Year 765 Hippocampus Rush

Within the crowd, one young boy appears before him, this boy is in his eleventh year of living. He is a short lad not yet hitting his growth spurt milestone, frail in appearance. The lad dodges the influx of people moving sporadically around the ship deck. The boy fixes his messy dark blond hair behind a corded rope, patched up clothes that fit him loosely, and boots that he needed more time to grow in. This is Ruffin, Connor's cabin boy for about four years now. The boy bounds towards the captain; eyes as green as the murky algae that floats on the shoreline train onto the captain. The boy's expression is frazzled; he was standing before the Captain of the Nightmare Maiden to give his salutations. "Captain! Is there anything you need?"

"Yes. Where is Gash?" Connor peers back at where Rhea starts to station herself. She is already drawing two arrows on top of a rooftop. She is proving to understand the dynamic of the crew without even asking and covering the hole in their defenses, impressing Connor if he allowed it.

"I saw him go below deck to rest. He must be on his way now-" Ruffin's prediction came true.

Gash is crawling out of a hatch furthest to Connor's left, the sea dog's face is as white as snow fall. His Quartermaster found his captain and hobbles over; his gait is affected due to the giant sea monster harpoon rifle he is lugging around in his heavily armored hands. This is a little overkill even for Connor's tastes for battle prepping. It must have been a shock to wake up to all this commotion, explaining away the expression on Gash's face. The life of a pirate is never really a peaceful one.

"Where to Capt?" Gash asks in a hurry, scanning for the enemy. He saw Rhea in the distance and relaxes his intense aura, exchanging it with confusion. "Who-?"

"That's the Krax that I mentioned to you the other day," Connor clarifies, trying to save time.

"Where?" Ruffin peers at her behind Connor and gapes when he found her. "That lady looks like the fire nymph from that picture book!"

Fire nymph... Connor couldn't help but envision so, temporarily distracted and inspecting the red curls of this Krax woman.

Fire nymphs are complete fabrications. Their limbs were covered in these fire feathers. Some suggest that if they fall into the lava a certain way, usually their new form will indicate as such sprouting more feathers on those sections. A famous picture book, one Connor used to teach Ruffin to read, states that they are souls who merged with Manuk's blood because they fell into that. They are forever bounded by the lava, never being able to rest in the Trail of Souls. They often lure people with their long shining red hair and beautiful glowing appearance. The story was about a mage who thought they were powerful enough to control the raging lava only to be swallowed by it, becoming a fire nymph afterwards.

There is no such thing as fire nymphs...

"I dun't care what the lass looks like. Capt, are yer sure about her?"

Connor pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting down any initial doubt. Queries filled up the gaps in his brain, all he could think about is that headless and burned corpse. These images and queries are forcibly stuffed down in the deepest part of his mind.

"She's done enough to warrant temporary trust. Keep a vigilant eye anyway. Ruffin, you will stay below deck."

"Aye, aye Captain!" The blond-haired cabin boy salutes, then rushes to the hatch. He isn’t big enough to take on any fights. Hasn't yet argued with any of Connor's commands about it either.

"Aye..." Gash shifts the harpoon in his tight iron grip, hobbling towards the ramp.

Connor trails after him, their crew members already lining up at the port-side ready to take on the skirmish. The Death Twisters are well on their way, shooting at whoever had the ability to walk and talk. The screams of the villagers are heard in the distance. Despite the gorgeous glow of Manuk's throne kissing the land-side horizon, it did not help stave away the haunting aura of a town being decimated from within.

Connor waits at the mouth of the ramp, brandishing his pistol and his sword. He waits with his band of sea thieves; nothing would stir them. Even the locals who ran to hide in their homes or the gullians that swoops down to perch at the crates, or the ship rails. All these things barely broke the pirates' diligence. They carry out a lot of waiting; Rhea would occasionally shift her spot from one heightened roof to another.

This silence in the atmosphere is as haunting as the looming death that Anukrin promises when they are most vulnerable.

