Oathday, 12. of Pharast, 4708.
Ford is just about to leave the house to make his investigations within the city guard, when he notes a note left for him on a side table.
Upon closer inspection, it turns out not to be a note at all, but rather an elaborately painted harrow card, depicting an armored rider holding a bowl of some kind.
There's a message scrawled boldly upon the back of the card. "I know who framed your uncle - he has wronged me as well. Call on me at 3 lancet street at your earliest convenience."
Gathering his equipment, Ford made ready for the door... but paused upon seeing such a colorful card laying about something belonging to Acacia? Closer inspection revealed a note emblazoned on the back...
"...how could-?" Whoever left this card not only knew him, but knew of his uncle's predicament... and how did it get here, anyways? Something about this struck him as odd... but, it claimed to know the one responsible for his uncle's framing. And it was his most promising lead so far. "Darwin! Tell mom and dad I'll be back later than expected! Make sure Acacia eats something! I'll be... back..."
Ford opted to follow the lead and head for the address listed. 3 Lancet Street... he constantly checked his gear under his travel cloak. He wanted to be ready for anything... when someone offers you a straightforward solution to a problem, and tells you to meet them at an unfamiliar location, q healthy sense of caution couldn't hurt.
Lancet street is down by the west docks, in the southern end of the midland district. Coming from his family's estate in the heights, Ford will have to move across the body of the city to get there. A twenty minute walk or so.
Despite the sharp, cold air of early spring, the midland district is abuzz with people moving about. Coming down from the more orderly heights, the press of people in the close streets is almost overwhelming. There's all sorts of smells and sounds here, merchants hawking their wares, the sharp stink of a tannery, as well as more palatable smells coming from streetfood vendors' carts.
Ford finds Lancet street easily enough; it's just two rows off of the docks. He can just barely glimpse one face of the city guards' Citadel Volshyenek, at one end of the street, the squat fortress looming over the shorter houses. Ford knows his uncle is stuck in a cell there, awaiting execution.
The door to number 3 is narrow, squished between a bakery on one hand and an antiquariat on the other. A note is stuck to it. If Ford looks at it closely, he notes the following message in a bold scrawl.
"I've had to step out for a bit. Please wait inside, I should be back shortly. - Zellara Esmeranda"
Ford grimaced a bit as he moved through then packed city streets. A little too floss for his liking, but not a wholly unpleasant time. As the sight of the Citadel loomed over the squat homes, Ford frowned a bit deeper. It was a good reminder of the stakes of his mission.
Finally locating the squashed home, Ford had a look at the note on the door. Odd... how did this Zellara know he was coming already? And where had she gone? Against his better logic, Ford opted to try opening the front door and stepping inside. He'd have a good look around for any signs of something being off, but more importantly, noting possible weapons to use. With a little ingenuity, anything could be made dangerous... and without his klar to protect them, he felt a bit nervous.
"Er-hrm! Uh... my apologies to anyone already here! I'm... simply here to meet with a miss... Esmeranda?" Granted, she wasn't there, but someone else could be!
Ford opens the door, revealing a narrow, carpeted staircase on the other side. There's an oil lamp fixed to the righthand wall, bathing the small space in a pleasant golden light.
Across from the lamp, there's a rack for outdoor clothes with several colorful scarves on it, hanging over a furry umbrella holder on the floor.
Ford's greeting is met with silence.
He can see a doorway up the narrow stairs, hung with a beaded curtain.
A very small living space... not quite the manor he had grown accustomed to growing up. But still quaint! The colorful scarves held his interest for a moment, as did the beads at the top of the stairs. Should he... go up?
After a few minutes of patient waiting, faking an interest in the minimal decor (although he did take a lonely to try and recall if he'd seen scarves like these before, Ford adjusted his cloak and d coded to cautiously climb the stairs and peer through the beaded curtain, just to see if that was where he was supposed to be...
The stairs are a little creaky. Peering through the curtain, he can tell he's looking at a sitting & dining room. A pair of windows let in light, although the bright yellow curtains mute it a little. To one side, there's a seating arrangement with plush chairs and a red couch arranged around a low table. Tassels line every available edge in here, and the pale green of the walls is regularly interrupted by small portraits and decorative plates.
