognize them either... water's comin' up round the Bottoms... boys are trying to pull everyon' up and get them out... Look the sky... all the clouds of smoke...." A shudder rocks him and his jaw tenses, and he's not letting her go.

Lexa elbows Crispin sharply in the ribs: "Let me *go*, y'idiot." She turns at the return of the pirates, backing away a little.

Announcement: The wave heading toward the bridge grows and crashes roughly against it, sending a good deal of the salty water over the side, washing across the stone and likely knocking down a few of the less-secure tents. It seems to be the only large wave sent to attack, but the waters of the estuary are still extremely choppy.

Analai comes down the street from Mongrel Town.
Analai has arrived.

Announcement: As the fires in Irha-Esh have been put out, some Atarvani try to actually get over to the other side of the city to help with their fires. A few risk being boosted by the wyverns and a handful manage to climb over the fallen statue to dash across the bridge over towards Parnassus.

There is a flurry of wings from above, depositing upon the ground two familiar Empyreans to these docks, Captain Demetrius and his son Sebastian. By the looks of them, they've already had a day of it, stopping here and there to assist where they could once they realized that the city was under siege. But they have a whole ship full of sailors to help! And as such they stare at the empty decks of the Amarada in confusion. Sebastian wipes a smear of soot across his face as he notes hopefully, "They probably already set out to assist, yes?" Turning he gazes back at the chaos, shaking his head in astonishment and confusion.

Lexa blinks at Tian. "What the *fuck* is goin' on with yer ship? What the hell happened t'you?" By Lexa's standards, that covers both the obvious question, and some inherent variation on "hi, I was worried about you, I missed you, are you alright?"

Amahl comes down the street from the warehouse district of the Navale. Amahl has arrived.

Vikesha comes down the street from the warehouse district of the Navale.
Vikesha has arrived.

Neifion comes down the street from the warehouse district of the Navale.
Neifion has arrived.

A group of about fifteen battle-pumped pirates aren't exactly quiet as they clatter down towards the docks. The plan was to capture the Amarada and sail it blithely out of the Estuary and into the sunset...once the Captain was found and killed, of course. It wouldn't be much of an attack if they didn't get what they came for. All the little perks are rather nice, but it's Demetrius they're after. At least, it's who Amahl is after. Let the others deal with the Triumvirate...he's after blood.

And there they are. Pausing at the docks, Amahl gives a slow grin and twirls his jeweled dagger in one hand, the other reaching for the sword at his side. "Well, well boys...look what we found." He barely turns to the others to order, "Kill all the ones you want, but Demetrius is mine!" So much for subtlety.

Neifion laughs with a dark glee as he notices the arrival of the Empyreans and he tosses a triumphant glance to his captain before brandishing a dagger and twirling it, considering with of the pretty offerings to go after first.

Announcement: The dark clouds of smoke over the fields and near the forest have dissipated. Apparently, some of the fires have been able to be put out.

Emerging soaked from mongrel town as many of its other denizens are running up in every which direction to save themselves from being drowned or crushed by the waves, only a few would think to come to the docks and see what is going on there. Analai is among those, wandering out from between the warehouses. "What in the -bloody- blazes is goin' on?" She wonders aloud to anyone who would care to answer her. Her dark blue eyes alight on the Neifion and she points. Not the smartest thing to do at a pirate, but she is not exactly the brightest crayon in the box. "/You/. What sort of an idea was that? Ya ain't gonna get anythin' from burnin' and drownin' Mongrel Town. So why bloody bother?" Even as one hand points, the other remains clenched and ready on one of the knives on her belt.

Sebastian opens his mouth to retort, confused and annoyed, but his words are halted by the touch upon his shoulder by his father. Slowly turning, he stares, his features flushing as realization floods over him, a sense of real horror chilling his stomach and making a wall about his heart. Demetrius takes a step forward, his hand upon his sword as he studies his opponents with quiet calm. "Amahl? My my, you have stepped up in the world, haven't you? I had heard rumors of course, but I never thought you would be bold enough to try something like this. Not after your last rather pitiful attempt." His ocean eyes are flat and cold as he rumbles, "I guess you've been studying up. Always knew you were a bright and apt pupil." His gaze rolls over to touch on Vikesha's familiar face, one brow arching with mild surprise. "I think I can guess who you choose to be your instructor."

Crispin releases Lexa with a grin. "Sorry." No he wasn't. But even Lexa isn't enough to keep him occupied. When she hurries to question Sebastian, he steps forward. "What's goin' on yonder? Somethin' I can do?" He asks to no one in particular.

There is a rush of feet as a small band comes into view from Mongreltown. Mister Burke, First Mate of the Amarada got word of the "crew" flooding off the ship and attacking the docks and then the Bridge. Certainly didn't take him long to put two and two together. Though there are only five men with him, five sailors from the actual crew of the Amarada, they surge to come up behind Demetrius and Sebastian, eyeing the pirates warily. The odds are at least better now, if not even.

There is only a sense of satisfaction that comes from a job nearing its completion, as Vikesha strides forward at Amahl's side. His own long knife is drawn, and his eyes are icy and cold as he glances about. The moment he finds the one, long recognizable Empyrean to him, he actually opens his mouth to speak. "Demetrius of Amarada. It has been... a long time." Nice to see you again and all that. After flicking a glance at Amahl, he lapses back into silence, slipping into a defensive stance with his knife raised.

Turning to Crispin and eyeing him for a moment, Mister Burke gives the man a broad, if hard, smile. "Aye laddie, we be in a bit o a pinch 'ere! Iff'n ye wanna to lend a hand fer justice and whot's right, then join us while we sport wi' these 'ere mangy dogs, whot need t'be taken down a peg 'er two. Iff'n not, then ye best be gettin' soomplace safe, laddie. This 'ere is a no prisoners fight."

"*Darryn*." Lexa finally uses her head, hollers for the Nereus' wiry Mongrel bouncer, who's hovering a little at the door. He hurries over, and Lexa indicates the developing fight. He nods, grinning savagely, unsheathing a curved blade, nods to Crispin. "Ya wanna join me?"

Neifion looks at the breathless mongrel wielding the dagger and laughs all the more with a shake of his head. He stalks closer to her with a serpentine grace, his eyes dark as a storm at sea. "Foolish child, put away that toy before you hurt somebody." He gives her a dismissive wave and slowly smiles. "Run along little girl, this is none of your concern, let the grown-ups handle this, my sweet."

Those words strike a chord in the mongrel man. Crispin nods, wary. But at Darryn's words, he grimly agrees. "Lay on, Dar. I'll watch yer back." Dark eyes grow darker yet, as he cracks his knuckles.

