Dark Heresy - Wisdom is the beginning of fear.

[Capntastic]

Mik took one large step forward, and started firing large amounts of shot into the enemies of Mankind.

(Move to M-3, and then firing his shotgun as many times as he's able.)

[Jak Snide]

Crisis quickly withdrew from combat, unwilling to test his strength against that of the living dead. The mutants moved to pursue him only to run face first into Mikolas and his shotgun, the latter blasting apart two half of them before one managed to close and seize an arm with a tentacle-like appendage. The last remaining one sped after the sharpshooter, though once again the lithe man managed to avoid being grasped.

Mithras fired a shot at nearest crew member, the las-bolt detonating her head spectacularly. She toppled, as did the few others left around her, the foul warpcraft that animated them now banished. The guardsman wasted now time in retreating to the bulkhead, placing an extra meter between him and the enemy. Cryvus tried to replicate his fellows efforts but only managed to drop one target. Xerxes, meanwhile, turned his weapon on the mutant that assaulted him, the man-thing exploding into wet giblets and the two behind it falling as well. The remaining one didn't assault the arbitrator, however, instead turning to it's right and leaping across the room, landing on a cot next to Mikolas and wrapping two hands around his neck.

What remained of the hordes marched onwards, Xerxes managing to withdraw to the bulkhead and avoid their grasp. One group, however, turned and followed after the leaping mutant, bearing down on Mikolas with a multitude of outstretched arms. Cryvus directed his lamp's light back into the darkness and despaired to see another pack making their way towards him. Mik, now straining against his assailants, spotted a second new horde moving forward.

Then the walls began to weep, a crimson fluid seeping out of the crevices and quickly pooling around the feet of the acolytes.

(Map updated. It's getting very messy and very cramped. The orange lines between Mikolas and his two assailants indicate that he's in a grapple with them. All he can is either try to free himself from the grapple or turn the tables on his attackers. Both are full round actions.)

[Capntastic]

Mik's mind tensed, for a moment- being surrounded was never a good thing. But he wasn't going to let some freaks take him out, oh no. And thus did he put to work the muscles that he was born with.

(Counter-grapple)

[Christian]

"Mikolas!" Yelled Mithras, his eyes literally torn between looking at his troubled friend and the oncoming horde, "Get your ass over here NOW!"

There wasn't much the guardsman could do to help, if he didn't make sure the exit was cleared and the approaching filth taken care of, they would all be dragged into the Abyss...

And then the walls wept. A tremendous shudder ran through the rat-like man's armored body as he tried, very much, not to think about it. It is hard, close to impossible, to ignore the fact that your feet are being covered by the stuff.

[shooting towards H14]

[Kelne]

Poem thoroughly disrupted by the woman's interference and the general horror of the situation, Cryvus fell back on the usual crazed ranting, "Remember Big Scrap Alley!" he shouted, turning his pistol on the closest of the zombies.

There had to be a way to take the fight to the cursed woman. If they could just clear enough space for him to think...

(The old aim and fire routine. Also, for the amusement of all )

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis' face twisted into an image of further irritation under the gas mask. Go figure that that large buffoon not only couldn't draw enemy attention properly, but he gets caught in a completely different attack...and that blood...it HAS to be that witch. HAS to be. She's going to get it alright...

But for now, to get the hell away and return fire to this abomination before bringing the fight forward...if he can...

Damn them all. Just. Damn. Them. ALL.

[Attempting half-action withdraw to H4, single-shot at the attacking zombie/zmombie/zmobie/zobmie/whatever misspelling you prefer]

[Jak Snide]

Crisis stepped to his left, narrowly avoiding having his face rent open, and shouldered his carbine. A single, barely audible shot detonated his target's skull, splatting both him and Mikolas in gore. The latter also found that his arm was now free: either through skill or the Emperor's blessing the assassin's shot had buried itself in the head of the tentacled mutant in front of him, pitching it over violently. The giant of a man reached behind him and hauled the mutant off his back, hands torn free of his throat as he wrapped his own around it's. Then he noticed the multitude of footfalls behind him. He spun to face the oncoming horde as Cryvus' shot rang out. Another head exploded and several of the pack dropped, the wytchery holding them together weakened. The ones remaining swarmed onto Mikolas, tearing at his face with nails and trying to find exposed flesh, the man suffereing a multitude of small injuries from this assault.

Mithras shot the nearest ex-crewman through the chest and watching the few left nearby drop along with his target. Xerxes' gun hammered out another trio of shots, peppering the oncoming hordes and dropping a few of them. They marched forward without any concern for the scores that had fallen already.

