Among the general press of people, your character notices in particular a Nathi girl, probably about 17, pacing the party. She is neither especially tall nor especially short, is wearing knee-length brown trousers and a dark green shirt. She's not actually following, but she does seem to appear through gaps in the crowd, first on one side, then the other, then not at all.

The only reason this is at all different from the ordinary is that once the party pauses just under the lip of the city, she is glimpsed leaning against the wall behind one of the larger ladders, calmly watching the party with her arms folded.

Back

===============

Samas nods speaking softly to Niktar, "Hey, I am more use to working on my own." with a wink he heads over towards the kids, moving in a circuitous route to not appear too eager.

One of the kids sees him coming and calls out "'ere, mister, what're you doin' here?"

"Looking for a little business," replies Samas. "Looking for someone who know a bit about this fine city of yours...."

The kids look at each other, swiftly divide those with money from those that might receive it, put themselves and Samas on the appropriate sides, and then one of them ventures, "We can show you things, yeah, mister!"

"Got to be the right things tho." He smiles a little. In his mind he makes a mental note note to pay special attention to his wallet just in case.

"What'cha need, mister?" asks a kid with freckles and that sort of crew-cut that parents give to make their kids ugly.

"well lets start with something simple. Just to see if you are worth the money." Reaching into his pocket he produces a coin. "I want to know if any elves have come through recently..." he leaves the conversation hanging.

The freckled boy looks at a thinner taller kid with no freckles and hair over his eyes. The second boy shrugs. The freckled boy looks back. "Ya, we seen some Elves come through, mister, 'bout a week ago."

No further information is forthcoming, and so Samas is forced to give up. Eventually, the kids leave him alone, with the promise that they'll be looking for Elves for him.

With some searching, Samas eventually finds the rest of the group in an named "Gone Fishin'". This is a charming little inn, in a fairly non-squalid area of the lowest non-dock level, near the main stairway from the docks. Most of the traffic here is composed of warehouse workers, haulers, and the occasional sailor. Galdwan is sitting against the wall, apparently asleep, Loki is Being Talked About by everyone there, and Mr. Nikes is looking disgusted at a bowl of water.

Back...

===============

Loki blends into the crowd as best he is able, which is to say about as well as a frigate could blend in with canoes. He wanders off towards the nearest shopping area, figuring that food and trinket vendors are generally pretty chatty, moreso if they think they have a chance of clinching a sale, and also tend to keep an eye on suspicious characters as a matter of course. His blazing red hair is visible for quite some distance, bobbing along above the crowd as Loki chats amicably with anyone in earshot.

Nobody seems to have any information about Elves, though there are several muttered mentionings of "Them dirty buggers over in Del'Marcos area." It's not clear who these "dirty buggers" are, though.

Galdwan and Nikes, who were trailing along with Loki, pull him into an inn after a little bit, named "Gone Fishin'". This is a charming little inn, in a fairly non-squalid area of the lowest non-dock level, near the main stairway from the docks. Most of the traffic here is composed of warehouse workers, haulers, and the occasional sailor.

Galdwan sits in the corner, his legs stretched out before him. He unstoppers a bottle and his eyes glaze over, fairly soon he will be able to hear all in the tavern, focusing on conversations that have let loose key words or something that grabs his attention. Most of the conversation seems to be centered on Loki, and how big and large he is, and what on earth is in that backpack o' his."

The name of "Big Bob the Finder" is mentioned a few times, but the context is unclear.

Meanwhile, Mr. Nikes attempts to cast a divination with sea water to know the general direction and distance of the enemy craft. Given that they are now on the second level, he gets an inclination that enemy craft are all directions except up. He does get a bit of an idea that something pretty much directly northeast would be a good idea to investigate, though there is no clear distance.

Eventually, Samas, then Niktar and another Nathi woman, then finally Hunot, file in.

Back...

===============

Samas nods speaking softly to Niktar " hey I am more use to working on my own." with a wink he heads over towards the kids, moving in a circuitous route to not appear too eager.

Niktar moves with the group briefly, whatever direction they go, He then lets the others go ahead of him and walks up until he finds a knot of people to travel back down behind, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head as he steps behind them.

Niktar cuts behind some people, and follows them, keeping an eye out for the girl. He pulls his cloak hood over his head. Not the best disguise, he thinks, but it will do. If he spots the girl moving, he will walk next to her, slightly behind, and say quietly, "Keep walking and tell me why you follow us." He has his dagger drawn under the cloak in case anyone (including the girl though he doubts that she will) decides to make a target of him (or her).

The girl gives an amused smile. "You're better than the others," she says out of the corner of her mouth, still walking. "That one with the gun hidden under his cloak didn't even see me, and I looked him right in the eye."

She keeps walking, casually glancing at the contents of itinerant shopkeepers and sausage-inna-bun salespersons. She shudders slightly, and Niktar notices something...not right...about her gait or speech, it's hard to tell.

"There was an Elven frigate that docked in the Del'Marcos harbor yesterday. I saw them from the end of these docks, they came in two fingers north of here. Then you lot show up, and that can't be coincidence."

Niktar continues walking along with her. "You never know," he says amiably, "coincidences appear more often that you would think. You haven't answered why you are following us." Niktar concentrates on her gait and speech to see if he can pin down what exactly is odd about it. After a pause he adds, "You seem a little young to be so good at not being seen?"

The girl smirks. "My father taught me well," she says shortly. "I was curious. Friend of mine says he saw a black-haired girl with them, tied up something nasty. If you aren't trying to help her, you're no man at all." There is no trace of a smirk on her face now.

Niktar nods. "I imagine it comes in handy here in Havna." He walks a few more steps before continuing. "Has the frigate left port yet?"

"Still there as far as I know," replies the girl. "I gave a kid some money to watch for it, but that doesn't mean he won't bugger off."

"That's good. Did they take the girl ashore with them or is she still on board?" He glances at this girl. "Make no mistake, these people are dangerous. But...we could use a guide who knows her way around the city, and how to take care of herself."

"They took her off the boat," she replies with no hesitation or uncertainty. "I think I could help you out, on the condition that I stay with you until you find her, even if they leave Havna."

"Hmm," Niktar ponders the girl's first statement. "I'm surprised they would take her from the boat." He walks along in silence for a few minutes. "This will be ..." he begins and then walks for a while more. "Done, as long as you prove you can handle yourself. Not that I have doubt of it. You will, I think, find I am fair about such things." He waits for her response.

"Done. I'll take the standard wage of a Nathi Private, payable whenever is convenient," she says. "Name's Kiri Dunbar." She proffers her hand.

Niktar shakes her hand. "Niktar. Niktar Turin. I can't promise you the wages, but I will say it's very likely to happen. Come, let's find the others and I will fill you in on the details..."

At some point he asks her "So who is your father, out of curiousity?" Kiri nods, and walks with Niktar. "My father is Sargon Dunbar. You have never heard of him." This is a statement, not a question.

He does tell her the basics, they're chasing Orren and trying to rescue the girl, they expect the frigate to sail as soon as it can be provisioned, as they walk.

"What about that other Nathi ship nobody knows about, that limped in earlier this week?"

"Earlier this week? Hmm. Don't know, but we should probably check on it. When did it come in?"

"Didn't see it, and my friend doesn't know. Don't even know where it docked."

"Just rumors of it then?" Niktar looks thoughtful. "Probably doesn't want to be found, then. In any case, we should try to stop Orren before they can leave Havna, before looking into that."

When Niktar and Kiri return to where the group used to be, the group is found to have scattered. Munching on some fried fish chips, Niktar and Kiri search for them.

With some searching, they eventually find the rest of the group in an named "Gone Fishin'". This is a charming little inn, in a fairly non-squalid area of the lowest non-dock level, near the main stairway from the docks. Most of the traffic here is composed of warehouse workers, haulers, and the occasional sailor. Galdwan is sitting against the wall, apparently asleep, Loki is Being Talked About by everyone there, and Mr. Nikes is looking disgusted at a bowl of water.

Back...

Niktar, Loki, and Galdwan proceed from the inn to the nearest way up. This turns out to be a fairly large and heavily-travelled ramp. It's about fifteen feet wide, and needs every inch of that width to accommodate the traffic it receives. Niktar is almost forced off the edge by a pram full of boxes that slips out of control and rushes downwards.

Broken bones and runaway commerce avoided, they make it to the top, and then have to make their way though the press of crowds to the next up-ramp, which is about a block away, as blocks are reckoned in any other city.

The route takes them along a wide dim corridor, which is clogged with people and carts going both ways. Periodically, other equally large corridors split off in every which direction. Wherever there is wall, someone has set up house or business behind it, and the mass of doors, grimy windows, and signs proclaiming all sorts of offers seem to fade into one another in the squalor. The impression of squalor is not at all helped by the incessant smell of salt, body odor, fish, and refuse.

Smaller corridors, some barely large enough for a child to slip through, crisscross the area as well, ladders and corridors leading up and down to who knows where. In these alcoves and crossways lurk characters promising almost any pleasure or form of death one might imagine. Some of them promise both. Some of the crossways are even empty. All of them are un-lit, providing plenty of gloom in which to lurk.

About halfway to the next ramp, Niktar gets an odd sense that they're being followed. Galdwan merely feels claustrophobic, and Loki would probably notice if a marching band were following them, but not otherwise.

While Niktar is puzzling over what to do about the three characters who keep lurking in all the alleys they pass, a ragged-looking Nathi comes up to Loki from out of the crowds. He is dressed in the remains of a Navy uniform, is about six feet tall, and has a long black braid down to the center of his back. He looks very tired and very hungry.

"Excuse me? Is my ship around here somewhere? I got waylaid by some criminals and have lost my money, my goods, and my way. Do you know where it might be docked?"