Amahl removes his hat in a bow, "It's 'Captain' Amahl now, if you please..." and the doffed hat is thrust at Analai, "Hold this, stay out of the way, and you -might- live." He stands ready now for this final fight...and he will not fail. "That last try was nearly twenty years ago, Demetrius...you're an old man now. It's about time for you to just lay down and die, isn't it?" He'll banter for only so long before he must spring into action. A glance is given to Vikesha, meeting his before he turns back. The knife is twirled again, "You want to do this the gentlemanly way then? You know, I could spare your crew if you just...came along with us. And don't worry ... I'd still bury you at sea." White teeth show brightly when he grins.

Analai has not even drawn her knives yet, but as the Atlantean approaches, she does and swiftly, in a flash of steel and a practiced aim that, strangely enough, is not aimed to kill. Instead her knife heads for the man's dagger arm, hoping to hit or take off a shoulder, or at least make it very difficult for him to attack her.

The Atlantean male staggers back in shock and pain as the mongrel's dagger finds a home in the muscle of his upper arm. "Oh my darlin' you're gonna be regrettin' that," Neifion snarls, flipping the dagger to his left hand and tossing it angrily at her. His aim is not as good with that hand, but he manages to head it in her direction. "You and your whole blasted city's gonna regret it!" He staggers along the dock and rips the dagger messily from his arm, spraying himself and those nearby with a crimson spray. He howls, either out of pain or madness, before dropping off the side of the dock and into the depths of the choked estuary. For a while there is nothing, save for a new red spot blooming in the water, but slowly the waters begin to churn and the waves rise again, angry and intent on the bridge to the west.

"Old? Like wine, you'll find Amahl, I have only improved with age. What you gain in youth, I gain in experience." His sword sings out as it draws out from it's sheath, and like an echoing chorus, the men behind him draw out their swords, sheathes singing in unison. "I'll lay down and die when it's my time," he notes philosophically, "And not before. I've been prepared for that since before I was born." His eyes narrow as he asks in turn sardonically, "Are you?" A man comes up behind Sebastian, whispering something into his ear that causes the youth to turn and stare before stepping forward. For a moment, and a moment only, Demetrius considers the option of sacrificing himself for his crew. But Sebastian lays his hand upon his father's arm and answers for his father. "Too late to make deals. You've already killed a good number of our crew. You take on so much as one of us? You take on -all- of us." And with that the remaining crew of the Amarada roars, swords lifted into the air in solidarity as they rush forward.

Announcement: It seems the waves are not content with the single attack on the bridge for the estuary being to churn again. Smaller waves crash against the bridge's supports, heralding the arrival of a wild and towering wave that crashes over the bridge, threatening to further swamp it and knock down more shops and stalls. It does not, thankfully or unfortunately, bring down the sturdy stone structure as it washes goods and some citizens off the bridge and into the water.

Darryn joins the charge, a quick glance to check Crispin's with him, scimitar raised. Lexa takes a pace back, settling against a nearby wall, unable to take her eyes off the fight in general and Sebastian in particular.

Tense as a cat coiled to spring, the Najada drops into a shallow crouch at the sound of the crew's roar. His eyes narrow sharply as he rushes forward in silence, without a battle cry or a word of taunting. There is only one intent in Vikesha's mind, and that is to kill, and to kill quickly and cleanly. Flashy duels do not interest him, only survival. And so he comes forward, intent on taking down the first person who gets in his way.

Analai darts to the side, quickly, but not quite quickly enough. The knife grazes past but takes out a good scrape of her pale shoulder as it does, sending blood spilling down her white arm. "Coward!" She shouts after the Atlantean, clutching on her arm and frowning at the fray, seemingly trying to consider whether to join in while her dark blue eyes flicker towards the water, waiting to see if the Atlantean will resurface.

And the pirates move to meet them. Amahl's pirates. No more chit-chat, it is down to the fight even as others fight on the bridge and in Parnassus. Amahl himself charges forward to engage Demetrius, the others are free to take on who they will. His sword is brought up to parry and block even as the curved knife, kept for so long even after the original owner's death, is thrust forward, in hungry for flesh and thirsty for blood.

Waves rush towards the bridge, spilling over it's side, but the Atlantean seemingly responsible for the destruction does not resurface.

Demetrius is indeed older, but he has stayed in excellent shape. He cannot help but be a little slower, his strength not what it was twenty years ago, but skill and years of combat and swordplay helps him wend his way around these handicaps. As Amahl attacks, he parries and parries, not attacking at all, but watching with narrowed eyes, studying the young Varati's every move. Learning his style and technique. If he is to win this fight, he must first defeat Amahl with his mind, gaining the advantage of knowing his enemy in order to know how best to bring him down.

Rushing forward, for better or worse, it is Vikesha that Sebastian gains as his opponent, eyes so like his father's narrowed in concentration, wings flared out. Like his father, Sebastian has been trained in the art of swordfighting and technique. But like Vikesha he knows that this is a fight to the death, and as such he is not about to let any advantage slip by. Wings flare at his back, ready to be used as weapon or shield, for balance or for flight. If Vikesha could, he would probably fight in water, his element. But Sebastian smiles for here he has both earth and sky, each one his element.

The Nereus' bouncer crosses blades with a pirate: Darryn's not terribly strong, more wiry - what strength he has is in his wrists, and a more-than-decent repertoire of little disarming tricks to quell fights in the Nereus. He's also pretty quick.

Mister Burke fights rather like he drinks and sails and courts women. With lusty fervor. The ginger haired mongrel rushes in, sword flashing and a broad almost gleeful smile upon his face. Unlike most of the men who fight silently save for grunts and curses, he talks the entire time he fights, just as he talks incessantly the rest of the time. It's a cheerful banter that more often than not so disconcerts his opponents that they make a mistake. It would be a brilliant tactic, save that he doesn't do it for that reason. He just loves to talk it would seem. "Och, laddie, whot sorta swing d'ye think -that- be?" *thrust* "B'all de Gods above and below, me -grandmother- can do bett'r 'n that!" *parry* "Really now, laddie, keep yer elbows -up-. Yer leavin' yer ol' left side open there," *slash* "See? See how easy I got that cut in there? Honestly, and ye call yerself a pirate??"

It shall not be the first time that Vikesha has done battle with a winged opponent. In the far, frozen reaches of the north, there live the Aesir, those rugged and powerful warriors who have given the Najada a few scars in his lifetime. Only these are the nimbler, faster versions... but they are also more fragile. If one can actually land a good, hard hit, then one will do well. And while indeed the Najada would prefer to fight in the water, engaging in the Hejnal with a hive of his kindred, he is not so unskilled in land combat. The bald man slinks forward with his knife held before him, his lips curled back slightly to reveal sharp teeth capable of cracking open a lobster's shell.