There's also a dining table, and hardbacked chairs to go with it. It's set with an uncorked bottle of wine, a small basket of bread, oil, salt and several spreads. A paper folded so it can stand on its own invites Ford to Make yourself at home.
On the wall opposite from the windows, two doors lead further into the apartment. One is partially open, and Ford can glimpse a well-lit, tiled kitchen beyond.
Ford had a brief look around the room, noting the written invitation to sit and make himself at home... but he had a bit of time, he guessed. He briefly stole a glance through the partially open door, seeing the tiled kitchen beyond. Pretty nice for such a small place!
But what really intrigued him was the red plush seating area, which is where he opted to sit and wait. Was this a receiving area? It seemed almost out of place with the green decor...
Ford sinks into the plush fabric. The couch is well worn, and a little lumpy.
He's barely seated himself when he hears a woman's voice from down the stairs. "Ah, you came!" There's a pause, presumably giving her time to hang up her jacket and ascend the stairs.
Ford gets his first look at her as she sweeps through the curtain. She's an attractive middle-aged woman. The dark curls that sprawl from underneath her red nad gold checkered headscarf have long streaks of steel in them. Her clothes are as gaudy and mismatched as the decor of her sitting room, and she wears several layers besides.
She smiles at you with warmth in her eyes, walking towards you and extending her hand to shake. "Welcome. I'm Zellara Esmeranda, and thank you for coming so quickly."
Ford blinked as the owner came in almost as soon as his backside touched the seat! That was... prompt! And markedly convenient... but as his host entered the room, he quietly began to assess her as he stood up. She seemed a bit... haphazard? Certainly getting on in years, but truth be told, she could have fooled him if she said she was 10 years younger. Clearly a tad eccentric, but not in a harsh way.
"It is my pleasure. It's poor manners to keep a lady waiting... or so I've been told." Ford replied, grasping her hand and bowing gentlemanly as if to kiss the back of her hand, though he refrained from going so far. "Ford Benett, son of Count Joseph Benett and her Ladyship Sarah Benett. But... something tells me you already knew that."
Letting go of her hand, Ford straightened up and folded his hands behind his back. "I fear you have me at a disadvantage, milady Esmeranda. You already seem to know a substantial deal about me, and I, so little of you. And you seem remarkably familiar with my uncle's plight... if I may, how did you learn about his situation... and of the man responsible for framing him?"
Her eyes shine with wry amusement, responding to his bow with a curtsy.
"A polite young knight, too."
"But I forget my manners. Please, sit!" She fusses about a little, moving the snacks and the wine to the coffee table within easy reach. "Eat, drink!" She takes a seat across from Ford, smoothing down her skirts.
"As for how I know of you," she shakes her hand, producing a deck of cards from up her sleeve... or somewhere. She shuffles them almost absentmindedly. "I looked to the cards to find someone who shared my grievances with the man, moreover someone who could take action. And the cards, let me to you." With that, she cuts the cards, and turns over the top one, revealing the same knight of cups that you found on your table this morning, only without the writing.
Ford gave a light chuckle. A knight he certainly was not! His father always spoke about him entering into services as a squire, but thankfully, his uncle had more uses for him on his expeditions. "My thanks." he said, not particularly hungry, but politely taking a cookie and chewing it... and then reaching for the wine to take a drink. It was drier than he expected.
"Erm... cards? You mean, like... playing cards?" he asked. Despite playing a bit dumb, Ford quietly took note of Zellara's skill with the cards. The sleight of hand, the instinctive shuffling. This was clearly something she was practiced at. And it didn't take a professional investigator to guess that these cards must hold some sense of order to them. "Ah... that's the card you left me earlier... are they magic of some kind?" They had to be, if one could use them to find people seemingly at will without meeting them. "Who is this man? What does he have to gain from framing my uncle... aside from avoiding the dungeons, obviously? And, what exactly do these cards say I can do about him?"
