Featuring: Dussadhyan, Lyri, Minowa, Sebastian, Valens, and Zea
NPCs: Burke, Caerlyn, and Rat
Date: April 9, 2005
IC Date: July 22, 3931
Summary: After hiding in a fog-concealed cove, the Amarada and Makara take of in pursuit of the pirate ship that had been chasing them. The attack in the fog is swift, but the outcome is unexpected.

Amarada - Open Ocean

She might be a small cargo ship, but she's clearly built for speed and maneuverability - a ship able to sail the high seas but also able to move along smaller inlets and waterways if need be. Sleek lines and a proud cutting prow mark this elegant ship, which is obviously well kept and tended to meticulously. She sports three masts, two main and one half to provide her with greater speed when the winds will allow for it. High above upon the center mast she flies the flag of an independent ship, each such vessel having their own crest or symbol. The flag of the Amarada is a red heart framed by white wings on either side. To show her affiliation with the Buccaneers, she flies upon a field of black. What marks her most to the layman's eye is the unusual figure upon her bow. Unlike the common maiden or mermaid, the Amarada bears upon her breast an Empyrean woman, her white wings unfurled and extending back along each side of the bow. Her face is a vision of beauty, exquisitely carved with long blonde tresses streaming back from her features as if blown by the sea winds. She smiles, serene and confident ... and there is something about her that is strangely familiar to certain eyes that rest upon her visage.

The crew has been waiting on pins and needles to simply make their chase. There is excitement in the air, mingling with the ever-present fog that has shrouded the two ships and provided additional cover. Atlantean crewmembers have been keeping watch of the approaching ship but little beneficial information can be provided, save for the ship's distance. Surfacing too near the vessel would likely alert her crew, as there was word at one point that the ship was weaving in such a pattern that there could be no mistake that she was searching for the Amarada and Makara. There has also been an unnerving quiet aboard the ship as well, as ordered by the captain, especially when news arrived that the ship was drawing near. The fog that provides the cover is a blessing as well as a curse, for anything louder than a whisper will carry. But all in all, business has carried on as usual, or as usual as can be expected under such conditions.

Zea is among the anxious, but rather than look worried or frightened, she has been carrying a look of annoyance since they aimed for the hidden coves. The Captain has made it known that those unable to fight or with lesser skills are expected to go underwater, or below decks or stay on land until the confrontation is concluded. Strong in magic, but weak with man-made weapons, she has likely been told to stay behind and out of the way. She stands near the rail, brooding and keeping the fog rolling.

Valens is on the larger of the two ships, sitting on a crate, carefully honing one of his swords. His movements are slow, calm, and exact, as his face is calm as the eerie silence that has befallen upon the Amarada and the Makara. Carefully sheathing his sword, he stands up, leaning against the railings, and looking out towards the dense fog. If any emotions move him, he doesn't reveal them. But some of his fellow crewmates can attest that the Weapons Master has slept little in the past few days, nor said much to anyone other than a simple passing greeting here and there.

With bored fingers Zea pokes at the fog, swirling the mists with a bit of her magic as well to provide some entertainment. Every so often she glances up as if trying to peer through the fog, but she seems the same things each time: hazy outlines of a rocky shoreline and a smoky image of the Makara floating not too far away. She plays with the fog, much as she did when she was younger. While most children play with something more tangible such as clay or mud, Zea's magic affords her the ability to 'shape' the fog. There is no artistic merit to it, but rather done out of boredom. From time to time she mutters something under her breath; a few parts of words might carry but not enough to establish any kind of meaning.

Valens takes a deep breath as he lets his wings unfold some in the thick fog, a certain tenseness in his form that was never noticed by the rest of the crew before. Although not a seasoned fighter on the seas, the reports from the scouts have placed the pursuing ship too close for comfort and his eyes betray his calm countenance with a certain bit of anxiety. He turns around slowly, noticing Zea, who wasn't there the last time he looked back. Walking over slowly, he gives a nod, whispering softly in contrast to his usually clear and loud baritone, "Domina."

Zea gives the rounded shape she's made one good poke to scatter it into the rest of the fog before turning to acknowledge the other Empyrean with a stiff nod. "Ave, Dominus." She glances up and down his figure, notes his weapons and looks back to his gaze. "Lovely day, no?" Her tone holds a good deal of sarcasm and a trace of resentment as she goes back to playing with the fog. She gestures towards his hip, or at least in the general direction, without looking and asks, "You going to use all of those, or do you have a favorite weapon for killing?"

From the hold below, Lyri climbs up the stairs to the deck of the ship, all without her usual clomping bravado. She's been tense and quiet since becoming aware of the ship following them yesterday, displaying a seriousness that seems at odds with her usual behavior. With arms crossed and wings tightly furled, she joins Zea and Valens silently, offering each a nod in case they glance in her direction. She says naught, merely listening with half-an-ear, the rest of her focused somewhere inwards.

One of the crewmembers, speaking to a dripping Atlantean nods and descends below decks with whatever information was imparted. Shortly thereafter the Captain emerges, stopping briefly to speak with the second officer and then crossing over one of the boarding planks, waving to Mister Burke. The ruddy cheeked mongrel smiles and approaches his captain, the two of them speaking softly for a moment, their eyes lifting from time to time to stare out at the fog that hides their cove and thus their position, pointing and gesturing from time to time before conferring some more.