Loki is shocked. "Good heavens, bandits? Out on the streets? What an appalling excuse for a civil authority they must have around here. I mean, Tasbashoori describes Havna as "somewhat lawless," but I never thought I'd see the day when a man couldn't walk down the street without having his boat stolen! This simply will not do. Come with me, we'd better get you something to eat. You'll need a good meal after a shock like that. That's probably why you were targeted in the first place, you know, no meat on your bones at all. Criminals'll take one look at you and think "easy pickings." What you want to do is start up a regimen, rather like that favored by the Sashimi wrestlers of the Far East Heaven Kingdom except not quite so heavy on fats and fish oils, and start a good program of lifting weights, perhaps, just to put the proper edge on. Still, it's all in the nutrition. Why, I've made it a point to eat a healthy, well-balanced meal every day of my life, and I've never once been the target of a bandit attack, so you can tell it works."

Loki draws himself up to his full height to emphasize his point, putting the top of his head some eight inches or so above that of his audience.

"Come on, and you can tell me what your boat looked like over a nice dish of Calamari a la Mode. Good for muscle building, it is. So where was your boat when you saw it last? Did it have any identifying markings?" Loki draws his student in the art of weight gain along to the nearest food stall, ignoring any protests, whether verbal or physical.

As he is dragged to the food stall, Loki's new friend speaks out in response.

"Actually, no, the criminals were at the docks, though I've met my fair share of them on the streets as well. The ship I'm trying to reach is called the Apotheosis, and is rather distinctive as probably the only Nathi frigate in the docks. And if you don't mind, I'd rather have something a bit more... traditional for my food. I'm only skin and bones because of my ordeals since the criminals took me into their care, so to speak, and there is no Far East Heaven Kingdom in the known world."

He shakes his head in a combination of amazement and frustration and looks around at the nearest food stall for something that he would consider edible.

Loki being suspicious is a truly amazing exercise in doublethink. His face remains as placid and innocent as ever, but his body reacts to the perceived danger without his overt attention. His mouth, as always, has little to no idea what's going on, but bits slip out here and there that just aren't quite as naive-sounding as usual.

Loki's grip on the Nathi's arm tightens to the point that not even a Kraken would have an easy time getting out of it. "What an astounding coincidence! We've just come from the Apotheosis. I don't recall ever seeing you aboard, though. Which is odd, really, if you stop to think about it, ships being a rather closed society, everyone gets to know everyone else and everyone knows everyone's business but no one really cares anymore. There are no secrets on the high seas and all that. There have been several fascinating studies, most notably that of Eldorious and Finchley, wherein the societal interactions on board a ship were carefully monitored by trained psychologists over a period of several months. The results would have been very interesting, I'm sure, if the sailors hadn't thrown the psychologists overboard at that point. At any rate, I think we'd better get our food quickly and have a talk with Niktar. Do you know Niktar? He's an officer of some kind in the army, I can never keep all those ranks straight in my head. He ranks higher than me, anyway, I'm just a librarian. And a navigator, sometimes, but I do prefer caring for the books to trying to get any sense out of those silly stars. At any rate, I'm sure he can point you in the right direction one way or another."

Loki scoops up his calamari and drops a few coins on the counter, and turns to relocate Galdwan and Niktar, errant sailor firmly in hand.

The Nathi looks at the grandiloquent giant, maneuvering his arm in such a way that it's not being crushed *quite* so much. "No, no, my ship was stolen; the Apotheosis is simply the ship I am looking for. What is your name anyway, Mister Giant?"

These are the only words he gets in edgewise before he is dragged in front of Niktar and Galdwan. Arching one eyebrow, he says, "Niktar, I presume? My name is Sarkin Skyer; I'm from another ship docked near here that was waylaid by criminals. Perhaps you can help me find the Apotheosis, and some level of comfort?" He gestures at his bedraggled self. "After the jail and the streets, I'm certainly not presentable."

The shadowy figures that have been specifically lurking after the group are either no longer lurking or excellently hidden.

Finally struggling out of Loki's grip at this point, Sarkin catches up to Niktar. "My ship's name is the Kraken; it has been more than a fortnight since I've last seen her. As for the criminals, I would rather not name one of the Havna Families here on the streets, but the Kraken's crew, myself among them, were waylaid right on the docks."

Loki speaks. "Well, we're kinda in the middle of a sort of secret mission thing right now, which means that we can't really stop and take you anywhere at the moment. I wouldn't worry about being presentable, it's not been too much of a hassle and I've just worn whatever I feel like wearing, although it might have something to do with the fact that I couldn't find anything in the uniform depot that would fit me. I've always had to have my shirts custom made, which can get pretty expensive, let me tell you, especially with the cost of decent needlework nowadays. Seamstresses and tailors are getting rarer, for some reason, and I've"

"Loki..." Niktar tries...

"had some nasty shocks when I went to a place that said it had "seamstresses" and found out what their real job was, and then it cost me even more than a shirt because Dad always said it was our duty to help out the less fortunate, and I can't think of a less fortunate job to have than that one. Anyway, we can't get you to a ship right now, but you can probably come along and if you're a Nathi soldier and all you'll probably want to help out with our mission once you find out what it is, but I don't know if you should know because it is a secret, after all, plus we're on a very delicate part of the mission right now, so it's even more hush-hush than usual, which is why it's just the three of us instead of-" Loki realizes that he shouldn't mention the names of the rest of the party, and clamps a hand over his mouth. After a moment, when it looks like the coast is clear, he removes it. No secret information comes inadvertently tumbling out, and so he cheerfully resumes. "So if Niktar doesn't mind we can just bring you with us, only you'll have to promise not to tell anyone about anything you see. We could blindfold you, I guess, but that'd be kinda"

"Loki..." Niktar tries a little louder.

"noticeable, plus you'd be wandering into stuff all the time and you might get bruised, and then I'd have to carry you, and that would be really noticeable. Maybe Galdwan could just fix it so you don't remember the stuff you shouldn't, but that'd be a little frightening 'cause I know *I* wouldn't want a mage rummaging around in *my* head. There have been many documented cases of permanent dementia resulting from unorthodox magical mind-tampering, but I hear they've worked out most of the bugs. Assuming Galdwan has been keeping up with the latest in memory-spell research, you should be just fine."

So saying, Loki grabs Sarkin by the arm and begins moving down the street again towards the del'Marcos sector (that IS where we're going, right? I've kinda lost track.) chattering cheerfully about the various gruesome fates met by mental wizards' test subjects. He has even retrieved a book on the topic, and is reading the most illuminating case histories out loud. Fortunately for Sarkin's sanity, it's a fairly thin book.

"LOKI!"

When he has Loki's attention, Niktar takes a deep breath and continues more quietly, "We're going this way..." he nods in the other direction, where the directions he has indicate. "And you're more than welcome to talk to this fellow but (and this very quietly) when you talk about why we're here, maybe you should speak very quietly? And maybe wait until we know for sure who he is?"

When Loki is finished with his little chat, Galdwan approaches him. "Indeed, mind magics are a very interesting topic. I have seen some strange reactions to it. The trick is replacing the memory with a compatible memory, not merely erasing it. See, unless one has devoted himself to the subject for many years, total erasure is unsure, and the mind constantly searches for the memory it knows is there. The feeling of loss..." and so forth.

To Sarkin, Niktar says, "Do you know who the other men following us were, before you intercepted us?"

(Where there were three or four in various locations of lurking, Niktar only spots one. Sarkin is also the same height as Niktar, though built like what on other worlds would be called a Football Player, compared to Niktar, who is thin and wiry.)

"Following you?" replies Sarkin. "I didn't see anybody following you. I was just trying to get to the docks and find the Apotheosis. I never imagined the person I approached would be an actual member of the crew; I was only hoping to be pointed in the proper direction." Sarkin looks around, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone who might be following. "I mean," he adds, leaning closer, "it's hard to imagine anyone as big as a Kraken on a ship - imagine what it must cost to feed him alone! Where are we going, anyway?"

"Oh, right," says Loki, abashed. "Sorry, forgot where we were going in all the excitement. Well, let's get going, eh? The less time we spend puttering around here, the more time we have to beat on the Elves when we do find them."

Niktar picks up the pace but for all that continues talking. "You say you came in on the Kraken, tell us about what happened. We were supposed to give Protection to it, though our orders were vague and we weren't even sure what it was. Obviously we will have to find it again though every delay means less chance of finding the Elves we chase." He looks at the Nathi's clothing. "Um, how suspicious-looking are you here, dressed like that?"

Sarkin looks at Niktar; his voice then drops as quiet as he can make it. "You came here to guard the Kraken, you say?" He snorts. "Yes, I would indeed say that you are a little late, though I suppose that isn't your fault. We were taken the second we docked; I wouldn't be surprised if I'm the only member of my crew left alive, though there were a few of my companions left alive when I escaped the prisons of the Reaves. I've lost track of the days, and I've seen more death than a physician ever should when he can't do anything to help." He looks down at his clothes, then around at the press of people milling about him. "I think my being Nathi makes me look more suspicious than my clothing could. I've unfortunately discovered there's no shortage of the destitute in Havna."

"The request about helping your ship came later," says Niktar. "Our primary mission led us here to Havna before that came through. There's a fellow lurking and watching us still. I'm sure there are others as well. Anyone have ideas of how to lose them before we incriminate our contact?"

"It'll be difficult to hide as Nathi in Havna," muses Sarkin, "but I'm sure in any big enough crowd it would be easy to get lost." A careful glance at Loki. "Well, for most of us, anyway. Some of us are rather distinctive, and tend to (cough) rise above the crowd, so to speak." Then the full meaning of what was said sinks in. "You have a contact here in Havna? Is it someone trustworthy?"

"Well... we don't know yet whether or not they're trustworthy. But yes, we do have a contact." Niktar ponders Loki's size. "Hmm. Perhaps we can use that to our advantage. Let's fan out and see if anyone obviously follows him instead of us."

