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Abductions and Lies; 1st RRDC, 3rd RRD
Topic Started: Oct 3 2008, 03:56 PM (3,426 Views)
SummerRayn
A.k.a. "Sol"
Under normal circumstances, Geraldine was a very clever woman. Math, logic, critical thinking, reasoning of both the detuctive and inductive kind, all came very easy to her. As a kid, she ate up whodunits like jelly beans; if her wits had been all in attendance, she would have loved the one unfolding before her. Unfortunately, these were not the normal circumstances under which Gerrie was clever. Right now, tobacco came first; mysteries and explanations came second. Geraldine’s keen ears and eyes took in the surreal, chaotic scene, and, having nothing else to do with the information they had gathered, shoved it rather helplessly into her mind’s equivalent of a junk drawer.

Despite the grisly results of her snap at the sailor’s leg, Geraldine was distinctly dissatisfied with the outcome of her attempt. Firstly, because she had not actually met her mark—even though success in such a way would almost certainly have given her a broken tooth or two on the man’s armored thigh—and secondly, because while she had succeeded in stirring up an enormous ruckus, she had not yet succeeded in actually procuring herself a cigar. In fact, she was still on the ground, tied up, a position from which she would have found it difficult to smoke a cigar if she’d found one.

Gerrie paid little to no attention when the young woman started babbling and wailing, or when the bechained man rushed the captain, or when the noises from abovedeck got louder and louder. Her foggy, nicotine-starved brain was absorbed in the problems of “still no cigar” and “still on the ground.” She tried to solve the second problem in the most readily apparent way she could find: just tearing through the ropes. This plan, while admirable in theory, was a little difficult to execute.

Geraldine strained against her bindings until her face was red, trying to bust them off her wrists and ankles circus-strongman style. The fishing line cut into her wrists, and blood beaded on the line of broken skin. Geraldine winced, bellowed a single impressive oath, and then sat perfectly still, glaring intensely at a bit of floor and trying to think her way out of the ropes while insanity raged around her.
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Gordreg
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Eleanor's face was stoic as she listened to the Captain's reply, barely recoiling despite the feelings of terrible fear still gnawing deep within her belly. If he had demonstrated anything, he had demonstated how much power over their group these kidnappers had - and right now that power seemed absolute. Only their minds were free, and she wouldn't give these men the satifaction by showing how scared she was right now. She swallowed quickly, her mouth still bitter with the aftertaste of that gag, but kept her eyes upon the Captain's face - or the little she could actually see of it beneath that wide brim, and continued to listen.

Up until the moment the woman next to her attacked, at any rate. The captain's pronouncement came to a complete halt as the Nasrean bellowed and lunged. Eleanor's head turned swiftly toward this new development in time to see his pot of stew hitting the man full in the face. The screech that rose from his fresh-scalded lips was horriffic, and the sound caused Eleanor to wince as much as the flying droplets of scalding stew scattering nearby. She drew a sudden deep breath as a droplet of something uncomfortably hot landed against her thigh, hissing through clenched teeth as she tried to keep herself from bursting out with a yelp of her own, and closed her eyes for a moment for fear of being blinded by flying stew.

It was then she heard the 'clunk' of wood against something living, followed immediately by another heavy sound from lower down. Opening her eyes again, Eleanor could see the Nasrean woman lying on the floor, still as restrained by her bindings as when she'd been seated. Eleanor gently sighed, and her head shook very slightly in disbelief. Just what had the woman been thinking of? Lashing out at their captors was understandable (if foolhardy)... but to lash out over her addiction? "By the moons..." Eleanor whispered to herself, and turned back to watching the unfolding drama.

Just what was happening now, anyway? The strange sounds from above deck could still be heard in the distance, though if the men here knew of if and were unconcerned or if they were simply oblivious, Eleanor couldn't begin to tell. And what of the argument between Captain and guard? The guard had started to say something, before being shut up quite vehemently by the Captain. What had he been about to say? 'You're not my...' what? Cousin? Chief? Commander? 'Captain?'

