Open Chronicles A Treasure Fleet Arrives in Alliria

[Muirin]

Muirin's lips bit back into a snarl nearly to bestial to have possibly come from anything that walks upright. He could feel flames lapping against his bones, a sensation he couldn't claim to have ever felt before-- But worst of all, the scoundrel knew he was trapped. That's what pissed him off the most.

"Yer charity knows no bounds." His voice drawled out slowly, surprisingly well articulated considering his usual vernacular and the sneer still wringing his face in subdued despair. "Jus' tell me wha'the hell y'need and let. Go." It was almost adorable how he tried to make baseless threats in spite of the fact that she'd locked him firmly into a corner, but that's the way of brutes. They never do know when they've been beat.

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Shouting. Crunching glass. A pain in his hands as he pushed to his feet, turned, saw the flash of steel. His heart hammered. Blood pounded between his temples. Pain was nothing. Pain was a distraction. Time seemed to slow.

His rapier rasped as he drew it from the sheath, then in one lunging thrust drove the point through the throat of the Anirian.

The man’s eyes widened in shock. Diego withdrew the blade. Blood and air gurgled from the wound. The Anirian fell to the ground in a rattle of chain, gasping wetly, blood on his lips.

Diego kicked the arming sword away, out of reach, slapped away a grasping, pleading hand raised to stop him, then rammed his blade through the man’s left eye. He felt the tip scrape on the socket’s bone, then slide home and deep.

The man twitched, then fell still.

Diego stood there, over the corpse, panting hard, blood leaking from broken lips.

 

[Ermengarde]

»Farewell,« were the last of Ermengarde's words before she took a few more glances at the sailing vessels before departing.

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou let out a sigh of relief as he saw the Cortosi veteran tower over the Anirian's limp, lifeless body. The sounds of clashing blades could be heard from inside the tavern. Kishou and Diego were saved the effort of entering the tavern- the skirmish made its way outside.

The Allirian brothers, unarmed, ran outside first. Pedro and Vasco followed with rapiers in their hands. They spun, and prepared to face their opponents. The Anirians poured out as one group- five of them exited. They were visibly enraged, and became even more so at the sight of their slain leader. The groups split, with Pedro and Vasco facing off with one Anirian each. The Allirian brothers were met by a single Anirian. The remaining two brazenly approached Diego and Kishou.Kishou cut off their approach by standing between them and Diego.

Without saying a word, he delivered his message clearly: I will handle you two myself.

To the side, one Anirian swung his sword overhead at Pedro. The Cortosi man sidestepped the downward swing, and lunged forward. His thin sword easily pierced the protective mail, and skewered the Anirian's heart. He drew a thin knife from its sheath, and stabbed the defeated Anirian through the side of his neck. Pedro stepped backwards and drew his weapons in a seamless motion. The Anirian fell backwards, dead before his back touched the dirt.

Pedro met with Vasco, who had already felled his opponent. The two, seemingly unfazed by the whole situation, jeered the Anirian fighting the two Allirian brothers. It was quite a sight to see. One of the burly brothers held the Anirian from the back, with his arms hooked under the soldier's, which impeded the Anirian's movement. How he got in such a position of dominance was a mystery. The other brother, rock in hand, rapidly bashed in the skull of the helpless soldier.

Crack

Crack

Crack

Each consecutive strike became quieter as the Anirian's head was reduced to mush under the pure brutish strength of the young Allirian man. The two brutes didn't stop, even after half of the soldier's head was caved in. Their faces were glossy from the gruesome sprays of blood. They both valiantly howled, arms raised. They leaped at each other. Their chests triumphantly collided over the brutalized Anirian.

Kishou's posture slightly lowered. His right shoulder faced the pair, slightly blocking their view of his sword. The fingers on his right hand curled around the hilt of his sword. Kishou pushed the tsuba with his left thumb, slightly exposing the blade. The thin sliver of steel appeared to have an unnatural, silvery glow to it. His unnatural stance caused the approaching men to halt, as if they had to process what they were witnessing. Kishou's sword was not even drawn, yet he gave off immense pressure.