The wine is fine enough. The sort you're served for dinner every day, which probably means she sprung for something expensive, relative to her means. The bread is stale, as if more than a week old, but the spreads (oily garlic hummus, and a variety of pesto) still make for a pleasant enough snack.
"To you, he is an agent twice removed of whoever sought the death of master Hernes, and a man who thought it amusing to settle his score with your uncle by way of fulfilling a contract," she says, then shrugs. "That's about as much as I've been able to glean. To me, he's the man who stole my cards, then killed my son after he retrieved them for me." Her face goes hard. "I sent for you in the hopes you'd seek your own redress, and bring my vengeance as well."
"As for the cards, I had a mage appraise them once. There's no magic in them he could find. Without sight to see they're little but pretty pictures, I suppose."
"...I see. I'm sorry for your loss. I'm... afraid there is little I can do about it..." Ford replied, casting his eyes down and taking another bite of bread.
"...but I do know someone who can. A... friend. Associate, more accurately. He's very capable... has a good sense of justice on him. I've little doubt he'll refuse your request. If you have a name, I'll pass it along to him. I'm certain he'll be prepared to act by nightfall. At the latest. I know the city guard is a bit... methodical. By the book. Too slow. My friend will be there much quicker."
Seemed a good chance to bring his Hydra persona to bear and show Korvosa the face of its newest hero. But one thing did bother him this information. This fellow, whoever he was, was acting on behalf of someone else, and doing so to settle a score? Who were these unknown parties? ...and just what sort of folks had his uncle associated with the earn their ire? Perhaps he could drag answers out of his newest target... or, more accurately, the Hydra could. Now, he just needed to know who and where!
"A friend, is it? I suppose that's well enough. Tell him he's looking for Gaedren Lamm. He's an old thug, but still dangerous for all that. You'll find him and his enterprise north of here, holed up in an old fishery at Westpier 17. Moving by nightfall would be good - Lamm moves his business often, and I have only recently discovered this one of his hiding places."
"Before you go, I'd do a read the harrow for you, give you some advice on how your friend might find success in his mission."
Without waiting for your consent, she cuts the cards, and draws.
"Past, present, future," she explains as she puts down 3 brightly colored cards in a row.
"Seven of disks. Hard work pays off. Not so strange, this. We've been each hard at our search 'till we got here, no?" she taps the second card, showing two people facing each other, each holding a chalice. "Two of cups. A close bond. Your friend is closer to your heart than you really want me to know. No, don't worry, I shan't pry. But know that working together will be well worth it, though fitting your lives together will require some compromise." She moves on to the last card in the row, a picture of a man on a castle looking out at a field, two staffs hovering beside him. "Two of wands. All according to plan. I'd advice you and your friend to stay true to your instincts, but then, whose plan? I think there's a hidden hand here, about to unveil their works. Be careful. I'm afraid that's all I can tell."
Ford suppressed the grimace at her sussing out his ruse. "Oh, well, naturally, I would have to entrust it to him. I mean, I have trouble trading verbal blows in a debate! I would hardly stand a chance in a round of fisticuffs!" He waved a hand and chuckled, trying to blow off suspicion.
His interest was piqued by the sudden reading of the harrow. So... the cards were a form of... fortune telling? Or, perhaps a branch of divination magic, played off as a dandy trade? Either way, it seemed like she could foretell events using these cards. So, perhaps the cards themselves were not magic, so much as the method by which they were read! So, that was how she learned of her information.
The past seemed straight forward. Hard work, good results. The present... again, Zellara was coming dangerously close to divining his secret persona. This was a problem... something he should really work on besting somehow. If other people like her could use these cards to learn his secret... it would be bad news. However, the bit about fitting his and the Hydra's lives together intrigued him a little. But the last bit, of the future, perturbed him a bit. Whose plan? Was that in reference to Mr. Lamm's true employer? Was someone waiting for him in this fishery? Was someone... watching him?
Standing up, Ford bowed again politely. "Then perhaps our next set of actions will put some strain on this hidden plan. In any case, I will pass along Lamm's location. I suspect, by night's end, he will be facing justice. For my uncle, and your son. Thank you, madam. You have been a fount of beneficial knowledge. I shall see it put to good use."
