Post by Percival Vizharen on Feb 9, 2010 19:05:29 GMT -6
[Reader Advisory! This is graphic.]
Percival moved down the corridor with a sense of urgency. Dressed in black, per his usual, his expression twisted with a perpetual scowl which hinted at his disgust of something. He turned to a door shoving one a many keys into the locking mechanism before shouldering within.The door slammed behind him, and he stood there for a moment with his back to the room. He appeared to be locking the door behind him, and turned only to look for a lantern that had long since gone out. The cold from the metal frame could not be felt through his gloves as he hoisted the small design off the hook to the right of the door and carried it through the dark to a nearby table. He pulled something from his pocket and left his hand to hover over the lantern. Several motions between his hands created a sparking light, until the flint caught the highly flammable wick and brought the lantern to life. He snapped the top back on and grabbed the handle to move down the spiral design stairs, his boots making loud clanking noises with each step he took down.
This path led him to a large and forgotten library. Some considered it his own personal study. He considered it a means to draw away from everyone. Percival lifted the lantern high above him, letting the light span over a larger area of the dungeon like library. The glint of metal was still present on the desk he'd made his own, and he closed the distance to it without hesitation. The lantern was set aside with a thump, its base rattled when set hard against the surface of the table. He laid his arm flat upon the surface of the table and swept right, knocking everything off and onto the floor with a clatter. The only two things that remained was the sword and his lantern. His eyes narrowed, their glazed over look reflecting the glimmering image of the weapon before him as his hand reached out to touch it. The hilt was so well made, he often thought, and as he touched it again, it felt as if the sword was made for only him to grasp. The evil weapon had brought on many deaths in the past, some assassinations on famous people, others were no names, yet the sound of their screaming and damned souls was replaced with the ringing silence. Had Percival a sense of the paranormal, he may have basked in the terror he had created through his relived memories; but everything was so repressed in his mind, he only felt the sword through gloved hands.
Finger etched about the blade, and his arm flexed to lift it from the table. The blade was light, reflecting the orange from the lantern and the darkness that loomed in his wake. There was a sound behind him that made him turn slightly to regard it with a hiked brow. He waited patiently for it to happen again; it did. The sword's tip was guided to the opening to the sheath at his side, and the blade hidden from view as it slid in with a scraping noise. A calming breath followed as the sound persisted. Reaching back, the lantern was grabbed and lifted up as Percival moved back upstairs to investigate. The noise seemed to resonate from a constant shaking that came from his door, likely the other side. Percival glanced down to the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor to see a shadow standing there. Were this not the Ebony Hall, he may have handled this differently, but his days of terror were over.
He lifted the lantern, using the curve of the handle to set upon the hook by the door where he had originally found it. It lit the room until he blew the flame out. Percival turned his attention to the door, unlocking it and tugging it open to see it was the assistant assigned to him for their next assignment. Obviously irritated, he looked to the female with a particular disgust.
"What do you want, girl?" Percival asked, his irritation ever prevalent in his voice as he looked her over with the scrutiny of a hard gaze. The woman shifted backward, taken back by the sudden appearance of the Master. His tone was harsh, overbearing in a sense that she just knew she'd crossed some unspoken line with him. Clearing her throat, she tried to appear poised, like he was.
"I came to tell you that the pieces have fallen into place my lord. The man, the one you seek, he has arrived according to your menstruations. Politics aside, he has arrived under the impression someone from the court will grant him amnesty. It has been arranged that you are to see him, but he is not a stupid man, my lord. He knows who you are. Who you used to be. Whatever angle you wish to gain from this man, I do not think it possible." She said, stepping past him first before divulging.
"And what led you to such a conclusion?" He asked, slamming the door behind her and turning slowly to face her.
"The dozen or so armed men guarding the ambassador estate. They walk heavily armed with well crafted armor, though mix-matched. I say they are hired, it is still uncertain." She replied, leaning against the angle of the table. Her hand came up to push her hair behind her ear.
"Interesting." He took a moment to rest his clean shaven chin upon the crest of his thumb and index, idly rubbing there as he thought. "Your proposal?"
She looked at him with an odd, confused look. "You want my opinion on the matter?"
"Yes. This is not MY assignment, it is ours. If you intend to reach the level of master, it must be you that makes this plan." He replied, a coy tone in his voice.
"He makes to leave this evening. Our courier was informed of this when we insisted a meeting with you. He would not have it. He travels in the company of privateers. Their alliance is uncertain, but all are registered with real or false names to avoid raising eyebrows." She said.