All of the attention was now focused on Kishou.

"If you two can kill him, we may let you go!" Vasco taunted the Anirians. The two Cortosi men howled with laughter.

Diego remained silent. Kishou could feel his eyes on his back. The hair on his neck stood up as the Anirian's rushed him. His heart raced. Even the veins in Kishou's neck seemed to throb. He took the brief moment as the two men rushed to think. He gauged his effective range, and planned every one of his moves. The scene played out in his mind. Once. Twice. As soon as the first Anirian charged into range, Kishou's mind shut off. His body moved thoughtlessly, but with immaculate grace and skill. He sucked in, and held his breath. He took a single step forward with his right foot, simultaneously drawing his sword. In a single motion, Kishou drew and slashed upward with swiftness that exceeded Diego's lunge. His blade shone under the moonlight. His sword cleanly severed the links of the chainmail, and cut deep into the man's chest. Kishou was so engrossed in cutting down the two men, he did not even feel the sensation of cutting through bone. Before the first man fell, Kishou took another step. His left hand wrapped around the sword's hilt. Kishou swung down, using the full strength of both of his arms. The Anirian raised his arming sword to block. A shrieking sound of clashing steel rang through the ears of all onlookers, then a deafening snap as the clash left the Anirian's sword in two. Kishou's swung continued uninterrupted, and cleaved through the man's collarbone. His sword continued down, only stopping once the blade reached the man's ribs.

Thud- the first body hit the dirt.

Kishou exited his trance, and finally let out a deep sigh. With some effort, he dislodged his sword from the man's torso.

Thud- the body fell.

Kisho swung his sword at the ground, speckling the ground with fresh blood. With a slight flourish, Kishou sheathed his sword.

 

[Azmelqar]

Hernan was still inquiring about the day's progress when a great racket rose up behind him, farther down the dock. Something glass broke. Probably a window. There was a great deal of shouting to follow. Ah, but this was the port district. Things got rowdy. It was all good.

He ignored it, until someone went capering by, yelling about Cortosi who had their swords drawn.

Diego.

"Shitfuck," said Hernan, and shoved a ledger back into a gawping quartermaster, "Take care of this. I will not be back."

The Captain-General took off down the road at a brisk pace, shouldering aside the occasional vagrant that either stumbled into him or was fleeing the scene. By the time Hernan got there, the crowd had fled entirely, and he was left with a horrific nightmare of a view. Corpses. The colors of Vel Anir. Perfect. Who else?

Diego was wrenching his blade out of some man's eye socket. A strange, foreign warrior was flicking blood off of his sword. Bodies. Lots of bodies. More bodies than there had any business being. His men, coated in viscera. Plus two Allirians. And then also this strange man.

A vein pulsed unmistakably in Hernan's forehead, and his right eye quivered with a restrained rage.

This was nothing new to him, you see, and this was not record. But this was a record body-count, and a record for the worst possible entity to cross swords with. What were Anirian footmen doing in Alliria anyway? Was there a frigate that would be on their heels now?

Hernan drew in a breath, and allowed himself to speak. "Diego, Pedro, Vasco. You are all deeply fucked. Follow me."

He half-turned, but eyed the foreigners - seogsa included. "You are had better come as well. Far be it for me to break up brothers in bloodletting."

It didn't sound like a request. But would they really imagine themselves much better off with the city watch of Alliria?

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Diego wiped the blood from his rapier on a cloth and sheathed it, then dabbed at his broken lip as he followed Hernan and the others away from the still leaking corpses.

“They started it. You should’ve heard them, joking about burning down the San Miguel.”

Vasco and Pedro nodded, while the Allirian brothers remained silent, their hands smeared red and pink.

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou couldn’t really find a moment to intrude on the conversation. It was true, they instigated the whole thing. It’s possible the Cortosi would have, given time, but the fact remains that they were not the aggressors.

He thought to say something, but decided that silence would most likely be the best course he could take. The others had blood on them, or were bloodied in some way.

Kishou was the only one who came out clean, aside from a couple bruises and swelling on his face.