Provided nothing stopped him, Ford made for the door and the streets outside, pondering what he'd learned. Fitting his two lives together would require some compromise... a part of him wanted to go to the Citadel right now and inform the guard of Lamm's location. But... would they take him seriously? 'A fortune teller told me a criminal responsible for framing my uncle is hiding at a fishery on Westpier 17.' Yeah, that sounded rational... Instead, Ford turned and strode for home as quickly as possible. He needed to change, get his paint on and his weapons ready.
Ford had done all he could for now... now it was a job for the Hydra.
Later that night
The sun has just set, and the Hydra is lurking in one of the many shadows around the old fishery. It's built on a rock potrution, the building reaching all the way down to the water.
The main doors, set in the western face towards the street, is locked, and what windows can be seen have been barred with lengths of driftwood nailed haphazardly across them. The southern side of the building is lined with a rickety wooden walkway, held together by little more than barnacles and the sag of old age. It leads out to a derelict fishing schooner, the aft of which can just barely be seen jutting out from the building.
On the northern side of the fishery, there's a platform with two empty wagons sitting on it. Another pair of closed double doors presumably provide access to the fishery. The Hydra can't see more from here.
The fishery's roof is steeply sloped, and tiled with shingles.
The fishery. With night as his cover, Ford stood watching it from the shadows of a nearby alleyway. Inside was the man responsible for his uncle's misfortune. Who knows what other dangers lurk within. But Gaedren Lamm was there for certain, and he needed to be taken alive.
This would be the first real act of justice by the Hydra. Best to make a good first impression!
Waiting for the moon to duck behind some clouds, the Hydra rushed across the street and towards the western door. Locked. The windows could be an option. A loud one, but an option. He didn't want to tip off his arrival too early. The northern platform might prove more helpful. A big set of doors might have enough room for him to squeeze through any gaps he could make. If he was lucky, any possible guards would also not be expecting an entry from there.
Slipping around the side, Hydra would try his luck with these double doors. If nothing else, he might be able to glean some clues on how to get in.
These doors are also locked. Despite the general rundown conditions, the doors are quite solid.
Standing on the loading platform, Hydra notes a set of platform stairs leading down along the northern wall, with a smaller door near the water.
Drat! Locked too... there had to be a generally quiet way into the place. But standing where he was now, Hydra could see a small flight of stairs leading down along the side of the building. Perhaps... with a bit of luck, they aren't expecting people to use or notice it, they've left it unlocked!
Quietly moving down the stairs, the Hydra attempted to quietly open the door at the bottom. Otherwise... this was going to get very noisy, very quickly.
Hydra surreptitiously tests the handle. Locked. As he's leaning against the door, trying to minimize the amount of noise he's making, he catches faint noise from the other side. There's the rythmic clicking sound of claws against wood, as well as two different pitches of snoring.
Hydra froze for a brief moment, listening carefully to the door. Claws on wood... something sounded like it was walking around. And snoring. Two distinct tones.
Two guards. One possible animal. Maybe more. Outnumbered at least... but not outmatched! If he couldn't get the door open himself... why not let them open it for him?
Smirking, the Hydra leaned back and raised a fist, rapping at the door a few times before darting back up the stairs and looking for a dark place to hide. And now to wait.
His knock is met with loud barking from inside although it dies down eventually. There's a long period of silence - or at least Hydra can't quite make whatever sounds are there.
After almost a minute, the lower door swings open, revealing the light of a lantern, and a small bite of sound. "-'l feed you to the mutt, I swear to Kuthon." It's a high pitched voice. The owner steps out on the wooden walkway, lantern in one hand, a wicked-looking blade in the other. It's a short figure with spiky brown hair, clad in fluffy slippers and an overcloak.
First impressions are always important. Besides, it wouldn't exactly be heroic if the hero busted in and killed people unsuspecting of him. So perhaps a bit of intimidation would yield better results. Drawing both of his klar and tipping his helm a bit lower, Hydra crossed his arms over his Chet, aiming to give himself the appearance that he had two more head growing from his neck.