"And that is supposed to mean?" He asked impatiently.
"That we become part of the crew. If they're mercenaries, it is a sure bet that none of them know each other well, if at all." She said.
"You know something of sailors, miss?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest, as if considering the idea. Percival had run a tight ship once upon a time, but he knew that sailing was not a place for a woman. They were sniffed out amongst the crew, if found, raped and killed. He did not mention the risk because this was the woman's plan. If she did not consider every risk, then she deserved to reap the benefit of education.
"I would say I know how it runs." She said confidently.
"Very well. We will follow your plan. Once on board, it is probably best we remain separate. Now, for the second half of your plan; IF we do get on the crew.. where do we go from there?"
"If we get in, our goal is to cripple the ship. I will arrange that another, smaller vessel follows them out. It will look as if they have the same bearing, but flying a trade flag. When the ship is crippled, we will progress to our man. This will be an assassination, like you wanted. We kill him, torch the ship, and get to our other transport to return to the port. "
"It sounds good on parchment." Percival said. "Are you sure you're up for this. A ship is hardly the place for a woman, and if they are heavily armed, are you certain you will have the skill to combat them. These men, they are trained killers, woman or no, they will not stop until the last breath is robbed from you."
"I am ready to join the rank of masters." She replied, offended.
"We shall see. Make your preparation and meet me at the pier. We will enact your plan then, and see if you've the fortitude to call yourself a master." He said, doubt in his tone. He remained in the room, watching her silently as she nodded and left. He knew, without a doubt, this woman would get herself killed. Had he been a honorable man, he would have stopped her, slapped her with reality and demoted her for sketchy plans. However, he knew that he could make this a successful mission, regardless of her life being intact or not. The name of the game came in preparation, and on the sea, no man was more prepared than Percival Vizharen.
--------
They met on the pier, the sun drifting down under the horizon as waves of the sea keenly reflected the majestic scene. Two bodies, attached to anchors had been rolled from the top of the pier to fall into the water with a splash before them. The deed done, and --her-- plan rolling. Percival glanced to her, looking the young woman over as if inspecting her. She was a lively sort, obviously a virgin and hardly experienced in the world, save for back room politics, and the runnings of the order. This operation spelled one thing for her, and Percival considered this the last time he would see this woman alive.
Her gaze stared out over the ocean, her eyes so alive as she regarded him with a look of fear and respect. Perhaps Percival placed as sense of security within her, perhaps she gathered her own wits to actually think she could come out of this alive. Percival could not deduce the thoughts that ran through her mind. He could only note what he saw.
Her hand was twitchy, perhaps a nervous quirk that made her fingers fidget with the length of her sleeves. Her breathing was short, labored, as if something was caught in her throat. Maybe it was fear, anxiety. Either were applicable. Yet, it remained uncertain. Her look was stoic, lacking experience in the aspect that would make her jaded, she was young, and this was assumed more than fact. Her clothing was mismatched to resemble the men that were on board the ship. Percival did not mention that he could tell she had breasts, and the way she walked remained feminine. He would not tell her that the perfume she had wore the night prior was still lingering upon the eastern breeze. By looking her frame over, he deduced the location of every hidden weapon, and could tell in fantastic detail what each was. No, she was not ready, but did he alter this situation by telling her to leave?
"Are you ready?" He asked, turning to look away from. He appeared convinced, but little did she know he was far from it.
"Yes. Yes I am ready. After this evening, I intend to enjoy a glass of wine. Perhaps.. company?" She glanced up to him.
"I think your mind should remain on what lays before you, Journeyman. Not perversions." He replied, turning from her to avoid the look of offense. Percival looked through his memory briefly, for any indication through their time together, where he may have led her to believe he was interested sexually with her. After a brief deliberation, he concluded there was not a moment where such a thing happened. Perhaps she was acting on her impulses, he thought. Anxiety, fear, doubt.. it all led to the more basic, and perhaps primal aspects of humans. If she felt she was at a threat, perhaps morals meant little in an organization that went against everything moral in modern society. He dismissed the thought, disgusted she brought the subject up. His disgust shown on his face as he stepped down from the peer.
Percival appeared to be a perfect match for the mercenaries. His hair was long, curly and black, obscuring parts of his perfect complexion with smudges of dirt and filth. His clothes were just as ragged and he smelled like chyt. He remained unarmed as to not draw attention, because most vessels kept all arms under log in their armory. This cut down on mutiny, especially with a ship with fickle alliances. He moved up the gangplank, hearing the alternate timed steps of the woman behind him. The guard at the top of the walkway was their ticket in. He looked at Percival and just nodded. Percival walked on by and found a rigging to begin tying because it needed done. His gaze lifted to the woman who was stopped by an outstretched hand.