 

[Azmelqar]

Vasco and Pedro only ever said what either Diego was already saying - or what Diego directly told them to. Already Hernan was ignoring them, staring straight ahead into the darkness as he led them on.

Some said that the San Miguel was the greatest casualty of the Quatreville Wars. They were very wealthy people, far removed from the fighting on the Coast. Their sympathy laid more with the building itself than the clerics, nuns, and citizens who burned alive inside it.

The memory brought bile to his mouth, and Hernan spat into the cobblestone. He muttered to himself in Cortosi along the way, vainly invoking the Sun God and calling the assembled group all manner of profane things.

There was a smaller craft waiting for them at the dock. A quaint little galley, nominally used for the ferrying of supplies to larger ships.

"Get aboard," Hernan ordered.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

"Sir?"

It came from one of the lookouts. Ferran paused from haranguing some other pitiful sailor to look over the gunwale. One of their ferries was at the dock but it was the hurried embarkment that had caught his eyes. He squinted through his spyglass.

"Bollocks".

The Captain-General, his hothead of a brother, two more officers, and a....he squinted more, well no matter where he was from, they knew he was no Cortosi. Even from here, the blood was visible. Muttering another curse, he put away the spyglass.

"Pesaro!"

The bosun came running. "I want two arbalists in the nest and another couple on the sterncastle. Flash a signal to the others to just be alert". It might be overkill but he'd been boarded in supposedly friendly ports before. "And see if there's a chirurgeon aboard".

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Diego clambered aboard, pausing only to look at the men, then back at Hernan.

“Do not blame them. The fault, it lies on me.“

The two Allirian sailors paused, looking at each other, as if reluctant to follow.

“Eusebius, Simocatta, you cannot stay behind. Come. We will protect you with our lives, no?”

 

[childish brandino]

As Diego paused to turn to the Allirian brothers, Kishou silently passed. It then dawned on him that he left his armor and other useful items in the loft above the blacksmith. It made him uneasy, but the atmosphere was very heavy. He decided to hold off on mentioning that, for now.

He felt uneasy on the ship, and did not have much experience sailing. He felt even more uneasy from the thought of being absolutely useless on the voyage. He worried about how the caped Cortosi would think of him, and tried to set the thought aside. Kishou settled in an spot, and waited for whatever came next.

 

[Azmelqar]

Hernan raised an eyebrow at Diego. "As if I suspected anything else."

That didn't mean there would be any amnesty, of course. There would all find punishment enough once they were free of Alliria, and Hernan had the patience to pass out a sentence. Perhaps it would encourage them to do a better job of restraining Diego's fury in the future.

Ah. There he was, dreaming again.

The Allirians looked uncertain, so Hernan did his best to hasten their decision. "Would you prefer to wait for the city guard to come get you?"

They shuffled aboard, sufficiently cowed. He wondered if they could see the flogging in their future.

"None of you leave the ships until we reach Nagai," said Hernan, stepping back onto the docks.

The captain of this galley eventually stirred, wandering out from below-decks. He rubbed his eyes and snapped to attention when he realized who was aboard. Hernan ordered him to convey these passengers to the Santa Rosaria immediately.

"Enjoy the sight of Alliria over these next few days, gentlemen," Hernan said dryly, spitting into the water as he stalked back across the docks. "That is all you will get."

Now where were those quartermasters?

 

[Fennec]

Muirin's lips bit back into a snarl nearly to bestial to have possibly come from anything that walks upright. He could feel flames lapping against his bones, a sensation he couldn't claim to have ever felt before-- But worst of all, the scoundrel knew he was trapped. That's what pissed him off the most.

"Yer charity knows no bounds." His voice drawled out slowly, surprisingly well articulated considering his usual vernacular and the sneer still wringing his face in subdued despair. "Jus' tell me wha'the hell y'need and let. Go." It was almost adorable how he tried to make baseless threats in spite of the fact that she'd locked him firmly into a corner, but that's the way of brutes. They never do know when they've been beat.

"So we 'ave an accor,'" Ziri intoned slowly, a heavy brow raising expectantly over a gaze of intense molten silver.