Then Crisis was pitched off his feet, followed by an even stranger occurrence.

The back corner of the room, the one where the acolytes had slept for weeks, was illuminated for a moment as a figure rose into the air, a long weapon dropping from her grasp as she screamed in agony. Arcs of electricity shot throughout the hold, grounding themselves in the ceiling, floor, walls and the the pack of the undead that threatened to envelop Mikolas. The giant felt his hair stand on end, the charge not strong enough to cause Then the figure dropped, falling behind the cots, still glowing with unholy power.

(Map updated. Mikolas is being grappled by a diminished horde of zombies, though he still has a choke hold on the remaining mutant that assaulted him. He's suffered 4 damage from a multitude of small injuries. Crisis is prone but otherwise unharmed, saved by his flak best but having been knocked off his feet by an unexpected shot. Be sure to check the top right of the map: the foe there is out of sight, but her location is now known.)

[Kelne]

At last, a target. Bringing his scalptaker up, Cryvus issued orders, "Mikolas, hang in there! Mithras, covering fire! Crisis, kill the queen!"

So saying, he fired off a shot a the distant glow of the witch. She might be behind cover, but hopefully, the manstopper shells would punch through it.

(I'm sure I'll need to spend a fate point on something over the course of this...)

[Capntastic]

Mik continued his mighty struggle. If any one of the acolytes would take a picture, surely this heroic visage of mankind versus the corrupting forces of chaos would net some nice cash in the propaganda market.

(Grapple!!!)

[NamagomiMk0]

Were Crisis anyone else, he would scream in raw fury right now. He recognized that gun so easily. Anyone would recognize an armament that was practically a part of them at this point.

...but the anger hit him just as hard anyway. SHE DESERVES TO DIE. No. Death would be too good. Had he the time, he would make her suffer. He would make her regret even DARING to touch his personal implement of destruction. She would become an example to anyone else who dared try to steal his weaponry.

But as it stood, death would have to do. His allies weren't making much headway at all, standing there and firing at the mutant hordes like they had bullets to waste. Mikolas was useless at this point, and freeing him would open himself up to further rifle fire from that bitch all the way back there.

...He had to get in close. Solely to get in a good shot at her. Preferably without ruining his own weapons...

And so he dashed, erratically at that in order to deter any attempts of drawing a second bead on him...

[Running to V3--if he sees a significant zombie threat near there, he'll retreat back to S1]

[Christian]

Mithras merely nodded at the order, Covering fire was covering fire... but with his rather measly laspistol as his only weapon...

He aimed his weapon at the undead closest to Mikolas and let a shot go.


[Shooting at L-5 / L-6, whichever one really]

[Jak Snide]

Crisis darted past Mikolas, nimbly hopping onto and over any cots in his way, pausing only to probe the darkness ahead. He found nothing insidious waiting there for him, save for the fading illumination of the wytch's position.

Mithras aimed a shot at the crew members around Mikolas and fire, working on a hunch. Once again his las-bolt struck a head and vapourised it, and as before more than one body topple to the ground. Mik used this chance to tear himself free, swinging the mutant in his arms around like a bludgeon and battering away his assailants.

Cryvus took careful aim at the darkness, the small patch of light now gone, and fired. A wail of agony told him of his success, the sound all too familiar to the acolytes but now lacking in any maddeningly unnatural qualities. Xerxes, encouraged by this continued to plug away at the advancing hordes, blowing the front two ranks of the closest swarm apart.

The hordes then...stopped, standing motionlessly in place, vacant expressions staring straight ahead.

(Map updated. The undead have stopped moving, save for the ones around Mikolas, but even those don't seem to be putting up much of a fight. The illumination around the wytch has gone but, from the sound of things, luck was with Cryvus this day. Somewhat thanks to a fate point being spent.)

[Capntastic]

Mik shoved the mutant into the group he was fending off, and then dug through his pockets, sneering and trying his best not to let himself get mauled. Pulling the frag grenade from his inner coat pocket by the pin, he gave it a quick flick of the wrist and assisted the weakened gravity in letting the heavy part fall. He then gave it a tiny tap with his big boot, sending it rolling. And then he made to leap back and away- these things were supposed to be much better than the one's from home.


(Frag grenade sent rolling, and then make his way to L-2)

[Kelne]

It was as he had hoped - pain and injury disrupted the witch's control over her minions. If they could only continue to inflict distractions upon her, they might yet triumph.