"What do we have here?" The man asked, grabbing the woman's collar. Percival just smirked, but it was hidden in the manner his hair fell over his face as he tied the knot quickly. Eve had been her name, and she answered back.
"A sailor trying to get on the ship." She tried to deepen her voice, but she failed. The man backhanded her across the face and she cried out. The direction she went was the hull of the ship. She caught herself and went to attack, but the man caught her wrists, pinning her there.
"Oh, you're going to get on the ship alrigh'. OI! Boys, looky what we got ourselves for the trip home!" He tossed the woman to the deck, blocking the path out. She scrambled to get up but another sailor planted his boot heel to her stomach. She toppled over, crying out as another sailor hoisted her up. That was when Percival moved in. She looked up to see him, her gaze lightening up as she thought he was going to save her. Confusion followed as Percival hauled off and punched her across the face, using his body weight in the factor so that he could stumble off after the hit, like the rest of the drunken fools. Blood came from her mouth as her face turned to one direction and consciousness left her. Her frame went limp and her head sagged with a thin line of red lightly dangling from her mouth.
"Get this whore to the lower deck. Heh. Heh. REST O' YOU! Prep for our departure, NOW!" Two men drug the woman off, her feet dragging behind her as they laughed and disappeared below. Percival did as was ordered, and moved up high to prep the sails to roll down. He checked for tangles and knotted rope. He remained silent, his thoughts lingering on the objective. The woman was officially out of the running.
Time passed, and the objective arrived disappearing into the cabins with his entourage. Screams from below the deck told Percival that the men were distracted, which made the top deck an easy volunteer job. They had left the port and sailed smoothly for several hours until he split the sails and cut the lines. He was very covert in this process. Night watch was not present, most were enjoying the company of Eve below. The first signs that something was astray was when the ship came to an abrupt stop when the anchor line was dropped. Lurching forth, everything in the ship was sent ajar. Men came out to top deck. Looking up, they saw the sails in tatters, ropes everywhere.
"What the blazes?" One man called amongst the group of twenty. "Why is the cargo up here?"
The sound of rope stretching overhead cut across as Percival planted his whole body against the crate to send it overboard. It splashed and sank, pulling on more rope that cut overhead and close lined Percival, catching him across the chest and knocking him to the deck. The men laughed.
"Look at this fool..WAAYYUUP.." Percival had successfully averted their attention long enough for the rope to pull tight. The rigging cast forward, capturing the crew in tight binds before dragging them starboard to collide with the hull before going over and into the water. The heavy cargo pulling them down, down, down. -- Percival stood up, sighing as he rubbed his chest and walked to the edge to peer over. His smirk curved his lips up. That was the majority of the crew. He moved across the deck, pulling the ragged cloth about his mouth. He pulled the door to the lower decks open, peering in to see that others were still shifting about fixing things. He moved past them to get into the armory. He didn't appear out of place, just casually walking and keeping his head low as everyone discussed the woman below, and asking what was going on up top.
Percival made it to the armory, but the door was locked, and there was no way to pick it. It was barred, like the brig a deck below. He sighed and turned to head back through the passage way. He knew the brig had its own guard, and considering it was occupied, he assumed the guard would be present. He made his way down to see if his speculations were fact. There were two guards. He stepped into the brig and closed the door behind him.
"What are you doing, sailor?" The guard asked, pulling his sword.
Percival continued what he was doing with the door, letting them draw closer to him. A heavy hand was placed to his shoulder, and he was bid to turn around with a rough gesture. He did, feeling himself plant against the bulkhead. Percival kneed the man holding him in the testicles, and grabbed his face to head butt him in the mouth. The man fell backward as the other produced his sword and stabbed at Percival. Percival side stepped, grabbing the man's arm with both of his hands and stepped forward. Percival's right leg went behind the man's stance, and he drove his heel into his leg to carry the sailor to the ground. Wrapping his leg criss-crossed over his sword carrying arm, he used his weight to twist until the sword was freed by the sound of bones cracking. He had forced a compound fracture, the man's wrist displaced and forearm sticking through the skin. He screamed and cradled his arm protectively. The other male stood up to fight Percival, but the downed sailor's sword was already claimed and used to slash deeply across his face. The second body hit the deck with a thud and Percival stood over them with the sword in hand. He moved to the man cradling his wrist and drove the sword through his throat to end his voice and let him drown in his own blood.
