Action: The Hakseer (NSFW)

Sar'geth narrowed his eyes at Selthir. The gaze was barely noticeable and was quickly retracted and replaced with a smile that subtly conveyed both Sar'geth's bitterness at this man's confirmation that he had carefully hidden knowledge - or way of giving off the impression that he had that knowledge - and his approval for his sense of humour and keen intelligence. He fixed the knight with a quizzical gaze and uttered: "So where do your talents lie? In swordplay, presumably, or are you more accustomed to other fighting styles?"

He then turned to Tullaris and smiled curtly before remarking in friendly jest, "My, you're spot on. My antics really do draw attention by putting this cultured crew to shame, especially our ever so civilised lord." And then he said more quietly and mysteriously, "Who said I made actions to speak for themselves and not for others?" His eyes lit up at the memory of what he had really gained out of Arkeith's mutilation and he ruminated on a different pair of ocular organs that was concealed in his pocket.

 

Sar'geth felt a jolt of shock as Selthir questioned his nature. He cursed himself for not predicting this questioning in front of colleagues - evidently, if he was a spy, he intended to leave the killing of Sar'geth to a crew member other than himself - but did not panic too much; Tullaris didn't seem the type to hate the users of the arcane, though he bore loyalty to Malekith. Leaving his internal surprise concealed, the wizard responded quickly to Selthir in an apologetic tone: "Ah, my talents are less...valued...than yours, I'm afraid. I am not very proficient overall in combat, true, but my abilities with the lakelui are respectable. I am a scholar of sorts - being highborn, I too had access to a decent education - so I bear an understanding of our destinations that our lord might not have had the patience to learn about."

A small smile formed on the druchii's lips at the thought of Viseryn being commanded to understand the specifics of a typical Norse war host, or to learn the history of Brettonia and its relevance to the present. He continued, "My reason for my non-combative appearance, as you put it, is that I am wearing the family robes over my armour. It's been traditional for the leader of house Analzin to do so, and they have been passed down from generation to generation after being crafted by some of the finest tinkers in Naggarond."


Suddenly realising that he was coming close to saying too much - though, thankfully, he hadn't revealed anything of significance yet - Sar'geth changed the subject, "But enough about my past. I am an alchemist of reasonable skill, though I fear my ability to concoct potions has been somewhat overlooked by our young lord in his interest for the other potion-maker on board. Not that she is any more talented than me in that respectable field, of course," he added contemptuously. It galled him slightly to see his abilities ignored - though in all fairness towards Viseryn there had been little opportunity to display them anyway - in favour of the young dread lord's sexual needs.

Sar'geth was pleased, though, that Targarys' relationship with Rythia did not seem to go beyond animalistic desires; the idea that she might be latching her manipulative claws into the dread lord struck terror into the vauvalka's heart. A mad dog is one thing, but if that dog was on a leash, it would have direction, and on the leash of a power-mad schemer, he could be far more dangerous to me.

 

*Tullaris Smiling at Selthir's jest*

"Then perhaps we may make it a duet, our lord will need someone to sing his praises for the little folk when we get back so they at least think he isn't half a deck sort of card"

*Turning back to Sar'geth*

"You see the problem is when I have to maker a bigger mess to distract people for the smaller ones, a large sword does not stop people asking questions forever even if the person holding it does know how to use it..."

*Standing back a way observing the holes in the story unfolding in front of him he bit his tongue, loose lips sink ships and truth be told, he rather not be on the ship when it did.

Addressing Selthir in attempt to keep things light hearted and none to serious.*

"I find on the most part I must agree with you, women should not have to bear arms outside of the serious business of war, mind you never let a Witch Elf hear me say that.
Their teeth are sharper than the blades they wield and they tend to find the more fleshy bits as well."

*Giving a knowing look to them both before returning his gaze back to the mage*

"Just noticed as well your robes seem to stained somewhat..."

*Looking at the patches in the dark material where the blood had began to dry and make the cloth stiff changing the colour in patches*

"Best change those before our lord joins us, no need him to know your cutting out folks eyes yet, it will give him ideas"

*Finishing almost as if in jest*

 

The Bloodwrack was wrapped in darkness; night had fallen an hour before and, fortuitously, with it had come clouds promising rain later and which blocked out the combined light of Mannslieb and Morrslieb. Viseryn had been stood in the prow since the veil had been drawn, his retainers stood behind him.