Valens shrugs as he replies, "Depends on how close the quarters are..." Taking out the polished spatha from his back sheath, and holding a shorter semi-spatha with his left hand, he gives almost a small lecture about melee weaponry rarely seen amongst normal 'airborne' Praetorians to the poor Zea who has caught his attention, "The long spatha is used to mow down enemy troops. The semi-spatha on my left hand is used to go close to the opponent's guard and plunging the blade into 'em..." He sheathes both weapons, without any of his typical flourishes in his demonstrations, "Worst case scenario, I use my dagger, something similar to what you have Domina."

Zea glances over Valens' weapons with a bored interest, but the mention of her dagger is what brings the greatest reaction from the Empyrean woman. "A lot of good it will do me," she says quietly before turning to look over at Lyri. She forces a touch of a smile, something better than the scowl she's taken to wearing lately in an effort not to scare off the other woman (as if that would be possible.) "Ave, Lyri," she greets after clearing her throat and chasing out the sarcasm from her words. There's a moment's pause before she says, "Good work on finding this cove, it has provided us with an excellent hiding place until we need leave to follow our pursuer."

Zea's use of her name draws Lyri from her self-imposed, thoughtful cocoon. With a blink of copper lashes, she lifts her chin to regard first Valens and his weapons, then Zea and her attempt at a smile. Lyri's return expression is a grim mockery of the same. "Ave, Valens, Zea." Her contralto is quiet, low-pitched to avoid carrying. "Aye, well, 'tis th' lares o' Demetrius we ought t'be thankin'. 'Twas 'is maps what showed me th' way. Hopefully, 'tis enough. Won't be celebratin' jes yet, though. No' out o' th' fog yet." Literally and figuratively.

Minowa comes up from the lower decks, and while the halfbreed normally lets the door swing shut behind her, this time she pauses long enough to slowly and gently lower the wood back into place. Blue-green eyes glance around at the solemn gathering of winged folk clustered on the deck. Clasping her hands lightly behind her back, she makes her way towards the quartet.

Well, if Zea's bored, she asked for it... "Ave," Valens says with a nod as he turns to Lyri. For a brief moment, he contemplates the surroundings for a moment, looking at the fog all around him. He becomes quiet, pulling on his cloak to help shield him from what seems to have been perpetual dampness from all the humidity.

As the sun sets the sky grows darker and darker by the minute, the crew slipping on additional layers of clothes for the coming chill of night. Many eyes rest upon the dripping Atlantean scout sitting on the deck now and the quietly conferring pair of Empyrean and mongrel, Captain and First Mate. It is Mister Burke that draws away first with a nod, turning to the rest of the mingled crews and calling out loudly, "Alright lads and lassies, the Buccaneer ship is past us now, so tis be time that we be preparin to folla them. Each crew to their ships! Make haste to stow and prepare the boarding planks and grappling lines! Make ready to set sail on our commands! The Amarada will be leading with the Makara close behind. So move it sailors! Tis time to show yer mettle!" There is an almost immediate bustle of activity as the crew parts and shifts moving to whichever ship they have been assigned to. Sebastian gives Mister Burke a wave as he steps off the plank and onto the Amarada, crossing over toward where Valens is standing and touching the man's arm lightly. "I'd like you to stay with the Amarada - we'll be striking first with the Makara coming up broadside to surprise them. We'll want the best fighters on board with us for the initial attack to keep any injuries or casualties to a minimum.

Valens turns to the Captain and nods to his words, "Yes sir. I work better with more space anyway..."

Zea watches Mister Burke shout out the orders, flinching a bit at the sudden volume to his voice. After so much time trying to be quiet, the yelling comes as a shock. She turns fully as the Captain approaches, but remains silent for a time, at least until Valens has been given his orders. "And the rest of us to the Makara?" She may have been brooding and resentful towards the rest of the crew, but she swallows her pride enough to ask the question without sounding like a spoiled child.

Lyri inhales a sharp breath as Mister Burke begins speaking, but that is the only other change in the teenager's bearing. Even the droplets of moisture gathering on opalescent feathers do not shiver, so still does she go. But as Zea voices her question, the cartographer's eyes shift to Zea, then to Sebastian with a nod. "Aye, what o' th' rest o' us? I ken wield a knife, I ken, but not so good as this boyo 'ere." She nods to Valens, her arms unfolding so that she might finger her own dagger.

Minowa steps up behind Lyri, lifting the hood of her cloak to cover her glowing features as darkness creeps forward. With the others having voiced her own question, she waits in silence.

Nodding to Valens, Sebastian warns mildly, "Just remember, we'll be fighting in close quarters. Don't accidentally take out one of the crew, yes?" His gaze pivots to Zea and with a shake of his head he murmurs, "You can stay here for now - and when the fighting comes I'll want you in the air and out of harms way." His stormy ocean eyes flicker over to Lyri as he includes her in the point he is about to make. "While most of the crew is expected to fight, there are certain members who are non-combatants or whose skills are not sufficient to be more hindrance to help. If you're uncertain of your abilities, then stay back or take to the air once the battle commences. If you can't hold your own, then you'll be more of a distraction and a liability than an asset." As Minowa draws closer, Sebastian smiles and shakes his head. "I swear, you have an uncanny ability of knowin just when I need you, Min. We'll need a little help getting past the opening of the cove cleanly. It was a tight fit coming in by daylight, it'll be almost impossible in the dark of night. Mind leading us along in your own inimitable way?"