Perhaps this was not one group, but two, Eleanor wondered? She pursed her lips, trying her best to muse on the situation. Half of the men had been young, fit, and surprisingly graceful in their movements... whilst the other half had been quite a varied assortment with all sort of mish-mashing physiques and appearences. Was there a division here, a seperation of two groups working uneasily together toward some common goal? Just what was going on here, and could it be exploited somehow to earn their freedom?

And why was that woman at the other end making such a bloody racket? Her head turned further, Elealor craning her neck to try and see along the row to the other end that she just couldn't make out accurately. All she could see was a pirate standing over her, and the very edges of the other woman's hair. Were they threatening her again... or worse? Her memory briefly bought back the earlier mention of rape, and a moment of sudden panic made Eleanor bite her lip hard enough to regret it. But... no, thank the moons. She could hear the other woman's panicked rantings now they'd grown louder, and though they did seem to be the results of an undignified attack of panic, the Noblewoman didn't seem in any greater trouble then the rest of their number...

Eleanor gave a small, nervous laugh. To think, that now she was worried about a Valuan 'dignity' she'd spent much of her life trying to escape from?

And then the sound of another commotion errupted, a man from near the middle bursting free from his restraints and grabbing hold of one of their guards. Eleanor's eyes widened with surprise; how had he managed to free himself? Not that she'd complain, of course - the stranger was demanding their freedom and that suited Eleanor just fine. The only trouble was, he didn't seem likely to get it... Eleanor winced as she saw guns from all around them lower toward the man standing near a break in the hull. She turned her head sideways, quickly glancing along the rest of the line.

On the other side of the Nasrean Woman's fallen chair she could now see a young man clearly, quite quiet and reletively calm considering the madness all about them. She gave him a quick smile, and looked further along past the escapist's empty seat to a strange man who seemed to be muttering to himself.

Her eyes turned back to the escapee, looking the man quickly up and down, and noting that one of his arms appeared to be a prosthetic. He appeared to be Valuan, though considering all the weaponry pointed toward him Eleanor wondered if she'd get a chance to confirm that fact. She sighed, and turned to look back toward the young man with the messy black hair.

"Think the Captain actually wants that guard dead?" She whispered, though in a voice that was deliberately just loud enough to be heard.
Edited by Gordreg, Oct 22 2008, 01:17 PM.
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Ranger
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Previously Nex Terren
This is a DM post reminder that we're no longer following the schedule as the two rounds have ended, but that the extra update from Sargoth was nice. :P
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Ranger
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Previously Nex Terren
The captain eyed the man down, his right hand quivering. Would this man back down? Did the crew hand have a chance? Blast it, this whole ordeal had gone too far before the kidnappings ever took place. And now all they had to do was wait. wait and deal with this. This. Everything was being lost, everything out of control... Why was this taking so long?!

"Think the Captain actually wants that guard dead?"

"Shut up!" The captain yelled, shaking. "Just shut the bloody--!"

Thundering down the steps made the man spin about, eyes focusing on a limp figure. It rested limply on the bottom step. No sign of crimson stained his body, however the stillness of his form told the tale well enough. A cry sounded from the top of the stairway, and down lept what was perhaps the least expected; the image of a Valuan soldier, complete with polished, shining armor. Storming down the steps the armored figure pounced upon the Captain, foot on chest, sword to neck. The other pirate-crew hands let of shouts of fear, but they were given no chance to react. With imperial swiftness armored figures poured into the room, outnumbering and unarming every opponent they faced. Swiftly, decisively, in a victory impossible to best by the most talented of men. Even swords were pointed at Mikeil, ignorant if he was a threat or not; soldiers unwilling to take any chances. One moment, the pirate captain was yelling at Eleanor, the next stillness claimed all movements; a silence of all through threat of sword point.

"Take them alive!"

The shout came from above, touched with a golden tones of command and regality.

And then down the stairs strode the very embodiment of kind grace and complete control. The man's slender lines filled out the gold trimmed, pristine white suit handsomely, something cut of high Valuan fashion. His features were pleasant yet authoritative --currently claiming a look of stern efficacy--and were scant a year past thirty. That age seemed too young for the command that he carried with him, too old for the fresh look in his eyes.

"Sir! Slaves!" A soldier cried, faceless for his armor helm.

The noble born adjusted white-gloved frip on the cane he carried--an item tipped in a large, faceted yellow moonstone--and he strode forward to examine the subjects. At first, his eyes squinted to see through the dim light, but then they widened in shock.