Silence followed, but there was a whimper in the corner of the brig, where a woman, beaten, bruised, and naked crawled from the cage she'd been placed to get Percival's attention. It was Eve, and she'd been terribly raped. There was no sign of her clothing, her skin had been bruised, beaten, cut, and all other manner of things. Dried blood was caked on her thighs and upper buttocks, and it looked as if her face was swollen. She had been crying but it was all dry now. She had crawled out of the cage, and raised her hand to Percival to gather his attention with her whimper. He turned to regard her, his expression emotionless. There was nothing in his expression that told of her salvation. A simple look and he turned to leave. He left her with the means to survive. A sword lay upon the ground, and the clothing of two men. What she chose to do with it was of her own accord.
Percival stepped out of the brig catching a man walking by off guard. The swing was enough to closeline him and leave his body back down on the deck, bleeding out. Another man called to arms, but the air left his throat before 'ARMS' could be exclaimed. Percival turned then, moving up the stairs to the main deck where other sailors were looking for the crew that had come up. When Percival arrived, the five men turned to look at him with confusion. At once, it all struck them what was going on, but Percival had already turned to run. He slid across the moist deck and latched onto a sail rope. He slashed it with the sword and soared upward with the gust of wind. The closest man to him was caught in the upward motion as Percival tore high up. His sword caught the chin of the sailor and cut through his nose and into his face. His body went up then down to land back first, leaving four. Percival's advantage here was speed, as the rope rigging did little to gain favor by height, it sent him upon a trajectory with two others. He landed shoulder first into a male, forcing him to the ground. Percival used that man's body as a buffer where he tumbled, rolled, and managed to get to his feet in a kneeling position, slashing a second male across his stomach before straightening to stand. He turned to the man he had tackled while standing, and kicked him across the face as hard as he could. It was enough of a bludgeoning strike to rupture the skull and force the man into convulsions. The remaining two were hot on Percival's trail, and the first tackled him to the deck, attempting to get the sword or a dominant position. Percival turned, letting the sword slide across the deck. His legs rose to wrap the male's torso, while his arms wrapped about the back of his neck to pull him down to prevent him from striking his face. He twisted the man's head to one side, cranking the body to favor right. Percival kipped his hips and rolled, using pain as a means of manipulation to roll the male by guide of his awkwardly turned head. They rolled and Percival got the top. Opening his palm, he struck the male by angling his palm down against the cheek. The momentum behind it was enough to force his head beyond the state of uncomfortable pressure, and sever a portion of the spine.
The last of them had scooped the sword up and was turning to face Percival, who was running toward him. Taking to the air, Percival planted both boots in his chest and kicked him, sacrificing his stance to fall back onto his back with a thud. The male stumbled, dropping the sword before tumbling over the railing only to catch himself. Percival kipped up to his feet and moved to the man. The sword was picked up, and the rope cut into a large portion. Percival tied a bow-line knot to the rail, then reached for the other end of the rope. Over hand knot with a loop made a slip knot, and he reached over to slide the loop over the man's head. He wenched it tight and slammed the hilt of the sword upon the fingers of his hand, making him drop while his other hand was trying to fumble with the rope. He fell a short length before being hanged.
Percival turned then, moving toward the main cabin. He kicked the door in, and glanced about. His target stood from his desk and turned about with a pistol, aiming right at Percival.
"I was waiting on you." The man said. "I knew when the stupid young woman had said your name, the intentions of this amnesty hearing were false. You will not kill me." He was going to pull the trigger, but a sliver of metal was thrust into Percival's back, and it appeared from the front of his stomach. Percival dropped his sword looking down to see the sword sticking through him and his vision went blurry. He felt it being pulled back, and he fell forward to tumble upon his back to see who it was. Eve. She stepped in, stumbling from the pain between her legs as she lazily lifted the sword up to the other male. It was clear that she intended to pay Percival back for his abandonment, while claiming the prize of this operation to herself. When she charged to attack, a shot rang out that tore a portion of her face off, tilting her cranium back as a line of red blood cast back behind her. Her body crumbled on the deck, brain matter spread across the bulkhead behind her. There was a silence that followed. Percival heard his heart beating as he glanced down to see his own blood pooling up beneath him. When he glanced up, the sole of a boot to his face.
When he awoke, he was upon the shores of Turas Lan, stomach down, his face in the sand. It was early morning and he'd just been noticed. His last conscious feeling before fading back to sleep was someone rolling him over..