"Swear to any god you wish. They will not be enough to stay my heads." With the darkness, the moonlight, the display of heads, Hydra hoped he was putting on a convincing display... even so, he was ready for an attack.
"I seek Gaedren Lamm. Tell me where he is and I will let you go with your life... on one condition, that is."
Even with the light from the hooded lantern falling far short of his face, you can tell the little man is smiling.
"You'll let me go, will you? Heh."
Then he starts walking up the stairs. He says something in a commanding tone, something you can't quite understand, and as he talks, the words become visible in the air in front of him, sort of like frost on a man's breath, only not. The words drift off into the fishery, and a dog comes barreling out the door and past the man, up the stairs towards you, growling and baring its fangs.
"...very well. If you want to make this difficult, I will show you why you should've taken my advice." Hydra whipped his hands out and immediately stepped forward, aiming to dig his blades into the angry dog barreling for him.
'Keep focused. Elbows close, heads out. Just like you practiced.' He thought to himself, aiming to keep his mind on the fray.
[Ooc]5 foot step forward and using TWF to strike at the dog twice.[/OOF]
The dog lunges back at Hydra, trying to latch onto one of his arms.
Meanwhile, the little man slips around the vigilante, lantern dangling wildly from his hand, to keep his attention divided. One of Hydra's klar latches out as he passes.
The gnome rolls effortlessly out of the way, and rakes at Hydra with his curved dagger.
As the dog snapped at him, Hydra stepped and twisted out of the way, keeping an eye on the short fellow as he moved around to catch him from behind. He tore his eyes away from the angry dog to get a good look at the swing coming his way... and directed one of his klar to catch the attack in time.
"Did you think you could escape my sights? Every one of my heads can see you clear as day! And they bite!" Hydra threw off the next dog bite, before extending both arms and performing a spin, hoping the ensuing series of slashes would catch both the dog and the thug in the process.
The short blades draw blood from both opponents, giving them almost matching shallow cuts above their eyes. Amidst the noises of battle, Hydra hears a sharp gasp from the door, and catches a brief glimpse of a small person ducking its head back inside.
"Bite my ass, poser!" the gnome replies, before hack at your arm again with his curved blade. It catches onto one of the many protrusions of your klar, and he almost loses it. It doesn't help that he's trying to wipe the blood off his forehead with the hand holding the lantern, sending the shadows dancing wildly across the dock.
The dog continues trying to grab at you with its teeth. It latches on, and you can feel it worry at your skin through the sleeve.
,
Under normal circumstances, Hydra would've been quite proud of his klar catching the gnome's blade, but in this instance, it threw him a little bit off balance. This left the dog behind him enough time to sink its teeth into his calf.
Hydra gave a brief growl of restrained pain through his teeth. Reflexively reaching his right hand back, he brought his klar down at the dog into a slash, before gathering the momentum from the swing into his other arm, making a second slice for the occupied gnome.
But the sound of a gasp and a brief glimpse of a little head hadn't gone unnoticed. Someone else was here... whether they were friendly or not was yet to be determined, but they were certainly scared!
Hydra cuts the dog's throat with a slash, and gives the gnome another shallow cut. He does his best to return the favor.
Good... the dog was not a threat anymore. He could focus on the gnome now. A great boon as his klar quickly deflected another slash from the little fellow's attack. Though, there was still the other person behind that door... he needed to keep a good eye out in case of an ambush from behind.
But now was the time to finish this fight! "When you meet Pharasma in the Boneyard..." With the blade parried, Hydra brought his klar together in a series of quick movements, making an effort to slash a slanted letter "H" onto the gnome's chest. "...tell her it was the Hydra who sent you!"
The gnome seems to have had enough of this. He drops the lantern unceremoniously, it toppling over and sending oil spattering all over the floorboards and the light dancing across the area.
Then he legs it as fast as he can, barreling towards an alleyway across the road.
Hydra smirked as the gnome took off and ran away into the darkness. He wasn't going to follow him... but he did tell after him. "Tell the criminals of this city that Blackjack may be gone, but the Hydra has stepped up to take his place!"