"What are you waiting for? Cut them loose!" He motioned sharply at two of the guards. "And take those criminals up top and lock them away! No, not him," He reprimanded, regarding Mikeil, "He's a prisoner? Can't you see the chains?"

He shook his head and took a step forward, to examine the group. The young Eleanor bound. The sight of the girl made the man's face darken, and he bent to one knee, as if to examine her. To look her in the eyes. To see if she was already. His gaze couldn't help but drift onwards. Geraldine, strangely clothed like a schizophrenic hooker clown, and with face against the floor. He moved on, ready to help her to her feet, to ask if she needed anything. Again his gaze moved on; his heart refused to ignore anyone there.

"You'll have to forgive my soldiers; they are good, every last one of them, but at times--"

He spotted Colaya. The mid-oceaner with a youth's spirit about him. Drawing an ivory-handled switch blade from pocket, he advanced towards the sailor. Soldiers were already tending to the first three (Mikeil, the first), and he told himself that he'd best leave cutting of ropes to them. After all, what knowledge of such things did he have? He was more likely to harm than help. Henry, was the next he spotted, a man that frightened the noble-born for the fiery, hateful tale that his eyes told.

And then, something like nothing else before came over his face when he spotted Melissa. The bloodied sight of what he knew on the instant to be a noble woman gave his face a look between horror and fear. Dropping cane in haste, he rushed over. Checked the woman, he found her unresponsive. The knife blade was extended and flashing about the bindings, leaving rope and fishing line in a pile of scraps.

"She's wounded badly--! She's not moving--! Get the doctor! Curse the moons, get the doctor!"






Continue onwards with a single round. Expect brief updates. Like before, my updates (unless otherwise stated) will not interrupt the course of the RP, so if I post on your day, it is still your day to post.

Necromancer Sargoth 1/3 Saturday, 10-24-08
Nex Terren 1/3 Sunday, 10-25-08
PG 17 1/3 Monday, 10-26-08
Colaya 0/3 Tuesday, 10-27-08
Solstice 0/3 Wednesday, 10-28-08
Gordreg 0/3 Thursday, 10-29-08
Edited by Ranger, Oct 24 2008, 08:15 PM.
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Necromancer Sargoth
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Affably Evil
Melissa’s mind drifted off in sweet unconsciousness, visiting a realm far from the harsh realities of captivity, a realm not altogether more comforting. She was in the Great Hall of Vander Rock, but the whole building seemed to be in ruins. Sunshine poured through gaping holes in the masonry, the great library tower had fallen through the roof and sealed the entrance, and great trees and vines had encroached on the artifice. Saplings pushed up through cracks in the marble floor, which was coated in a layer of soot. Life from decay. She smelled lilac on the air.

She walked forward, looking around in silence. The ruin filled her with a sense of sublimity. Tattered tapestries and broken statues, the only legacy of House Vander, save the giant skeleton of this hall. She approached the dais and the throne and was shocked to find an old woman sitting there. She had to be well in her nineties, so frail. Her skin sagged on her frame, green eyes sunken in their sockets, long white hair wispy in the wind. Her tiny body, wrapped in tattered blue robes, barely filled the obsidian chair.

Melissa stopped before the dais, afraid to speak. She almost decided to move on when the ancient opened her mouth and a booming laugh poured forth. So unnatural was the sound, a shiver went down Melissa’s spine. She covered her ears as flocks of birds burst from their perches on the shattered pillars and buttresses, flying to escape the wretched noise. Finally she stopped and a deathly silence reclaimed dominion.

“Melissa Vander, I have been waiting for you,” the old woman spoke, voice now barely more than a whisper. “I have a message.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Melissa tried to ask, but her voice came out as little more than a squeak.

The old woman stood up off the throne and began to walk down the steps of the dais to meet Melissa. With each step she took, her features morphed and changed. She became younger with every footfall. By the time the crone stood before Melissa, she was a young woman again. Melissa tried to scream, but she could not.
The ancient crone was her, Melissa Vander. Her mirror image smiled at her and spoke.

“You have to wake up.”