Amahl has fought Demetrius before. It was under different circumstances, however, but he did spend a year under the Empyrean's command. "Do you think I learned -nothing- over the years?" is hissed even as he flicks a glance towards Vikesha. Indeed, Amahl's style has changed. A foreign style seems to have insinuated into his technique, one that may or may not make the examination a little more difficult. There is a confidence in the way the halfbreed fights now; he is no longer a boy and has been commanding his own crew for a number of years. It does tend to change one.

Having been to the north before, Sebastian is no stranger to the Najada, and has even had the benefit to training with the Aesir some on battle techniques. After all, the Najada have been known to attack the Amarada from time to time, so knowing how to fight them, and fight them well, has always been important. Sebastian circles his opponent, waiting for him to attack first, but unlike his father, who knows the importance of patience and attention when facing an unknown opponent for the first time, Tian has the blood of youth in his veins and as such finally yields to temptation and attacks, thrusting his sword at the Najada, feinting toward one way and then pirouetting the blade to slip to an unprotected side.

Lexa continues to watch, eyes still on Tian, the occasional flick to her immediate surroundings, just in case. Darryn tests the measure of his pirate, a brief clatter of blade on blade, and grins. "Best y'got?"

Both Najada and Empyrean youth circle each other, like a pair of caged tigers, each waiting for an opening. Vikesha seeks the throat, as a single, clean slice there will end Sebastian's life with the least amount of fuss. But when the throat is not available, he'll have to satisfy himself with slowly wearing at the youth's strength till he makes a mistake. The moment the Empyrean thrusts his sword forward, the Najada flips the blade of the knife down to rest against his arm, using it as a gauntlet to knock aside the blow. He has remarkable balance from years of standing atop of ice floes - these docks provide remarkably more traction, and so he is able to easily pivot on the ball of his foot and aim a roundhouse kick at Sebastian's solar plexus, intent on knocking the breath out of him.

There is a cry as the pirate Burke was fighting goes down with a cry, his belly slashed open. "Now see? That 'tweren't the best defensive position. If only ye'd kept yer elbow -up- laddie, ye might 'ave been able to deflect that one. Och, whot a pity." Turning about the ruddy faced, portly mongrel cries out, "Och! Dinnae there be a single decent pirate amongst the lot of ye?" A man swings around, but Burke deflects his blade and reaches with his other hand to unsheathe the dagger at his hip, plunging it into the man's side. "Och, now that t'were pathetic ... I dinnae know why I bother ... nary a soul to offer me a challenge ...."

Taking up the knife that had been in the Atlantean, Analai continues to watch the fray with narrowed eyes. She is not all that attached to life, but still, running into a clash like that with only a few knives to back you up is frankly, suicide. She keeps her dark blue eyes open, though, to see whether the Atlantean will resurface or if there is an opening for a good throw as she backs towards the shadow of the warehouse, out of the way.

"Nay lad, you might recall I had high hopes for you ... trained you even some myself. But of course you just couldn't let go of the past, could you?" retorts Demetrius. His gaze though, even now in this terrible fight, holds a hint of regret. "Your father wasn't what I could call a good man, or even an honorable one. But he met his death with honor. He called me out, as was his right by the Code. He called me out even when he had no reason to do so. So I met his challenge and he lost." Shaking his head, Demetrius parries another three blows, stepping back, wings flaring and lifting him slightly into the air for a moment. "You're seeking revenge for a man who honorably choose his death. This is pointless, Amahl. Let it go." Though the Varati lad's talents have changed from when he was on board the Amarada, Demetrius' mind picks apart the pieces. Ahh yes, that is a classic Varati stance, but it's been mingled with a Najada thrust and return. There's a double cut thrust, but a very Aesir block. Bits and pieces cobbled from here and there with talent. But the boy is rather unpredictable, mixing his attacks and stances from a number of different sources, but with no discernable pattern that Demetrius can make out.

With a shout, yet another mongrel takes on the offensive Mister Burke, getting a cut in on the older man's arm. Taking a step back, he whacks the sword out of the pirate's hand, but instead of finishing him, lowers his sword and pulls at the sleeve of his shirt. "Och! I dinnae be-lieve- it! This be me favorite shirt! Ye ruined me favorite shirt! By all the devils in Dingleberry, this dinnae gonna wash out!" While the mongrel scrambles to regain his sword, Burke lifts his gaze, glaring with annoyance as he growls, "D'ye know just 'ow –'ard- it is to get bloood outta linen? Tis impossible I tell ye!" As the mongrel reaches for his weapon, Burke crosses over and thrusts his sword into the man's back, the mongrel crying out as his blood spills over the ground and he collapses. "There! See 'ow -you- like tryin' to get the blood outta -yer- shirt then!"

"He was good to -me-!" is said with a snarl even as Amahl makes a lunge towards a wing before it is lifted into the air. If he can cut it...or break it, it might help. But even as Demetrius lifts a bit into the air, the halfbreed steps back and points his dagger at Sebastian, "Don't think I can't tell...don't think I don't know who sails the Amarada now. Can you honestly tell me that you told your son the truth? Or does he only know that you are nothing but a glowingly perfect Captain, ever polite and kind and generous to all you meet?" He spits and flips the knife back to a fighting position, "And can you tell me that he wouldn't avenge your death?" The knife is regripped and held still until it is suddenly flung at the slightly-airborne Empyrean.

"'s *sake*..." Darryn weaves aside, narrowly escaping getting skewered along the ribs, and pushes the thrusting blade aside with a twist of his wrist that sends it skittering across the dock. He follows it up with a swift knee to the hapless pirate's groin, grins with satisfaction as he doubles over, then remembers this isn't a brawl, lands a savage boot under his jaw, and runs him through as he straightens.

The roundhouse connects as Sebastian avoids the sword but doesn't realize the Najada is coming about with his foot. He's never seen -that- move before. Gasping, Tian reels back, sword swinging up defensively. But he's definitely open and in an act of desperation he conjures up a wind, the invisible weapon slamming Vikesha directly in the chest, likely enough to knock him down. For a moment Sebastian crouches, catching his breath and holding his sword, eyes upon his opponent as he waits for an attack this time. He's learned his lesson.

The knife impacts upon his wing, causing the Empyrean to drop down, but it doesn't cut deeply, dropping down to the deck with a clatter. "If I die here," Demetrius rumbles, his eyes flickering to his son for only a moment, before returning to Amahl, "then I cannot say what my son will do. But if the situation had been the same. If I had called you out, Captain to Captain, and claimed the right of combat. If you had defeated me in that circle, then nay, he would not have sought revenge such as you do now. Why? Because it was my choice, Amahl, and he respects and honors me. By your actions here and now, and your actions twenty years ago, you dishonor your father. You -dishonor- his memory and choice."