"Keep killing them," Cryvus instructed as he began to move. The witch was unlikely to stay put, and she would undoubtedly get up to further mischief left to her own devices. Hence, Cryvus intended to lend his fellow voidborn a hand in finishing her.

Unlike Crisis, Cryvus headed for the southern wall, trusting to the Emperor that no shambling hordes of the undead would bar his path. His will would be done today.

(Running towards square O23 for the moment, though any significant zombie obstacles will cause him to halt as soon as they come into view.)

[Christian]

Mits' fingers trembled with adrenaline as another few undead fell to the floor by his weapon. The back of his mind reminded him of his axe; it would be easy now, now that the witch's control was waning, to wade in there and finish off those things by hand...

But the more evolved parts of his brain reminded him why he'd been alive so far, and thus he continued his shooting, a nervous smile breaking out slowly on his face. They would win this. They would survive.

The thought of those that hadn't didn't cross his mind, such things were best left for after all of this was over.

[Mits continues to fire his laspistol, this time aiming towards the group 'round O16]

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis continued to advance...he was -certain-, from what he could hear now, that the witch is still alive. The darkness still filling the room aside, that this damnable entity, who would dare use the powers of That Which Should Not Be to twist these crewmembers into her distorted, freakish puppets. Who would dare to insult him by sending them after him and his fellow acolytes...

...and who would DARE to try to turn his own weapon against him. Even That Which Should Not Be did not resort to those methods...to turn his weapon against himself was to desecrate it...to desecrate his weapon was to condemn oneself to death...

And so he quickly advanced...well-aware of the fact that those mutants, while standing still for now, may not do so forever...

[Running forward along the inside route. Attempting to get to cover as far from the witch as possible while within visual sighting of her. Will alter path to avoid zombies if any are present.]

[Jak Snide]

Mikolas turned his back and ran, stumbling slightly as he did. He felt his stomach tighten as he heard the feint click of the tiny spirit in the grenade behind him. He flung himself forward, curling into a ball as the device exploded behind him. He was flung forward, skidding along the ground and slamming into a wall. His face and beard were now soaked with the blood that was tumbling down it's surfaces, he ached all over but somehow he was alive. He rolled over to regard what remained of his assailants. It wasn't much.

Mithras placed another shot expertly, the expected chain reaction dropping the few remaining foes within a meter of him. Cryvus darted past Xerxes just before the Arbitrator opened up, emptying the last two shells into the oncoming masses. They showed no signs of being slowed, now barely a meter away from the two who'd remained standing by the door.

Crisis darted forward into the darkness, disappearing from view.

(Map updated. Mikolas' grenade detonated for a massive 42 damage. Mik had to spend a fate point to reroll his agility test and avoid being utterly mutilated, and is now prone but only superficially harmed. He's also covered in the blood that's been leaking out of the walls. Mithras pops another weakened pack, Xerxes takes a chunk out of the nearest pack and Cryvus does some running. Crisis should check his PM for what happened on his turn.)

[Capntastic]

Mik coughed. And then slowly got to his knees, to survey the grenade's work.

"Holy shit!"

Standing up, he wrung out his beard, and began loping towards the next mob of zombies he laid eyes on.

(Half turn stand, half turn move to I-3)

[Christian]

"Mikolas!" Mits shouted as he heard the explosion. The large man had done something with a grenade and for all the guardsman knew, had blown himself to pieces.

Suddenly they were WAY too close for comfort. He hadn't even thought of this approaching horde, and now they were mere feet away from him...

His left hand remained gripping his axe like a macabre security blanket as his right fired off another shot into the close horde. He tried aiming towards the head of the middle-most of the undead, as he expected this would cause the most effect.



[Mits aims and fires at where he hopes his shot will do the most damage to the oncoming horde. He's not moving]

[Kelne]

With the zombie horde safely behind him, Cryvus kept running, intent upon getting close enough to the witch to take another shot at her. He could only trust that his comrades were able to look after themselves. There might be fewer zombies now, but they remained dangerous.

(Running towards square AD19)

[NamagomiMk0]

The darkness...the emptiness...

It surrounded him. The scene looked to be out of a nightmare, to be true.

Even with his squadmates presumably still alive, they could barely be heard...and the walls were soaked with...no, not soaked. POURING blood.

And yet, all of this paled before the beast before him, that could no longer be considered human to him. He had gazed upon things that should not exist, entities of the Warp that by their very nature, drove most men mad, twisted others into hideous, distorted mockeries of what they once were, and effortlessly ripped the rest apart.