Her eyes snapped open. She was drenched in sweat and was lying on the foul smelling floor of that horrible ship again. Something had changed though. Fighting, there was fighting. Shouting too. A man in white came towards her, and she tried to speak to him, but Moons she could not. What had happened to her voice?

Melissa felt the line binding her hands and feet give way, and for the first time in hours was able to spread her limbs. She wanted to, but couldn’t. Instead they fell limply at her side. Why couldn’t she move? Why couldn’t she speak? What had happened? She felt light, dizzy, and very cold. She felt like she was lying in a puddle; she tried to turn her head to see, but failed even at that.

Instead her head lolled back, and Melissa stared dimly ahead at the man who had come to save them. He had a kind face, a noble face, so unlike the gnarled countenance of the captain. He called for a doctor and Melissa tried to assure him she did not need one, instead she garbled something altogether incomprehensible. This was the first moment that Melissa realized she was in trouble. A frozen dagger of fear sank deep into her heart. What had happened? She had been fine, she had just fainted! It had been an act… hadn’t it? Oh…. that puddle. Oh no.

She might need that doctor after all.
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Ranger
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Previously Nex Terren
Dungeon Master:

Led by an iron-clad soldier came a man dressed in surgeon's whites. He was old enough to have lost most of his hair—now but a wiry band of red around ears—but neither wrinkles nor grayness of hair had any place on his face.

“Hurry!” The Valuan noble cried,

“Yes, mi'lord! Coming! I have some medicine right here--”

“Blast it doctor, she needs magic!

The doctor looked as if he smelled something bad for a moment—then looked ready to argue the point of magic over medicine. Finally, he closed his eyes, extending a hand towards the noble lady.

“Moons! Lend me your power!”

Green magic danced around the room, lighting it up with the soft glow of Sacri. Melissa's wounds glowed briefly with that green light, and then the room returned to how it had been. The doctor went to one knee, studying the form. Two fingers went to her neck.

“That wasn't much, that spell, but it's the best I know.” The doctor finished a silent count, and removed his hand from her neck. “She's well alive. I'll be able to cast it again in a moment, but until then, let's see to those wounds... if I could have her? Gently now!”

“Of course,” The noble-born said, brow furrowed.

He gingerly turned the woman over to the doctor. He stood, unaware of the blood stains on his once perfectly white coat and pants.

“If only the Crown would lend me more men things like this--”

“I know, mi'lord.” The Doctor said, not looking up form his patient.

“She's a noble, you know--”

“I know, mi'lord.”

“Will she be alright?”

“I don't know, mi'lord.”

Frowning, he forced himself to turn away.




Nex Terren:

Henry let out a hushed gasp as the soldiers stormed into the belly of the ship. Never once had he had the pleasure of watching the empire's warriors fight in battle, so the experience was entirely a new one. The soldiers didn't fail at making an outstanding first-impression. With a blitzkrieg assault, not a single drop of blood was spilled, and yet the Valuans had won. As little as Henry knew, he had not thought such a grand victory impossible, but clearly he was mistaken.

And in came the man clothed in white that made Henry honestly humbled to watch. Ah! The way he walked! The way he carried himself, marched about, spoke! If Henry could become someone, well, that would be what he would wish to become. Somebody with that sort of confidence, command... But Henry wasn't, was he? He wasn't anything like that.

Henry adjusted, feeling his bindings rub against his wrists. He wished someone would hurry up and free him. Although... well, if even one could cut those, Henry wouldn't be free. No, he never stood a chance of that. He was... well, Henry. A man consumed with his pretend battles, and now, even more pathetically consumed with only the want of that. Henry doubted that the noble ever worried about phantom battles about his head, or how he might get them back. Henry doubted that he ever had such a care in the world...

He blinked as he watched the white-clothed man recoil when their eyes met. Licking his lips, Henry removed the glare from his expression as best he could. He wasn't mad at this Valuan, not really, so he'd best not look like it.

"She's wounded badly--! She's not moving--! Get the doctor! Curse the moons, get the doctor!"

Henry's stomach dropped out. Struggling against the ropes that held him in place, he attempted to get as best a look at the woman as he could. If only he knew healing magic! If only he didn't have this purple magic cast on him. If only he wasn't so useless... She couldn't die! Henry had to do something! Something! Anything! He pulled against the ropes, fighting his way towards her. Saving her was what he had to do, it wasn't an option. She couldn't die while he just sat there...

