jackrackham | What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive?

What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive?

The festivities at the City Hall feel far from civilized, and the general air of celebration carries with it a sense of unease. He'd been told to be prepared for something strange and possibly deadly to happen tonight. Eliot had said to be prepared for anything, so he and Anne had brought their swords. It feels both comforting and strange to have it at his hip again, especially when the power unexpectedly cuts out.

Instead of sticking around to see the ritual effigy-burning, they collectively decide to head towards the boardwalk and see if there is anything less likely to cause mayhem happening there. Jack buttons up the front of his coat as they walk. The night is crisp, but he's comfortable as they approach the ocean.

He points towards the south, then looks towards Eliot. "We arrived down that way. On the shore. Didn't you say that you arrived in the water?"

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Anne doesn't know what they are. She don't care. Jack and Eliot can puzzle that out all they want; all she knows is the thing lunged toward Jack, and she's lunging back.

Swords drawn, darting past to put herself in front of him, she can't even get to the thing before something else happens. Three streaks of light burst through the air, startling her into momentary stillness as she flings an arm up to defend against whatever it is, until she realizes first that they've struck the creature, second that that wasn't enough, and third that the light came from Eliot.

Well. All right then.

Still no time to ponder any of it, or to re-assess her expectations from the weedy magician; there's still work to be done, and she throws herself on the thing, stabbing one blade directly into the wound Eliot's made, the other into its awful bulging head. The thing writhes more than she expects—Jesus, it's strong—but in the end it goes out beneath her, and she yanks her blades out and steps back, a bit breathless.

"The fuck," she announces, staring into the distance at the great many of them swarming slowly over the beach.

As Eliot steps forward, Jack's instinct is to warn him off. His mouth is open to tell him to stay back when light shoots out of Eliot's hands and lands steaming into the creature's back. Well, that answers his question about battle magic. Anne then goes and dispatches the thing. He watches, waiting to see how easily it's killed. It seems tough, but...doable.

"Alright, we're doing this. Don't go too far into their lines. They're slow but I don't want them surrounding us when we're not looking." He can see another approaching from the right, and he heads that way. With this one he avoids the teeth altogether by coming at it from the side. He brings the heel of his boot down onto the back of its head with a rough kick, then braces his foot there to stab where the creature's head connects with its atrocious humped back. It's rougher and denser than he'd been expecting, and he has to push down on his hilt with both hands to push the blade through. The creature writhes and dark black ooze forms around his blade as he gives it a final shove downward. There's a cracking noise, and then the creature goes limp beneath his foot.

The blade slides out easier than it had gone in, and Jack looks down at the slimy coating on his blade with disgust before looking up again. "Jesus. Eliot, how much more of that have you got?"

Eliot frowns, displeased that the creature's hide is thick enough that a magic missile won't kill it outright. But before he can try anything else Anne launches herself at it with startling ferocity and after a brief struggle it goes still. Okay then.

When Jack starts giving directions like he's been fighting sea creatures all his life, Eliot supposes he shouldn't be surprised. It's clear they both have more real combat experience than him, and Jack more lived-in authority, and there's a part of him that feels a little miffed, like his presence is...extraneous.

But he pushes that thought aside as he scans the beach. They don't want to get surrounded, it's true, and it becomes rapidly clear that this is going to be bloodier work than he'd like. Eliot reaches into his breast pocket and retrieves a small vial of oil with iron filings in the bottom.

"Of that?" He looks up at Jack's question, sees that he's taken out another one of them. How intrepid. "As much as you want, honestly, but it doesn't look like it's very effective against...goddamn mermaids." Eliot grimaces. Someone had to say it, alas. He pours a bit of the oil on his palm and sets up a charm for keen edges, then draws his rapier and runs his hand over the blade. "Let's see if we can't get them quicker than that, eh? Here." He steps closer to Jack and repeats the process on his cutlass; the ichor falls away with a crackle.

"That should hold for a couple hours," Eliot explains. It's nothing like the enchantment on Bingle's cursed sword, but it'll do. "Anne, you want to get in on this?"

Jack starts barking orders, and Anne feels an encouraging surge of vitality, already standing alert and ready for the next target. This is familiar; not the world or the threat or the circumstances, but Jack, like a key fitting into a lock. She watches Jack dispatch another of them with visible effort, steps close in case she needs to help him finish it, and when she doesn't, her eyes are up and scanning the dark, slow writhe of the horizon.

