Alyna pouts when the big northman calls her booty. But his threats do not impress her much. It is highly unlikely that she would be treated that way, even by barbarians. When the captain speaks, it sounds much better. Even though the barbarians of the steppe do not honor guests the same was as her people do, she still feels much safer when he calls her a guest on board his ship. So she answers the captain: "Thank you kindly, Sir. I am sure I cannot be a threat to any of your crew, and I surely will not try to harm anyone. I most definitely would prefer not to drown."

She pauses a moment, but then she directly adresses the northman: "I apologize if me trying to reach the shore offended you. The natural instinct was to reach the land. I was not aware of a formal declaration of war between you and my people, and therefore not aware that we should be enemies."

Dyanna makes her way to the rail next to Pyotr and looks down at the drowned slip of a girl.


To the others she says, "Likely not my place to say, but perhaps this ship's company's booty nearly escaped in the clutches of our...guest?"

Striving to use his disc to best advantage, the young mage places it near the female, and beckons her to hop on.

"These guys will bring your chest aboard, with or without you. You, however, do not seem too heavy for me to lift, and the water looks awfully chilly. You will have to climb on though, if I let it get below the water, it will be too hard to bring back up."


He glances nervously at the Big Norsemen, whose language was fluffy enough to be one their fabled bards, but the content was chillingly and manifestly brutal and bloodthirsty; traits most children felt as strongly as a backhand across the mouth.

Mind you, Norsemen were not as well known as the Greek for mis-using little boys, but still....
This message was last edited by the player at 04:27, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

Alyna stays in the water until she is sure that her chest is secure. Once ropes are attached to it, she quickly makes her way onto the flying disk that the strange boy seemed to have conjured out of thin air. She sits down on the disk, her wet blue dress clinging to her quite uncomfortably. In turn it allowed the men on deck a good look at her forms. Alyna was not concerned about it having a bad effect, after all, the captain had assured her safety with his word.

When the disk rises upwards, Alyna looks at the ship and its crew. There were some brutes, but others seem more sophisticated. She also notices that there seem to be wounded on board, so they really are with the attacking pirates. She'd surely like to know how they managed to defeat the greek fire, but for now she keeps her mouth shut, sitting on the disk as gracefull and regal as if she was the empress herself.

        The Stridesman appears green about the gills as he slowly makes his
way aft in order to get a better glimpse of the water nymph, and to speak to
her more directly.  An obvious trail of blood is left in Gultungas wake.
The Northmans left hand continues to apply pressure to his wound as he uses
his right to keep his keel even by using whatever is available to give him
support as he moves forward.  When he finally has direct eye contact with
the flotsam he replies . . .

        "We shalt know more of your intent wonce we hath a look see into
your chest.  If it contains treasure, we shalt know the why wheretofores of
your intent of paddling towards shore and not to our fleet.  If this is the
case, then its mores the likely forfeit."

        Gultunga having lost track of the days wonders whether its Saturday
or not . . .  Hath I made an error and not bathed or brushed my hair as my
people are expected to do on such a day.  Out of the blue the Northman
screams . . .
        "Doth any the one hath a brush that I couldst borrow for a few
moments?"
        The Stridesman patiently attempts to wait for the Nymph to board
their vessel.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:40, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure.", Alyna replies, while she moves herself over to the ship. As she does so, her wet dress reveals two long and slender legs before it manages to fall down again. For a moment she looks down to her skirt as if she was criticizing it's performance. She looks up to the big norseman, then she sais: "You are wounded. You should be resting. Do not consider yourself with me, I am not another enemy for you to slay."

Turning to the captain, she continues: "Thank you again for saving me from drowning." She smiles for the first time. "I do trust that you do not let your crew rob your guests." With that her eyes seem to sparkle as if she is enjoying a private joke.

Alyna's hair is still wet and she brushes it out of her face. Her pointed ears become visible. She then turns to the boy, smiling warmly at him, saying: "Thank you, too, for conjuring that magical disk. You surely are a very special young man."

       The Norseman closes the distance betwixt himself and the nymph until he's
close enough to look directly into her eyes as he continues to address her

 . . . Its easy to see that Gultunga is likewise pleasing to look upon, though
he currently appears to be the worse for wear at this time.

       "To rest would be foolish till its been discerned whether ye r'e truely
a friend or foe.  The songs of the past tell us that wot looks to be innocent
is oft the most deadly.  A 'Trojan Horse' can take on many forms.