Valens chuckles at Sebastian's words, a stern look on his face forming as he replies, "I may look clumsy and dense, but I can handle close quarters. I'll make sure not to rampage through our crew." With that, he departs from the group to inspect some of the sailors' weapons one last time.

With chin held up and jutting out a bit Zea watches Sebastian silently as she's relegated to the skies and set out of the way. A small storm rises in her eyes as she stiffly keeps her eyes on Sebastian as he hands out orders to the other members of the crew. She does not move, save to tuck her hands behind her back and beneath her wings, but her eyes move, watching the other men and women hurry to their posts, some already bragging about how many pirates they'll get to kill. Weapons are given quick once overs and a few bold sweeps are made through the air with the blades.

Lyri returns to her silent thoughtfulness, taking a step back and out of the way as the crew begins moving about in preparation. Fingers still move restlessly over her knife, but Lyri's eyes have fallen away, fastened somewhere upon the decking before her toes, as if to bore a hole through with her mere gaze.

Minowa dips her head in a nod. 'Of course," is all that comes from the heavy hood after Sebastian's request. She turns and moves to the bow of the ship, steps quietly passing her through crew readying itself for battle. As she reaches the railing, first her cloak, and then the rest of her clothing is shed. With little more ado, the half-Atlantean dives into the water and surfaces again perhaps twenty feet away, the soft glow of her skin serving as a beacon as she bobs. Waiting.

Within a few moments the two ships are decoupled and anchors are drawn up and stored. Sails are unfurled and the wind lifts and begins to fill them, the Amarada moving ahead with the Makara close behind. Sebastian doesn't notice Zea's displeasure, thinking that she would -want- to be out of harms way. And besides, when it comes to battle he doesn't much give a damn about what -she- wants. He will not risk her safety. Period. His eyes lift to Zea's as he gives her an order now. "I'd like you to keep the fog around the pirate ship, but let it clear about us so we can see what we're about ..." Sebastian then strides to the front of the ship without waiting for a response from Zea, standing up in the prow and gazing down to where Minowa's green form swims. "Go on out," he calls to her, "and we'll be following."

Zea holds her rigid posture until Sebastian has stepped towards the ship's prow. "Aye aye, Captain," she mutters below her breath, casting Lyri one last glance before she unfurls her wings, beats at the fog around them and heads up into the crow's nest. Altitude will help her in this task which is a bit trickier than just pulling the fog over the water. The fogs swirls madly around her as she heads up, tendrils of it follow the tips of her feathers as she climbs higher and drops into the nest. Slowly the fog around the two ships begins to thin, thanks to the wind mage high above them.

Lyri lifts her gaze as Zea's wings stirs the eddies of fog around her feet, but it's too late for her to catch the wind-mage's glance. Inhaling and releasing a deep breath, the red-headed teenager moves towards the ship's railing, leaning out to catch a glimpse of Minowa in the water ahead of them, but it's too foggy from her angle. Her wings flare sharply to scatter the droplets of water accumulating upon their opalescent surfaces, then furl again, all in tense silence.

From beyond the ship, The halfbreed has been seen before swimming at impressive speeds and remaining submersed for long lengths of time. Well, impressive speeds and long lengths to anyone other than Atlanteans. To them, the fact that she needs to come up for air at all might appear pitiful not to mention that her own webbing is too short to be as effective as a full-blood. Regardless, as Sebastian calls out his order and as Zea's magic begins to part the mist that cloaks the two ships, Minowa sinks underwater. The glow of her body glides through the cove's waters, moving slowly by anyone's standards. She swims like a cautious dolphin, rising up and bobbing down again as she carefully navigates the narrow path, occasionally glancing back to make sure the ships are close behind.

Dussadhyan appears on the deck, as if the fog had just fully revealed the Varati, hand on knife, still sheathed but at ready, and he watches the Empyreans about their business, staying out of the way of wings, beating or otherwise. Finally he plants himself at the ship's railing with Lyri, as if he had become one with the ship, swaying in his own fashion to the rhythm of the ocean. He does not try to spot Minowa, however, keeping his leaning to the barest minimum, but sweeping the fog with his own eye and a grim look deepening the furrows of his face.

Keeping a close watch out on Minowa, Sebastian calls back small changes in their heading which are passed from sailor to sailor to the coxswain. Mister Burke's announcement was loud due to necessity, but now that they are underway again and heading out to sea, running silent and quiet is once again essential.

Minute by minute the mists around the two ships thin and it feels as if one's drowsy eyes have just been rubbed and the sleep wiped away. The sharpness of the world around them suddenly comes into focus; where there had been hazy shapes of green and brown, there are now sharp rock outcroppings and sparse shrubs and trees. Zea settles into the nest, moving her gaze continuously from the skies to the ship to watch her progress.