It was not merely the physical appearance of this witch...not simply that, but the sheer malevolence exuding from her form. It was as if it could be physically felt in waves...in a sort of emanation...hatred was one thing, but this was nigh-incomprehensible to mortal men.

...and everything in his mind was telling him to give up, then and there. That he had no chance. That it was safer to simply curl up, and hope to be spared form the worst... Eyes widened, pupils contracted, and his breath practically siezed audibly. He was truly alone with what could be considered THE stuff of nightmares...no, an understatement. In a nightmare, you could wake up.

...this, despite the seeming unreality...was wholly real. And it nearly drove him catatonic with madness...



...yet it didn't. Crisis steeled himself then and there. Inexplicably, nobody would know how or why...

...but if he were to stop now, he would be dead in an instant. If that were true, than this abomination, who had turned practically the entirety of the crew against them, who had not only taken HIS weapon, but used it against him...would win.

He could not allow that. He would not allow that. Such a thing SHALL not come to pass, so long as he possesses a working weapon. She, if it could truly be called "she" anymore, MUST die. And he'd do anything and everything imaginable to make sure it was by his hand...she deserves nothing short of a death, preferably to be shredded by one of his other implements of destruction.

Still shaken from the first contact with this nightmarish adversary, Crisis did the only thing possible, as he braced his autocarbine in a bloodstained, recoil-gloved hand, over the top of the cots, pulled, and held the trigger down.

Were someone with a more poetic mindset seeing this situation, they would probably draw some sort of 'heroic' metaphor from it. As it stands, only one thing went through his mind...a murderous rage enough to shake off fear, and actually start fighting this beast...

...and for the first time in forever, he spoke, nigh-berserk rage overriding his fears...

"No mercy for the damned....no escape from catastrophe..."

[Full-auto at the witch. The battle has now begun.]

[Jak Snide]

Mikolas struggled to his feet and limped back towards the door, wringing out his beard with one hand. Cryvus plunged forward into the darkness, finding his way cluttered with cots and personal belongings. Mithras fired off a single shot before a tide of the unliving washed over him, Xerxes suffering a similar fate as he reloaded, the first shot of the new magazine flying wide as he pumped the trigger in panic.

The lights came on. Mithras and Xerexes, both in the midst of crying out in fear, stopped as their assailants tumbled to the ground, lifeless limbs brushing them as they fell. The walls returned to normal, the only blood remaining being that seeping from the scores of corpses that lay before the acolytes.

At the other end of the room Crisis eased his finger off the trigger.

(Map updated.)

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis kept a tight grip on his gun as he saw the room regain its former appearance...it was a strange alteration of reality for him to see...the blood on the walls suddenly and inexplicably vanishing...but it wasn't over yet. She was still alive. Incapable of controlling either the mutants or casting darkness over the room anymore, it seemed, but still alive.

This should not be allowed. She must not be allowed to live at all.


And as such, the assassin dashed over, next to where his adversary fell, pointing the autocarbine down at her in the process...

[Christian]

Mithras hands had raised vainly as the horde washed over him, waving his axe frantically as he felt the insignificance of his existance. In a mere few moments he experienced terror, anger, hatred, hopelessness, despair and then finality...

But he was not dead. The walking dead had fallen down, the strings carrying the puppets cut by an unseen force.

For a few moments he stood still and then, a sudden realization gripping him, he began to run. He knew, he thought he knew, what was going on...


[Mithras all-out dashes towards Crisis in order to aid his comrade against the witch]

[Kelne]

The lights were on and the zombies down, but Crisis' actions indicated that things were not yet over. As such, Cryvus kept up his pace. There would be no rest for him until he was certain the witch was dead.

(Running on to AR10)

[Capntastic]

Mik grin't as he saw the rest of the monsters tumble. Looks like the hard part was done. All that remained was to make sure Crisis and Cryvus didn't get themselves turned to ribcleaner bait.

(Running up and to the right as fast as his legs can propel him.)

[Jak Snide]

The acolytes all convened on Crisis' position, Xerxes pausing momentarily to reassure himself that the dead wouldn't rise again. The gas-masked voidborn moved forward himself, taking no chances and keeping his weapon trained on the wytch's position. He reached the ring of cots and cast his eyes downwards.