"Ziri," Hasaar blinked up from halfway down the steps leading below deck, "ready fer yeh."

Dark fingers sliding form Muirin's arm, the sensation of liquid hot magma in his veins bubbled to the surface, simmering where he knew the mark to be. The next time he looked a length of scales would suddenly be where previously the snake had devoured.

"Kohm to meh shop at sun up," she said over her shoulder to the seething scalawag, "an I tell ya then wat ya be doin for meh."

Without another look she descended into the darkness, naught but the onerous chiming of bones speaking of her presence.

 

[Muirin]

Muirin could only bite back a yelp as molten steel ran through his veins, feeling as though his flesh would surely burn and blister away. The sensation lingered even as Ziri's fingers left his arm, prickling his skin with fire so harsh that the brute swung a maul-sized hand to smother the pain.

"Ye', y'bloody well better tell me..." The mercenary's voice was the hissed petulance of a bratty child as he watched the shaman descend out of sight. Soon, only the rattling of her talismans told of her persistence, yet Muirin's blood still boiled with ill-intent. He spun, a veritable whirlwind of barely withheld malfeasance, and hustled off of the ship-- Damn the Salty Maiden, and damn her crew!

It was only after shouldering by several deckhands that the scoundrel realized he still had a rather major issue on his hands; He wasn't nearly drunk enough to be dealing with utter shite of this caliber. With his tipsy gait smoothed out upon waves of unbridled anger, the living tempest made his way to the nearest bar, intentions dead-set on getting as hammered as possibly and- just maybe -letting off some steam on some less-than-sober brawlers.

 

[Azmelqar]

The next day!
​

Hernan wearily gazed up at the ramshackle storefront before him. What an absolute slum. But this was where all the small boats went, so of course it was inhabited primarily by small people, with small lodgings and smaller pockets. Oh, to be destitute. Hernan resolved to never be able to sympathize.

He turned back to look at the man who had brought him here - Wonderful Júlio. How such a nasally, sickly creature could acquire such an epithet was beyond Hernan. Even now he was blowing the contents of his nose into a handkerchief.

"This is the place?"

"Nnnnyess."

Júlio sneezed violently. Hernan pursed his lips and looked back at the storefront. "And she speaks Naga?"

"Nnnnhng," Júlio was swapping one handkerchief for another. He carried plenty of them. "That's what I hear."

The language of the Naga was supposedly indecipherable. Why would a witch in this wretched part of town know anything about it? It would at least be worth investigating, anything to help him forget how much money it took to get the city watch off his back.

Hernan ordered Wonderful Júlio to keep watch outside before entering the shop.

 

[Fennec]

The beaded curtain in the entrance klitter-klattered a tune of bone as the man pushed through, opening into a smallish, darkish shoppe. Unidentifiable knickknacks on dusty, crooked shelves. Cages and totems hung from the ceiling by fraying rope. A vague smell of old blood and musty leather. A miasma of faint, jumbled magical essences; there were items of significance here if one simply knew what to value as significant.

"Yeh tek dis in tea," a voice from the back. Footsteps. Two figured emerged through another set of beaded curtains - these ones crafted of cat bones, "dun lyk I show you."

"And this will really help? It's just simple root herbs."

"If yeh dun wan' it, give it back."

"I...I'll take it."

"Den it help."

A man no older than Hernan stepped by, looking the Cortosi briefly in the eye before scooting out the door.

Ziri stepped forward, moony eyes sweeping up and down his form as if she were sizing him up to take his clothes, "Well well well," a smile curled dark lips, white teeth caps showing, "wat kan Maziri do fer yew?"

 

[Muirin]

Muirin woke up as a tired heap, sunlight filtering in through his room's eastern window. He rose from his rented bed, stretching out his spine and breathing life back into his sore, hungover body. Somebody's daughter still dozed beneath the covers, as did somebody else's son. This earned a double-take from the scoundrel, who hadn't remembered meeting either party, let alone bringing them to bed.

