Private Tales After the storm

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
He removed his arm from the girl’s shoulders, and stepped aside to let her go, his ice-gray gaze fixed on her as she disappeared in the midst of the wooden shacks and stilted passages.

- “Go back to the ship.” - He would whisper to Harry. - “Keep your eyes peeled for any suspicious movement. Me and Irwin will go and investigate this tavern.” -

With that, he and the quartermaster split ways. He followed Lachlan, further into the town, and then inside the tavern. He’d sit down facing his comrade, his back turned to the rest of the patrons.

A conspicuous position, it would appear, as before he even had the chance to reply to Irwin, a handful of thuggish-looking men stumbled towards them. One of them would place his calloused hand on his shoulder, the metal glint of his sword showing beyond his muscled forearm.

- “Y’know wha’ I can’t un’stand?” - The man drawled, as he regurgitated a ball of blackened spit much in the same fashion as Ivan had in the piers moments before. - “H’w Kross sai’d away and th’n this b’nch o’kids r’turns at t’helm o’ his ship.” - His grip hardened, as he squeezed Ivan’s shoulder. - “Care to expl'n, pretty boy?” - He growled at Lachlan.​
 
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Lachie frowned.

"We bested him and his crew." He hoped to Kress Kross was not a beloved friend out here, but Lachie didn't balk. "His ship was better than ours and we took it over."

He added a shrug, as if that was all there really was to it.

There really was not much else he could add, for anything else to be mentioned was not truly something he thought would help their case. "Kross underestimated us and our crew, you wouldn't want to make the same mistake."

Lachie gave the man a smug smile before nodding to Ivan. "Right, my friend?"
 
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Lachlan spoke, but Ivan wasn't listening anymore.

That filthy peasant had had the nerve to touch him? Him?! A Dreadlord - well, almost Dreadlord - of Vel Anir, the Tombslayer, the fucking Margrave of Valdorren, and that brute had had the carelessness, the audacity, of placing his hand, his Kress-damned paw, on. his. shoulder.

Truth be told, Ivan Skender could be described as many things: brave, dashing, extremely handsome, perhaps even a smidge haughty, but alas, neither calm, nor contained, were words typically used for that effect.

Before the thug could even react, Ivan grabbed his hand, which so carelessly laid on his shoulder. The familiar black veil emerged from his hand, and then quickly enveloped the corsair's hand, and tatooed forearm. The next sound to come out of the man's mouth was a soul-wrenching, terror-inducing wail of distress.

The offending hand and forearm were quickly retracted, only for their owner to realize - in pure, abject horror - that they did not exist anymore beyond some brittle bone, and some shreds of blackened flesh hanging from them.

Not that he had to worry about all that for long.

In a lightning-fast attack, Ivan lept on the mangled thug with all the graciousness of a cat. A quick slash with a table knife, and the screaming turned into a hiss, as the metal blade slit across the pirate's throat like... well, like a knife through tender flesh.

The blonde reached out and, from a nearby table he then took a bottle of rum. He smashed it against the wall, and then used the shattered bottleneck to slit the throat of the second pirate before the man could even react.

Soon enough, he was standing alone in the middle of the tavern, holding on to the bloodied bottleneck; his face covered in red gore.

Battle or bar fight, if these shits wanted to test him, then they would get to.
 
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Well fuck, Lachlan thought to himself, at least first blood had been drawn by Ivan and not any of the other idiot faces staring at them.

He supposed it was decent they were not gawping at the young Initiate, but looking at both the blond Anirians as if they were a threat after all.

Lachlan gave a loud laugh, startling some, and moved to stand to face his friend and raise his brows at Ivan. "A yes or no would have sufficed, brother." Although the words were truthful, told with a tone that meant every word, there was something in his eyes that marveled at the sight of blood. It was unspoken to both boys that trained at the Academy, that blood invigorated them and burned inside their veins to fight.

Should the people in this backwater port town deign to retaliate, Lachlan would fight alongside his comrade once again.

"Anyone else keen to see what I can do?" He opened up with challenge, turning to look at every man or woman that were poised to fight back.
 
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As it turned out, plenty more souls there were keen to see what the two young Anirians could do.

Before anyone could bat an eye, the entire tavern had imploded into violence, as every piratical-looking thug rushed the two boys.

No sooner had his first victim drawn its last breath, than Ivan was already dodging the next corsair coming his way. A blade, produced from seemingly nowhere, brushed his skin. Though potentially fatal, a last minute elbow tilt against his opponent’s forearm saw the cold metal miss its mark, leaving him with naught but a superficial cut on his cheek.

That attack did however leave the corsair wide open to a counterattack. With his right hand, Ivan caught the bandit’s arm and gave it a good pull, throwing him even further off balance, while with his left elbow, he mimicked an uppercut that instead ended with his own elbow smashing against the pirate’s bicep. The man howled in pain, letting go of the knife which the initiate caught in a swift downward sweep.

Before Ivan could finish the job though, and gut his opponent with his new knife, someone grabbed him from behind and hurled him against a table. A sharp pain fanned out from his back and, yet again, he narrowly dodged another potentially fatal blow as a different tavern patron charged at him. A second attack was better dodged, following which he was left in a better position to counterattack.

This time though, someone else stole his kill, as he saw a knife plunge into his attacker’s jugular. Before he could wonder whether he had just been saved by an ally however, this third thug charged the blonde in quick succession.

The third time - it turned out - would indeed be the charm, as the corsair then saw his own jugular cut by a well placed knife strike from the blonde.

As the thug breathed his last, Ivan finally got a chance to get a proper glimpse at the hell he’d unleashed. All around him the tavern was submerged in chaos, as the former patrons mercilessly hacked at everything in sight.​
 
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