Today’s snippet, titled “The Allnight, pt 2”, is a piece I wrote about my PC in Paul’s new pirate themed Pathfinder Campaign.
Be forewarned, there may be mature themes and naughty language below.
– – – – – – – – – – –
The eleven of them crept up the hallways as the Screaming Mermaid continued her long journey across the ocean. Lorenzo gripped his mace in one hand, the other frantically checking and rechecking his belt to ensure that all of the potions and tinctures he had brought along were still there, ready for use.
Luck was with them, for no one roamed the narrow hallways at this hour. The few crew members on watch would be topside, peering into the midnight horizon for other ships or storms. They had little to fear below deck – typically. Lorenzo pressed his ear to the door of Kiskaeyn’s cabin. The usual cacophony of stoned moans and cries of pleasure emanated from within and he paused, straining to see if he could make-out the distinctive voice of the First Mate.
Red looked at him, quizzically, ready to burst in. Lorenzo shook his head. He dared not whisper, but though he heard Jakuz’ laugh amongst the noise, he did not hear Kiskaeyn.
A tense minute passed.
Finally, impatient whispers from behind him forced his hand. Alright, alright. We’ll go in, he scowled, counting down in his head, One. Two. Three!
He flicked his wrist and Red kicked the door open in a single, mighty blow. Kiskaeyn’s security was rather lax given her near omnipotent status upon the Screaming Mermaid.
Everything went as planned in the first few moments of the battle.
Liza, Corin, Abe, and little Jill leapt over the tangle of naked bodies, hurling themselves toward the prostrate form sleeping in Kiskaeyn’s bunk. Brownbeak and the twins immediately located Jakuz, whose trousers were around his ankles as he masturbated furiously onto the backs of a pair of copulating young men. The Second Mate went down in a puddle of blood and semen, his throat slashed by Brownbeak’s obsidian talons.
Lorenzo lost sight of Red and the two dwarves from the lower decks, so focused on finding Sawbones was he. Faedrin called his name over the screaming and cursing, then yanked on his long, loose hair to get his attention in full.
“There!” He pointed. Then he took a fist to the face with a resounding crack. Faedrin tore his gaze from the door he had indicated, embroiled in hand-to-hand combat with one of Jakuz’ men. There was a sick squelching sound and a gout of crimson erupted between the two.
Lorenzo did not stop long enough to see if it was his mentor or the other guy. He ducked under a swinging arm, rolled past a woman who had curled into a fetal position behind a piece of furniture and was sobbing so hard she could no longer breathe properly, and sprang up in front of the door.
At his belt, he found a pinch of the blue-orange herbs and deadnettle and readied it for the Sawbones. Once she inhaled it, he would only need to stand fast a few seconds – a minute at most – before she was conscious enough to move.
The sounds of chaotic battle continued behind him, but he blocked out the cries and clatter of weaponry. The door was locked; a problem of little import for he pulled a pin from the inside of his vest and winkled the tumblers into position with one hand. Child’s play, he thought, wetting his lips. Here I come, madame.
The door creaked open slowly and in that moment, it was as if all else faded away. His ears did not hear Kiskaeyn’s laughter as she wrenched Jill’s head from her shoulders with a single, mighty yank. He could not see blood splattering the wall beside him, splashing up and across his shoulder, neck, and cheek. The only thing that existed in that moment was the small, dark room and the mutilated corpse within.
The Sawbones had fought back. He could see that instantly. Her hands and knuckles bore bruises and lacerations, as many defensive as offensive. She had been stripped to her smallclothes, but even these were tattered and torn. There was dark, dried fluid upon her thighs and her deathly pale skin made the livid contusions across her body even more gruesome. A rope around her throat, rough-hewn hemp that had scratched her flesh raw and bloody during her captivity, was attached to the rafters. It held her in a position in which she could only just rest on the tips of her toes, for if she dropped to her feet, it would tighten and begin strangling her. The purple hue of her face left him little reason to doubt that the rope had been the final cause of her death.
But he knew his own procrastination had been a contributing factor.