He watched in silence as the doctor did all the work, and that made Henry frown despite himself.

“Here we go. Hold still...” A soldier said with a distinctive accent, hearty and rolling. He advanced upon Henry with a knife in hand.

At first Henry jumped in fear—the images of his captors still too fresh in his mind—but then he stilled himself. The cold iron slid against his skin, sawing down on the rope. Not nearly as sharp as it might have been, the bonds were eventually cut, and Henry freed. The soldier, friendly enough, helped Henry to his feet, and asked him if he was alright.

“I'm fine,” Henry nodded, rubbing his left wrists with his hands, as if to make sure they were, indeed, free. “But is she going to be?”

His gaze was locked on Melissa.

“The woman? Ah, yeah, I'd think as much. Don't worry about her; Dr. Marrison is a good man. Yes, a good man at that.”

The soldier patted Henry on the back before moving on to the other captives.

“Hold on, miss...” He prayed.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he hunted for ships. And wished that he wasn't.




I'm extending this round a bit. Sargoth has received the ability to control Dr. Marrison for his next post, healing Melissa as he thinks appropriate.

Nex Terren 1/3 Sunday, 10-25-08
PG 17 1/3 Monday, 10-26-08
Colaya 0/3 Tuesday, 10-27-08
Solstice 0/3 Wednesday, 10-28-08
Gordreg 0/3 Thursday, 10-29-08
Necromancer Sargoth 1/3 Friday, 10-30-08
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PG 17
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Uber Monk
Mikeil stood, adjusting his plans as he heard the captain give no concern for the guard’s life. Fine. Perhaps his friends would be a bit more cooperative.

“So you don’t care, hmm? What about you?” Mikeil said, pointing his head at a man on his left. “Or you?” Pointing similarly to a man beside the captain.

The guards began to mutter among themselves, until the captain began to take order. Before he could, however, Mikeil heard something thump near the entrance to their room. Before any one could do much of anything, several armour clad soldiers burst into the room, disabling and disarming the pirates. Just as quickly, they pointed their swords in Mikeil’s direction.

“Take them alive!” A shout was heard from above, carrying the tones of command. A well dressed man walked through the entrance, the commander Mikeil guessed.
“Sir! Slaves!” One of the soldiers said, sword still pointed at Mikeil.
Mikeil thought this was good time to speak, and did so.

“All right, I don’t know who the hell you are or why you are here, but it looks like you are going to let us go. Here, you can have my friend.” Mikeil said, releasing the guard and shoving him in the direction of the soldiers.

The commander spoke up again, saying,
"What are you waiting for? Cut them loose!" He motioned sharply at two of the guards. "And take those criminals up top and lock them away! No, not him," He reprimanded, regarding Mikeil, "He's a prisoner? Can't you see the chains?"

“Well that’s nice of you.” Mikeil said sarcastically. He had never liked the upper portion of the Valuan nobility, which he realized were commanding these soldiers. Too consumed with themselves and not on restoring Valua. Well, Enrique was different…but some of the others…

No matter, they were cutting him loose. Mikeil stretched out his arms and legs, trying to get the blood flowing. He moved his metal arm back forth, stretching it out and rolling the shoulder.

Mikeil took a few steps forward looking around at the new activity around the room. The commander was kneeling over the women that had previously been on Mikeil’s far right. He shouted for a doctor and one appeared a few second later. The doctor summoned some kind of magic, and the room was filled with green essence for a few seconds. The commander and the doctor continued their fevered discussion about the women, while Mikeil sought out a free soldier.

“Hey…um, have you had a chance to search the ship yet? My weapons were taken from me, and I would very much like them back. On second thought, let’s just go. I need to walk.”
Edited by PG 17, Oct 27 2008, 09:23 PM.
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Colaya
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<__<
The “bad feeling” in Colaya’s stomach began to grow now. The mechanical armed man and the crew continued to have their stare down. The sense of uneasiness that was in the room at the time weighed down on everyone that was there.