"Do all of you need to meet this contact? Perhaps not only should we fan out, but we should go to different destinations. Loki can take me back to the Apotheosis, where I hopefully can send a message to the Nathi high command about their Kraken, as well as get bathed. And if they're following him, so much the better. Meanwhile, you and..." Sarkin stops and turns to the as-yet-unnamed dark-skinned man. "You never told me your name... anyway, you and he can head towards your contact. Though I warn you now, if they're of the Reaves family, all of us would be better off turning back."

Realizing that his voice was beginning to rise in anger as he mentions the Reaves, Sarkin quickly stops speaking, and looks around to see if anyone heard him. His fists are clenched in an obvious battle of wills, or perhaps simply a struggle with self-control.

Loki's cherubic brow wrinkles in confusion. "Well, if someone's following us, why don't we just ask them why? It would save time in the long run. Perhaps they're just lost and too shy to ask directions." So saying, he strides with deceptive speed to the shadowy man in the alley, whom he picks up by the neck and brings back to Niktar. "Is this the one you saw? He was the only one I could find."

"Ihhhhk..." is the man's defense, inasmuch as it gets past Loki's hand around his throat. Wider eyes have scarcely been seen among the innocent.

"Er. No, that's not the one. Sorry about that, sir. Put the nice man down, mm?" Niktar fervently hopes that the man walks away.

"Oh, okay. Sorry, sir. You really ought to be more careful about lurking in alleys, you know. It gives people the wrong idea." Loki sets the man on his feet and brushes his clothing clean, knocking the poor fellow over in the process.

"Haaak" rasps the unfortunate as he gets up, and wobbles off through the crowd in search of dry trousers.

Niktar breaths a sigh of relief. "I'd suggest we make ourselves scarce before he finds the local authorities... or, for that matter ten of his largest friends." With that he picks up speed, winding away into an alley which obviously leads to a different street. "We know roughly where our ship is docked, though we came ashore a different way." He continues along, trying to lose anyone who managed to follow them. "As much as I think our contact won't want to meet with so many people, I think it better to wait until we join up with the others and have our guide once again."

"And who is this contact?" asks Sarkin.

"Not one of the family you mentioned earlier." Niktar shows no sign that he will give more information out than that at this point.

Sarkin sighs in frustration, glowers at Niktar, and then falls back to listen to Loki and Galdwan talk about wizardry and mind control.

"I go by Galdwan, good Sarkin." Galdwan nods his head in Sarkin's direction, and resumes his conversation.

Sarkin offers his hand to Galdwan. "Good to meet you, and to finally have your name, Galdwan. Are you skilled in the mantic arts?" Sarkin starts adding some of his own knowledge to the pot, though from a Nathi perspective instead of human.

"I am a healer, and my skill lies in healing," says Galdwan. "I do dabble in the magical arts a bit, too, but only a bit."

"We'll get along well, then," says Sarkin. "I am a magician who dabbles in the healing arts."

This conversation has brought them to the end of the alley, onto a much smaller street than the one they left. This street is ten feet wide at the most, and turns sharply twenty feet both to the left and right. Loki has to duck, lest he bonk his head on the ceiling. The dimness, merely turned yellow by a couple lights at the corners, makes it difficult to see faces, but there are only about ten people in evidence.

Niktar is the only one to catch a glimmer in the shadows to the left, just outside the alley, as he and Sarkin emerge onto the dark street. The glimmer becomes a "schlinggg", and a blackened sabre blade against Niktar's chest stops him in his tracks.

"We don't like your kind around here, prettyboy," comes the growl from the other end of the sabre. "So why don't you all step out into the street where we can see you?"

A figure detaches from the shadows down the right end of the street, and extinguishes the light, leaving this section of street lit by one light way off to the left.

Loki and Galdwan are still in the alley. The individual with the sabre (who has yet to step out of the shadows) is immediately to Niktar's right. Nothing can be seen of anyone else, but a feeling down the back of Sarkin's spine says they are not alone.

A brief look of surprise crosses Niktar's face as he is called "prettyboy", a term he's never been called by a woman, let alone a man, before. He raises his hands slightly, "Sure..." and steps out into the street slightly. "How's yer gonna see me anyways, what with turnin' out the lights?" He keeps his tone level and easy, just another sailor out for a walk. He makes no threatening moves at the moment.

Loki also obliges the nice sabre-wielding man, moving all six foot eight of his overlarge height and all seven feet of the Big Stick into clear view. "Is there a problem here? We need to use this street, you know. You're obstructing important business the nature of which I am not currently at liberty to divulge, but upon which rests the very life and safety of several people including, at this moment, yourself. And you should be careful with that sword, you'll put someone's eye out..."

Galdwan attempts to melt back into the shadows. This seems to be successful at the moment, since it is dark, and his skin is almost black.

"...Eye injuries can be particularly nasty to heal, especially if they're made with such a dirty implement. Why, you can't even see what its original color is under all that black gook you've got on there. That can't be healthy. In fact, it's downright morbid, now that I think about it....

While Loki is making his speech, Sarkin takes this opportunity to scan the shadows for others who might be allies to this sabre-wielding man. He reaches for his crystals by reflex, then realizes he is currently bereft of them, and utters a curse as he puts his hand on the hilt of his dagger instead, waiting for the assailant to make his next move.

"...You're not one of those weirdos who dresses up in black and wears fangs and goes around pretending to be a vampire, are you?"

Galdwan starts to chant from the shadows of the alley. His spell goes off, and several things happen very quickly.

The first thing to happen is a gasping death-rattle across the street, for example, as one might make as one's throat is crushed by an invisible hand. A dark form falls to the ground with a thump, and the crossbow he was holding discharges, grazing Loki across the shoulders before the bolt thuds into the wall by his head.

The second thing is that the sabre-wielding gentleman cuts into Niktar's chest, causing a great deal of pain, though the extent of the injury isn't obvious, what with the shock and adrenaline. Niktar catches the blade between his hands and sends a strong jolt of Power down the blade, where it arcs into the attacker with a loud red SNAP. With a scream, he lets go of his sabre, and falls back, as Loki hits him very very hard with The Big Stick. He falls over, gushing blood from the sack of pulp that was so recently his finely mustached head.

The red light from the jolt illuminates two figures with crossbows off to the right. With a wet thud, one bolt buries itself deep in Loki's left buttock, and the other ricochets harmlessly off the wall.

Sarkin darts out after the nearest crowsbowman, who is still able to evade his vicious slash.

L=Loki
*=Corpse
X=Crossbowman
G=Galdwan
S=Sarkin                   _____________
--------------------------/X     X
                      *
               L        S
             *  N
----------------   -----------------
               |  G|

Loki is now upset. His shoulder hurts where the first bolt grazed it, and his butt is also very unhappy. He growls and charges the crossbowmen across the street, leaping over the corpse of the first Bad Man. The Big Stick whistles faintly as it hurtles through the air on a collision course with some unfortunate soul's head, narrowly missing Sarkin. His hair surrounds his face in a flame-red corona. "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE POINTING THOSE THINGS! OR SOMEONE . . . MIGHT . . . GET. . . *HURT*!"

Sarkin ducks The Big Stick as it whistles past his head. Loki crashes into the nearest crossbowman, whose last living act is to absorb the considerable shock caused by Loki crashing through the rather thick wooden wall behind him. Loki topples forward through the hole he just made, dropping The Big Stick in the corridor. Muffled groans from his general direction give some indication as to the considerable pain he is in, what with most of his front being bruised and all.

Niktar's eyes glow with the Power. He pulls out his bolter sidearm and aims at the remaining crossbowman, charging the bolter. Unfortunately, to hit the target would also mean hitting Sarkin, so he does not fire. Some of the pain from his wound discharges with the Power he draws.

Sarkin's course of action is simple - continue on towards the crossbowman nearest him, in hopes of stabbing him with a charged-up dagger. The crossbowman knocks Sarkin's thrust aside with the stock of the crossbow. then follows up with a smash to the face, which leaves Sarkin bleeding from the forehead.

Galdwan fetches his old shield from off his back, screws the bottle he just used into his sword, and realizes that like Niktar, he does not have a clear target.

At this point, another crossbow bolt comes whistling through the darkness , and embeds itself solidly in the upper right corner of Galdwan's shield.

Niktar, seeing as how he is holding the Power, and thus able to see in the dark, what with that red glow coming from his eyes and all, spots the latest assailant. With a loud *crack*, he fires a red lightning bolt from his sidearm at the ruffian, who, leaving his chest smeared on the wall behind him, slumps to the ground.

N=Niktar (Hurt, bleeding from the chest, in pain)
L=Loki  (Shot in the arse, bruised all over, hurt)
*=Corpses  (dead)
X=Crossbowman (riled)
G=Galdwan  (unhurt)
S=Sarkin  (unhurt)         *
                           L____________
--------------------------/      X
                       *       S
                 N                                  |
              *    G                             * /
----------------   -------------------------------/
                |  |

While Loki gets up from where he landed through the wall, and Niktar sights over the tip of his sidearm for a new target, Sarkin and the last man face off.

Galdwan shield rushes at the crossbowman, shouting at Sarkin to get out of the way. Sarkin does not move. Instead, he grapples at the crossbowman's shoulders and unleaches a fearsome torrent of Power from his hands directly into the hapless atttacker.

The last remaining crossbowman screams in pain and starts to smoke from the joints. As Galdwan inadvertently crashes into Sarkin, the man slumps to the floor and doesn't move.

The rest of the street is clear, as far as anyone can tell. There are at least four corpses on the ground, none of them recognizeable, and the last attacker is rapidly on his way towards becoming a corpse himself.

Loki and Niktar are both in a lot of pain, and Sarkin and Galdwan seem to be unharmed.

Getting his senses back, Sarkin is now going to try to do his best to keep the guy that he just incapacitated from truly dying. After a few moments, he calls Galdwan over to assist.

There seems to be no short supply of blood, so Galdwan goes all out, using the blood from his vials to prolong the last one's life.