Yet the fires of battle rage on in him. An opportunistic tactician in mind and a scoundrel soul at heart creates who they call Captain Connor of the Nightmare Maiden. And he had already predicted where the Death Twisters are coming. It is not like those men were quiet about their arrival this whole time.

His voice booms through the gun shots and a rising thudding foot fall, piercing through their silence to awaken the diligent crowd. "HANDS! WE FIGHT TILL THE SCALLEYWAGS BECOME THE VERY BROWN OF THIS SOIL!"

The roars of his crew are more music to his ears.

Bellows of affirmation rise from the crowd, stirring them to action at the first gang member they saw surface from the shadows. Connor took his first shot, perfectly aligning his pistol and trigger it to shoot. The bullet flies, piercing the first goon's face and killing him instantly.

More of those bastards spill out of the beaten streets, stepping over the corpse, to face off some sea-hardened criminals. By Connor's last call to arms, they all move to fight their enemies.

Swords clashes with swords, bullets were flying wild, and the Death Twisters are struggling to keep up with the rather relentless group of pirates. It is only the fault of the Death Twister gang to charge in on them disorganized and with no leader.

Connor saw them all. Jerold protects Cid by dancing with two swords in his grip, while the half giant thought it a test of strength to throw a crate filled with rocks at a few Death Twister members. Connor barely even notices Trevor passing by him, he slinks through the crowd and assassinates enemies that did not sense him right away. Gash stood at the back of the wall of fighting, taking a chance to shoot the harpoon at an unsuspecting gang member. Rhea kept shooting from above the rooftop, it works to reduce the numbers. Though the gang must have grown a brain cell and a few starts to climb to get to her, her fleeting panicked expression gave it away.

She bounds to the next rooftop. The few of the successful goons that reach the rooftop are already trying to shoot her.

Damn that woman. Connor would have to trust that she could survive long enough for him to get close. At his angle and distance, he would be wasting bullets. He charges down the ramp, slicing through his enemies and assisting his crew when they needed it.

His presence in battle always stirs his crew to fight harder, finding that is enough to help his crew.

Rhea hops to another roof, barely dodging the bullets. A few close calls too many and she propels from the roof edge to the hay stack below her. She springs out of the pile covered dreadfully by hay string on every part of her body, clear proof as to why Rhea's curls seems matted with this stuff when he first met her. The woman sprints towards the midst of the battle, inconspicuous enough to be noticed a mile away but too fast to get caught.

Connor fought through mayhem, cutting down his next opponent and marching towards her direction. He walks exuding a hostile aura all the way through. Even if someone intervenes in his path, they will hesitate exactly right for him to slash their vital points. None of them could ever match his level of skill with either sword or pistol.

The moment that he could see her dodging a few swings her way, taking advantage of the hesitation to stab with her newly acquired dagger.

She didn't need assistance, and he shouldn't feel responsible for her lively hood. He already had a whole crew to take care of, one more glass cannon would only make his life difficult.

Why can't I just-?

Captain Connor didn't have to force himself any longer on his decision. Because she took a sharp turn towards where his Quartermaster is being surrounded by six of those goons. Gash can handle himself in a fist fight, he isn't the greatest in a sword fight. Based on how he now lifts his armored fist to fight and the small cuts in his clothes, he had lost his harpoon gun a long time ago. It isn’t clear what compels her to go help Gash, just as much that he couldn't understand his own self for trying to help this woman.

However, she jumps into the mix. Stabbing one person in the back, then stabbing another's knee, leaving the blade embedded. She took a few steps back, siding up with the older seafarer. An old man gapes at her like she was a talking merfolk in his presence.

The other goons didn't wait to attack, and neither did Connor. He is already there to interrupt, cutting the gun holding, hand off one individual, then blocking the bladed swing of another. The captain let the blades connect, even weakened his push just to have the other misconceive that Connor didn't have much fight in him.

"Oh hoh! This one is we-"

All the fight is brewing just behind his skull; his face is as stoic as ever to hide it. It threw his opponent in a loop when Connor uses one foot to kick the man's knee. There was a permanent snap, the man crumbles from his new leg fracture. Connor took the sword down to slice his head off. He steps away once he is done with killing this one, dodging the blood spewing from the body.