Percival moved down the corridor with a sense of urgency. Dressed in black, per his usual, his expression twisted with a perpetual scowl which hinted at his disgust of something. He turned to a door shoving one a many keys into the locking mechanism before shouldering within.The door slammed behind him, and he stood there for a moment with his back to the room. He appeared to be locking the door behind him, and turned only to look for a lantern that had long since gone out. The cold from the metal frame could not be felt through his gloves as he hoisted the small design off the hook to the right of the door and carried it through the dark to a nearby table. He pulled something from his pocket and left his hand to hover over the lantern. Several motions between his hands created a sparking light, until the flint caught the highly flammable wick and brought the lantern to life. He snapped the top back on and grabbed the handle to move down the spiral design stairs, his boots making loud clanking noises with each step he took down.
This path led him to a large and forgotten library. Some considered it his own personal study. He considered it a means to draw away from everyone. Percival lifted the lantern high above him, letting the light span over a larger area of the dungeon like library. The glint of metal was still present on the desk he'd made his own, and he closed the distance to it without hesitation. The lantern was set aside with a thump, its base rattled when set hard against the surface of the table. He laid his arm flat upon the surface of the table and swept right, knocking everything off and onto the floor with a clatter. The only two things that remained was the sword and his lantern. His eyes narrowed, their glazed over look reflecting the glimmering image of the weapon before him as his hand reached out to touch it. The hilt was so well made, he often thought, and as he touched it again, it felt as if the sword was made for only him to grasp. The evil weapon had brought on many deaths in the past, some assassinations on famous people, others were no names, yet the sound of their screaming and damned souls was replaced with the ringing silence. Had Percival a sense of the paranormal, he may have basked in the terror he had created through his relived memories; but everything was so repressed in his mind, he only felt the sword through gloved hands.
Finger etched about the blade, and his arm flexed to lift it from the table. The blade was light, reflecting the orange from the lantern and the darkness that loomed in his wake. There was a sound behind him that made him turn slightly to regard it with a hiked brow. He waited patiently for it to happen again; it did. The sword's tip was guided to the opening to the sheath at his side, and the blade hidden from view as it slid in with a scraping noise. A calming breath followed as the sound persisted. Reaching back, the lantern was grabbed and lifted up as Percival moved back upstairs to investigate. The noise seemed to resonate from a constant shaking that came from his door, likely the other side. Percival glanced down to the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor to see a shadow standing there. Were this not the Ebony Hall, he may have handled this differently, but his days of terror were over.
He lifted the lantern, using the curve of the handle to set upon the hook by the door where he had originally found it. It lit the room until he blew the flame out. Percival turned his attention to the door, unlocking it and tugging it open to see it was the assistant assigned to him for their next assignment. Obviously irritated, he looked to the female with a particular disgust.
"What do you want, girl?" Percival asked, his irritation ever prevalent in his voice as he looked her over with the scrutiny of a hard gaze. The woman shifted backward, taken back by the sudden appearance of the Master. His tone was harsh, overbearing in a sense that she just knew she'd crossed some unspoken line with him. Clearing her throat, she tried to appear poised, like he was.
"I came to tell you that the pieces have fallen into place my lord. The man, the one you seek, he has arrived according to your menstruations. Politics aside, he has arrived under the impression someone from the court will grant him amnesty. It has been arranged that you are to see him, but he is not a stupid man, my lord. He knows who you are. Who you used to be. Whatever angle you wish to gain from this man, I do not think it possible." She said, stepping past him first before divulging.
"And what led you to such a conclusion?" He asked, slamming the door behind her and turning slowly to face her.
"The dozen or so armed men guarding the ambassador estate. They walk heavily armed with well crafted armor, though mix-matched. I say they are hired, it is still uncertain." She replied, leaning against the angle of the table. Her hand came up to push her hair behind her ear.
"Interesting." He took a moment to rest his clean shaven chin upon the crest of his thumb and index, idly rubbing there as he thought. "Your proposal?"
She looked at him with an odd, confused look. "You want my opinion on the matter?"
"Yes. This is not MY assignment, it is ours. If you intend to reach the level of master, it must be you that makes this plan." He replied, a coy tone in his voice.
"He makes to leave this evening. Our courier was informed of this when we insisted a meeting with you. He would not have it. He travels in the company of privateers. Their alliance is uncertain, but all are registered with real or false names to avoid raising eyebrows." She said.
"And that is supposed to mean?" He asked impatiently.