       Ones man trash tis anothers treasure ye say.  If wots within the trunk
tis but trash to us, then ye should hath no objection nor worry if it tis opened
and searched."

       A few moments pass before Gultunga continues to speak . . .

      "Captain would thee grant your crew permission to search the nymphs trunk
just to be on the safe side?"

       The Stridesman forces a pained smile as he begins to sweat profusely . . .
The contents that was once in his stomach spews forth from his lips showering
himself and those about him with what was his previous meal of salted fish, eel,
stale bread and watered wine.  The Norseman falls back onto the deck with a
rather loud thud to take a brief nap.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:37, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

Barmak climbs out of the water after Alyna, shaking the seawater from his hair as Gultunga plies her with words...and then with vomit.  He stares at the fallen Norseman in stunned silence for a moment, and then looks at Alyna apologetically.  He shrugs out of his sopping wet shirt and offers it to her to clean herself with.

"I feel I should apologize for Gultunga's..."  He searches for the right word, speaking in accented Russian.  "...For Gultunga."

"I, too, must admit to some curiosity regarding the chest's contents," he says to her, "but I think I am safe in saying we are all here for higher purposes than looting defenseless women."

He glances at Miroslav and the boy.  "Ulfr - how does he fare?  I have some experience with locks, if you would have me inspect the chest that poisoned him."  He glances at Ulfr and adds quietly, "If Allah is willing to grant me better fortune with it."

The young elf blushes at the compliment from the old lady Elf.

Criminey, she might be almost as old as mommy!

His pleasure returns to concern at the words of the Norseman. He was torn, his loyalties being to the Russ, but also to his Elven Kinsmen. (Or kinswomen, as the case may be.)
Despite his fear at the larger, and quite unsettling man, Pyotr rushes between the two of them, makes to move the Stridesmen by pushing on his stomach, decides pushing on the man's seeping wound would be unwise, and instead settles for pushing on the man's stout, muscular thigh.

"You leave her alone, you big, bad, smelly man!"

He ponders wielding eldrich forces to make his point, but still being a newcomer on the ship, decides to wait and see if things escalate.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:36, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

"You are not my enemy even if you think of me as an enemy.", Alyna starts to explain when suddenly the norseman spews his stomach content all over her. The elf is stunned for a moment - luckily her mouth was closed when it happened. The vomit is all over her and the boy who was putting up a heroic effort in defending her. Now it looks as if he did push the big man over, because he fell just as the boy was pushing the man's thigh.

What a greeting. Barbarians.

Alyna pulls a rather big chunk of vomit out of her hair, looking quite disgusted. She takes the wet shirt offered by the Arab, saying to him in Arab: "Thank you kindly." She starts to whipe the vomit from her face and cleavage, stops, shudders and pulls another big chunk out of her cleavage. Continuing in Rus, she sais: "Maybe someone should take care of this fallen tree? I don't know, but his injuries seem rather serious."

Turning back to the arabian man, she sais: "Please, be my guest. Look through my chest. All i ask is that you clean your hands before you do that. No need to get my dresses more ruined than they already are. And you say you have someone who got poisoned? I might be able to help there, if you let me."

After Alyna has cleaned herself as good as it was possible under the circumstances, she crouches down and starts to help clean the boy.

OOC: Alyna has Charisma 18, just in case anyone was wondering.

Dyanna approaches the chest, allowing those gathered to clean themselves of the Rus' stomach contents.  Happily she had remained at the rail looking on when the man had retched.  Amused, she grins at Pyotr's antics and then studies the apparently young woman.

"A child of the longed-lived," she said at last with a careful nod.

The fey were an obscure lot, their motives often hidden within twisting plots, and a natural distrust formed in the pit of her gut.  Having received some small succor from her childlike kinsman, however, she strove to offer the benefit of the doubt.

"Your kinsman was most kind on our journey, prior to the attack.  Well met indeed if you offer similar kindnesses," she continued.  "I do not recall seeing you aboard the doomed ship...pray tell, where exactly were you berthed?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:54, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

Alyna had seen an Arab, Rus, a Norseman (too much of him) and now a Greek woman. This vessel truely had a strange crew. When the woman mentioned a kinsman, Alyna was confused for a second, before she realized that the woman meant the boy. Truely a strange crew.