After the swirling steam from the healing spell dissipates and the recent attacker groans, Galdwan sticks his face up close, and says "Tell me who sent you, and I will let you live."

The man's reply is slurred and pained, but might possibly sound like "Elves", or possibly "Reaves." Whether this is true is quite another matter.

Galdwan abandons him and gets himself one of the crossbows, as well as a quiver of bolts, does a bit of looting, and refills his blood supply.

"Ngk." Niktar sees that the others are taking care of the last remaining fellow, so he keeps a watch. "Make it quick fellows and then let's get out of here..." His eyes glow red, indicating that he still holds the Power. "And when you're done, if someone would be so kind as to give me a hand with my... insides, that would be nice."

Niktar is bleeding from quite a nasty cut scored down from the top of his right shoulder to just below his ribcage on the left. fortunately, the sabre cut over his ribs, so no internal damage was done. Galdwan finishes with his looting (he got a mediocre crossbow, all the bolts he wants, a couple daggers, and about enough local currency to buy a very good fish sandwich), and has to empty one of his vials of blood just to get the wound to close. The human blood from the vials mixes badly with the blood from Niktar's wound, leading to several blue sparks along the ragged flesh, rather more smoke than might otherwise be expected, and finally a long red painful scar where the wound used to be.

"We had best move, no telling who saw what happened here," says Galdwan. "We're foreigners, the local law enforcement will be on us quickly."

Meanwhile, Loki tries to get the crossbow bolt out of his rear end. As this entails a certain amount of flexibility and dexterity, Loki is at it for rather a while. In the end, he gets it out, and Galdwan is able to use the blood on the arse-wound as the reagent for the healing spell to close the wound.

That finished, Galdwan refills his vials from the corpses again.

"Yes, definitely we should go," says Sarkin. "These Relves, or Eaves, might be after us soon."

Loki looks confused. "Well, relves I can understand, although the climate is all wrong for them. Still, they are rather voracious predators and not above eating carrion where they find it, and chasing off other scavengers. Their poisoned quills are particularly nasty. Eaves, though, shouldn't attack humans (or Elves or Nathi) unless provoked by an egg-thief. Ignoring the fact that their eggs require an altitude of at least five thousand feet above sea level to incubate properly, I'd think we'd have noticed if these crossbowmen had a thirty pound, spherical, vaguely leathery egg in their pants pockets." Loki gathers up his backpack and the Big Stick, borrowing a shirt from one of the dead bodies to clean it off a bit so as not to attract attention, this being a Secret Mission and all. He then waits patiently for someone to lead the way off.

Sarkin looks at Loki as if about to say something, then thinks better of it and closes his mouth again. After a moment of inactivity, he looks towards Niktar, who seems to be the only one who knows where we're going. He'd certainly lead the way himself, but seems to have been left out of the loop on where we're going, who we're meeting and all that. "I suppose we better get ourselves going."

Loki rubs his newly-patched bum and gazes at the not-so-happy crossbowman. "Well, that certainly was impressive, Sarkin. You did a right job on him. Galdwan couldn't even get him up and running again. Say, speaking of running, we're going to need to move soon and I think we should try and bring this guy along for questioning. Well, I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to but I always like to know who's attacking me because that way I won't accidentally go and visit them or anything, plus if we know why they jumped us then we can maybe figure out a way to fix it and stop any more guys from lurking in alleys with crossbows. Anyway, I think I can carry him no problem, but you know how dangerous it is to move someone who's been seriously injured like this guy has due to Sarkin, not that I'm complaining, of course, because at least he's still alive so we can talk with him but the fact is he's not doing to well and he could maybe use another dose of healing, right Galdwan? There ought to be enough blood around here, right? Here, scrape some off of my stick."

"He will merely be a burden, Loki; but if you're willing to carry him, I would like to test a few of the theories of our conversation earlier. The mind is a fascinating place." Galdwan drags one of the corpses to the living crossbowman, and resumes his healing exercises.

"Time is of the essence, Galdwan. Let us make haste, lest a worse fate befall us." He kicks at one of the dead crossbowmen. "Too bad they have nothing of use. Not even a single crystal."

Niktar releases the Power as Galdwan's healing finishes. He nods at Sarkin, and leads the way once again. "Keep a watch out for more...unfriendly folk," he comments, though he knows he really doesn't need to. Except possibly in Loki's case.

Niktar leads the way back to the main road, though not without some missed turns, asked directions, dirty looks, and suchlike.

Back on the main road, it appears that those who were shadowing them have either disappeared or become much more careful. Perhaps the bloodied former assailant slung over Loki's back, plus the blood and frustration evident on everyone else was a bit of a clue. There's nothing that quite deters a mugging like evidence of past muggers.

Sarkin follows along, unsure as to how lethal staying with this particular group might prove to be, but certainly feeling it less lethal than being out on these roads on his own.

"Say, Galdwan," he says as a thought occurs to him, "have you ever heard of a case where a Nathi has been able to learn the human blood magic? I notice that it doesn't need to be YOUR blood that you sacrifice, just BLOOD in general, and getting hold of blood is rarely an issue..." He shakes his head. "Of course, there may be no point for a Nathi in learning it, but I wonder..."

Galdwan's response is thoughtful. "There are cases of Nathi trying to do human magic, but it seems to be impossible. They do not have the thought patterns we do, nor the history, and there is a life force that is missing. My own personal theory is that the life force from the blood reacts to the life force of the man performing the magical rites. The Nathi life force is used in your own peculiar branch of magic, as the elves is theirs, and a man can no more do Elf magic than he can Nathi magic, and so each is bound to his own variety. The Power is strong enough, however, and if you devote yourself to it, it can be quite a force to reckon with. That is all I know of the issue."

They make it to the second ramp without incident, and other than avoiding the occasional overlarge pram, they make it to the pawnshop Kiri had told them about.

They locate the pawnshop after only a couple questions, as it is not all that easy to miss. In a well traveled and well lit corridor about fifteen feet wide, the shop is identified by a florid sign reading "Sikes Pawn's", swinging gently over the door.

Loki shifts the crossbowman around so he can view his face. "Feeling better yet? We still need to talk about that little altercation back there, but for now we're going to be chatting with Mr. Sikes in the pawn shop, so if you can stand on your own I'd like to have some freedom of movement. Now, I don't want to have to worry about chasing you down, so I'm just going to keep on hand here on your shoulder." [Gentle squeeze to let him know just how much pain a grip that can crumble bricks can cause on that soft, sensitive spot just under the collarbone.] "Say, Galdwan, I don't want to worry about hitting him too hard and causing serious damage when trying to knock him out, so can you just plug his ears with a little air magic or something? Just because we don't want any of the big secret stuff we find out from the pawn shop man to go wandering off with this guy after we find out who sent him and everything. I'd suggest just questioning him here and then going into the shop, but this shopfront is a little conspicuous and I don't think Mr. Sikes would appreciate us scaring away customers."

"I think, Loki," says Niktar thoughtfully, "that you and Sarkin should keep walking. Anyone following us will certainly fixate on you, and our asking questions probably has put Sikes in enough danger as it is. Walk for a little way and maybe find a place to rest where you can see this shop. Galdwan and I will hop in quickly. If we don't come out in say, half an hour, come find us. And *be careful*, holler if someone else attacks you."

"Sounds like a plan," Sarkin says as his stomach growls. "Loki said he'd get me a meal when I first approached him, and we never got one." He slides a sideways glance at Loki. "But something edible this time. I get to choose the fare."

Loki looks hurt. "Whatever you want, of course. Far be it from me to make even the slightest effort to broaden anyone's regrettably narrow horizons. Come on, you," he says to the erstwhile crossbowman. "If you misbehave, I'll find some Pykrittan Sour Grapes and make you eat them, see if I don't."

Follow Loki, Sarkin, and the Thug...

Niktar chuckles. "The fish and chips are good." He glances at Kiri's note, then turns and heads into the shop, peering out a window after Loki and Sarkin for a minute to make sure they aren't immediately attacked. Loki and Sarkin disappear without incident into an eatery across the street and a bit to the seaward.

The note reads:
"Matt,
These men need to be hooked up with the O'Mara on a matter of Nathi honour. Please show them as high up the hierarchy as you can, and I will consider us even for my help in the "Newcomers" incident last month.
Thanks,"

Kiri's expansively neat and loopy signature concludes the napkin.

Niktar then turns to survey the interior of the pawnshop. It is dim, paneled in brown wood, with few lights. Suggestions of lots of shelves and the occasional lurking guard fill the fairly large room.

The main desk is well-lit, a portly bearded man seated behind it, peering over half-moon spectacles at them. He raises a grey eyebrow at the state of Niktar's chest, then composes himself.

"Yes, I am Matthew Sikes," he says quietly and calmly. "What may I do for you today?"

Sikes takes the note, and pores over it for a moment. He scratches his beard, and then peers up over his spectacles at Niktar.

"This is most curious," he says softly and with a slight smile in one corner of his mouth. "You wish to be put in contact with the O'Mara, and yet the O'Mara have come to me asking for you. Furthermore, you just destroyed a group of Del'Marcos rabble, moments ago, from the look of you. Goodness, you do make friends rapidly, do you not? What is the nature of your problem?"

"Er." Niktar glances back out the doorway. "Yes, well, they attacked us. Del'Marcos, you say? It's good to know we didn't alienate the people we're trying to find." He pauses a moment wondering what the O'Mara might want them for. "We have a few problems, aside from the obvious. Would you think the O'Mara sympathetic to our side?"

"I should certainly think so," replies Sikes. "The O'Mara has certain things it wishes of you as well. What would you have the O'Mara's assistance with?"

"A few things. We're looking for one of our ships that seems to have been taken over by someone when it entered port here. We are also interested in seeing if they would entertain the idea of some sort of alliance. Lastly, though perhaps the most immediate goal, we are attempting to rescue a kidnapped girl. We do have some others working on that at the moment, including your friend who directed us here."