Shrugging on his clothes and leaving a kind note behind, Muirin made his way out into the morning sun. He struck a casual stride towards the small-end docks he'd left the night before. There was no rush to his pace; He'd just need to make it to Maziri's before sun up.

... Before sun up.

The still half drunken scoundrel looked up to where the sun blazed down from its homey spot in the sky, well above the horizon. "Piss," was the only syllable he said aloud before breaking into a sprint towards dockside. Muirin bumped roughly past some sap carrying a handful of roots, sending his herbs scattering to the ground; The scoundrel's stride hardly even stuttered from the contact, and he practically exploded through the ramshackle building's beaded entrance moments later.

Breath heaving, heart pounding, and brow sweating from his jacketed sprint, Muirin propped his elbow against a wall and struck a pose of nonchalance as he caught his breath. Once his eyes adjusted, Hernan received an up-down look before the mercenary's gaze settled on his malefactor. "M'Ziri... Fancy- huff -Fancy you, n'a place like this."

 

[Azmelqar]

Hernan has to angle himself to let the other fellow pass by in the crowded hovel. This place had an unseemly scent to it, dappled with magic. He could swear some of these trinkets looked familiar, but not in a sense that at all gave him any relief.

The shopkeeper made herself known, and then Hernan knew where to place her and her stock of baubles. One of the tropical islanders, far south of Cortos. Hernan had never been himself, but their traders would occasionally pass through his neighborhood - wherever he happened to be making it at the time.

When he heard witch, he was expecting a milk-skinned crone. It remained to be seen if this was a welcome departure from his expectations.

But probably not. Her accent was atrocious.

“Maziri,” he repeated, attempting to sound reasonably charmer but actually just working out whether or not he could say it himself. He couldn’t.

“I am Hernan Alcantara. Captain-General of th expedition to Nagai, on behalf of the Crown of Torleón . You may have heard. I am told you can understand the language of the Naga...”

Hernan trailed off at the abrupt entrance of an sweating, unkempt buffoon. Who was this? Some stinking Reachman. Another vengeful textile merchant? No, maybe a member of the tanner’s guild, judging from the smell. Practically tore the beaded door from its... Whatever would constitute its hinges.

He narrowed his eyes pointedly at Muirin, but otherwise said nothing, and spoke to Maziri again.

“I’m sorry. If you are busy, perhaps I can return later.”

 

[Fennec]

The shaman turned an unimpressed stare upon her drunk associate, eyes narrowing in apparent disgust for his tardiness and his presentation, "Yew are layt, Mwee-reen. Kohm." It was a quick stab of a look, like a dueling partner taking the blatant opening for the kill stab before turning to a new adversary: Hernan.

An unpleasant smile not unlike a panther telling its cornered prey it was merely there for civil discussion rounded on the Captain-General, "Yew stey, Kaptan ... "

Ziri withdrew from where she stood, moving around towards the back through hanging baubles and cages and shrunken heads and bones and petrified beasties. Somewhere up in the rafters the shifting coils of a massive python passed through a beam of morning sun.

"Dis ... wat yew are wantin'," she took a seat at a small round table, "it kyan be dun for a pryce."

 

[Azmelqar]

Hernan glanced up at the movement and caught a glimpse of the python. His lips pressed together, expressing something between mild disturbance and blithe resignation. Yes. This is my life now. Surrounded by shrunken heads and giant snakes. Hernan realized that this was but a small fraction of what awaited him in Nagai.

He really did hate foreshadowing.

Maziri returned from whatever diabolical cranny she had visited and took a seat. Hernan pointedly remained standing, as he preferred to do when he knew sizable beasts were lurking. He cleared his throat, drew himself up appropriately, as befitted a man of his stature.

"And what would your price be?"

If she needed more heads and bones, that could be arranged. He'd just let Diego back out into the city, and fresh corpses would produce themselves in scarcely any time at all.

 

[Muirin]

Never the one to turn down threats veiled as hospitality, Muirin was quick to take a seat safely situated across from Maziri. The scoundrel didn't bother taking in his surroundings; The sea was blue, the sun was bright, and Ziri was strange. Such was the way of things. His attention was instead focused on the shaman's other customer, sizing him up to the best of a half-drunken mind's ability. The man reeked of nobility, from his clothing to his title. Captain-General Hernan Jose Cuervo, was it? And acting on behalf of the crown, no less!