"I apologize. I should have introduced myself much earlier. I am Alyna of Aleppo, first dancer of the blue circus faction. I know I do not look the role currently, in this rather ruined dress, but that i am. I was on board of the big trireme that went down over there", she pointed at the spot where still bubbles came through the water's surface, not the ship that this ship attacked though, "on my way to Cheresone."

      Gultunga succumbs to the raven hued darkness shrouding his conscious-
ness.  The Stridesman squints his eyes in pain, yet finds himself relieved
when he fails to hear or see the heralds approach of those worthy warriors
that die in battle ~~ the Valkaries.

      The hard wooden deck beneath his prone form lends him no comfort.  All
that remains now is the foul taste of the burning bile within his mouth, and
the throbbing pain of his wound.

      The briney smell of the sea washes the way the smell of vomit, and after
a few moments Gultungas eyes flutter open to the sight of the full sails of the
Oaken Heart and the ether above.  The Northman sits up slowly to keep the pain
from knocking him back down to the deck.

      In a clear deep voice the Stridesman speaks . . .

      "Gultunga thinks there be too much chatter and not enough action!  Be
there any the one whom possesses bandages to bind my wounds, or a Priest that
can provide healing draughts, stones, or poultices to ease my pain and cleanse
my wounds?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:41, Tue 05 Jan 2010.

The sight, smell and feel of Norse vomit unsettles the youths stomach, and he barely makes it to the railing before his body divests itself of his breakfast.

Despite having lived among the Greco-Romans in their glorious city, the vomitorium had been a custom he could never (pun intended) stomach.

"Oh, god, I've been assaulted my the infamous Norse breath-weapon. Gah..."

After a few dry heaves, he turns to face the others, a slight tremble visible in his limbs.

It was clearly his nap time.

Why is she naked? he wonders.


With the focus of much of the crew on the naked female, it seems likely Gultunga's call for help will go unheeded. With a deep sigh, he steps forward, offers the fallen Stridesmen the wine, and rolls up a small strip of cloth.

If he does, Pyotr continues...

"Lay back, and bite down on this. It might hurt, but it's the best I can do."

Pulling out his dagger, he cuts the clothing away from the wound, retrieves his wine, and pours some if it into the wound.

"Wow, now that's an owie. We should burn the wound, to seal the bleeding. Is there any chance we gould get a fire, and heat up this dagger until it's red hot?"

He looks to the Captain and others, to see if they can help.

Barmak smiles and nods to Alyna, then as Dyanna addresses her, he leaves the women to their introductions.  He leans over the side of the ship to cleanse his hands in the sea, then wipes his hands dry on his breeches.  Once they have traded words, he says in Greek, "Miroslav has said that we shall treat you as a guest, and so it shall be.  There shall be no searches of what is private to you, unless he orders otherwise."  Though he speaks to Alyna, his last glance at Dyanna indicates he may be addressing her original suggestion as well.

Turning to Miroslav, he asks in Russian, "Mayhap we might afford the women what little privacy we may, that they might see to their needs?"  He grins and adds, "And, thus, we, undistracted, to our needs?"

At the sound of Pyotr's plea, Barmak points to the burning brazier the crew used in their attack to ignite their arrows.  "I think that should suffice for your physicking, Boy," he says, still speaking in the tongue of the Rus.  "I do not know if any among us possess knowledge of the healing arts, but for what you suggest it sounds as though you shall require only men strong enough to hold Gultunga still while you apply the brand.  Of that we should have great supply."  He glances at Radvila meaningfully.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:54, Tue 05 Jan 2010.

Pyotr nods gratefully to the olive skinned man with the sword of the Easterners, and the gentle manner.

"I will heat up my blade.."

He scampers over the brazier, and begins to blow on the coals. Once they are nice and hot, he heats up his blade, attempting to get it to a good seering temperature.

"Hold him down, I don't need another broken rib!"

So much has happened inn such a short time that Miroslav not know where to begin, new people on his ship, damsels rescued from the sea, poison and the aftermath of the battle. Like Sviatoslav, he is but a simple soldier thrown into a situation that is more complex but unlike Sviatoslav he does not have the greatness to rise to the occasion.

He tells two of the Greek sailors..."String up a piece of sailcloth in the aft for the women."

He looks around lost for a moment then turns to Oleg and says..."Take over the ship for me, there is too much for me to do now with the wounded."