The wind catches the Najada, who had not expected such an attack, but having seen the workings of magic in the Rusalki and in the Aesir, he is able to recognize it for what it is. Tumbling backwards, Vikesha nimbly somersaults backwards in order to compensate for some of the momentum, rising up to a low crouch with his blade soon to follow in a defensive position. "Mocny," is garbled out, his voice low and hoarse from so long unused, the single word the general term for an Elementalist. He shall have to take this into consideration and approach more cautiously. Again he begins circling, looking for another opportunity to make a clean, quick strike.

Marco comes down the street from the warehouse district of the Navale.
Marco has arrived.

As the sword is dropped, Analai slips over to where Master Burke and the fallen mongrel is, sheathing the knife and taking the sword up in her hands. "Guess he won't be needin' -this- anymore, eh?" She asks the red-haired mongrel. "Look out!" She warns him as another pirate advances towards them.

Down from the bridge come running several more of the salty scoundrels, the one in the lead unmistakable; blood trailing down from his scalp, and a shallow cut along his off hand shoulder have not dulled the wild zeal in Marco's eyes. Those eyes which search through the melee, and catch sight of a familiar face.. above three of his dead shipmates. Demetrius and Amahl are lost to his sight for now, as he hollers at the top of his lungs, "BURKE! I'll have yer blood, ya fish livered dog! Burke, yer mine!" Slashing the air twice.. blood sloughing off his blade, the long ago shipmate of Mister Burke sprints at him now, as his would-be killer.

"You filthy bastard!" is spat out as Amahl charges Demetrius. He knows he has to keep cool at a time like this...it is something that was taught to him during the years spent with the Najada. Every now and then, however, the Varati blood flares. Even as he is a little reckless in his initial attack, he almost immediately cools off so that he does not make too many mistakes. Without his knife, he seeks to disarm if he can't manage a hit on the elder Empyrean. "You try and twist my thoughts like you twisted everyone on your crew. I'll bet you even twisted your son. A shame...he probably could have been a decent man." Sayeth the pirate.

Giving Analai a cheeky smile, Burke crows to her, "Atta girl, I dinnae think 'e will be wantin' those n'more!" But at her warning he turns and straightens, his ginger hair all wild about his head and his features are red as an apple from his exertions. Spotting Marco, the First Mate's lips actually crack into a smile that is almost welcoming, save for the sardonic curling at the corners, "Och! If it not be the very devil's teat-sucking whelp! Marco! Get yer mangy ass down 'ere so I can 'ave me some proper target practice, aye?" Raising his blade, he waits for Marco to arrive with a blood-thirsty grin. "Come on, ye gotten so slow! I'll be eighty and change by the time ye get 'ere!"

Climbing to his feet again, Sebastian glares at the Najada, not understanding the term, but guessing at it's meaning. Still, just because he knows Sebastian's skill doesn't mean he can predict it's use. The trick here is, with all the sailors about Tian cannot use his powers as freely as he might like. There is always the chance that he could endanger one of his own should a wind have a side effect or cross their fighting path on the way to his. As such, his magic is somewhat shackled. This time, however, Sebastian waits for Vikesha. He's going to let the fish attack first for a change and maybe even give him a little surprise.

"In a hurry to die, are ye? Earned it enough times over, ye have." Matching spiteful smiles go back and forth, the First and Second mates face off once again... over twenty years after the first time. A sidelong glance is given Analai, as Marco's smile turns into a leer. "Once I cut ye down, Burke, I'll have me some fun ..." The smile fades into a venomous scowl. Nothing burns so hot as very old hate. Without further ado, He dives in at the old mate, throwing slashes with his cutlass hard and fast ... put the old man on the defensive from the start.

Shaking his head almost sadly, Demetrius lifts a wing to cuff Amahl as he charges, taking advantage of the one moment where he has lost his cool. "Amahl, Amahl ... you are so blinded by hate and lies ... I guess there's no salvation for you is there?" And with that the Empyrean attacks full force. His blade is fast and its path serpentine and convoluted as it extends out for a taste of the halfbreed's flesh. If there had been a chance that Amahl could see the truth ... but clearly it is not possible. Best to put down the rabid dog before he spreads his infection and poison everywhere.

That is just what Amahl plans to do. The wing smacks him, knocking him to one side but takes only a moment to recover. In that moment, however, Demetrius' does get a taste of flesh, although not a very deep one. A slash in the side that is more painful than dangerous...he will live, for now. Bringing his own sword up for the parry, he jabs in with his dagger once more, hoping for a deeper bite of his own this time, "Tell me, Demetrius. Is that why you joined the Triumvirate? To show us all the wrongness of our ways? To try and make yourself King of the ocean and Admiral of all the Pirates?" His lips twist in a rictus grin, his gills flaring at his neck, "Do you -really- think we would have let you get away with this?" Best to get off the subject of his father now. It's for a higher cause, after all.

Burke meets Marco's thrusts, parrying them effectively as he lets the lad have at for a little bit, commenting the entire time. "Och, I see ye been actually practicin' for a change, have ye? Not bad not bad, but that last thrust was crude Marco, really, here, let me show ye 'ow to do a Delbarian thrust -properly-." And away the mongrel thrusts, not terribly surprised that Marco can block it. After all he -did- tell him what he was going to do. "See? Now - that's- a Delbarian thrust, and a mighty fine one if I dooo say m'self! Och, laddie, ye really shouldna frown so. Dinnae ye mother tell ye tha' if ye keep makin' faces, yer face be stuck like tha soomday? Och, now that would be a face even a mo'her couldna love ..."

From off to the side there is a cry of relief as a sailor shouts, "Soldiers! There be soldiers on the way!"

As he circles, Vikesha seeks an advantage to balance out the fact that his opponent is an Elementalist. He knows not the level of the youth's skill, but he has learned never to underestimate an opponent. He continues his circling, but edging his steps closer as he seeks to push Sebastian towards the edge of the docks, hoping to get him closer towards the water's edge. Then suddenly, without warning, he rushes in at the young man, intent on dropping low in a crouch and then rising up to thrust his knife into a soft belly at the last possible second.

Marco chuckles without mirth at the older man's repartee, not losing his scowl. "Now that I see ye can still defend yerself ... let me teach ye a lil' something else I've learned... See this here blade? T'aint made fer thrustin. These here cutlasses are made fer choppin'." Drawing back a half step before launching back at Burke, with full cuts, putting the motion of his shoulders, and hips into every cut. His objective seems to be wearing the old man down with the speed and power of a younger swordsman. "I'll have yer blood before those soldiers ever get 'ere ..." With that he aims a particularly vicious cut low at Burke's knee, after faking at his head.

Watching the pirates fight, with a sword held more limply in one hand and the more familiar knife held ready in the other, Analai cannot help but join Burke in the taunting. "If ye've got as little skill wi' whatever ya call tha' silly thin' in yo' hand as ya have in lovin' then ya ain't gonna be havin' -any- fun... dead or alive."