Sikes leans his chin on his thumbs for a moment. "Intriguing." Then, businesslike, he continues, "Yes, I believe I can say with confidence that recovering the Kraken would be in our mutual best interests. The girl, whom we know to be in custody of a certain Sir Orren, will be trickier. What sort of alliance did you have in mind?"

Two of the shadowed figures emerge from behind a bookshelf, and lean casually, one against the bookshelf and one against the wall behind Sikes' desk. A stray shaft of light plays across a casually displayed badge sewn into the inside of one of their jackets (these are professionals here, this sort of thing doesn't just happen), which Galdwan (and not Niktar, surprisingly), recognize as the symbol of the O'Mara.

Niktar attempts to contain his surprise at their knowledge of Sir Orren. "We could start with mutually agreeable things, such as recovering the Kraken. However, we also have at our disposal another ship, should you need cover or some other assistance it could provide. Having the O'Mara...favor our side against the Elves would be advantageous of course."

Sikes stares at Niktar for a few moments. "Well, the O'Mara tend to operate on a per-incident basis, of course," he replies, polishing his glasses on a handkerchief. "So an alliance as such is a rare occurrence. However," he puts his glasses back on, and peers over the top of them at Niktar, "It appears that your situation is more desperate than ours, and so we will be the one setting the terms of the agreement."

Sikes's fingers drum on the desk, a nervous gesture, though neither his voice nor gaze waver in the slightest.

"For the moment, I am authorized to offer you the O'Mara's assistance in recovering this 'Kraken', and then, depending on the magnitude of the favor we request of you, we may assist you in your task against the enemy you chased into our harbors."

"In the meantime, it would behoove you to collect your companions and return here, so that we may discuss the details of this operation."

Niktar agrees, and leaves the pawnshop. He goes across the street to the prawnshop, and quickly spies Loki and Sarkin as they eat much seafood. The ex-thug is between them, head down on the table and generally seeming quite unenthused about the whole matter.

Niktar ambles over and says "Well fellows, if you could finish up I think we have some friends to meet. Mind if I have a prawn?"

Everyone back at the pawnshop...

Loki and Sarkin at the Prawnshop

"Fish and chips sound good," Sarkin says, thankful for a voice of culinary reason. "Come, Loki, let's eat." He then leads them to the nearest place with food, which is across the street and to the right of the pawnshop. Oddly enough, this establishment is named "The Prawnshop."

Inside, they find, surprise of surprises, lots of prawns, in addition to pretty much anything that could have conceivably swum into a net. The furnishings are in white, and the front window gives a halfway decent view of the pawnshop's front.

The proprietor, a beefy fellow with a smudged apron, is quite taken aback at the beaten and bloodied appearance of his new customers. "Whayt'll you folks be having today?" he says brightly nevertheless. "I can find a mage fer your friend here if yeh want," he indicates the bloody and dedraggled ex-thug.

"No, that's all right. He'll be fine. Won't you?" Loki causes the thug's head to nod if the thug himself seems unwilling or unable. "Good. Bring me a plate of something you have to break out of its shell and lots of butter to go with it. Sarkin, what are you having?"

After asking the proprietor for fish and chips, Sarkin says to the man, "We've already taken him to a mage. You should have seen what he was like before." He smiles a toothy grin before settling down and eating the fish and chips, or whatever the proprietor offers as a substitute. As Loki gets into the questioning, Sarkin adds the occasional comment or correction (especially in response to Loki's more outrageous comments) but mostly lets Loki question - after all, the longer we're here, the better, and Loki's questions are certainly a lot more... meandering... than his own.

Loki proceeds to eat quietly and calmly and even relatively subtly, interrogating the thug, only occasionally threatening him with the crab hammer.

The former thug, interspersed with "Ack", "Aargh", and other unmentionables, eventually lets slip that they were not, in fact, sent specifically to stop them, "we just didn't like Nathi polluting their clean streets, and hey, you went into an alley, so we doubled around and aargh aargh aargh not with the crab hammer, please, nice man, we just wanted your kinda trash off the streets aargh and pleasedon'tkillmepleaseplease, and it was only Flash Eddie what sent us, and he's not even Reaves, and my goodness that's a lot of crab you're eating, please no, not with the crab hammer, aargh, and I don't know nuthin about no boat and aaaaaargh..."

Sotto voce to Sarkin, Loki says, "Well, as near as I can tell, he's telling the truth. People usually do when I do this -" (muffled cry from thug) "- so unless you see something I don't, I guess we can just let him go."

"What family IS Flash Eddie, if not Reaves?" inquires Sarkin. "Or does he belong to anyone at all?"

"He's Del'Marcos," the ex-thug replies brightly. "He sez to me, 'If youse gets caught, I ain't done nuffin, and those durn elvses can go stuff their pointy ears places my maw won't let me talk about.'"

"What elves?" Sarkin fires back.

The ex-thug heaves a mighty sigh, having realized exactly how deep of a pit he's dug himself. "Bugrit. Th'Elves who absolutely didn't pay off Eddie to have us come and stop you, cos of some girl?. You realize I ain't saying nuthin' to you, and that I ain't gonna die soon as you all let me go, right? I'm only tellin' you cos of your giant and what he can do with his stick."

"That an' I blabbed too much. Buggr'd crab hammer..."

He trails off, forehead on the table. For good measure, he bleeds at them accusingly.

"Oh, dear. Now things have gone and gotten complicated again. Well, at least now we've got a more recent lead on those bastard elves. Sort of. More or less." Loki contemplates the ruin of crab shells on the table. "Hmm. We should probably wait until Niktar gets back so we can see what he's found out, because it may be that that pawn shop owner knows a lot more than we thought he might and this whole episode was entirely pointless, but on the other hand it might end up that we'll have to go and find Mr. Flash, since he's the last one to meet with the elves who have Ferica." Loki frowns, his cherubic forehead wrinkling worriedly. "All this plotting and counterplotting makes my head hurt. It's so much easier to deal with these things in old chronicles and so on. At least books aren't dangerous if you miss something. Unless you get a papercut and it gets infected and you end up losing an entire arm to gangrene, but that only happened once to the great scholar Izuki, and then under highly suspicious circumstances. Also, Izuki wasn't exactly stable, you know." Loki taps his temple significantly.

"Either way, Eddie will get this man if we let him go, and anyway, we need us to lead him to this Flash person. So I suppose for now, he stays with us, until we have him lead us to Eddie or we discover he's unnecessary." Sarkin furrows his brow. "So what's this about some girl? Do you know anything about that, Loki?"

Loki looks chagrined. "Oops. I shouldn't have said anything, I think." He leans in close, a heavy scent of crab and butter wafting across the table, and holds his hands over the semiconscious thug's ears. The thug's head is nearly entirely covered. "Don't say anything about it," Loki whispers, "But that's our Secret Mission. The elves kidnapped . . . a young woman, and it's our job to get her back. I was the navigator on the boat when we were on a boat, but since the elves have landed here we had to follow. Plus my boat sank after it got shot at by an Elven frigate. It's hard to be a navigator for a few floating planks. So now I'm following Niktar around and hoping to bash in a few elven heads. Prissy elitist buggers." In a slightly more normal tone, he remarks "Well, at least we know which family the elves are dealing with. One of them, anyway. I seem to recall hearing something about the del'Marcos before somewhere. Something about a dagger and a dragon, I think. Oh, well."

"You didn't say anything wrong, Loki. Don't worry about it." Sarkin chuckles and then digs into his food, wondering when Niktar will get back. Having not eaten well in a while, he orders a few more plates . . . not eating as much as Loki, but almost looking like he's trying to rival him.

Loki and Sarkin continue to eat lots of seafood, to the amusement of the proprietor, who starts nevertheless asking for payment in advance for each plate he brings.

The ex-thug responds with a predictable lack of joy at the assurance that he can consider himself as a prisoner under Loki's guard.

After a while, Niktar wanders into the prawnshop. He ambles over and says "Well fellows, if you could finish up I think we have some friends to meet. Mind if I have a prawn?"

As he prawns himself, Niktar indicates that they had best all go over to the pawnshop across the way.

Loki, pleased to have something to do again, bounds up, throws whatever payment still remains to be paid onto the table, collects his bag, the Stick, and the thug, and bounds enthusiastically towards the door.

Shaking his head at Loki's enthusiasm, Sarkin gets up, assuming Loki has successfully covered the bill, and follows.

Niktar leads them across the street to the Pawnshop, and ushers them inside.

The interior of the pawnshop, for those of you who have't seen it, is dim, paneled in brown wood, with few lights. Suggestions of lots of shelves and the occasional lurking guard fill the fairly large room.

The main desk is well-lit, a portly bearded man seated behind it, peering over half-moon spectacles at them. He blinks at Sarkin, Looks up and then further up at Loki, then speaks:

"Good afternoon. As I was telling your associate Niktar, I am Matthew Sikes. These are my associates," with a wave of his hand, he indicates several large men leaning against shelves, and conspicuously displaying the O'Mara insignia sewn into the inside flaps of their coats. They're the types whose job it is to look professionally big. One of them even matches Loki.

"As Niktar and I were discussing, we may have an exchange of favors in the works," Sikes says quietly and calmly, as is his way. "The Nathi vessel _Kraken_ was impounded by the Reaves several days ago, when it made an emergency docking in what it thought were friendly harbors. My colleagues and I have confered, and we have an offer for you. In return for the armed escort out of Havna of one of our courier vessels, we will give you the exact location of the Kraken."

Niktar nods at Sikes. "I believe that escort can be arranged. Would the exact location include directions and pitfalls to be avoided along the way as well?" He notes the glance at Sarkin. "It may be in our best interests to purchase some new clothing for this man as well. Are there friendly tailors nearby?"

"I'm sure suitable clothing can be found for a reasonable price," replies Sikes with a smile. "I had been wondering when you would mention that, but I thought it best to be polite, not knowing the prevailing fashions in Karanath this year."