Lyri lifts blue-green eyes to the Empyrean woman perched in the Crow's Nest for several heartbeats, then shifts her gaze back to the world around them, revealing to its stark magnificence and danger by the receding fog. "'Twere wrapped inna fog of safety, a dream o' complacency, then revealed were they by Zeus' own man. 'Lo and behold, for battle was at hand.'" Lyri mutters, a lyrical tone to her usually rough voice that spoke of a long-ago written verse. She glances momentarily at Hyan, but then back out to sea, giving no clue as to whether she was speaking to him or herself.

From beyond the ship, The glowing green form swims especially slowly and clearly around a sharp turn in the craggy rocks, and then along the gently winding corridor that will lead out into the open ocean. There is the small sound of water being disturbed each time she surfaces or submerges, but besides that Minowa, like the most of the crew, remains silent.

Dussadhyan turns his head and listens as Lyri speaks, then nods to himself. Twisting farther around he looks up at the miraculous Empyrean smoothing fog from their way...if one were to notice, the look on his face is one of approval, as if a parent had seen their child succeed excellently in an endeavor. A look that is swiftly closed from the rest of the crew, though should any catch that look they would be most amazed at the content of its appearance. He then sweeps the landscape revealed about them with carefully (and to be honest, almost longingly, though this is so brief as to be near unnoticeable). The Varati, after careful observations being made, settles back into his stance and becomes nothing more than a statue of cool rock upon a wooden shore.

The ships move smoothly and silently, drifting around the sharp turn as Minowa leads them and then the winding path of cliffs and rocks. It's a slow patient process but within a few minutes they finally breach the passage and set sail out into the open ocean. Bringing up the wind Sebastian wields the air, leaving the fog to Zea as he propels the ships faster in order to catch up with their prey and catch them unawares. They move swiftly and silently and after awhile they have drawn close enough that they can see the lights of the ship ahead of them through the fog and faintly hear what sounds like music and voices raised in laughter and song. The faces of the crew are set firmly and uncomfortably. No one likes to be reminded that the people they're about to attack and likely kill are in fact people. Word begins to spread from bow to stern - all noncombatants should prepare to either go below or, if their racial heritage makes them so inclined, to the water or the air.

The fog remains around the ship in front of them, Zea sees to that. Her eyes and attention are focused severely on the other vessel and she tries to ignore the sounds she's hearing in that direction. They could provide a distraction if she is not attentive to her duties.

The young cartographer remains still and stony-faced as the Amarada begins to approach the ship ahead of them. The only sign of Lyri's discomfort comes from the tightening of stained, calloused fingers upon the ship's railing, and the shiver that goes through her wings. She glances briefly over her shoulder as some of the other crew slip below decks or over the railing. Her wings twitch momentarily with the desire to be airborne. But although Lyri finally retreats from the railing closer to the stern of the ship, she remains upon the deck, hand upon her knife, and a look of intense concentration upon her face.

Whatever hints of sympathy or compassion mar the stances of others aboard the Amarada, there is no sign whatsoever of it in Hyan's face. No sign at all, and the tightening of hand upon knife has little to do concern, nor does he retreat from the railing, even an inch, despite his inability to do much more than quickly sink should he fall into the sea. No, this is a hungry look, fierce and cold, like a shark scenting prey and preparing to open its jaws when it is near enough to take a bite. A very large bite by a very large Varati. A very, very angry Varati, should one look in that direction, but restrained. The prey is not in sight...yet.

From beyond the ship, As the Amarada and then the Makara break into open sea and their sails fill, Minowa plunges down into the water, her glow now wobbling and distorted by the way light travels through water. Anyone observing her would see the shimmer moving closer to the Amarada, and then hands grabs for the wood, scrabbling up footholds that vanish as quickly as the appear. The shaper/healer swings over the railing and onto the deck, landing in a dripping crouch. She quickly dons her clothing, heedless of the wetness they soak from her skin, and then throws the thick, black cloak over her obvious form. As do the others prepared for battle, the halfbreed remains on deck.

As the ships draw ever closer the ship in pursuit becomes more and more clear to them, the shape shifting from indistinct to a dark shadowed form. Voices are louder now, carrying on the fog as the music is busy and rollicking, the sounds of hands clapping and feet stomping suggesting that the crew is in fine spirits, even if they somehow lost their quarry in all the fog. Strange that, for pirates rarely celebrate the loss of a good mark and if they hoped to catch up to the Amarada, thinking her ahead of them yet, odd that they would choose to make so much noise. Frowning at the sound of music and celebration from up ahead Sebastian shakes his head and turns, moving down the length of the ship and giving the order to shift ten degrees starboard. It's only a matter of time now before the watch, if there is one, notices the dark shadow of the Amarada coming up on their starboard side. The Makara, a length back, will be even more of a surprise lest they knew they were pursuing two ships.

With the ships coming up on the unknown pirate ship the work of keeping the fog on the pirate ship and away from the Amarada more difficult. With the Makara further behind there is little for Zea to do with the smaller ship. Her wings are tense and her hands hold tightly to the crow's nest as her eyes remain fixed on the fog, pushing it from the Amarada and towards the other ship until the Captain tells her otherwise. Eventually the two will be too close and the presence of fog will prove more of a hindrance to the Amarada than a help.