The girl he'd found so utterly terrifying moments ago lay there taking ragged, wet breaths in an expanding pool of blood. Her left arm was a mess, two separate injuries having twisted it out of shape, and she'd had a bloody hole punched through her chest and the simple grey robe that she wore. Her tanned skin stood in stark contrast to the innumerable pale-faced crew members he'd become accustomed to seeing and, delicate features now contorted in pain. His rifle lay nearby, as did a lasgun and his own high calibre pistol.

As the others reached their cots she tried to speak, only to find she lacked the breath to do so.

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis seemed unphased by the fact that it was merely a teenaged girl. She had to die. And there WAS the fact of her taking his gun, and daring to use it against him...

However, a quick death could only be necessitated. She could easily have the power to heal herself, or at least take him and the others out with her.

As such, he placed his forward foot on her chest, holding her down as he aimed the autocarbine in one hand, pressing its barrel to her forehead. Whatever expression he may have on his pale face was concealed by the gas mask he was wearing.


...and he pulled the trigger.

[Jak Snide]

Crisis stepped back, both feet resting on the deck once again. The wytch, who moments ago had jeopardised both their mission and the lives of all on board the Brazen Sky, was dead, her face a mute testament on the fate of all heretics.

Xerxes looked on, his expression austere and free of pity. He clapped one hand down on Crisis' shoulder, conveying his approval of a job well done.

[Christian]

Mithras slowed down to a jog as the shot was heard, then to a pacing until he came up to his two comrades.

It was over.

As he breathed out his entire body seemed to give up under him and he sat down heavily on a cot, eyes glazed over slightly.

It was over.

"We... we should report this back... to..." he said, his mouth mincing words that his brain hadn't thought. He grew silent, looking across the large room, bittersweet relief mingled with the terror of what had happened, what they had had to do to survive this.

"Is... Is everyone alright? Sound off!" When you don't know what to do, you go with what you learnt on the drill. His CO had told him that on several occasions.

[Capntastic]

"Yeah, I'm fine. Gonna need a washrag, though."

Mik continued wringing out his beard, glaring at the fallen foe.

"Between this and that heretek lady, I'm startin' to notice a common, uh, theme..."

He paused, to give a bit more thought to the important revelation he was going to share.

"Women will do a lot of frakked up stuff to have control over a man."

[NamagomiMk0]

Crisis shook his head as Mik spewed out his latest rambling. Tolerance is a pain in the ass. Especially when you have to tolerate someone who jumps to all the wrong conclusions.

He wanted nothing to do with this anymore. The cleanup process would clearly be a bitch, and he had to have a few words with two of the Acolytes in particular once he could get his mind straight. This needed to be rectified before another mistake on their part that could cost him HIS life would occur.


Following, he slung his autocarbine back, drew both Laspistols, and threw them to the floor. Lasweaponry has truly proven to be more of a hindrance than a help, what with the distinct lack of quality models. The lack of recoil makes them a pain as well.

...bullets were plentiful anyway.


He then reclaimed his rifle, examining it for damage before slinging it over his shoulder, and then searching for his Stormchild-pattern hand cannon. If there's anything armored or large where they were going, he'd need it for sure...

[Kelne]

Cryvus watched the witch for several moments, as if assuring himself that she was truly dead and not about to rise up again to attack once more. He made a cursory check of her person and belongings, but doubted that there would be anything to give them an idea of her origins.

This done, he triggered his vox, making sure it was set to the bridge frequency, "Bridge, Cryvus Valnik here. The witch is dead, and the threat posed by the living dead ended. There were, alas, no survivors in the hold. You may begin lifting the lockdown. I will expect a thorough sweep of the ship for any lingering taint, and all bodies are to be burned or cast out of the airlocks."

The threat might be past, but that was no reason to take foolish chances.

[Jak Snide]

Crisis discarded the two weapons, throwing them at the floor with unusual disdain before recovering his beloved rifle and sidearm. The latter he could tell had been handled, and he had to force himself to stay calm as he regarded his rifle. It'd require hours of proper maintenance to sanctify the weapon. Mithras cast a glance over his shoulder at the sheer carnage that lay behind them. Only now did the acolytes have a chance to fully absorb the sheer numbers that they'd put down, most of them once simple people who'd been caught up in something truly terrible. Mikolas seemed unconcerned, however, instead rummaging through his recovered kit bag for a rag to help clean himself off.

Cryvus, once satisfied a bullet to the head had ended their wytch problem, checked the corpse over. He found little; a concealed blade strapped to her left, a small pouch containing coins of Scintillan mint and few crumpled identification papers that marked her to be a pilgrim of the name Janice Varr. Undoubtedly fake in his opinion, but potentially useful.