Sebastian moves back with grace, but a body underfoot has him stumbling. Wings flare and he lifts from the ground, but another pirate espies him and joins in on the fight, slashing at Sebastian from behind and cutting a deep gash over his wing. The Empyrean cries out, startled and a gust of wind rushes in as he begins to panic. One opponent he could handle but two he suddenly feels unprepared for. Whirling about he slashes at both Vikesha and the new sailor, when suddenly there is a sharp pain in his arm. Glancing up he sees yet another pirate grinning as a thrown knife has found its mark in Tian's shoulder. His blade droops as the pain is excruciating and his arm suddenly seems reluctant to obey him. Gritting his teeth, Sebastian switches the blade to his left hand, his right dangling almost uselessly at his side. Cursing violently now, he braces himself for an attack.

Reimbursement is seen with neither delight nor annoyance, though Vikesha's eyes faintly narrow as he takes the new participants into account for the attack he plans to launch. Holding himself steady against the sudden gust of wind, he waits just a moment and very nearly smiles when Sebastian is forced to transfer his blade to his left hand. That is when he chooses to attack, to make his killing blow. With quick, agile steps, he suddenly rushes forward again, blade held at the ready to cut a sharp, clean line across Sebastian's throat.

The cutlass is a hard weapon to fight with a saber and as Burke manages to parry the slash at his legs, the heavy weight of Marco's blade slides along the length of Burke's, jumping the hilt. Leaping back with surprisingly nimble grace for so rotund a man, Burke manages to avoid getting his hand chopped off at the wrist, but gets a fine deep cut across his forearm. Cursing he shakes his head and mutters, "Bah! That be nothin' but a wee scratch, you toothless dog. Ye cutlass might be pretty for butchering up pigs, but tis no match fer me, laddie!" And the red-haired, red-faced mongrel wades in, his sword moving fast and furious, its slimmer length no match in weight for the cutlass, but excellent for slithering past it, metal screaming against metal, as it reaches to drive its point home.

By now the intentions of Amahl are clear to Demetrius. Revenge. Revenge for the past. Revenge for the present. The halfbreed won't settle for anything less than his death. Snorting, Demetrius rumbles, "You think I chose to be on the Triumvirate? Come now, you know that isn't how it works! They knew this would happen. They knew they just needed to make me one of their own, so you or someone else would have the final excuse to do their dirty work for them. You're nothing more than a pawn, Amahl. A playing piece in the hands of the Triumvirate, same as me!" But his gaze turns, espying his son, bleeding and in severe danger, and all thoughts melt away, unimportant. Crying out, Demetrius forgets Amahl, forgets the Triumvirate, forgets everything except for what must be done. He must save his son. Reaching down into his boot, he draws a blade and narrows his gaze. Throwing it hard and with assurance, he sends the blade hurtling toward the Najada's exposed back.

Desperate measures call for desperate actions. Sebastian conjures up a wind, turning to the closest danger, which is the pirate with the sword on his left. A blast of wind comes in, picking the man up and off the ground and literally tossing him away. But in the time it takes to do that, he misses Vikesha's leap, turning to see the blade coming in at his throat. He desperately tries to pivot and lift his sword to deflect the knife, but even now he knows that he's going to be two seconds too late.

"Butcherin' pigs, aye!" Marco shouts back at Burke, swatting from side to side in an effort to deflect the First mate's thrusts. He does manage to lock the blades, though Burke's point work is good enough to flick the end of his saber high. Marco makes a quick hard shift to try and get his head clear of the blow, the tip of Burke's saber putting a rent in the upper half of Marco's ear. Pushing in, and seeking to keep the swords locked (keeps that nasty point out of the way, as well), Marco will try and force the edge ever closer to Burke's throat... seeking to plainly overpower the man. Abruptly, then he steps in hard and draws up a knee. Smiling still, the savage mongrel growls, "I picked the right blade after all then." Flicking a glance back to Analai, he pirate mimes a kiss and leers, "Get ready, lass."

"That's all you ever saw me as, didn't you?" Amahl sneers and darts in close to drag his curved dagger across Demetrius' throat. "Doesn't matter what you are now, does it? Or what I am. You're dead." There probably should have been more than that, but he is still pumped and full of adrenaline. Before too long, his slashed side will hurt and he will comprehend that finally, after all these years, he was able to wreak his revenge. Hazel eyes turn to the son/mage and he wrinkles his nose...not worth bothering with. He'll probably die of those wounds anyhow. "Back to the Makara. Now." His work is done. Everyone else had better follow. Stepping forward he picks up his new hat, brushes it off a moment before setting it back on his head.

Ahhh, but that dagger. Marco has been so smug about his pretty cutlass and its butchering ways that he seems to have forgotten that Burke has an equally pretty dagger, better suited for just such close fighting. Burke makes a big fuss, struggling almost desperately with the locked hilts that he seems oblivious to the knee. But instead Marco's attempt to emasculate him is met with a sharp dagger to the thigh. "Och, laddie," Burke snorts, "ye dinnae be touchin' the fair lassie there. And if ye dinnae back off, I'll cut yer balls off right here'n'now and ye won't be knowing the pleasure of -any- lassies."

Deep within Vikesha's eyes, there is a growing light, one born of the thrill of battle. Those who say that the Najada have no emotion would be so sorely mistaken. His mind sings of blood and of a sacrifice for Vodyanoi, carried along on a rhythm measured by every step in this battle. It's nothing personal, Sebastian. Really. The knife is drawn back, and in the instant that he is about to slash, a sharp and piercing pain overtakes his right shoulder, too close to his spine for comfort. Those ice-blue eyes widen at the shock of it, as Demetrius' blade sinks vengefully into his flesh, causing his attack to falter and the Najada to go stumbling off to one side in a hasty retreat.

He might have made it in a second, but he knew his fate as soon as he made his choice. His life for his son's. What choice was there to make? None at all. With a smile on his lips, the last thing Demetrius sees is his blade strike its mark just as other sailors come rushing toward Sebastian, to his defense. His son has a chance now. His son is going to live. Nothing else matters. He feels the blade cut over his throat and doesn't even bother trying to draw another breath. He feels the warm blood gush over his chest and face. He turns his head, meeting Amahl's eyes ... and smiles before his body crashes to the ground, lifeless.

"ARG!" Marco howls, teeth bared and grinding together, "Bastard!" Throwing one more frustrated push into his sword arm, trying to get a measure of blood before he falls out the with the others. Only once he hobbles back a step does it sink in: Amahl called them all back to the ship ... which means ... Almost dazed, as another shipmate hurries up under his arm and helps Bloody Marc back to the Makara, the mongrel looks over one shoulder, sees Amahl replacing his hat and knows Demetrius must be dead. His expression is oddly blank.