Colaya noticed a woman further down the row that was looking at him. She gave him a quick grin, which Colaya happily accepted, and returned the gesture by giving a large smile back. However, after her gaze drew away from Colaya, a serious look returned to his face and he proceeded to observe the situation close by.

Colaya just wished that he could free himself to help the man and others escape. He tried to free himself one last time by writhing in the chair, but the only thing that accomplished was putting a sweat on Colaya’s brow.

It didn’t matter if he escaped right there or not, because suddenly, Valuan soldiers began storming the small room. It quickly became evident just whose side they were on, as they swiftly seized hold of the crew flawlessly. In fact, by the time it started it seemed that everything had already ended.

The feeling in Colaya’s stomach started to dissipate now. “Oh… All that commotion on deck was actually here to help us…” Colaya thought to himself as he realized that all the worrying that he had been doing was for nothing.

Take them alive! A commanding voice cried from above.

Colaya looked back to the steps where the Valuan soldiers had originally appeared from. He watched as a man descended the stairs, who seemed to have a very strong aura of preciseness around him. He was obviously a noble, as indicated by his dress and mannerisms.

Sir! Slaves! A nearby soldier shouted to the commanding officer.

“SLAVES?” Colaya didn’t like the idea of being called a slave, but I held his tongue, as he figured it wasn’t wise to argue with his rescuers. ”They say not to bite the hand that feeds you…”

Colaya looked back up to notice that the elegant man was staring at him. Colaya noticed the man approaching him, and was preparing to express his gratitude to the man. However, before he got the chance, the nobleman already was walking off in a different direction from Colaya. ”…… Oh well… I’ll probably get another chance to thank him later…”

A guard, who actually was the one that had referred to them as slaves just a few moments ago, freed Colaya from his bonds. Colaya shot up out of the chair and started to stretch his body out. “Thank you…” Colaya said to the guard, and quickly forgave the guard in his mind.

The joy Colaya experienced from his freedom didn’t last long though, when he noticed the woman on the floor not too far away from him. Colaya went over to see that she was badly injured, and a doctor was already beginning to treat her.

“I hope she’ll be fine…” Colaya wished that everything with the girl was alright, not knowing that this was the same person he had hoped was okay earlier, after she had stopped screaming.

Colaya wanted to help in some way, but all he could do was sit back and let the doctor do his work.

Edited by Colaya, Oct 29 2008, 05:03 AM.
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SummerRayn
A.k.a. "Sol"
If, in her state, a hit on the head with a rifle butt could go utterly unnoticed by Geraldine (and Geraldine’s thick skull), she naturally didn’t find the arrival of the young nobleman in white toot terribly surprising. While other prisoners were being taken care of, she whistled sharply at a member of the nobleman’s armed entourage and wiggled in the air her bare feet, with their scarlet-painted toenails and rag-bound ankles. The shrill, commanding note brought not one, but two men hurrying over; one cut her ankle bindings while the other went behind her to cut the ones on her wrists.

“So,” she began to one of the men, in an authoritative if just slightly slurred voice, as she immediately stood up. Quite as immediately, her numb legs buckled beneath her and she collapsed with a magnificent thump back into a roughly sitting position. “This brain is working,” she continued firmly, as though nothing had happened, “about as well as a buttered pocketwatch.” Hazel eyes got a little bigger. “Which mine is missing, by the way—just the pocketwatch, no butter—gold plated chronograph, deucedly expensive. Set of field binoculars too, black, also deucedly expensive. And a silver pistol, red moonstone handle, and a compass. Not as expensive but believe me sir”—she made a gesture as if to poke him in the chest if she hadn’t been on the floor, and her bleeding wrist trickled a little down her arm—“expensive enough, and you can not even begin to imagine how cross I will be if I do not get them back most immedial-ate-el… el…ly.” She blinked hard, and swallowed.

One moment later, Gerrie slammed her fist down on the mildewy floorboards, apparently remembering just why her brain resembled the aforementioned buttered watch. “And a cigar!” She grabbed the man’s arm and struggled heavily back to her feet. “If I don’t get a cigar right now, right deuced cussed now…” she didn’t proceed to explain how insufficient explanations were, but left it to imaginations. She reeled a little, and the focus of her eyes was slowly lost, and then regained, and then overdone until she went crosseyed. Geraldine squeezed her eyes shut, rubbed them with the back of one hand—smearing sooty makeup over her whole eye socket—and then reopened them to stare fiercely at a knothole in the wall.