"That we become part of the crew. If they're mercenaries, it is a sure bet that none of them know each other well, if at all." She said.
"You know something of sailors, miss?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest, as if considering the idea. Percival had run a tight ship once upon a time, but he knew that sailing was not a place for a woman. They were sniffed out amongst the crew, if found, raped and killed. He did not mention the risk because this was the woman's plan. If she did not consider every risk, then she deserved to reap the benefit of education.
"I would say I know how it runs." She said confidently.
"Very well. We will follow your plan. Once on board, it is probably best we remain separate. Now, for the second half of your plan; IF we do get on the crew.. where do we go from there?"
"If we get in, our goal is to cripple the ship. I will arrange that another, smaller vessel follows them out. It will look as if they have the same bearing, but flying a trade flag. When the ship is crippled, we will progress to our man. This will be an assassination, like you wanted. We kill him, torch the ship, and get to our other transport to return to the port. "
"It sounds good on parchment." Percival said. "Are you sure you're up for this. A ship is hardly the place for a woman, and if they are heavily armed, are you certain you will have the skill to combat them. These men, they are trained killers, woman or no, they will not stop until the last breath is robbed from you."
"I am ready to join the rank of masters." She replied, offended.
"We shall see. Make your preparation and meet me at the pier. We will enact your plan then, and see if you've the fortitude to call yourself a master." He said, doubt in his tone. He remained in the room, watching her silently as she nodded and left. He knew, without a doubt, this woman would get herself killed. Had he been a honorable man, he would have stopped her, slapped her with reality and demoted her for sketchy plans. However, he knew that he could make this a successful mission, regardless of her life being intact or not. The name of the game came in preparation, and on the sea, no man was more prepared than Percival Vizharen.
--------
They met on the pier, the sun drifting down under the horizon as waves of the sea keenly reflected the majestic scene. Two bodies, attached to anchors had been rolled from the top of the pier to fall into the water with a splash before them. The deed done, and --her-- plan rolling. Percival glanced to her, looking the young woman over as if inspecting her. She was a lively sort, obviously a virgin and hardly experienced in the world, save for back room politics, and the runnings of the order. This operation spelled one thing for her, and Percival considered this the last time he would see this woman alive.
Her gaze stared out over the ocean, her eyes so alive as she regarded him with a look of fear and respect. Perhaps Percival placed as sense of security within her, perhaps she gathered her own wits to actually think she could come out of this alive. Percival could not deduce the thoughts that ran through her mind. He could only note what he saw.
Her hand was twitchy, perhaps a nervous quirk that made her fingers fidget with the length of her sleeves. Her breathing was short, labored, as if something was caught in her throat. Maybe it was fear, anxiety. Either were applicable. Yet, it remained uncertain. Her look was stoic, lacking experience in the aspect that would make her jaded, she was young, and this was assumed more than fact. Her clothing was mismatched to resemble the men that were on board the ship. Percival did not mention that he could tell she had breasts, and the way she walked remained feminine. He would not tell her that the perfume she had wore the night prior was still lingering upon the eastern breeze. By looking her frame over, he deduced the location of every hidden weapon, and could tell in fantastic detail what each was. No, she was not ready, but did he alter this situation by telling her to leave?
"Are you ready?" He asked, turning to look away from. He appeared convinced, but little did she know he was far from it.
"Yes. Yes I am ready. After this evening, I intend to enjoy a glass of wine. Perhaps.. company?" She glanced up to him.
"I think your mind should remain on what lays before you, Journeyman. Not perversions." He replied, turning from her to avoid the look of offense. Percival looked through his memory briefly, for any indication through their time together, where he may have led her to believe he was interested sexually with her. After a brief deliberation, he concluded there was not a moment where such a thing happened. Perhaps she was acting on her impulses, he thought. Anxiety, fear, doubt.. it all led to the more basic, and perhaps primal aspects of humans. If she felt she was at a threat, perhaps morals meant little in an organization that went against everything moral in modern society. He dismissed the thought, disgusted she brought the subject up. His disgust shown on his face as he stepped down from the peer.
Percival appeared to be a perfect match for the mercenaries. His hair was long, curly and black, obscuring parts of his perfect complexion with smudges of dirt and filth. His clothes were just as ragged and he smelled like chyt. He remained unarmed as to not draw attention, because most vessels kept all arms under log in their armory. This cut down on mutiny, especially with a ship with fickle alliances. He moved up the gangplank, hearing the alternate timed steps of the woman behind him. The guard at the top of the walkway was their ticket in. He looked at Percival and just nodded. Percival walked on by and found a rigging to begin tying because it needed done. His gaze lifted to the woman who was stopped by an outstretched hand.