Looking at the woman Alyna he says..."Your belongings are safe and so are you. If our plan this night was to kill women we found at sea, we would have already done that. Now you spoke of a way to help the poisoned man?"

To Barmak..."Yes Barmak, I need you to look at the chest for me, and by all means take care."

He leans low where Pyotr is dealing with Gultunga and sits on the wounded mans legs, all the while trying to keep an eye on everything going on.

Alyna stares in amazement as the boy starts to heat up the blade.

Is he really going through with this? He must be joking?

Once it is clear he is not joking at all, Alyna speaks up: "Hold it! You might very well kill him with that hot blade! At the very least you will injure him further, and there will be a big scar! He probably won't mind the scar, but he'd surely mind dying!"

Barbarians! They can destroy, but they cannot mend.

"You!", she sais, pointing at the Arab, "What is your name?" Without waiting for an answer she continues: "Get some clean cloth and apply pressure to the wound. The Norseman can wait a while. And you", she points at the boy, "Drop that blade and show me what poisoned the other man. We might not have much time."

To noone in particular she adds: "Anyone feel free to go through my stuff, if you must. But please make sure your hands are clean." She stops a beat and adds: "But hands off regarding my underwear."

Deciding to throw her lot in with the other woman while also a newcomer aboard the ship, Dyanna says, "None shall paw through your belongings."

Crossing her arms she stands beside the elfin's chest.

He considers the woman's demand for a moment.  Miroslav has given him an order to examine the lock on the chest that poisoned Ulfr.  Yet the woman requires assistance with the Stridesman's wound.  The chest will not go anywhere, he decides.  The same cannot be said of Gultunga.

He undoes his belt and unwraps the sash beneath, still dribbling with seawater, then tears off a long strip of the fabric.  "It is not silk or linen from a sultan's bed," he says as he wrings it out, "but it is as clean as any cloth to be found aboard this ship."  He kneels down next to Gultunga and presses it upon his wound with a firm hand, as Alyna directs.

"And I am Barmak," he adds with a nod.  "Barmak Mahvand."

Pyotr goggles at the Greek female, and her fear of the heated blades.

Barbarian Greeks, with their foolish superstitions, and delusions of culture. The man's wound does not need it's own toga, it needs searing, and sealing. But he didn't know (or like) the man well enough to fight about it.

He turns to the poor befuddled Captain.

"It's your ship Captain so it's your decision; cauterizing a wound is a time tested battle-cure for bleeding wounds. I'm not one to play dress-up with a man's innards, but if you want to try the Greek womans cure, I will cool my blade, and head below. It's been a long day."

Alyna sends a thankful look to the Greek woman, before she turns and looks at the man who introduced himself as Barnak Mahvand. She then takes a quick step towards him and grabs his arm before he can use his sash on the fallen norseman. "If possible, please use something that is not drenched in salt-water.", she sais, "There is no need to cause additional pain."

She then turns to the young man, who seems to be disgruntled for some reason. "Wait! Who is going to show me the thing that poisoned your crewmate?"

Miroslav nods in Barmak's direction letting him know he understands his situation. The chest can wait a few minutes.

He then turns to Pyotr and says..."I am interested in what she is doing here, I say let her do her work and we can judge it's effectiveness after...besides that. I am not all that fond of Gultunga!" He smiles at his own jest at the end.

He then says to Dyanna and the small man..."Since you are now seemingly part of our crew, why not tel us something about yourselves? I mean, you have joined us in battle and made some powerful enemies should we not succeed here."

Barmak halts as the woman stays his hand.  He listens and nods with a shrug, stuffing the strip from his sash back into his belt.  "As you wish," he says, "though I doubt we shall hear him complain of a little stinging."  He rises to his feet and glances about the ship.  "I shall see what I may find that will suffice.  I should hate to think we may have to sacrifice any of your clothing for Gultunga's wound."  He grins and adds with a meaningful glance over her thinly-clad body, "Since you have very little to spare."

Then he turns and sets about searching the Heart of Oak for any dry, clean cloth that could serve as a bandage.

Alyna is used to such looks, the lack of them would possibly make her doubt herself. Once Barmak turned around though, she rolled her eyes, thinking to herself: "My dress is also drenched in salt-water, dummy." Then she looks for someone to finally take her to the poison and the poisoned man.