The tense emotions roiling off the crew are getting to be just a bit much for Lyri, whose vision has narrowed to a tunnel as she stares at the ship ahead of them from the rear of the ship. The sound of that jivin' party cuts through the fog of tension surrounding her like, well, like a wind-mage through fog. Inhaling a deep breath, she moves to the rail, stopping just short of it, her brow furrowing deeply. Wings twitch convulsively, but the cartographer still says naught. Her unease is plain upon her face, however.

Minowa moves to somewhere more near the middle of the ship and quietly slips off her shoes and kicks them aside. The sounds of such a spirited celebration causes the halfbreed's head to cant to the side, though it's hard to see the movement with the amount of black fabric covering her. Her thoughts run in the same direction as the captain's...how odd for a pirate ship on the prowl to have drinking and dancing on board.

The angry shark swims a bit slower, fading a bit from view. Hyan, upon hearing the sounds of celebration, frowns, suddenly uncertain. His hand upon his knife loosens. Indeed it is strange that a *pirate* ship should celebrate the loss of blood and profit. Why such a racket to potentially warn victims? His single eye searches for the captain, and studies him well to recall that sense of certainty that he would, if not enjoy, at least feel a sense of fulfillment at loss of blood himself...from enemies. The captain's shake of head and frown do nothing to help him regain his sense of ferocity, though perhaps the forthcoming battle shall.

Even some of the other crew members who were eager to start a tally of pirate corpses have silenced their bravado a bit and simply watch the shadow in the fog, curious as to what is going on. Rat hangs from the rigging with his dagger clenched in his teeth. The sight of him is comical right now, stopped in mid-swing as he had been demonstrating some of his nimble abilities to a couple of his mates. "An' I'll slice 'em like thi' and tha'," he says, spitting his dagger into his hand, only to stop and turn his attention towards the other ship. Even his antics are halted as everyone looks to each other.

Indeed Sebastian was right and even though the ship ahead of them is in a festive mood, even though the Amarada is sailing both dark and silent, and even though the fog hides their stealthy advancing form, these factors cannot protect them entirely forever.

From beyond the ship, From the Defiant, There is a sudden sharp call from the lookout, yelling, "Enemy ship off the starboard flank! Enemy ship! Starboard flank!" And with that the ship before them bursts into a flurry of activity. Music and song case and a loud strong female voice calls out, "Alright lads, to yer feef! Weapons out! Don't let em board! Ye spilled enough wine tonight, looks like it's time to spill some blood!" The crew lets out a yell and as the Amarada draws astern of them they can see the crew moving fast and furious, their motions practiced and professional. These are fighters, no doubt about that, and even catching them with their drawers down, so to speak, is not to catch them completely unawares or helpless. Their ship is clear to the eye now. Black sails, a black hull, red trim. But most importantly above them flies a black flag. And for those who care to take a closer look, upon that field of black is a red-eyed white skull grinning with a sword beneath it.

"Let loose the grappling lines!" yells Sebastian in return to their captain's words. "Draw us closer for boarding!"

The shout to arms from the deck of the other ship has Zea's wings bristling with attention. The fog around the other ship swirls a bit unnaturally in an attempt to make it more difficult for their crew a bit longer. She eyes the flag without any indication of recognition; the symbol on the black field means nothing to her. While a couple more Atlanteans drive into the water to the safety of their realm, Zea remains in the crow's nest for a while longer, not yet content to take to the skies. Her gaze drops to the captain and she watches him; he's concerned for her safety, but the concern goes both ways and she's not ready to just take flight and turn her back on him and the rest of the crew.

As the shout arises from the other ship, a visible shiver goes through Lyri, as if she might well be ill. No bloodlust is upon her face, no predator reaching out for its prey. No, indeed, the copper-tressed teenager looks like she might lose her lunch, something she never does. Her blue-green gaze lifts to the flag flying from the other ship's mast, recognition curling her mouth into a mockery of a smile. Behind the fear rising in her eyes, a deep anger and hatred begins to burn brighter, a spark flaring into flame, like sunlight through tropical green shallows. "Lessee how long yer 'Defiant' then." Lyri growls in her rough-edged contralto, wings partially unfurling as she unsheathes her knife.

Minowa pulls back her hood in order to see more clearly, now that they have been noticed and both sides have drawn weapons. Her expression is briefly one of puzzlement. Could they not have simply passed by and gone on their way? But it matters little now. As some of the crew rushes forward to follow the captain's orders, the halfbreed holds to her place in the middle of the ship, near one of the masts.

All doubts vanish from the Varati's face upon sight of the ship's dark hulls and sails, the flag indicating that ship's inclination, for raiders of every time and climes proclaim themselves when they are about, and Hyan gathers himself in preparation for the boarding party. He hisses, "Yes, time for our own celebration!" The knife is withdrawn and at ready, though not perhaps with quite as much skill as others. The single eye glares with fiery venom, and it is clear from the tightness of his muscles that only the fact that they are yet too distant prevents him from leaping the gap between them and spilling more than wine. Clearly he is not one to sequester himself against battle, if he ever was, for now he is as imposing as a full-blooded kshatri, free hand out, fingers grasping convulsively as if to grip the enemy and bring them in for the kill.