"What do we have here?" The man asked, grabbing the woman's collar. Percival just smirked, but it was hidden in the manner his hair fell over his face as he tied the knot quickly. Eve had been her name, and she answered back.
"A sailor trying to get on the ship." She tried to deepen her voice, but she failed. The man backhanded her across the face and she cried out. The direction she went was the hull of the ship. She caught herself and went to attack, but the man caught her wrists, pinning her there.
"Oh, you're going to get on the ship alrigh'. OI! Boys, looky what we got ourselves for the trip home!" He tossed the woman to the deck, blocking the path out. She scrambled to get up but another sailor planted his boot heel to her stomach. She toppled over, crying out as another sailor hoisted her up. That was when Percival moved in. She looked up to see him, her gaze lightening up as she thought he was going to save her. Confusion followed as Percival hauled off and punched her across the face, using his body weight in the factor so that he could stumble off after the hit, like the rest of the drunken fools. Blood came from her mouth as her face turned to one direction and consciousness left her. Her frame went limp and her head sagged with a thin line of red lightly dangling from her mouth.
"Get this whore to the lower deck. Heh. Heh. REST O' YOU! Prep for our departure, NOW!" Two men drug the woman off, her feet dragging behind her as they laughed and disappeared below. Percival did as was ordered, and moved up high to prep the sails to roll down. He checked for tangles and knotted rope. He remained silent, his thoughts lingering on the objective. The woman was officially out of the running.
Time passed, and the objective arrived disappearing into the cabins with his entourage. Screams from below the deck told Percival that the men were distracted, which made the top deck an easy volunteer job. They had left the port and sailed smoothly for several hours until he split the sails and cut the lines. He was very covert in this process. Night watch was not present, most were enjoying the company of Eve below. The first signs that something was astray was when the ship came to an abrupt stop when the anchor line was dropped. Lurching forth, everything in the ship was sent ajar. Men came out to top deck. Looking up, they saw the sails in tatters, ropes everywhere.
"What the blazes?" One man called amongst the group of twenty. "Why is the cargo up here?"
The sound of rope stretching overhead cut across as Percival planted his whole body against the crate to send it overboard. It splashed and sank, pulling on more rope that cut overhead and close lined Percival, catching him across the chest and knocking him to the deck. The men laughed.
"Look at this fool..WAAYYUUP.." Percival had successfully averted their attention long enough for the rope to pull tight. The rigging cast forward, capturing the crew in tight binds before dragging them starboard to collide with the hull before going over and into the water. The heavy cargo pulling them down, down, down. -- Percival stood up, sighing as he rubbed his chest and walked to the edge to peer over. His smirk curved his lips up. That was the majority of the crew. He moved across the deck, pulling the ragged cloth about his mouth. He pulled the door to the lower decks open, peering in to see that others were still shifting about fixing things. He moved past them to get into the armory. He didn't appear out of place, just casually walking and keeping his head low as everyone discussed the woman below, and asking what was going on up top.
Percival made it to the armory, but the door was locked, and there was no way to pick it. It was barred, like the brig a deck below. He sighed and turned to head back through the passage way. He knew the brig had its own guard, and considering it was occupied, he assumed the guard would be present. He made his way down to see if his speculations were fact. There were two guards. He stepped into the brig and closed the door behind him.
"What are you doing, sailor?" The guard asked, pulling his sword.
Percival continued what he was doing with the door, letting them draw closer to him. A heavy hand was placed to his shoulder, and he was bid to turn around with a rough gesture. He did, feeling himself plant against the bulkhead. Percival kneed the man holding him in the testicles, and grabbed his face to head butt him in the mouth. The man fell backward as the other produced his sword and stabbed at Percival. Percival side stepped, grabbing the man's arm with both of his hands and stepped forward. Percival's right leg went behind the man's stance, and he drove his heel into his leg to carry the sailor to the ground. Wrapping his leg criss-crossed over his sword carrying arm, he used his weight to twist until the sword was freed by the sound of bones cracking. He had forced a compound fracture, the man's wrist displaced and forearm sticking through the skin. He screamed and cradled his arm protectively. The other male stood up to fight Percival, but the downed sailor's sword was already claimed and used to slash deeply across his face. The second body hit the deck with a thud and Percival stood over them with the sword in hand. He moved to the man cradling his wrist and drove the sword through his throat to end his voice and let him drown in his own blood.