"If this is the fashion," Sarkin says dryly, smiling faintly, "I feel sorry for my countrymen." He then continues more earnestly. "I notice you made no reply to the inquiry about the location of pitfalls and sundry; do you not know of them, or are they being withheld?"

"There are pitfalls everywhere in Havna, my friend," smiles Sikes. "Only a madman claims to know them all. We will endeavor to provide you with a route so that most of them may be minimized or avoided."

Sarkin gestures to his clothing. "Yes, I have had ample first-hand experience with some of the many pitfalls in Havna. Forgive me if I'm not too eager to have many more of those experiences." His faint smile vanishes.

"Oh, come now, friend Sarkin. Nothing can truly stop us on our mission, for we have truth in our hearts and justice as our goal," Loki slaps Sarkin heartily on the back, which, given Sarkin's build, *might* not knock him all the way down to the ground. Loki pauses to consider. "And also we have some crossbows, swords, a Big Stick, and hot magical death." The thug looks as if he can heartily agree with this last statement. Rather, the thug loses consciousness finally.

Recovering from Loki's mighty blow, Sarkin laughs. "I do think the latter list will have more to do with our success than the former. Havna doesn't seem very friendly to justice and truth; I wouldn't be surprised if there were laws against those very things." He arcs an eyebrow at Mr. Sikes, suddenly looking very serious. "Are there?"

"Against such things there is no law," says Sikes with a wry grin. "However, Havnite law is generally what the biggest bully on the street wants at the time. Add fine robes or a crown, and the principle remains largely the same. I'm reasonably sure that my bully can tell you the routes that your bully isn't watching."

Sarkin smiles broadly now, opening his hands in front of him. "Of course, if truth was against the law, you wouldn't tell me. After all, you seem to be a law abiding man." Then he clasps his hands in front of him, looks at Niktar, then back to Sikes. "So, I'll be getting new clothes to replace these rags? And perhaps a bath as well? And in return, the Kraken will protect you on your way out of town? That sounds reasonable to me."

"Mm," offers Niktar. "We shall see what state the Kraken is in, before we say that, Sarkin. But the Apotheosis will do either way for protection. Hopefully the Kraken will be in a decent state as well, but we should not count on it. And yes, we surely should get you a bath and some clothes."

Niktar looks down at his own clothes. "For that matter, we should all clean up a bit, I think. We may draw more attention this way."

Loki looks around at the bedraggled cutlass-wielding Nathi, the large football-playing scarecrow form of Sarkin, the tall, brown-skinned, skeleton-thin mage Galdwan and his sickle-sword, and himself, topped by a flame-red mass of hair, bearing a massive backpack and an equally massive Stick. "I don't think our cleanliness will be the thing people remember most about us," says Loki thoughtfully. "Although naturally I wouldn't be averse to a larger quantity of cleanliness in my life at the moment, I think perhaps a visit to the local bathhouses would be a bit out of the way. Maybe if we all just get new clothes and change quickly. Cloaks with hoods would be favorite, I think."

Sarkin looks around at the group. "Yes, I suppose you're right, Loki," he says with a somewhat startled look on his face. "However, we don't want to draw any more attention to ourselves than we absolutely have to. Besides, being clean feels nice. I haven't had a good bath since I left Matraca."

Sikes rases an eyebrow at Sarkin. "Well, if we have a deal," he says, "I will allow you to leave to freshen up, and one of our agents will be in contact with you later today with the details of our arrangement."

While Sikes is the paragon of courtesy, the lurking O'Mara operatives are not, and Our Heroes soon find themselves in the street.

Our assorted heroes make their way back to the inn where they met with Kiri, stopping on the way at a clothier, where those who want to may pick up new clothes and large cloaks, etc.

Niktar has a big bloody rip down the front of his shirt, Loki has a bloody hole in his pants bottom, Sarkin looks like having the cat drag him in would be a kindness, and believe Galdwan is unscathed.

Sarkin groans at the thug for having the audacity to start bleeding again, then takes care of his wounds before he makes a mess.

Galdwan steps up to heal the injured thug once again using his (the injured man's) blood. "Is there anything I can do while you are out getting clothes?" he asks Niktar.

As the party heads down to whatever nearby establishment we end up going to, Loki regales Niktar with the information gleaned from the thug in his (Niktar's) absence.

"Well, it took a bit of doing, but after judicious use of forceful coercion Sarkin and I managed to extract certain hints and allusions from our captive here - say, Galdwan, d'you think you could patch him up again? Only he's leaking a bit and these clothes are going to be hard enough to clean as it is. Rather a fragile person, isn't he? Slightest little push and over he goes. Anyway, as I was saying, we uncovered subtle hints from our captive, i.e. 'Aarghaargh, Flash Eddie sent us, we don't know nothin, aargh, okay we was hired by elves, but I still don't know nothin' and etcetera. I rather think that, in the event that we hear nothing from our search party, we seek out this Flash Eddie person. He apparently has met the party of Elves - and Ferica - in person, and his gang was expressly sent to find and take us out. The Del'Marcos are also mixed up in there as well, although I'm not entirely certain as to the context. And also the politics of Havna are making my head hurt. Uh, sir." Loki finishes pauses, unsure of the proper protocol regarding human navigators of ex-Nathi ships addressing promoted-in-the-field commanders of unrelated secret missions. Oddly enough, this situation has yet to have been addressed in any of the books of military etiquette that Loki has read.

Niktar nods. "Yes, Sikes seemed rather well informed as well - both about the Kraken, and about Ferica and Sir Orren. He deduced that we had run into the Del Marcos "rabble" as he put it, I believe by the one you're carrying around. It makes me wonder how many other people know we're here, and what precisely Orren knows." He pauses for a moment. "You don't have to call me "sir", Loki."

During their Innward peregrination, they're approached by a kid who, wide-eyed, asks "Hey! Was that your ship? You know the one that got in a fight with those ships down in the docks today? Wow! Kablam! Crash! Ooo!" Accompanying his narrative with suitable pantomime, the kid runs off, trying to find someone smaller than Loki to kick in the shins.

When they reach the inn, Loki patches his pants. (He has long since become accustomed to the difficulty of locating clothes in his size. However, his tendency to sew his hands together when attempting to repair clothing himself has led to a certain familiarity with the ins and outs of for-hire tailoring. Hopefully someone of that ilk can be located without overmuch difficulty. If not, Loki has a spare pair somewhere in his backpack, likely rather well-pressed under the weight of his personal library. It will be the work of but a half an hour to dig them out and put the books back in again.) Loki also gets a bath, seeing as how that seems to be the general drift of intentions, and regales everyone with tales of the numerous unusual and fascinating parasites and infections one can pick up from the floors of public bathhouses. Loki, needless to say, keeps some sandals on for the duration.

The baths are served up in toe form of large basins in their rooms, with kettles of hot water. All concerned are cleansed, bandaged, fed, and shaved if they wish to be.

The thug is cleaned, and left in a closet. This is a most agreeable fate for the thug, who passes out.

After some time, the door shakes to the knocking of what sounds like Loki trying to be gentle. Loki is inside the room, and not currently knocking on the door.

Niktar, cleaned - though not shaved, as he did earlier and is the type who doesn't looks scruffy until a few days later - leans back in his chair and draws upon the Power. "It's probably our friends, but can't be too careful," he says quietly to the others while Loki greets the others.

As Sarkin was previously decided to be napping in the tub, he is still in the buff. The large banging on the door wakes him up, and as Loki goes to open the door, Sarkin leaps out of the water and quickly slips on some trousers or SOMETHING so that he will not be completely nude and unprepared. Fortunately, a pair of pants is near at hand. Thus trousered, Sarkin awaits the visitor.

Galdwan unstoppers one of the vials of blood at his belt, but otherwise sits in his chair just as he has been for the past half-hour.

Loki, deciding that anyone anywhere near his size who is knocking on his/our/someone else's door should be met by an equally large individual (this being a curious point of etiquette among the Damu tribesmen, who have interbred with other races to the extent that their only racial characteristic is that they HAVE no racial characteristics) rises ponderously and wanders over to the door, pulling on his pants if this incident occurred during their patching process. Fully clothed and with the Big Stick leaning against the wall just next to the doorjamb, Loki eases the door open, ready to brace against it should it receive a sudden push from the other side. He peers out cautiously.

He sees a huge hulking figure outside, a fist the size of a ham cocked and ready to knock again. The figure is cloaked and hooded, the ill-fitting cloth shrouding a body like a sack of rocks. The knocker is fully as tall and broad as Loki.

"Hello?" Loki ventures.

"Hello," comes the reply, like a mouthful of gravel, fighting for freedom from the dark recesses of the cloak. "I gots yer contact info, like youse wus promised t'day."

"Well? Youse gonna let me in or not? I'm here outa the kindness of my heart here."

"Let him in, Loki. Seems friendly enough," Galdwan says, as he picks up his shiny new crossbow and loads it.

Loki steps back, allowing the stranger entrance. Unused to meeting people his height, Loki is, for once, at a loss for words. He keeps a cautious hand on the Big Stick, unnerved by all this talk of conspiracies and deals with crimelords. However, all caution will be forgotten the moment someone mentions a topic in which Loki has any relevant (read: irrelevant) knowledge.

The big man steps through the door. The light inside the room reveals him to be uglier than it may have been previously thought, though he does not lower his hood.

"Yeh, I got your directions heah," he shrugs to indicate a satchel draped across his chest and hanging at his hip. "Yous got to follow me, I'll take you where you need to be."

Loki tightens his grip on the Big Stick. He feels that [OOC: and I quote] something is not right with this situation. "Directions to where? Who sent you? And why on earth do we have to follow you if you have directions in that satchel?" Loki moves to shut the door, incidentally placing his considerable bulk in the way, and causing Mister Ugly to be surrounded by the various party members, should he make a wrong move.

"I gotcher directions to your ship, like we agreed, rmember? I's come here cos of the meeting you just had, y'know?"