"Lanterns out!" The call came from above, and immediately the corsairs reacted, dousing the lanterns. Finally, Viseryn turned to look at the elves arrayed before him, his face commanding and completely unlike the elf his retainers had come to know.

"The time has come. Master Kourla informs me that there's a coastal village not far from where we are; indeed, if the lanterns are doused, we are imminently close.
"We shall cross in four boats; Sinthair shall be with me and Kourla, Tenril and Rythia shall be in one, Selthir and Sar'geth in another, then Tullaris and Karochi in the last. Now, this settlement has grown overconfident - we have left them be for far too long, and they don't even have walls! We shall go in quietly, disable the guards, and then we will reap what we will in terms of slaves!
"To the boats!"

— — —​

It was with barely a sound that the four longboats slid onto the shore, beaching themselves as the corsairs slid narrow, sharp oars into the icy water. A frigid wind blew in, and then the corsairs were sliding into the water, feet splashing no louder than the sound of the waves.

— — —​

OK, so, here we are! The first raid! Perhaps you'll start with what you think of this apparently new Viseryn? What do you think of his plan? Each of you get one 'free' kill - the Norscans don't know we're there, so they can't possibly defend themselves! After that, it'll get a bit more interesting

 

The Bloodwrack was wrapped in darkness; night had fallen an hour before and, fortuitously, with it had come clouds promising rain later and which blocked out the combined light of Mannslieb and Morrslieb. Viseryn had been stood in the prow since the veil had been drawn, his retainers stood behind him.

"Lanterns out!" The call came from above, and immediately the corsairs reacted, dousing the lanterns. Finally, Viseryn turned to look at the elves arrayed before him, his face commanding and completely unlike the elf his retainers had come to know.

"The time has come. Master Kourla informs me that there's a coastal village not far from where we are; indeed, if the lanterns are doused, we are imminently close.
"We shall cross in four boats; Sinthair shall be with me and Kourla, Tenril and Rythia shall be in one, Selthir and Sar'geth in another, then Tullaris and Karochi in the last. Now, this settlement has grown overconfident - we have left them be for far too long, and they don't even have walls! We shall go in quietly, disable the guards, and then we will reap what we will in terms of slaves!
"To the boats!"

— — —​

It was with barely a sound that the four longboats slid onto the shore, beaching themselves as the corsairs slid narrow, sharp oars into the icy water. A frigid wind blew in, and then the corsairs were sliding into the water, feet splashing no louder than the sound of the waves.

— — —​

OK, so, here we are! The first raid! Perhaps you'll start with what you think of this apparently new Viseryn? What do you think of his plan? Each of you get one 'free' kill - the Norscans don't know we're there, so they can't possibly defend themselves! After that, it'll get a bit more interesting

 

"Ah," Sar'geth had exclaimed in response to Tullaris' comment about his robes. "I'll amend that now." Stepping briskly towards and then into his chambers, the wizard had sighed. Several matters needed to be attended to, and the day was drawing to a close.

First thing's first , thought the vauvaulka, organising his mind rapidly. He removed one of the brass eyes of Khaine - by the Witch King, he was looking forward to using those - from its vial in his robes and put it in a jar in a drawer in his cabin. He duly locked the drawer, having unlocked it only to store a golden, organic orb in it in the first place. He kept the other eye in the original vial on his person, for safekeeping. One could never know whether a storage location was wholly safe or not. His cabin was constantly under threat from potential inspections by Viseryn, fires on the ship and storms afflicting it. Thus, Sar'geth made sure to keep copies of his research and reagents upon his person at all times (hence the heavy tome also stored inside his robes).

Sar'geth then turned his attention to the matter of his new helmet. There was no hole in the back of it for his third eye - somewhat unsatisfactory - so he had decided to make one by force when the opportunity arose. That time was now, so he laid the piece of armour out on the table and retrieved a tube of acidic potion from his robes, before applying a drop of it to the helmet and pocketig it again. A small hole formed through the back of the metal where his third eye would be. Grinning in satisfaction at his own handiwork; Sar'geth placed the modified helm (which had been stored in his chambers since he bought it) on his head, before drawing his robes over it. He repeated the process of hole-boring on his dragonscale cloak, this time simply using the blade of the lakelui to create the hole required. After drawing that up around him to obscure the bloodstains on his robes, Sar'geth walked out (properly armoured) onto deck only to find a cold Viseryn commencing a raid.