Sebastian jerks, expecting the strike that never comes and as Vikesha backs up he lifts his blade, slashing at the Najada's retreat, striking at his weapons arm. But his gaze turns, searching of the source of the knife that saved his life and finds his father smiling at him. Smiling with joy as Amahl's blade cuts cross his throat, bathing him in his own blood. Sebastian's mouth opens, his eyes go wide and gray as he calls out in a piercing scream of shock, "FAAAAAATHEEEEEER!"

Announcement: Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the smoke billowing above Parnassus is fading as the fires are tended to. The bridge is swamped with water and ruined shops and rumor is carried from the outskirts of town that the fields, full with summer's bountiful crop, are in almost total ruin. The Varati continue to work on their own ruined city and the injured and dead throughout the region are being seen to by healers and family.

There may be 'What ifs' running through the Captain of the Makara's mind tonight...if he manages to sleep at all. There may be questions, but what is done is done. It has been in wait for two decades and now there is nothing that will take it back. Even as Amahl moves to leave the docks he pauses and turns back to the lifeless body of Demetrius. Reaching down, he quickly swipes the Empyrean's sword as well as a few feathers from his wing to stick with the rest in the hat. Turning at the scream, he also remains curiously distant. Rather, he scowls at his own crew, "I said, NOW!"

A formations of shadows passes overhead... darker shapes against the backdrop of a smoke darkened sky. A half dozen of the Praetorian Guard, a centurion at the point of their formation. A quick bank in midair, and the six soldiers turn their soaring into a dive, angling steeply to the docks, swords bare in their hands. Sebastian's anguished cry reaches their ears, above even the din of fading battle. "Aegis formation, DIVE." Quintus orders... curse the luck that prevented any of them managing to keep bows.

Agony pierces his mind with brittle needles, making it all but impossible to do anything but defend himself. The swipe from Sebastian lands across the bicep of his left arm, rather than his weapons arm, as he twists to take a more shallow blow in favor of greater injury. Vikesha continues his retreat, though his eyes seek out Amahl's and narrow. Reaching over his shoulder, his left hand closes about the hilt of Demetrius' dagger, and he pulls it free from his body. With no words, he simply falls from the docks into the red-tinged water, disappearing beneath the surface of the choppy waves.

As the Captain of the Amarada falls, her remaining sailors turn upon the retreating crew of the Makara with a furious rage, determined to kill every last one of them. There is no way they will be allowed to escape unscathed! As for Sebastian, he cares for nothing save his father, running across the docks slick with blood and covered with corpses, flinging himself down to his father's side, the blood of his captain, his dad, his mentor soaking into his clothes greedily. Fury, rage, shock, grief - all of these emotions war upon his face as tears flow as fast as blood. Gathering his father into his arms, he stares down upon the beloved face of the best man he ever knew. Murdered. Stolen from him. Slain. Lifting his head up, his throat arched in agony, he lets loose an unearthly howl of despair.

Oh, damn...he's going to have to ruin his hat. "Marco, hold your breath." He turns to Vikesha and sighs...this is going to sting. Why, after all this time, did the Praetorian Guard have to get involved? Amahl scowls at the Guard as the commands were given before he grabs a hold of Marco and dives into the red water. The other pirates will have to make do by scattering. No doubt some will be caught and some killed. Not his problem now.

Half-turning at the scream behind her, Analai's eyes widen as she takes it in. The Captain of the Amarada dead, the Captain of the Makara retreating, along with his crew, and ... the Empyreans coming. Well, the arrival of Praetorians might be good for some, but for a mongrel, that means that this is a good time to leave. Turning without a word, the woman slips back down an alley and on her way to what's left of Mongrel Town.

Marco is grabbed, pulled, and plunged into the water, with only an indignant, "Oh not this shit again! My gloves!" Vain unto the last, he protests before sucking a deep lungful of air... and disappearing beneath the ruddy water.

Analai heads southeast towards Mongrel Town.
Analai has left.

Burke chases after Marco for a few steps, cursing, "Och, ye coward! Ye knave! Ye scurvy bilge eating rat festering motherless hound of a bitch! Cme back 'ere! C'me ..." but his words die away and his steps falter as he sees Demetrius collapse to the ground. Silent for one of the few moments of his life he watches as Sebastian runs over to his father. To Burke's Captain. His commander. His oldest and bestest of friends. Tears rise unashamedly and spill over the First Mate's ruddy cheeks. Wiping them away with quiet rage he joins the rest of the crew, abandoned by Marco, Amahl, and the rest of the Maraka's commanding officers. The crew of the Makara must turn around and fight or be slain in their tracks by the enraged crew of the Amarada. What is left of the crew of the Amarada. No one cares a whit about the approaching officers.

The visual differences between sailors and pirates is rather thin... though as before, Quintus is presently able to tell which of the armed men upon the gory docks are enemies: He orders him men to cut down those who flee at their arrival. Those that escape into the red river are out of reach... but those remaining upon the docks receive a short, brutally efficient pass of Servitors. Between the sailors of the Amarada, and the praetorians, the fighting is quickly ended. Wings and person darkened with soot, and blood, Centurion Antoninus sets sandaled feet to the docks and orders aloud, "In the name of the Empyre, ALL those present are ordered to lay down arms." Turning and voicing aside to one of the six men who landed in formation about him, the officer intones quietly, "Bring any healers that can be spared," though both praetors know there are none.

The sailors of the Amarada don't stop fighting until there are swords at their throats to halt their progress, and they watch with small pleasure as those pirates that try to escape are either caught or killed by the Empyrean soldiers. They stand down, simply because at this point they have little other choice. Their enemies are either fled or slain or captured, and now they must wait and see. All eyes turn to the Captain of the Amarada and silently the heads of those that remain of that proud ship bow down in silent prayer and respect for the passing of a great and noble man. Crossing slowly over to Sebastian, Burke crouches down and gently lays a hand on his shoulder. "Lad. Laddie?" His voice is gentle, but holds there. For once the garrulous mongrel cannot think of a single thing to say.

As one of the six Ceterions have flown off to alert the Guard's healers to the latest location of their need, Quintus surveys the scene, noting curtly the obedience of the Amarada's crew. "Praetors, maintain guard." Five voices answer, "Aye, centurion." Quintus turns his steps towards the fallen body of the Amarada's late captain... the image of pooling blood soaking into Empyrean wings once that shall darken his mood for some days to come. Simply watching Sebastian it is easy to tell who the dead man was to him. There is no delicate way to do this. His deep voice composed and flat in inflection, the Antonine asks, "Which is Sebastian Xaverius?"