Rat is one of those that rushes forward with his mates, after he drops from the riggings into a crouch on the deck. He takes his dagger in one hand and unsheathes a second one. He grins a wicked little grin and lets out a whoop as he rushes towards the other ship they are drawing up alongside. " 'Ere's hopin' they didn' finish all tha' wine, a good killin' makes a man thirsty, it does!"

As the grappling hooks are thrown across the gap between the two ships, some of them hold and others do not as the pirates chop the lines with their cutlasses. Still, the crew of the Amarada keeps throwing them across and pulling on the lines, bringing the two ships ever closer. Soon they are close enough that boarding planks can be dropped. One of the sailors begins climbing over only to have his board grabbed and twisted, yelping as he and board plummet down into the sea. Sebastian and Valens both take to the air, rising up and waiting to descend upon the ship beneath them. Sebastian's gaze casts about, looking for whoever is in charge and espies a redhead person giving the orders. The Captain? The First Mate? Hard to say ... but clearly someone in charge. More lines are thrown and more lines connect and boards are set up as more sailors clamber across, swords drawn. It isn't long before the clank of metal against metal is heard and with that Sebastian drops down behind the officer, drawing his sword and swinging it out.

From beyond the ship, From the Defiant, As fast as they manage to cut the lines it seems the Amarada replaces them. It seems inevitable that they will be boarded and as such Captain Neath starts yelling out orders, getting the men prepared to be boarded whilst archers climb the rigging, readying themselves to fire upon the enemy. She hears a whoosh of wings behind her, the sound so unfamiliar that it throws her off for a moment. Then Caerlyn hears the thud of boots behind her, the drawing of steel and she turns, lifting her cutlass to expertly block the downward blow of the swordsman before her. And then she stops dead, eyes widening in shock and surprise ... and recognition.

Zea's heart is pounding in her throat now; this is the first chance she's really had to witness pirates with her powers in her control and with her wings free and unbound. She's angry now. They might not be the pirates that held her, but they're pirates all the same. She gasps as the first of the crew is tossed into the water but he reaches the water before she can reach for him. Behind her, her wings twitch and unfurl, aching to take flight into the fray rather than away from it. Her eyes scan the enemy ship as the fog rolls and curls away, giving the Amarada's crew a better view of those they're rushing to attack. But always her eyes go back to the captain, especially now that his weapon is drawn.

Despite her rising anger and a hint of bloodlust, Lyri hangs back from the main charge. Eyes skim carefully across the two sets of crew, soon mingling hopelessly as each attempts to swarm over boards, cut lines, and dump one another into the water. At length, however, she steps onto the railing, using a beat of her wings to hop from one ship to the other, dropping from the Defiant's railing onto the deck. Still out of the way, the quarry she's chosen turns on her as he spies her wings furling from the periphery of his vision. A scarred Atlantean with a wicked-looking dagger and an equally wicked gleam in his eyes. "Well, now, wot's this? A wench with wings and lil' poker? C'mere, lassie, lemme show ye /mine/." And with that, the Atlantean lunges for Lyri.

Rat laughs loudly as he leaps from one ship to the other, more acrobat than sailor. For a moment he doesn't seek out any one pirate in particular, for he's dashed onboard before he could consider his options. Waving his daggers in an inviting fashion he grins wildly at a younger mongrel pirate who seems startled to suddenly see the wiry mongrel dropping in front of him. "Don' be scar'd," Rat says tauntingly as he advances on the younger man. "Jus' 'ere fer a lil' blood, that's all. An' some a that wine ye all be drinkin', but that'll come later." The other mongrel growls something and finds his courage and boldly steps towards Rat, his own weapon flashing in his hand. "I'll be keepin' both me blood and me wine, ya bilge rat!"

Dussadhyan clambers across, the board beneath him groaning with the weight of one who could never be accused of being light, the waters beneath him and any concern for such forgotten as a fury grips him and rides his shoulders to the Defiant, whipping him forward into the fray. It is as if an avalanche born of the Amarada had rushed across the gap, and soon his knife is thrusting and swinging as he lunges forward, thumb and fingers spread to ram the edge between them into someone's throat...or any other portion of their anatomy he can connect with. A knife as sharp as a razor, a hand as hard as any mallet, and a single piercing eye with grimacing face keep moving forward, like a simoon from a desert far, far away blowing deadly sand over the surface of the sea. He barely manages to keep from hitting friend as he surges toward (and in one instance over) his foes.

As the battle clearly flows from the Amarada onto the pirate ship, Minowa moves with quick, crisp steps towards the railing that is now covered in grappling lines. She doesn't board the other ship, but instead hovers along the edge of the Amarada. Her gaze flashes from one crew member to another. So far, no wounds that she can see. Minowa moves to and fro restlessly, bare feet pacing the length of the deck and back again.

A couple members of the Defiant's crew obviously had a bit too much wine and celebration, but they do their best to quickly sober up and draw their weapons to face the intruders. Swords are drawn, curses are shouted to the Amarada and threats are easily made. One Sylvan trips over his own feet and gets tangled in some line, but his mates have no time to laugh at his antics, as unintentional as they might be. The fight is on!