Silence followed, but there was a whimper in the corner of the brig, where a woman, beaten, bruised, and naked crawled from the cage she'd been placed to get Percival's attention. It was Eve, and she'd been terribly raped. There was no sign of her clothing, her skin had been bruised, beaten, cut, and all other manner of things. Dried blood was caked on her thighs and upper buttocks, and it looked as if her face was swollen. She had been crying but it was all dry now. She had crawled out of the cage, and raised her hand to Percival to gather his attention with her whimper. He turned to regard her, his expression emotionless. There was nothing in his expression that told of her salvation. A simple look and he turned to leave. He left her with the means to survive. A sword lay upon the ground, and the clothing of two men. What she chose to do with it was of her own accord.
Percival stepped out of the brig catching a man walking by off guard. The swing was enough to closeline him and leave his body back down on the deck, bleeding out. Another man called to arms, but the air left his throat before 'ARMS' could be exclaimed. Percival turned then, moving up the stairs to the main deck where other sailors were looking for the crew that had come up. When Percival arrived, the five men turned to look at him with confusion. At once, it all struck them what was going on, but Percival had already turned to run. He slid across the moist deck and latched onto a sail rope. He slashed it with the sword and soared upward with the gust of wind. The closest man to him was caught in the upward motion as Percival tore high up. His sword caught the chin of the sailor and cut through his nose and into his face. His body went up then down to land back first, leaving four. Percival's advantage here was speed, as the rope rigging did little to gain favor by height, it sent him upon a trajectory with two others. He landed shoulder first into a male, forcing him to the ground. Percival used that man's body as a buffer where he tumbled, rolled, and managed to get to his feet in a kneeling position, slashing a second male across his stomach before straightening to stand. He turned to the man he had tackled while standing, and kicked him across the face as hard as he could. It was enough of a bludgeoning strike to rupture the skull and force the man into convulsions. The remaining two were hot on Percival's trail, and the first tackled him to the deck, attempting to get the sword or a dominant position. Percival turned, letting the sword slide across the deck. His legs rose to wrap the male's torso, while his arms wrapped about the back of his neck to pull him down to prevent him from striking his face. He twisted the man's head to one side, cranking the body to favor right. Percival kipped his hips and rolled, using pain as a means of manipulation to roll the male by guide of his awkwardly turned head. They rolled and Percival got the top. Opening his palm, he struck the male by angling his palm down against the cheek. The momentum behind it was enough to force his head beyond the state of uncomfortable pressure, and sever a portion of the spine.
The last of them had scooped the sword up and was turning to face Percival, who was running toward him. Taking to the air, Percival planted both boots in his chest and kicked him, sacrificing his stance to fall back onto his back with a thud. The male stumbled, dropping the sword before tumbling over the railing only to catch himself. Percival kipped up to his feet and moved to the man. The sword was picked up, and the rope cut into a large portion. Percival tied a bow-line knot to the rail, then reached for the other end of the rope. Over hand knot with a loop made a slip knot, and he reached over to slide the loop over the man's head. He wenched it tight and slammed the hilt of the sword upon the fingers of his hand, making him drop while his other hand was trying to fumble with the rope. He fell a short length before being hanged.
Percival turned then, moving toward the main cabin. He kicked the door in, and glanced about. His target stood from his desk and turned about with a pistol, aiming right at Percival.
"I was waiting on you." The man said. "I knew when the stupid young woman had said your name, the intentions of this amnesty hearing were false. You will not kill me." He was going to pull the trigger, but a sliver of metal was thrust into Percival's back, and it appeared from the front of his stomach. Percival dropped his sword looking down to see the sword sticking through him and his vision went blurry. He felt it being pulled back, and he fell forward to tumble upon his back to see who it was. Eve. She stepped in, stumbling from the pain between her legs as she lazily lifted the sword up to the other male. It was clear that she intended to pay Percival back for his abandonment, while claiming the prize of this operation to herself. When she charged to attack, a shot rang out that tore a portion of her face off, tilting her cranium back as a line of red blood cast back behind her. Her body crumbled on the deck, brain matter spread across the bulkhead behind her. There was a silence that followed. Percival heard his heart beating as he glanced down to see his own blood pooling up beneath him. When he glanced up, the sole of a boot to his face.
When he awoke, he was upon the shores of Turas Lan, stomach down, his face in the sand. It was early morning and he'd just been noticed. His last conscious feeling before fading back to sleep was someone rolling him over..