“Do you understand me, man?” she growled, though she didn’t seem to quite understand herself. “My… thinks… cannot… thought.”
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Gordreg
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Eleanor swallowed as the Captain yelled at her, leaning as far back as the chair and bindings would allow her. Had she pushed things too far, perhaps? Moons, was he going to shoot her now? Her resolve wavered, her upper lip quavering a little despite her best effort to keep it static. But she kept her eyes open and fixed upon the Captain; waiting to see what he would do...

She heard the clattering sound of something heavy falling the same time as everyone else, and though her bindings stopped her head from turning far enough to see the cause of this sound, her view of the the Captain gave Eleanor an ample observation. The man's eyes had gone wide, and his already-shaking hand was now erratically quivering as he stepped away in the direction of the sounds. She could hear further footfalls just out of sight, saw the Captain raising his weapon - and a flash of steel that knocked the weapon from his hand, followed by the sight of an armoured body crashing into the man and sending him sprawling to the floor. As the new arrival stepped upon the Captain's chest - his sword turned downward and held at the scoundral's neck - Eleanor got her first unobstructed view of the fellow.

A Valuan Soldier.

Clad in polished armour, the pale-green Ferratus plate shining even in the dim light of this hell-hole, there was simply nothing else that the man could possibly be. His head was enclosed in a conical skyhelm, yet it seemed as though he had trained enough to use such armour with no sign of encumberence. Certainly, the ease with which he had grounded the pirate captain spoke of that fact... as did the others in matching uniform pouring in after him, sweeping the room proffessionally to disarm each and every pirate, securing her and all her co-captives.

A Valuan Soldier! And one amongst a number of other Valuan soldiers, clear proof that the Armada had arrived to save them all from an uncertain fate. Eleanor's eyes closed for a moment, and even bound as she was, Eleanor let out a large sigh of relief. When she opened them again, there was an authorative man in front of her, bending down onto one knee as he seemed to be examining her bindings. His features were pleasent - easily pleasent enough for Eleanor to keep on looking for a moment longer then perhaps she should have, and his gaze seemed fresh and inviting.

And as he passed on by, Eleanor felt hands fumbling with her bindings; and with them a sudden looseness in the bonds and a fresh feeling of freedom. Her cheeks flushed with excitement, and slowly, slightly unsteadily, Eleanor pushed herself upwards off the rickety chair she'd been bound too and wobbled ungainly for a short distance across the room before placing both hands against the wall for balance.

She was free again!

Her mouth still tasted slightly bitter from that unpleasent gag, but now the taste was starting to fade just as her freedoms had been regained. Turning her head a little, she glanced back at the room and at her fellow captives as they were likewise freed from their bonds...

...All except the woman at the far end, that was. Now she could see more clearly, Eleanor noticed the woman seemed in quite a poor state. She hardly looked awake, and even though most of their group looked at least a little bedraggled Eleanor could now make out clear wounds torn into the noblewoman's body. She grimaced, chewing on her lip a little. If some of her fellow captives had suffered like that, perhaps she had been lucky to be taken in by that trick?

It wasn't a very comforting thought.

Still quite unsteady upon her feet, for her limbs still ached where they had been restrained and she could feel slight bruising all around their widths, Eleanor walked slowly back across the room to where the Valuan officer was now standing. He seemed to be watching the doctor at work, though as she came close the man turned to look away from the operation. Eleanor flashed him a jolly smile and pressed herself a little further upward onto her toes, bringing their respective heights a bit closer to being equal.

"You have my deepest grattitude, Sir." She nodded, her stiff arms held downward in front of her as she tried to bring some feeling back into them. "I must thank the moons that you were around to come to our rescue - though I fear, alas, you likely know more of our predicement then we do ourselves." A sheepish smile, and a slight lowering of her head joined her spoken words. "You must forgive my asking, for you have already done so much, but... who are these villains?" She queried. "Do you know why they had us taken, or where we were bound for?"
Edited by Gordreg, Oct 30 2008, 04:57 PM.
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