He brought his klar together and clanged the blades over his head, as the resulting sparks flared to life, generating a ball of cool blue light orbiting around him, letting him see without the aid of the lantern. Now... to investigate the rest of the fishery.
Turning on his heel, his dancing orb of light following along, he moved back down the stairs to find the owner of the earlier gasp and little head. "I know you're here... and I won't hurt you. I'm looking for Gaedren Lamm... Just tell me where he is and you can go free."
Moving down the stairs, Hydra peers through the open door and gets his first look at the inside of the fishery. This is a large room, running the entire length of the building north-to-south, its floor slick with water and slime. There's a heavy stench in here, a mixture of fish gone rotten, harbour water and unwashed bodies.
In his witchlight, Hydra gets a feel for the room's contents. It's dominated by a giant wooden vat, with a staircase just to his right as well as a catwalk to the south providing access to the elevated parts of the fishery. There's also a hole in the floor to the south, providing direct access to the waters below. An assortment of large crates are stacked against the eastern wall, while the hole is lined with an assortment of discarded buckets secured to lengths of tarred rope, probably for the purpose of hoisting water up from below.
What really catches Hydra's attention though, is the clusters of undersize hammocks suspended under the catwalk, as well as their terrified inhabitants. Kids of various ages are hiding in there, probably hoping to avoid the Hydra's notice. Aside from the hammocks, there's also a kid trying to hide behind one of the crates to his left.
The fishery looked like it was an absolute mess of a place to work... but seeing the massive collection of hammocks, many of them occupied by children no less, turned his stomach upside down. This was supposed to be the den of a criminal thug... what were children doing here!? And so many of them, no less!
Moving his light a bit closer, he could see they were trying to avoid his attentions. Understandable... he must look like a terror to these poor kids, wearing skulls of lizards on his head and hands. His eyes caught sight of child trying to hide behind some crates nearby. This must be the one who he saw earlier.
"No, no, it's okay. I wouldn't hurt you. This is meant to scare the bad guys... I'm not here to hurt you all." Hydra took his klar off and holstered them behind his waist, kneeling down to the cowering child and showing his normal hands. "See? They're not my real hands... they call me the Hydra. I'm a friend. The dog and gnome won't hurt you anymore. You're safe."
He looked around for a moment, before speaking to address the lot of them. "What are you all doing here? This place is dangerous... there is a criminal I'm looking for. Gaedren Lamm. Is he here somewhere?"
The boy near Hydra stares at the man with wide, completely captivated eyes, apparently too overcome to speak at all.
His questions are met mainly with shuffling feet and averted eyes. One of the older kids speaks up from inside his hammock.
"We work here, mister. Lamm has a secret hideout under the place. Dunno how you get in there - maybe through the boat."
Meanwhile, the boy near Hydra has gathered up some courage, and tugs at the edge of Hydra's coat. "Are you here to hurt Lamm?"
Work here? More like they live here! Why else would all these hammocks be so strung up? "...where are your parents? Do they know you sleep here too?" A chilling thought ran through his mind... did these kids associate with Lamm? Did they... work for him?
As the little boy tugged at his coat, he looked down and pondered his question a bit. "...Lamm has done a lot of cruel things to innocent people. I'm here to bring him to justice, and have him arrested. If he puts up a fight, I'll have to..." He trailed off a moment as it occurred to him that Lamm might very well be mistreating these poor kids... they needed a real home, if they didn't have one. On that matter, he was hapless... but Ford Benett wasn't! "...listen, I need all of you to get whatever things you have and get ready to leave. I have a... friend. He's very rich. Powerful. He'll make sure you all get placed in a good home. Fed well. Taken care of. But just be ready to leave by the time I get back. I have to deal with Lamm first..."
Hydra moved quickly to the hole in the floor on the far end of the room, directing his light down to try and get a good look at the area below. Perhaps with a bucket and some rope, he could shimmy down below...
"Good." the boy nods fiercely, then darts away.
Hydra isn't sure if the children are going to do what he told them to. There's a lot of staring, not a lot of moving around. Mostly, they're trying not to catch his eyes.