The reply from the bridge was not immediate, the silence leaving the acolytes slightly ill at ease, though when it came it was the Tech-Priest Phrix that spoke.

"This is Acting-Captain Phrix speaking." Those first few words bore great significance. "All other compartments have reported situation normal. Lockdown shall be lifted. You are to gather your belongings and report to the bridge for debriefing. Your current location will be quarantined once you have departed."

It took the acolytes a few minutes to gather their belongings, after which they departed quickly. The bay had already begun to stink of death and even the most hardened among them were ill at ease with the scores of blank, lifeless faces. They found the exit unsealed and Sebek a good few meters down the hallway. From the looks of things he'd taken a look inside and lost whatever breakfast he'd managed to retain after the incident in the holds. He led them back to the bridge in silence.

---

They stepped out of the elevator and onto the bridge to find that little had changed. The servitors were still slaved to their respective machines, both chattering away as they handled the arcane procedures involved in operating the Brazen Sky. The only difference was that Norosgov's cradle was empty, wires hanging limp where once they had connected with the back of the old man's head. Phrix, leaning over one of the servitors and observing an array of dials and displayers, turned to face the acolytes, his voice crackling from beneath his hood as he regarded them with a pair of bionic eyes.

"Uriel Norosgov has been removed from command. He made a grave error in judgement. The mutants were a benign threat; an easily bypassed glitch. He introduced an element which, were it not for your presence, turned this vessel from the Omnissiah's light. Upon his head lies the tainting of this hallowed vessel, as well as the reduction of crew numbers well below optimal levels." He paused, his optics adjusting themselves noisily as he studied their faces before he continued.

"They were good people. They respected their home and served it well. Surely their souls will find their way to Him, regardless of what taint might have been visited upon their flesh. As for the Sky, she is now free of any taint. For this you have my, and her, thanks." The hint of emotion in his voice departed as he turned to face the empty cradle, a partly-augmented hand emerging from one sleeve to caress it.

"Salvage operations are under way, as is the decontamination of your previous quarters. Those left still bear their duties, and we shall carry them out to the best of our abilities. I suggest that you revitalise yourselves. The Captain's quarters are at your disposal, I have little need of them myself. The Purser will guide you as always. He will tend to any of your requirements."

(The acolytes are free to leave with Sebek and enjoy whatever luxury awaits them. If character would have gone about looting the crew-bay before it was placed under quarantine contact me via PM or IM. You should also check your PMs.)

[Christian]

Mithras had said precious little, if anything, to the rest of the Acolytes. As soon as he'd been informed of the others safety, he had sat down heavily on one of the bunks and taken off his helmet, the tufft of salt and pepper hair drenched in sweat. Before they left, he had hoisted up his lasgun, performing only a routine check on it to see that it hadn't been damaged or otherwise tampered with as well as whatever small effects he had left behind.

As they reached the bridge he looked to be calming down. Slightly. Color returned gradually to his face, yet he still seemed thoroughly shaken by the whole event.

As the tech-priest commented on the ship now being free of taint, he added a low "...in His name..." before returning once more to silence, observing the rest of the group.

When the priest finished speaking Mithras drew a deep breath and opened his mouth as if to say something, but then only exhaled in a drawn out sigh. Right now, he wanted to rest for the remainder of the trip. The only problem was, he doubted he'd get any.

[Capntastic]

After being dismissed, Mik immediately gave a low whistle, and jangled a small cloth sack he'd filled with a few scavenged odds and ends.

"Sebek; come're."

[Jak Snide]

The Purser shuffled forward and acknowledged Mikolas with a slight nod. Sebek was paler than usual and a little thinner looking that last time Mik had bothered to pay attention to the man.

[Capntastic]

Mik glared down at the Purser, considering a proper course of action.

"Why'd you run off? Don't you have the sense to protect your own turf?"

[Jak Snide]

The man's mouth hung open, words escaping him as he looked towards Phrix to step in for him. The new Captain was, however, busy communicating with one of servitors in a high pitched twitter.

"I-I'm merely a humble Purser, my lord, without arms or skill with them. I'd have merely gotten in your way."

[Capntastic]

"Yeah, well if you're gonna play to your strengths, then you'd better not stop running until we hit our destination. My gang and I put a lot on the line back there. And New Cap'n says everyone gotta work extra hard. So it's only fair."

Mik then swung the sack of goodies at Sebek's side, just rough enough to get him moving at proper speed.

"I'm gonna need to wash up! So get some hot water and a tub or whatever you can find! And another washrag!"