Sebastian's wings flare as he delivers a blow that the redhead manages to block impressively. And then likewise he is thunderstruck as he stares into the face of the woman before him. Not because she is a woman ... but because he knows her! He stares at her, his mind racing to put the pieces together as behind him rings the sound of grunting fighting men and clashing swords. His own blade drops, point to the deck before he asks the question he need not ask, his voice querulous ... "Caerlyn?" But of course it's Caerlyn which means ... which means either she's a changed woman and many other things have changed as well ... or he's made a terrible mistake. With a beat of his wings he lifts into the air, calling out, "Stand back! Stand back! Disengage! Disengage!" It's an order to his crew and it's called out loudly and firmly. It doesn't mean surrender so much as withdraw back to the Amarada. Of course he'll know in a minute the truth of the matter depending on what Caerlyn says, but it's not a call to lay down arms - he fully expects his crew to defend themselves ... just hopefully not kill the opposition just yet.

He's dropping his weapon after the woman - a woman?? - deftly countered his initial attack?? Zea's leaning forward in the nest, watching the Defiant's deck with eyes wide and fear in them. She cannot hear Sebastian's question to the other woman and cannot understand why he's stopped his attack so quickly. She scans the deck, watching the other crewmembers scurrying across to engage the pirates. But then the captain's command comes and that is loud enough for her to hear. She's now more confused than angry now, this isn't what is supposed to happen, is it?

From beyond the ship, From the Defiant, The crews are fighting for their captains, for their ship, and for their lives. A few have already been injured and few have gone down, though whether they are dead or not is yet to be determined. As the archers reach a higher vantage point they take aim and start to fire. As Sebastian stops and stares, likewise Caerlyn stares and at the same time her name is spoken she gives him a saucy wink, recovering far quicker than the Captain of the Amarada, and returns drolly, "Sebastian ...." She watches as he pulls back, giving the command to his crew to stop fighting. Just as quickly Caerlyn yells, "Cease fighting! Drop your weapons now!" Her crew is baffled, but they obey, dropping back and moving away from the invading crew just as the Amarada's crew starts to pull away. One swordsman reaches out to swipe and Caerlyn raps him soundly on the head with the hilt of her blade barking out, "I said NOW!"

Being bombarded by the emotions of those around her is usually confusing and disorienting enough for Lyri, but in this case she welcomes it. Opening her own floodgates wide, she directs her fear, anger, bloodlust and the emotions of those she's picking up at the Atlantean crewmember of the Defiant, even as he begins his charge. Though her gift is small, perhaps it'll be enough to distract him...Lyri grits her teeth, shifting to one side and striking out with both dagger and healing magic, opening several scratches and slices along the man's arm as he is indeed distracted enough to push past her, over gauging the distance. He whirls about in surprise and chagrin, ready to attack once more, but then Caerlyn's words reach him and he blinks, stepping back, eyes turning towards his captain. Lyri retreats several steps herself, wings unfurling as her gaze shifts to Sebastian, then back to the Atlantean man who'd attacked her. Confusion is writ plain across her face. "Tyche's Tits, what in th'..." She mutters.

Minowa stops her pacing as orders are shouted from both captains to cease fighting. Clearly, something important has happened. She remains where she stands to watch and wait.

Sadly Hyan has likely damaged a few of his opponents rather severely, even as they have comfortably added what will most certainly be several more scars to the rather impressive collection he already owns, clothes bloodied and cut (and joy, more mending to be applied when cooler heads prevail). The captain's shout barely penetrates the red fog hazing through his brain, and for a moment he seems as though he might not stop, but eventually the cooler vaisya mind prevails, booting the furious beast from its master far enough away to regain control, and he pauses, though not before clubbing one more man in the face with a massive hand to prevent him from adding yet one more cut of the knife upon the Varati. Sides heaving, he retreats to stand away and rubs his missing eye furiously. He does not look chagrined at the change in the weather so to speak, but rather irritated as if such a waste should have occurred for so little reason.

Rat stops in mid-swipe, first hearing his captain's call and then that of the red-haired woman. He looks at his opponent for a moment and he gets an equally dim gaze in return. Slowly, as if they were images in a mirror, the two lower their blades at the same time. Suddenly Rat bursts into a big grin. "No 'ard feelings, eh mate?" The other mongrel looks at him as if Rat was crazy - which he very well might be - but doesn't say anything. "I'll still be wantin' that wine, though," Rat adds with a laugh.

As the two crews part company, Sebastian drops down to the deck once again between them, eyes casting about at the blood that has been spilt with chagrin and displeasure. The crew of the Defiant has already pulled aside their wounded and likewise the crew of the Amarada is gathering up their own and fishing those that took an unexpected dip out of the ocean. "Minowa! Lyri! Front and center please, there are wounded to attend to!" His eyes lift warily to Caerlyn and seeing that some of her crew appear to be seriously injured he inquires, "Do you have a mage healer on board to tend to your men?" It's a wary sort of truce, on Sebastian's side at least.