Sar'geth snorted with humour at Selthir's comment. "A knight without a mount and a noble without a realm. What a fine pair we make," he japed. With a touch more seriousness, he muttered in an undertone, "At least our young lord has finally gained - er - composure...I fear the battle would go ill if he lost it." Sar'geth smirjed maniacally, indicating that Viseryn's new-found sanity could well utterly snap in the rush of battle. Then they might all be doomed.

Despondent dread clouded the vauvaulka's eyes as he stepped into the longboat, but it was not the cowardice of the new recruit. It was the fear of a veteran strategist who'd fought and lost. Badly. That was quickly whisked from sight, however, as a psychotic glare replaced it. "I'll give you a challenge, sir ," Sar-geth said with slight comradely mockery, "There's bound to be a chief sorcerer of some kind amongst the Norscans assembled here. Whoever finds and kills this person amongst the both of us gets one piece of the other's plunder from this raid. The victor chooses this piece, of course." Sar'geth had, of course, hatched a scheme here. Should Selthir win the contest, he'd probably go for the most valuable gem Sar'geth possessed; not anything arcane, in all likelihood. Should Sar'geth win, he'd graciously relieve the knight of any one of the sorcerer's possessions beyond his comprehension. Sar'geth didn't stand to lose too much here, although he was in need of valuable jewels to earn him the gold he might well need in later times, and the prospect of acquiring magical items that could aid him in his research and rituals was extremely tempting, so there was still plenty to work for. Sar'geth thought, You can fight with a blade, aye...but let's see how good you are at strategic elimination, knight...

 

Ulfar sat on his carven wooden seat, akin to a throne, at the end of the long hall where his tribe’s leaders celebrated that night; indeed, bar Ulfar’s wives and daughters, the only women there were the serving thralls, heads bowed and necks chained, and the men groped and grabbed as they would. The Bjornlings of his tribe were readying themselves to leave on the tides of the next morning; the spring had arrived, and with it the bloodlust of the reavers had thawed.
His captains had tried to tell him to have his longships patrolling during the night, but they had been silenced; he wanted his ships ready to sail in the morning, and their crews rested, or as rested as they could be. There would be drinking this night, a lot of drinking, and many sore heads in the morning, he was sure.
None of the men in the smoke-filled hall was shy of seven feet tall, and each was bound in immense muscle. Shaggy hair and beards framed powerful jaws and faces, and few of them were unscarred. “To war!” the powerful warrior called, raising a horn of strong spiced head and then pouring it down his throat. His voice could be heard on the beach, and the few guards there yelled in response.

———​

The beach itself was lightly defended; apart from the three guards who had been killed by Tullaris, Karochi and Selthir, there were only two more, guarding the very far ends of the beach, visible by their torches, and they seemed to be stationary, although surely no-one could say how long they would remain there. A watchtower stood proud and reasonably squat at the other side of the village, lit by a half-dozen torches as the guards there looked out over to the north and east, and the possibility of other Norscan raiders coming through the passes.

The elven raiders slunk up the beach, and the layout of the village became clear; easily three score wooden buildings surrounded the large long hall, which seemed to be an immense longship turned upside down and built around. A few torches could be seen bobbing around as guard moved through the haphazard streets, but there could easily be a host hidden around an unexpected corner and Viserys’ raiders would never know.

———​

Viserys’ eyes glittered with the light of the distant fires, a purple so dark as to be almost black, and he raised a gloved fist before making a series of gestures, which all the raiders knew - Forward. Carefully. Check corners. BE SILENT. He repeated the last gesture twice, and then rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, the sound seeming to resound in the vast emptiness of the beach.

Each boat had only a single guard left with it, and the rest of the druchii force crept forwards into the streets of Ulfar the Bjornling’s village, darkened weapons in hand, ready and deadly.

 

Sar'geth chuckled nervously yet quietly in response to Selthir, "Well then, challenge accepted. I...er...pity any magus you were sent after. They would not be prepared at all for what was coming for them." A quick scare...might...do the trick if this man is onto me. If he is not, well, I've just given him a harmless compliment. Unless, of course, he was trying to determine my nature in the first place... The wizard gulped in fear. I can't outplay Malekith, even when it is only his envoy sent after me and I am abroad... Composing himself, the wizard continued his train of thought, I mustn't think like that. There is still a chance of victory here, and Malekith may not be after my head. The knight could be some kind of sick motivation for me to hurry up with my research... Sar'geth's mouth twisted bitterly, inconceivably, at this thought, before returning to normal as he followed Selthir onto the shore.