Extending his pale light over the hole in the floor, he gets a good look at the water. It looks completely black in the blue light. He can sort of maybe spot a big shape moving down there, but it could just be the river's current, or a log or something. No good way to tell.
Kneeling down to get his head at the right angle, Hydra can see a walkway underneath the building, just barely raised out of the water, leading from the shcooner moored against the eastern face of the fishery to a door - or more of a hatch, really, it's barely two and a half foot tall - to the west, sort of aligning with where the production floor and sleeping area ends above. Getting to the walkway and the latch seems more or less impossible without jumping into the water and swimming a short distance.
Before Hydra can decide on his next course of action, he's interrupted by a crash from above, as one of the doors on the catwalk is thrown open. In the doorway stands a pudgy-looking greenskin, wearing a suit of ringmail over his night-clothes. He has a flail in one hand, and a bow and quiver slung over his shoulders.
"You'nt supposed to be here, hehe!" He punctuates the statement with a snorting titter of a laugh.
Hydra can just barely make out a second person behind the man, too.
Hydra couldn't really blame the children for their inaction. They looked scared... probably a little too cowed by their captor to make much of a move. He'd have to try and motivate them later... for now, he needed to find Lamm.
Having a good look at the hole, he could see that the seemingly best way in might be through the schooner... he'd need a good look in the hull. But as he was devising a plan of entry, he caught the sound of heavy thuds and footsteps, before the door above crashed open, one of it seemed two unwanted guests entering the door. One looked to be... an orc? He had green skin... it was a bit hard to tell. Maybe a half-orc.
Hydra's hands quickly flew to his klar as he immediately started bounding up the stairs and across the catwalk towards them. "Maybe not, but it's clear that I'm needed here!" he retorted, readying his klar in defense for the inevitable counter attack.
The armor slows the greenskin down a good bit, and his companion edges around him to get ahead. It's a man, human, with blonde slicked-back hair creeping back from his forehead. He's dressed in heavy looking embroidered coat, with black leather boots and gloves. A dagger, a crossbow and several vials dangle from his belt, but he's brandishing a wand at Hydra with a sneer.
A green blob flies from the tip of the wand, sizzling against his shoulder. By then, the lumbering orc or half-orc has made his way across the catwalk giggling all the while. Up close, it's clear that the man is lacking an eye; his puffy left cheek is marred by scars, disappearing under an eye-patch.
The Hydra clenched his teeth as the acidic shot boiled into his armor and body a bit. Just grit down and bear it... that's what he told himself, at least, while his klar immediately started to swing a net of steel and hardened bone between him and the greenskin. "I suggest you run now, before I remove the other eye and even out your vision!"
"Hehe, I'll make youse head go pop." He's wound his mace up by now, and sends it flying at Hydra's concealed face. He seems to be trying to wrap the chain around the vigilante's neck, more than actually hitting him with the wickedly spiked ball.
Hydra nimbly ducks under the swing.
,
His companion sends another blob of acid flying at Hydra.
Hydra ducked below the swinging chain just in time... but it left him distracted as another globule of acid impacted his shoulder, making him grit his teeth again. He was going to have to change tactics if this kept up...
"Not a wise plan, my friend. Haven't you heard about what happens when a Hydra loses its head? Two more replace it!"
The half-orc has ceased giggling, concentrating wholly on swinging his flail. It comes down hard on Hydra - might not have broken the skin, but he's probably cracked a rib or two.
The fop continues to rain acid at Hydra, safely tucked away behind his scarred buddy.
He shakes the wand irritably as it completely fails to achieve anything.
That last blow made him wince! That hurt... he was pretty sure something was broken down below. He needed to recover a bit... holding back on the witty come backs for now, he slid back and brought his klar up, crossing them in front of his chest and lowering his head, giving a stance that made it look as if he had three heads.
Small sparkles of light began to rise up from his body as he felt his wounds stitch themselves back together... he looked up as he smirked, feeling a bit better about speaking now that his lungs weren't going to collapse. "See? No matter how much you dish out, I can take it!"