The young Empyrean doesn't move. Doesn't acknowledge either the Praetorian standing next to him or the question. Sebastian sits in a pool of his father's blood and simply stares. The tears are gone, save for the salty stains that they left upon his cheeks. In mere minutes he has been transformed from a naive young man to an embittered adult. His face is without expression and his eyes are hollow and gray. The mongrel at his side sighs, placing a hand upon his knee and slowly heaving his bulk upright to face the soldier. "The lad here is Sebastian Xaverius. I am First Officer to the Amarada, Mister Burke." His voice is steady and calm even as tears continue to stream down the mongrel's red-cheeks without concern or shame. He knew this day would come, has even lived it before a few times when the Captain was lost at sea and believed dead. As such the reality, while painful, is not wholly unexpected or unprepared for. Still, his voice quavers slightly as he glances down at the body below them, noting, "That is Captain Demetrius." There. Introductions have been made.

Quintus' golden-eyed stare settles upon the named First mate. "Mister Burke, until further notice is given, the Amarada is not to lift its moorings. See to your crew, my men will take the surviving raiders into custody." That's the easy part. Now unto the man whose father was just slain before his very eyes, the solider turns, and in ice cold tones informs the grieving sailor that, "Sebastian Xaverius," emotionless in his inflection, the praetor voices, "By the authority of the Praetorian Guard, and in the name of the Empyre, your person is arrested."

The mongrel's eyes narrow at first, his head bobbing as he listens to the guard, but when he announces Sebastian's arrest, Burke reaches out, laying a hand on Quintus' arm, bellowing, "Now just 'old on there, laddie, whot ye be arrest'n Tian fer? He 'asn't done anythin' criminal! If anythin' the lad is an 'ero, helpin' along wi' the rest of oos to fight off da pirates whot done all this damage, I'm 'spectin. An tellin us to hold still? Why, ye be given those Gods- cursed pirates the perfect opportunity fer escape! They're headin fer the seas, I tell ya, there's no doubtn' that, an the Amarada's yer only chance fer catchin' em! No ship be faster than she! Are ye daft man? Ye cannae arrest 'im. For Gods sake, 'is father was just MURDERED!" A shell of a man, Sebastian doesn't move. Not when Quintus gave his commands regarding the Amarada. Not when he ordered his arrest. Not even now as Burke comes to his defense in his usually overzealous manner. At the moment there is nothing in the world right now other than his father's body. Their voices are like buzzing gnats in his ear, unnoticed and heard without true comprehension.

A short and burning look goes from Burke's hand upon his shoulder, though as Quintus' gilded gaze climbs to the mongrel's own eyes, control is once again in place. Cutting off the man's last word, the centurion commands, "Mister Burke, you will remove your hand and do as you are told. That is a First mate's task is it not? Do not make me repeat myself. There has been more done today than you know." Turning his outwardly impassive gaze back to Sebastian and drawing a forcibly slow breath, the solider orders, "Dominus Xaverius. You will stand."

Brilliant blue eyes meet Quintus' stare with spit and vinegar, but he does indeed remove his hand as ordered. "A First Mate's task is to do as his -Captain- orders, and you, sirrae, dinnae be me Captain. My Captain is lying dead, an the heir to his ship is 'is son. Therefore, Tian be Captain now, and I will obey -his- orders." Glaring at the Empyrean, Burke remembers now that they are rarely like his best, departed friend. Bristling, his ruddy face grows even redder as he snaps, "If ye be arrestin' da Captain, then ye better arrest me too, fer I'll not let ye take 'im alone to accuse and slander as ye like." Sebastian's held tilts slightly, the first and only reaction to any of what is being said. He does not rise when ordered, but as Burke's voice raises higher and higher in pitch and violence suddenly his blood-coated wings stir and Tian rises. His left bloodstained hand lifts and lays upon Burke's arm, causing the mongrel to stop and stare at Tian. "Stand down, Mister Burke," rasps Sebastian, his voice barely audible. "That's an order." Turning to Quintus, the newly made captain of the Amarada lifts his gaze, flat and gray and devoid of any emotion like the surface of the ocean in the doldrums, where the winds never blow. "Dominus. I am your prisoner. I ask for clemency toward my First Officer and what remains of my crew." He offers up his left wrist, his right arm still dangling uselessly at his side. It's clear now that he is seriously injured, that while most of the blood on his clothes is his father's, much of it is his own, with a serious gash on his right wing, a blade still stuck in his right shoulder.

Quintus pays no heed as Burke fumes and rages. Why is it so difficult for these mongrels to simply obey the voice of the law? The muscles of his jaw, standing out clenched, is the only alteration from his otherwise stoic expression. "His arrest is not presently sought, Captain, so clemency is at present irrelevant." Quintus' right hand takes Tian, symbolically by the wrist, as eyes shift over Sebastian's form. Quintus takes in the man's state, golden eyes catch on something amidst all the black and blood of Sebastian's appearance ... something gilded, about his neck. The soldier's eyes narrow as he raises a hand to cup the golden band in his palm. From there the taller Empyrean raises his stare to lock with Sebastian's ... searching for something.

Mister Burke stands, nearly trembling with rage and restrained emotion, but bites out instead, "Aye aye, Captain." After just saying that he would obey the command of no other, he can't disobey Sebastian's orders now no matter how much he would like to. In comparison to Burke, the Captain of the Amarada seems as cool and calm as a stone statue. In truth he is too numb to feel anything. His body throbs with pain and his heart has been dashed into a million pieces, but his mind has left and gone far away, distancing him from his flesh and soul. He says nothing, as Quintus does not claim Burke's arrest despite the mongrel's words and attitude. Not that this gives Sebastian the slightest gleam of hope. He also says nothing as Quintus' fingers dip against his chest, picking up the tiny band of gold that lies there. His pale gray regard meets Quintus' golden one without reaction.

Quietly, his deep pitched voice rumbling in the praetor's chest as he speaks, intensity surfacing through slipped stoicism, "I swear ... by all Gods, true and false ... if you have had any hand in this, you will suffer as no man before you ever has." With those inexplicably cold words, the centurion breaks the chain from about Sebastian's neck with a sharp tug.

Snapping that chain snaps the fragile link between body and mind. Suddenly Sebastian feels everything. Grief, rage, horror, pain and with a snarl he lunges for Quintus' throat, his left hand curling about it and cutting into the windpipe as he rasps out, "You bastard! That belongs to me!" The action is likely so violent and unexpected that no one is prepared for it. So incensed is he that he manages to reach up with his crippled right hand, fingers wrapping about as well and locking on. A huge gust of wind rises up violently, forming a twister around the pair of men, literally knocking Burke and anyone else who might be close enough to interfere away with its unleashed power. Those gray eyes are no longer unemotional and empty. They are the eyes of a madman.