The wizard became yet more quiet at Viseryn's command, but in the deathly silence he heard the shuffling of feet. Heavy breathing could also be detected, and heat and light seemed to be radiating from a nearby torch. The source of these sensations was to his left, around a corner - the corner that Sar'geth was nearest to. As the footsteps continued and a faint glow cast on a nearby wall intensified - the cause of this oblivious to the druchii hidden around the corner - it became apparent that the walker was probably a little tipsy at least from their uneven treads, hence their failure to detect a presence nearby.

Sar'geth raised his right hand silently to the other druchii, gesturing to them that he would neutralise the threat, whilst his left hand tightened on a vial inside his robe. He waited for the walker to draw closer for some time, before springing in front of his path at the last probable moment in which he could remain concealed. The magus then proceeded to throw a tube of acidic potion into his victim's face. It shattered quickly and rapidly ate through the Norscan's face and chest before he had time to react. A barely audible gurgle could be heard as the man's pain-wracked death wail was dampened in volume by the potent acid burning his throat and lungs. The man - of average Norscan build and stature - started to fall, but Sar'geth thrust his lakelui out and halted his body's descent with it, before lowering it gently to the ground and pulling out his blade from under it. Although the killing had not been completely silent, the vauvaulka was rather proud of it because, upon inspection, one would find that the deceased man wore a horn that proved him to be a patrolling lookout of the village. The humunguous (albeit half-empty) hip flask that smelled strongly of spirits at the corpse's waist explained the watchman's slight drunkenness.

Apprehensively, Sar'geth waited to see how his fellow druchii would react to the kill, and fervently hoped that no other beings had detected it.

 

Sar'geth's kill was unobserved, unheard; a number of the druchii following him looked distasteful at such a method of killing, but they didn't voice any objections - they were all experienced raiders, and knew this wasn't the time to start an internecine argument. A dulled blade whispered from a sheath, and a whispered voice, cold and sibilant, urged the raiders on, "Now, onwards," but Karochi's actions stopped them dead, and they pressed themselves back into the shadows of the crude houses.

Inside, the hovel was empty of people, but cluttered with a number of Norscan accoutrements; bone bowls and horn flagons, hide clothes and other, bizarre things. The cloak was overlarge and looser on the elf than it had been on the human, and he clearly lacked the musculature that the dead man had boasted, but in the dark and from a distance he could possibly pass for one of them. The voice came again, one of the raiders, "Now! Go, go!"

 

"Eyes fixed on the nearest group of barbarians, the nearest obviously a guard he strode confidently into the light at his lords urging.
The Guard spotting him has raised a crude axe up high with the intent of laying him low and that overconfidence along with the lack of any skill or speed was his undoing as Tullaris armoved his arm with almost distainful ease as he raised his blade into the unright position.

The Barbarian howling in pain he elected to grab him by the throat, the sharp talons of his gauntlet sinking into his flesh as if a knife through butter.
Giving his arm a sharp tug he tore his windpipe from his throat covering his armour in a shower of gore, the oversized ape dropping to the ground gurgling as his life blood flowed out into the sands, himself bathed in both blood and firelight standing before the stunned faces of his foes.
Smiling the a grim smile of satisfaction as he had a thousand times before, blade hefted against his shoulder redeady to strike he once again started forwards, a god of blood and slaughter here to sowe the seeds of fear and that is exactly what he wanted.
A terrified foe afterall surendered all the easier and a cowed for would think twice before acting against those who would be their future masters."

 

"Advancing on the foes by the fire he lashed out with a smoothness born out of decades of practice at his bloody trade, the blade descending in an effortless arc, not close enough to disembowel but certainly close enough to slice through their throats with the tip of his blade.
After all he had already made a point of his strength and bloody handedness, now a display of his skill was in order.

He could just make out the the others of his group off in the distance making their way from hovel to hovel, his vision limited by the flare of the flames.
Let them skulk all they wanted, this was a true warriors task and the first time he had been able to commit himself against a foe not of their own race since this voyage had begun.
Either way at the very least he would prove a distraction so that the others may move into place freely and surround their soon to be victims, that is of course if they had any sense to take advantage of the situation he thought with some slight trepidation.
After all this is just an outlying guard post and not the main camp but at the very least this should then be resolved in short order"

 

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