"Yer both makin' me feel old. I'm still very spry." Gash flusters, wringing his arm back to punch another square in their face. The metal gauntlet with the power of his strike broke all his opponent's front teeth. Gash then grabs the toothless goon by the excess shirt and tosses him hard on the ground. The sand cloud dancing in the air from the impact.

"Mister! I thought you needed help!" Rhea yells over the chorus of the battle, pulling out her bow and arrow to shoot at another goon. She really had too much time if she is commentating on his gripe.

Why did I even bother? Connor grumbles to himself, trying his might not to fall into their chatter. To him, he had wasted too much of his energy on one reward. The reward is a big migraine.

Annoyed, he took on the next goon that dares to challenge him with more hostility than usual.

These buffoons are getting more desperate as the breathes pass, forgetting about the trail of death that the captain and his crew left behind.

Sometime soon, enemies start to run. When Captain Connor took notice, he calls out to his men. "THOSE WHO CHALLENGE THE NIGHTMARE MAIDEN WILL PERISH. TONIGHT, THERE WILL BE NO SURVIVORS!"

The roars follow suit, whomever could chase the gang down did, and the battle lessens enough to have the three of them stand there watching the crew move by his command.

"Thank yer lass. The name's Gash. " Gash beams at Rhea, finally settles down from his earlier grievances. Connor is very aware how the old man works, and that one is strangely competitive during skirmishes like these and loses that competitive edge once it is all over.

"No problem. My name is Rhea." Rhea blinks fast with an anxious smile, brushing away the straws of hay from her reddened face. Is she not used to displays of gratitude?

"Gash..." Connor's call earns him a quick response from his Quartermaster. The battle is now in their favor. The men cheer for their obvious victory. It isn't yet a victory until the runaways draw their last breath, at least to this captain.

"'Scuse me lass." Gash moves away from Rhea to stand beside Connor, beaming all the same. Showing the missing teeth with that smile, "Capt'. What do yer need from me?"

"I-" His gaze fell on Rhea, who didn't take the hint that this is to be a private conversation without her.

"What?" Rhea challenges the stare, fixing her bow onto her back.

"Give us some space, Miss Rhea", Gash fills in on the answer that Connor should have said but didn't: out of patience to provide one.

"You could just say so!" Rhea pouts, moving away with an exaggerated 'harrumph'. She was cursing Connor again in Kraxxian under her breath.

Connor ignores her tantrum, saving his desire to reprimand her for much later. "Gash...listen-"

"Aye. I know that look. Yer thinking about it." Gash removes his fist gauntlets, strapping them to his waist belt.

Never knew that I was that predictable.

Connor clears his throat; his attention focuses on the crew and what they are doing right now. Some who are able went to aid the locals here. Others had to tend to each other, he could see one of their own injured from the scuffle. It is still a battle. No matter how trained they were, injuries will still happen. So far, he hopes that flesh and blood is all to be lost today.

He now studies Rhea; she gave them all the space they need to have a conversation. A very exuberant Jerold and Cid distract the female, she couldn't ignore the two even if she tried. And she was trying, edging away to leave. Jerold got in the way of her escape, whining to her about whatever. Gods only know what when it came to that individual. Cid flexes his arms and laughs triumphantly, like he does whenever he accomplishes something.

Connor didn't care, only one thing plays in his mind. Stuffing his offense deep down in his gut, there is a new captain decree formulated in those breathes of watching. "If I do this. You will support my decision as it is your own unless it causes harm to the crew, understood?"

"Aye capt'. Keep me posted on what the lass's decides." Gash sighs with a cheerful smile; the old sea dog's opinion changed. It wasn’t long ago that Gash was very dubious towards the female Krax.

She somehow changed his mind.

Connor nods once, not humoring to give his Quartermaster any more than that. Gash should be in tune with Connor's lack of verbal effort already.