“Kiskaeyn!” Lorenzo whirled back to face the room, the world coming into sharp focus.
Over the din of the room, his cry echoed and within the space of a heartbeat, everyone froze.
“What, bitch?” Her derisive reply smacked of arrogance. The fact that she stood in the midst of three corpses with her cutlass dripping gore spoke to her prowess. “That fuckin’ cunt was a double-crossing, two-faced, blind-buggered piece of shit. She got what she deserved.”
“Drop your weapon.”
Lorenzo swallowed thickly. He had not prepared a great monologue for such a moment and he had absolutely not counted upon any sort of physical confrontation with the woman. He glanced around the room. Heloise had managed to shuffled several naked captives out of the room and down the hall, but several others were nothing more than hacked up corpses on the ground. Brownbeak’s left arm dangled uselessly at his side, but he was standing atop Jakuz’ corpse with disdain. One of the twins – Lorenzo could not tell them apart – was crumpled to the ground with a boarding axe in his skull while the other sobbed beside him. Jill’s head had been kicked aside in the melee, and of the four allies who had been ordered to dogpile Kiskaeyn, only Liza remained upright. She was bleeding profusely from a slash to her temple, but appeared otherwise unharmed.
His eyes sought Faedrin and did not find him, then at last alighted upon Red. The two dwarves formed a shield around Red and Captain Faur, as the half-orc tried to rouse the captain with Lorenzo’s signature blend of drugs.
Her allies are dead. Surely she will surrender. The instant the thought crossed his mind he knew it was stupid. If she surrendered, the best she could hope for was a good keelhauling. The worst… did not even bear consideration. If she was going down, Lorenzo knew she was going down fighting.
Fuck. He thought, gripping his mace a little tighter. Lorenzo could handle himself in a fight, but he knew he was no threat to the burly First Mate. Kiskaeyn had been training in combat almost as long as Lorenzo had been alive and if the Sawbones was right, she had arcane tricks up her sleeves as well.
“There is nothing you can do but give up,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Jakuz is dead. The second also. We’ll be in Ilimagorti by noon – the authorities-”
She began to laugh.
Lorenzo’s confidence – mostly an act to begin with – faltered.
“There’s no authority in Ilizmagorti, you fuckin’ twat.” Kiskaeyn tromped upon Jill’s body as she moved toward him. “And there’s no law on this boat but mine.”
Though he had rarely felt vulnerable to a woman, Kiskaeyn was several inches taller than him and much stronger beside. She kicked a wounded slave out of the way as she advanced, holding her cutlass before her.
“Your little coup was well done,” Kiskaeyn said, wiping blood from her face with her free hand. Her voice descended into a deeper growl with each step. “But stupid. I would’ve let you two morons go free when we got to port. There ain’t nothing you could do or say that would’ve fucked up my plans. But now? You fuckers murdered my best friend, you ruined my favorite toys, and you straight up pissed me off. Any last words, you useless little bitch?”
Lorenzo stared up at her, his mouth gone dry with fear. “I-”
She smirked, drawing back her arm to swing. “Nevermind, shitlicker. I don’t even give a fu-”
Blood burbled from her lips instead of the vulgar oath and her eyes grew wide with confusion. Twice more came that same sickening, wet, squelching noise and Kiskaeyn dropped to her knees. She sprouted a horn from her chest and looked down at it in bewilderment.
Even as she died, the First Mate had no idea what had done for her.
Lorenzo raised his eyes.
“Renny, m’boy. You did good.” Faedrin yanked his blades from her back with surprising aplomb. “Captain Faur, you alright?”
The shorn-eared elf stepped over Kiskaeyn’s corpse and headed to the corner to free his old friend. Lorenzo did not know what to say, he just stood there in the midst of all that horror with the First Mate’s blood staining the toes of his boots and all he could think was, I’m glad I did not wear my good boots tonight…
– – – – – – – – – – –
Note: Image is “Skull” by (George Crux) and “Black Cuffs” by (Andrzej Pobiedzinski) from SXC.hu; edited by me