He pulls out a folded paper and hands it to Loki. "See, there's the map, and all the checkpoints."

"Well, this seems to be in order," says Loki, examining the map. "I have a great deal of experience with maps, so I don't think we'll really need your services as a guide, though of course we thank you and your, er, employer for the generous offer. I think we can handle it from here. These maps are marvelously detailed." Loki, entering the unfamiliar territory of the slight untruth, begins to sweat. "Thanks so much for your time sorry I don't have a tip but I'll be sure to put in a good word for you next time I speak with your boss please don't let us detain you goodbye now." Loki pulls the door open and gestures woodenly for Big Ugly, in case he's forgotten which way he came in.

"Now now, Loki," Sarkin says placatingly as he comes out from behind some cover, more or less fully dressed now, "the streets of this town are rather easy to get lost in, and we will be going into enemy territory, so to speak. Don't be so hasty in dismissing a guide who undoubtedly knows more than what can be put on a map."

"Sarkin is right, Loki." The newcomer's head jerks around, to fix Sarkin in a beady gaze, barely visible under the hood. Niktar picks up his pack and swings his cloak around his shoulders, dropping the Power to make himself less conspicuous on the streets. "You don't have any other identification on you, I don't suppose?" he asks their new guide.

"No. C'mon, youse can get proofs o' me if you wants," says the big man. "An' bring yer pris'ner too."

Loki, Spider Sense still tingling, moves to retrieve his backpack o' books and nudge the thug into an upright or near-upright position. With Big Stick in hand and Pen safely sheathed in its scabbard, Loki is ready and willing to take on just about anything. Except a plague of bookworms.

Galdwan stoppers his bottle and gathers his things. He leaves the crossbow cocked, but not loaded.

Sarkin finishes getting dressed, collects his meager belongings, and follows.

Niktar follows a few steps behind the fellow.

The hulking fellow leads them out of the inn, past the first ramp to to the next level, and then into an alley. The alley twists, turns, branches many times, and in general follows the path marked on Loki's map.

"We's deep in Reaves territory now," rumbles the brute, leading them out onto what might finally be charitably termed a road. "Be careful, or youse gonna die quick."

He keeps to unoccupied passages, most of them so narrow that Loki has a hard time getting through, much less carrying the thug with him. Their leader however, ducks through them as though travelling his home ground. At one point, as they are passing between the space between two buildings, they hear a scream from within: "What goes around comes around you little..." and trails off with an abrupt thud, before they can hear any more.

Their guide ignores this. At no point has he lowered his hood, nor has any skin but his hands been visible. Those who are skilled at seeing such things can tell that he's carrying several very large truncheons underneath his ill-fitting cloak.

Up a ladder takes them to a broad street, filled to the bursting with sailers, dock hands, and prams of a staggering array of descriptions.

Sarkin slides up to Niktar and mumbles something about this place looking familiar. Their guide continues on along the side of the road, skirting around the bulk of a warehouse, then looking back to make sure everyone follows.

Loki makes an effort to view the face of Mister Ugly, perhaps even requesting a bit of help with the rather bulky burden of the thug as a cover story. After all, with Big Stick, backpack, sword, and thug, Loki is pretty heavily burdened. (Though come to battle, he is by now adept at shrugging his backpack off quickly.)

Their guide takes the thug, lifting him easily with one arm. He whispers something into the thug's ear, and the thug goes limp in his arms.

Niktar also travels with his cloak's hood pulled near to his face, so that it's not immediately obvious that he's Nathi.

Sarkin slides up to Niktar and mumbles something about this place looking familiar.

Niktar asks quietly, "What do you mean?"

"This is where we were taken after being removed from our ship."

"Any idea how far you were taken from the ship?"

"Unfortunately," Sarkin says, "I wasn't paying attention to the distance at the time; in fact, I'm not even sure I was awake the whole time. We were quite thoroughly thrashed."

"Well I wouldn't be surprised that we travel through some of the same areas. Still, mention if you see anything specific."

Their hushed conversation complete, they follow their leader down a couple blocks of the crowded street, past a broad ramp down to the docks themselves, and into an alley. From the amount of light coming up the ramp from below, it would appear that the docks below are not as heavily used, and are quite a goodly distance under the city.

The alley is high and narrow, with no light. Sarkin feels the prick of familiarity as they thread through discarded crates, but though he stops and listens, neither he nor anyone else notice anything untoward.

Their guide stops abruptly at a space between two warehouses, more a hole than a passage, and motions them in. "Up here's where yeh can find what yeh need."

Sarkin tenses up, and remarks to himself "this place looks very familiar" loud enough that everyone can hear. He glances around to get his bearings, and procedes with the others into the hole.

After a few moments of half-crawling through damp blackness, the lead person, (Niktar, probably), feels a ladder, going up. "Up dere," their gravelly-voiced guide urges from the rear.

With no real choice, they all begin the ascent. The wooden ladder feels like it was recently constructed, or at least well-used; it offers no splinters and provides a solid unwobbling grip, unlike even many of the streets in Havna. The shaft is square, and about three feet across and wide, with absolutely no light.

After what feels like an eternity, though in reality is little more than a few stories, the ladder comes to such an abrupt landing that Niktar has to flail about to keep from falling backwards.

The landing is long enough that everyone can get off the ladder, low enough that Niktar has to crouch, to say nothing of Loki, and ends in a rough door, which lets a dim glow in through the hole where its doorknob isn't.

"Jes' push the door open," rasps the guide from behind, still on the ladder. "It's all in there."

[Order of marching is: Niktar, Sarkin, Galdwan, Loki, Big Ugly]

Niktar, suspecting a trap, draws on the Power to hopefully help himself see better; the thug behind him, he hopes, won't be able to see. "Loki," he mutters very quietly. "Stand right by me and keep a watch." He motions with his hands in front of him (where the "guide" can't see) in the direction of their guide, and then he proceeds to walk very cautiously toward the door. When he arrives he crouches down, and then carefully peers through the hole.

He doesn't really see anything beyond. The room on the other side of the door is bare, nondescript, and the glow from Niktar's eyes doesn't quite penetrate to the walls. The smell of the sea is much stronger by the door.

Loki slings his backpack around in front of him and wedges himself onto the ledge. Perched like a gargoyle with his backpack between his feet and the Big Stick held in both hands, and with the great bastard sword Pen digging painfully into his side, Loki sighs and waits patiently for something to happen. He is not fond of cramped spaces, and the close presence of Mister Ugly behind him is rapidly wearing on his nerves. Loki fidgets and wishes he were reading about all of this in a library somewhere.

Looking around him in confusion, he attempts to construct a plan whereby he can fit his 6'8" frame around the nearly-as-large Sarkin and the thin-yet-amazingly-tall Galdwan inside of a cramped corridor atop a rickety ladder in which he cannot stand up straight. He is, at the moment, unable to find a way to do this.

"There's something... not quite right... going on here. I don't know what it is, but something's suddenly up." Sarkin looks around, trying to figure out what might be up. "Loki," he says, "could you please check on our lunch companion from earlier. I can't quite see him from here."

Loki shrugs, though nobody can see him do this.

Galdwan opens one of his blood vials and chants a little something. After the acrid steam clears, he and Loki can see in the dark as though it is broad daylight. Though they can't see through the doorknob hole, owing to Niktar's head being in the way, they can see that the alcove they are currently in is constructed of fairly sturdy planks that have the look of mild woodworm to them.

The big guide is at the top of the ladder, showing enough face to reveal a big jagged grin. Loki turns to look at him just in time to barely avoid the blow the guide attempts to land with his cudgel, a blow that would surely have crushed Loki's shin. Loki reacts by stomping on the guide's face, which forces his head back and makes an even uglier mess of his nose.

The brute falls back, so that he is standing on the ladder but leaning against the back of the shaft. With a roar, he hurls his cudgel into Loki's midriff. Unable to duck, Loki takes the full impact of the blow and doubles over, barely catching himself, lest he topple headfirst into the shaft.

"'Ey!" comes the voice of the erstwhile thug from below. "Bob, what're you doin? I'm below you, y'know!"

Wheezing, Loki defends himself the best way possible at the moment, namely stabbing downward with The Big Stick, trying to knock "Bob" off the ladder like one plunges a recalcitrant commode. Bob grabs the end of the Big Stick in mid-thrust, bellows again, and pulls hard. Loki, hardly balanced well already, topples forward, and stops himself against the back wall of the shaft with his left hand. With his right hand, he keeps his grip on The Big Stick. His feet are now on the top of the ladder, and save for Bob's chest, there's really nowhere else to stand.

Niktar thinks he sees a shadow move in front of the door.

Seeing that Loki's fall is pretty much assured, Sarkin yells at Galdwan to go and help Loki after he falls and goes boom; he believes and Niktar should be able to handle things up here. He then readies his 'hot magical death', and plans to 'lay hands' on anyone who comes near him.

Loki, rapidly running out of options, decides to take the path of least resistance. Since there's nowhere else to stand but Bob's chest, Loki stands there, in the form of leaping up, stretching his arms out to the sides of the shaft to steady himself, and smashing all of his considerable weight onto Bob's ribcage with both heels.

Bob folds up around Loki's feet and plummets arseward down the shaft, entangled with The Big Stick. Loki falls with him with his back to the ladder. Ten feet later, they dislodge the erstwhile thug, who falls with them. This impact pivots Loki face-first into the back wall, where a skinned palm saves him from smearing his nose and forehead down fifty feet of wall.

Reeling backwards now, he smashes through five rungs of the ladder with his elbow, before grabbing onto one with the strength of an overdone metaphor. Unfortunately, his weight and momentum is such that he tears the ladder free, which sags slowly backwards until the top rests against the back of the shaft. Loki hangs there halfway down the shaft, bleeding and bruised. Every time he moves, the lader makes strained noises, buckling and bending, the tortured wood slowly giving way as the weight of Loki and his backpack try their darndest to bend the it into an S-curve.