Quintus staggers a step backwards as Sebastian launches his frenzied attack. In place of words there is a wordless choke and Quintus instinctively clenches his teeth to avoid biting his tongue later ... just in case. As the twister spawns from nothingness, Quintus reacts; the hand whose light grip had been lost from the sailor's wrist is raised to turn the blade still standing out of the madman's shoulder. That ought to break his concentration, take the figurative winds out of the wind magi's sails. No breath yet, and the solider had no time to draw a lungful beforehand, face quickly going red beneath the soot and blood. The hand that holds the ring is balled into a fist and directed hard at Sebastian's stomach.

As Quintus twists the blade in his shoulder, Sebastian's right hand falls away limply, as lifeless now as his father's dead body. But instead of distracting or deterring the sailor, it seems to just be throwing fuel on the fire. His left hand grips even tighter as Sebastian leans in and the funnel of wind that surrounds them surges in, tearing violently against their wings, hard enough to rip feathers free. The wind about them howls, choking with dust and blood and feathers and debris as it roars. The blow to his stomach cause Sebastian to flinch, his hand starting to lose its grip, but instead of giving up his lips curl back over his teeth as he snarls, "I swear to the Gods above, you give me back that ring or I will kill you here and now!" His wide eyes lift to the winds raging about them, pupils dilated such to nearly eclipse his irises. "I can tear us apart right now if I want to ... I have nothing to lose!"

From outside the circular wall of wind the soldiers and sailors stare. Those that try to pass through it are violently tossed away, some catching themselves in the air and others hitting the ground hard. Mister Burke is smart enough not to make the attempt, but he doesn't like where this is going. He drags the body of his Captain and his friend out of harms way before returning to the cyclone, yelling desperately to the son inside. "Sebastian! Sebastian! SEBASTIAN!"

Quintus raises the ring-less hand to clamp on Sebastian's remaining wrist. Either rage has lent the new Captain strength beyond his normal ken, or Quintus must be slipping, as he is unable to force the sailor's hand fully clear of his throat. Through gritted teeth, and a cold stare, Quintus does manage to voice, "They have taken her." A rattling and uneven breath is drawn, "Do you still have nothing to lose Captain?"

The words don't make sense, and suspecting distraction, much like the knife in his shoulder, Sebastian snarls and tries to press hard, the wind closing in further, ripping feathers at will now from their wings. Someone has to pay. Why not Quintus? In Tian's grief filled heart, it doesn't really matter whom any longer. Anybody will do. Snarling he barks, "Who has who?! Give me the ring you bastard, GIVE ME THAT RING!!"

Quintus raises his formidable voice to shout, anger at the day's deeds as much as the wind as cause. "The men who slew your sire, HAVE TAKEN ZEA!" The rage in this instant goes both ways between them, the soldier's golden eyes wide with fury and fixed upon the sailor's gray. In some distant and proper corner of his mind, he notes it's improper to use the Vilica's given name. But given the circumstances ...

In an instant the wind dies, vanishing up into the sky, taking with it a flurry of white feathers. For a moment Sebastian just stares, eyes still wide but the rage gone. Despite his tan, Sebastian's features are pinched and white, and Quintus' words are almost as traumatic to him as the sight of his father dying. "Zea?" he breathes, the name almost inaudible upon the air between them. And then shock swallows him again, like a stormy ocean devouring a hapless man washed overboard. He goes under, knees buckling as his grasp releases from Quintus and he sinks down to the ground. Burke rushes over, shaking him as he rasps, "Sebastian, by the Gods, laddie, have ye lost yer mind?!" Tian would laugh if he could, but everything has drained away. He stares at his right arm, the blood trickling down it from the wrenched blade, blending into the blood of his father still on the ground. Mind has broken clean away, abandoning body and soul completely and everything is finally too much for the Empyrean. Weak from blood loss, over exertion, physical pain, and the pain of everything he has suddenly lost in just a few hours ... it's simply more of a burden than one man can carry. His eyes flutter as the red blood continues to drain from him in a steady flow, the lines of his flesh, his clothes blurring. Lifting his gaze to where his father lies, Sebastian tries to rise up to go to him once more, but the world turns on its axis and flings him back down hard, his body crashing to the docks unconscious.

Like a silent benediction, white feathers fall like snow, lightly covering the blood strewn deck, the corpses, and those that stand there.

Moving quickly, Burke cuts away some clothing from a dead body that isn't going to miss it. Crouching next to Sebastian, he jerks the knife free, pressing the cloth into the now gushing wound. "Damnit man, did ye 'ave to push 'im? He dinnae protest the arrest and then ye 'ad to take de ring that she gave 'im. Fer whot? Dinnae you think 'es been through enough. Wounded, lost 'is father and most of 'is crew ... ye just hadda push 'im one ferther!" He works quickly, binding the wound as best as he can, though the cloth soon starts to spot with a circle of ever-widening red.

Quintus draws a long breath immediately once the winds vanish and promptly doubles over coughing. Even as his lungs protest the extreme treatment, his empty hand is held up, palm outwards to forestall intervention from the five praetors present. Drawing a breath clearly at last, the centurion stands back up, the coughing fit affording him sufficient time to control himself once again. Clearing his throat once, he snaps an order, "Centurions Diomedes and Marius, move in all haste to the mouth of this river, and begin searching for the party of men who escaped here. One of you return immediately if their ship is discovered. Go." Another pair of breaths, though as Sebastian topples into unconsciousness, the praetor, being near at hand lunges forward to catch and slowly lower him to the deck with one powerful arm under the rogue's torso. Fingers unclenching, the solider looks for two heartbeats' time at the ring in his palm, before crouching before the second captain of the Amarada to fall today and intoning, "Half my city is burning, Mister Burke, and a number of ladies dear to more than he alone have been endangered. I care neither for your opinions, nor your Captain's peace of mind," he snaps, assisting in staunching the blood flow as best he can. "Either be silent and help me bear him to the Eyrie, or continue speech and let him bleed." Closing his fist resolutely on the ring once again, the solider kneels to lift the unconscious Sebastian.

The mongrel opens his mouth to protest angrily but just as sharply snaps it shut. Despite his protective rage over his men, his deceased friend, and his captain's son, Burke knows better. He knows that in a similar situation he would do the same. His duty. He might be a little kinder than Quintus, but then he is a jovial man by nature, slow to anger and quick to forgive. But he saw the way Quintus gentled Tian's fall, the way he forestalled his men from attacking. As he assists Quintus in lifting Tian, he raises his head to the crew. "Right lads, it's a dark day indeed but we'll live through it cursing and swearing, by the Gods. Take Captain Demetrius back to the ship and see to 'im proper. See t'yerselves. When that's done, take to the city and do whot ye can to 'elp thems that needs it. I'll be back with a report come nightfall." And with that he turns back to Quintus, his men moving into action as they carefully lift their deceased Captain and bear him respectfully back to their ship. "Aye Dominus, I'm with ye. Lead the way."