Muirin actually snorted when the Lieutenant-Commander fellow asked Maziri for her price. If he were in a more beneficent mood, he might have actually seen it fit to warn Hernan what sort of deal he was bartering. Instead, the scoundrel merely met the noble's gaze and creased his face into a smile. "Oh, I doubt y'have enough gold t'sway 'er."

The shaman hardly dealt in coin, or at least she hadn't done so in Muirin's brokering. No, her price had sadly been more visceral than he'd realized, and his debt had continued to pull him towards deeper and deeper waters. Suddenly struck by a realization, the scoundrel began laughing aloud and shook his head bombastically. "Bleedin' hell, first had t'kill a levy'uhthan, now I'm taking th'piss with 'the Crown of Torleón'!"

Remarkably, Muirin managed a decent pronunciation of Hernan's benefactors, as though his grip of the Cortosi tongue was more apt than his heavily accented use of common itself.

 

[Fennec]

The python continued its silent route along the rafters, slowly beginning to descend through open air towards the awaiting shoulders of the Shaman at the table. Even in the dark the scales gleamed heady jungle colors and patterns. It was large enough to swallow a small child whole and strangle a fully grown man to an untimely death.

Maziri made a noise of consideration with a hint of doubt.

"It will tek de body of Nagai - unharmed an un-spoylt. De tongue of one man on yar shyip. One parfekt ruby. And..." silver eyes hooked on Muirin momentarily at the man's outburst - indeed, no money would be trading hands - before sliding back to the Captain. There came that sliver of doubt again, needling at his Cortosi bravado over a growing saccharine smile, "one of yar most cher-eeshed memories, Kaptan."

The python settled onto her shoulders with the weight of the Gods in attendance. One of its eyes flashed an angry toxic green at Hernan.

 

[Azmelqar]

Hernan wore a friendly smile, one which gradually evaporated in favor of a tight-lipped grimace as she concluded her macabre list. A ruby? Sure. He could dig that up. A captured Naga? There would be plenty where he was going. The tongue of a sailor and his most cherished memory? Laughable. Utterly laughable.

Which was a strange thing to say, considering he did not currently feel like laughing. He eyed the python warily, silently pleased it was now in plain sight. Now he didn't have to worry that it would fall on top of him from the ceiling. Hernan looked back at Maziri, and smiled apologetically.

"You are used to dealing with the desperate and confused," Hernan said, indicating Muirin with a tilt of his head. "Two Naga and two rubies. The tongues and memories will stay where they are."

 

[Muirin]

Muirin practically snarled as Hernan nodded in his direction, and the ever so faint scent of ozone filtered liberally off of his jacket's metal toggles. With the stinging fragrance gradually filling the room, the scoundrel couldn't help but cock his head at the nobleman's sorry excuse for bartering.

"Look, mate, Oi know it ain't 'xactly written out in Cortosi, but--" He jabbed a thumb towards a bouquet of three shrunken heads hanging from the rafters, knotted together by the gnarled hair clinging to their skulls. "There's'a clever li'l sign t'say 'No bargaining'." With his clever dash of a witticism made at Hernan's expense, the scoundrel gave a broad shrug to Maziri. Even if she held the thread of his life by a fine serpentine leash, they may just be able to bond over mutual distaste.

 

[Fennec]

For once, Muirin had a point. Ziri's smile drew a level of poison comparable only to that of the beauteous Night Lark Flower whose petals glimmered like diamonds in the moonlight and pollen and nectar killed fully-grown men in the most hideous of ways. With luck, the Night Lark only grew in one known location and bloomed only once every ten years.

The woman made a noise caught somewhere between a low growl and a thoughtful murmur.

"Y'ave de pryce," she said, pointedly, unsmilingly, "it does nat change for dem dat kyannat pay. Yew wan' me spek Nagai, yew pay de pryce."