She was to stay out of the way during the fighting, as that seems to be over Zea unfurls her wings and heads for the Amarada's deck. She lands quietly, having put on slippers rather than her louder boots and moves over to the railing of the ship to get a better idea of what is going on. She does not cross over to the Defiant though.

As her captain calls her name, Lyri blinks in surprise, although a quick glance about confirms the captain's words; there are indeed several crewmembers wounded to a varying degree. With a final, wary glance at the Atlantean she'd been fighting with, Lyri sheathes her knife with a sharp *click*. "Weirder than a sea-farin' man at a fancy ball in his mama's dress, this whole business." Lyri mutters to herself. She glances at Sebastian again, but this time when she does, she spares a moment for the Defiant's captain - and her eyes widen accordingly. "Well now, if'n I hadna seen it wi' me own..." She shakes her head, then turns away. There'd be time for worrying later. "Ye there, 'elp this boyo get back t'Minowa." She commandeers one of her crewmembers, pointing to a severely wounded man and then gesturing towards the Amarada. She herself moves on with a visible grimace to kneel beside another man with a nasty gash on his chest. She'd much rather be hurtin' with her magic than healing with it, that was for sure. But an order's an order. Queer as it is.

From beyond the ship, From the Defiant, The Captain of the Defiant watches as the crews part and her wounded are collected. Stepping forward toward the Captain of the Amarada, she nods and returns evenly, "Aye, we have a healer on board ... and the men are used to pain." Drawing close to Sebastian she smiles and purrs, "Captain Sebastian Xaverius ... you're a hard man to catch up to ... and craftier than I thought!" and then with that she reaches out, grabbing the front of his shirt and jerking him to her, laying a kiss on his mouth, her crew laughing and roaring at her behavior. Seems they bear the crew of the Amarada, nor her Captain, any ill will.

Dussadhyan hefts the man to his shoulders, and climbs back to his ship, expression closed to all who might see it, fire in one amber eye banked to a dull glare. Not that either healer would be unable to easily move from one ship to the other, but the level of discomfort is now doubtless at a peak, and why subject an injured shipmate to such things? Or himself, for that matter. He lays the mongrel sailor gently upon the deck of the Amarada, soothing words for the other man's pain and looks back to see if he might retrieve more, but those that may move are being moved, and those that may not are being tended too. He sighs, eye rolling to the sky. "Another lesson, oh Khalid-Atar?" The tone is not quite as worshipful as one would expect, but neither is it said with any cynicism, only a wry tone as if a poke of sorts at himself.

Clearly Sebastian is taken aback by the unexpected kiss, his wings flaring up as his hands lift to Caerlyn's shoulders, pushing her back and staring at her. "I think I owe you an apology ... and you owe me an explanation." His eyes scan the ship as he rumbles, "I think it would be best if you tend to your crew and I tend to mine and we'll meet later after things are a little more ... settled ... to settle just exactly what the hell is going on around here." To say that the Captain of the Amarada looks ... discomfited, would be an understatement.

First she's relegated to the position of little woman that needs to be kept safe and now she's left to watch this mongrel woman taking such liberties? Zea's wings bristle so hard that a few feathers fall free from her wings and those around her can feel the winds around them picking up. The Defiant's crew might be amused, but she is not, not in the least. She glares at the red-haired woman but the tension dissolves a bit as Sebastian pushes the woman away. But she's still keeping a wary gaze on the mongrel woman. There is also a twinge of jealousy mixed in there, for this woman can be rather forward where she cannot.

Chuckling at his rejection of her affections, Caerlyn shows no disappointment or annoyance but simply nods in agreement. "Aye, Tian, we both have crew to tend to and -much- to catch up on. A truce then, for now? I hope that we can come to an understanding. So much has changed since we last saw each other. Hopefully we can still be ... friends? Colleagues? But we'll discuss that later." She salutes him with another wink before turning about and placing her hands on her hips. "Alright boys! Lets weigh anchor, patch everyone up, and get this place back to being ship shape!" And with that she walks away without so much as a glance back at Sebastian, his ship, or his crew.

Lyri helps the last of the wounded back to the Amarada, avoiding Zea after a quick glance at the woman and the rising winds about her. For once, Lyri balks no more at her healing duties, if it means she'll get away from a possibly fray between the wind-mages for the moment. With Minowa's help, she gets the wounded below decks to their bunks.

Sebastian just stands for a moment, staring at the woman, looking as if someone had just cracked him over the head with the hilt of a sword. Dumstruck. Dazed. Shaking his head he turns and for a moment, and just a moment, a small wicked smile curls his lips as he lifts into the air and back onto his own ship. He orders word to be sent to the Makara, for having them attack now would be rather disastrous. And then he moves about the ship, making sure that his crew is all accounted for, that the wounded are being attended to, and all the while doing his best to hide his embarrassment and shame at having made such a dreadful, if perfectly reasonable, mistake.

Dussadhyan adds his own strength for the healers' benefit, helping the wounded below, disappearing into the hold, despite his apparent lack of fear for the rage of Zea. He has seen jealousy before, his age not being of the tender variety, and shrugs it off, mage rage or no. Perhaps he has simply blown off what steam he had and finally achieved a peace of sorts. Finally.