Eliot's answer is a discordant pitch against the rest of it; his haughty voice not suited to the environment, a piece that doesn't fit. She looks sharply at him, her concentration broken when he declares the creatures mermaids. These are not the creatures of myth that calls to mind, but she has far less interest in following up on that than she does in what Eliot's doing to his sword, and Jack's.

"What did you do?" she asks. She steps back to keep their flank covered, her eyes darting between Eliot and the surroundings. She's impatient; these beasts aren't in any hurry, but she doesn't like just idling while Eliot makes bloody conversation. "Fine," she says without waiting for his answer; Jack trusts him to be useful, so can she. She offers one of her blades toward him, a curt, precise motion that runs no risk of injuring him, but if he jumps, he jumps.

Edited 2020-01-07 04:11 (UTC)

"Whatever you did, do it to this too, if you have more." He slides his dagger out of its sheath and, with a steady glance towards Anne, offers the blade sideways rather than pointed forward. He knows that Anne is slow to trust, but there's something more there with Eliot that seems different than just plain distrust. He wonders if he should ask her about it, but right now is definitely not the time.

"Spread out, and keep an eye out for anywhere we might funnel them through." He nods back to the street leading into the city, wondering if just moving around is enough to draw the creatures closer. "Move that way. That seems like the best option at the moment, but I'd like a better one if we can find it."

He spares a quick glance towards Eliot's sword before he heads off, taking the lead. He doesn't know how experienced Eliot is in battle, but trusts Anne to pick up any slack if need be. As he approaches the next creature he encounters, he sheathes his sword and approaches instead with his dagger in hand. He drops a knee down onto its back and plunges the blade in roughly at the base of its neck, surprised when it slides in as if there had been no resistance to the blow at all.

So that's what Eliot's magic had done.

He laughs, stands, and looks to find the next creature.

Eliot can't help startling a little when Anne just jabs a blade at him; he wants to make some kind of retort, ask if she thinks that's really necessary, but they're not that familiar. She's made it clear how she thinks of him, and Eliot feels stuck between wanting to win her over and not wanting to give her the satisfaction. Either way, he thinks, he's going to come off a little rude at this point. There's nothing to be done. They have, literally, bigger fish to fry.

"Made it sharper," he answers as he does the same to her blade, and Jack's dagger. If they're being brusque tonight, Eliot can play along. He would compliment Jack on his strategic thinking but he's already taken off. It's going to be a numbers game, and with seemingly no end to the amount of monsters crawling onto the beach they'll need to be fast and efficient to reduce the number that make it inland.

He makes for a small group of them at a jog, grimacing as he gets close. They really are fucking hideous, with their distended almost-human faces and gnarled clumps of hair. Going for the head or neck seems like it's worked well for the pirates, no reason why he shouldn't do the same. Just like dispatching a lobster. Of course he's never known a lobster to give the kind of nasty guttural hiss these creatures do, like the first one does when the blade sinks in. The enchantment's good, and the merman dies quickly enough, but Eliot's stomach turns at the way it thrashes. He could do better.

With the next one he sends an electric current through the rapier, a quick bright flicker that seems to draw the monsters' attention. The one he stabs twitches and goes still almost instantly, and Eliot grins. This is much more palatable. He dispatches a third and then backs up a pace, looking for Anne and Jack.

"I think they're drawn to light," he calls, feeling incredibly energized. "Do we want more light?"

Whatever mild satisfaction Anne takes in Eliot's little start is swept under the clear utility of it, once he explains. She likes sharpening her own blades, but this is different, and she won't say no to an extra edge.

She keeps back, her eyes on both Jack and Eliot as they veer off—Jack can handle himself, but she's not letting him out of her sight, and Eliot... she doesn't know what to expect, but at least she knows she don't want to see him dead.

Jack kills one of the things easy, laughs and keeps moving; Eliot works quick and smart, far better than she would've guessed, and it's with grudging respect that she watches as he finishes one, then another, this time with a flash of light like he's done something more.

And the light seems to work faster, and it does seem to draw them, so after sparing a glance to make sure Jack's seen it as well, she moves in quick toward Eliot, lunging past him and slashing through a creature that was near closing in. The strike is so much easier this time that it throws her off balance, her muscles tensed for greater resistance, but she recovers quick and adjusts her weight before holding out her sword again, hilt-first this time.

"Do it," she says, less a bark and more an agreement.

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What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive?

gnarly fishman violence

yes, definitely that

A Surprising Lack Of Aquatic Violence Here

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