The thug hits the bottom, two stories down, with a crackling and snapping noise. Bob lands on the thug with a sharp crack, unfolding from the bottom, his back, legs, and then head whiplashing into the ground. This kills the thug below, and seriously deforms the floorboards. He does not move, laying amidst the shattered and splintered husk of what was The Big Stick.

Galdwan jams a bolt into his crossbow and fires it down the shaft with one hand. The bolt misses Loki, and riccochets from side to side, thudding into the floorboards in the midst of an increasing pile of wood shavings and a spreading pool of blood. With his other hand, he fetches out his recently opened vial and prepares to cast a spell, if need be.

Niktar quickly steps to the side of the door which will swing open, and charges his pistol bolter. As Loki dangles fifteen feet down, the door is opened gently from outside. It swings out to the left, pushed by a broom handle, wielded out of sight to the right.

Loki, battered but triumphant, and pleased with the, er, smashing success of his tactics, attempts to monkeybar his way over to the bit of the ladder still attached to the shaft. Since he feels up to it, he tries to get up to where everyone else is. This requires a considerable expenditure of effort and mountain-climbing expertise, but he is able to make decent progress, only leaving a slight red stain on the walls.

"Galdwan," Sarkin says, looking back, "how's Loki doing back there?" As Sarkin is not in a position to see that Loki didn't fall all the way, nor to recognize the damage done to the ladder... "Can you go down and help him, or is he able to come back up 'ere?"

"I'm okay!" shouts Loki hoarsely from below, inching his way up the tight confines of the shaft. "Bob! Our guide's name was Bob! I think he's that 'Big Bob the Finder' that someone told us about! That means he's a Reaves! 'Ware a trap!" And then, more to himself, "They already have the boat, what on earth do they want with us now?" His concentration is then wholly taken up with the effort of climbing the shaft and the discomfort engendered thereby. There is an occasional grunt of extreme effort or particular pain. Eventually, he is able to lever himself painfully back onto the landing.

As he does so, the ladder at last sags, gives way, and breaks, the top half plummeting down to the bottom of the shaft with a snap, crackle, and because we have standards, even in e-mail games, a pop.

From the darkness beyond the now open door from the landing, a man chuckles. Niktar thinks it came from off to the right somewhere. "I hope you did not hurt Big Bob the Finder too badly," continues whoever it is. He speaks in a strong rich baritone, the sort that would evoke images of a cheery fireplace and a large beard. "He is a fine man, as you may find, should you ever work with him and not against him."

After a slight expectant pause; "Come out. I have friends of yours with whom you probably wish to speak."

Loki grimaces and winces. "At the moment he's a fine stain at the bottom of the stairwell. I'm sure he's a wonderful person, I always like to think the best of everyone and give the benefit of the doubt wherever possible, but when someone swings a cudgel at my shins I'm not inclined to be gentle with him. I do tend to leave people a bit of a mess, though. My combat trainer always said control was my weak point. He usually said it from inside the opposite wall, come to think of it. He did spend a lot more on protective gear than anyone I've met since."

Sarkin charges his hands with Power until he feels like they're about to break into flame. Balling his hands into tight fists, he shouts, "What have you done with my crew?"

"Come and see..." the voice within trails off, chuckling.

Niktar motion to Galdwan to follow him through the door, his eyes glowing as he draws fully on the Power. Anticipating an attack immediately, he ducks through into the room, eyes surveying first toward the voice and then opposite. Galdwan with a ball of flame floating several inches above his hand, follows, as do Loki and Sarkin.

Inside is a chamber, about fifteen feet across and deep, and dimly lit. The warehouse doors are on the left wall: closed double doors of wood bound with iron. The chuckling man is leaning against the right wall, next to another door; this one single, and just as thoroughly closed. The chuckling man's face is hidden by a large but neat red beard, which matches his chin-length hair. He is wearing leather armor, and is toying with a loaded crossbow and a sword.

Against the double doors are seated four bound figures, which any Nathi holding the Power can tell are also Nathi. These are guarded by three men, dressed the same as the chuckling man. All have daggers, and the center one has a crossbow trained at the first party member out of the landing.

With a blood-curdling scream of rage, Sarkin leaps at the one of the three with the crossbow, hands outstretched and eyes filling the room with a red glow. His target steps aside, and his companion to the left punches a dagger into the leftmost captive's eye. The captive's body dissolves into black greasy smoke, and his garment-draped skeleton slumps forward.

Sarkin receives a kick and a push in the stomach, as his quarry tries to disengage. Grabbing the foot, however, Sarkin unleashes a torrent of power into it, and is rewarded by screams and curses as his target disengages.

"Keep fighting and another man dies!" cries the formerly chuckling man. He stands up straight, and levels his crossbow at Sarkin's back. "The man we killed was Nimoor, gunnery sergeant of the Apotheosis. Next to die is Antis, crewman from the Kraken. I understand he has a wife and little girl back on Karanath. Everybody SHUT up and listen to me and nobody else has to die!"

Nimoor's killer crouches down next to another prisoner, with the point of his dagger against the captive's throat.

Sarkin, barely holding his rage in check, turns around to look at the former chuckling man. He does not look at all happy, but stays shut up (not that he was really talking before).

"I suggest that you all put down your weapons right now" says Galdwan, his ball of flame still ready. "In my experience, big piles of dry wood burn easily, and this big pile of dry wood is no different. I don't want to kill us all, but it seems my only option at the moment."

"Patience," Niktar mutters to Galdwan. To the chuckling man, he says "Speak, for I have to agree with my friend here that cutting our losses may be our only option. But I will hear what you say."

"Simply put, your operation ends here," declares the Chuckling Man. He leans back against his wall, but does not lower his crossbow. "My employers gave me the order and the resources to stop you before you caught up with them. You may either lay down your weapons and let us take you prisoner, or you and the rest of the crew of the Apotheosis and the Kraken will die."

Niktar stands very still, considering The Chuckling Man's offer. "You know, Sarkin, I know you knew those men well," Niktar says conversationally, "but I think this might go along best if you DUCK!!!" As he shouts, he makes takes a shot with his bolter at TCM's face, in particular his mouth.

TCM ducks, reflexively firing his crossbow. The lightning bolt burns across his left eye and across his temple, but does not kill him. He roars in pain, and drops to hands and knees, fumbling for his sword, and shouting "Kill them! Kill them ALL!"

Loki may be hurt and not the most alert man at the best of times, but he knows a signal when he hears one. This is his cue to drag out the great bastard sword Pen and charge in.

Sarkin throws himself to the ground, as two crossbow bolts chirp through the air and Pen hums over his head. One of them, the one fired reflexively by TCM, thuds into the second prisoner from the right, who expires, filling the air with yet more dead-Nathi smoke. The other misses completely, and smacks into a wall.

Humming as the blade slices through a surprisingly high proportion of the room, Pen blasts through the thug who had been fighting with Sarkin. The thug's head bears an expression of incredible surprise as, from his navel down, he falls over. The rest of his body follows shortly.

Niktar and Galdwan are just barely able to duck, as Loki valiantly slows Pen's follow-through. As it is, the bastard sword does one and one-quarter full revolution before Loki can slow it enough to control it again. Galdwan loses control of his spell, and it fizzles out of existence.

Meanwhile, Sarkin launches himself at the one holding the knife to Antis's throat. The two of them fall to the ground, grappling and screaming as Sarkin unleashes a torrent of Power into the thug.

The one unengaged thug pulls a knife and punches it into Antis's chest. The smoke of a third death is released into the room.

Niktar and Sarkin, being the only Nathi holding the Power at the moment, suddenly feel something only noticeable in absence: the death of about ten more Nathi within a hundred feet.

"Dammit!" Niktar seethes as he rushes TCM, recharging his bolter as he does so. When the bolter is ready, he fires one shot directly into TCM's head.

TCM glances up, staring desperately into the business end of Niktar's weapon.

"Gah-"

Niktar's weapon discharges into his left temple. CRACK!

TCM slumps to the ground, the left side of his head now a rather fetching stain on the door behind him.

"Son of a bitch. Heads up folks, I'm betting there are more of them." Niktar glances quickly to see how everyone else is faring.

Sarkin, driven beyond all reason by this point by the death of those nearby, screams a battlecry that one would more likely expect from a human, and continues to grapple with his foe. Rolling around on the floor and pouring Power into the thug, Sarkin does not notice for a bit that his foe has stopped moving.

Loki, once Pen is under a reasonable semblance of control once again, will move to engage (read: cut in half again) the thug that killed Antis, on the principle that people who stab other people while those people are helpless are bad people and should be taught a lesson by people who have the power to do so.

The remaining hostage, meanwhile, flails about, eventually rolling prone against the double doors. In the process, her hood falls away, revealing the face of a Nathi woman in her mid-twenties, with chin-length black hair and a somewhat triangular face.

Pen sweeps about in a wide arc, prompting Galdwan to abort whatever he was doing and duck again, and smashes through Antis's killer without even slowing down. In the process, Loki narrowly misses pretty much everyone else in the room, including the newly unhooded hostage.

Antis's killer falls over on top of Sarkin, fountaining blood from where his chest used to be. Fortunately, Pen thwacks into the open door through which the party all came in, demolishing the top half, slamming the lower half shut, and most importantly, enabling Loki to regain both his balance and control of his sword.

Behind the demolished door comes a series of thumps, ungainly shuffles, and an annoyed reptilian chirp. Unless anyone looks specifically, it's too dark to see what it is.

Loki looks somewhat puzzled. "That chirp sounds oddly familiar," he says.

"Reekik!" Sarkin seems to be referring to the formerly hooded Nathi. "You're alive! I'm sorry I couldn't take you with us when Lugzan and I escaped." He struggles out from beneath the body that fell on him and once again attempts to decipher what is beyond the demolished door.

He sees several figures in the landing. The one in front is a human of medium build, with a glowing lizard on his shoulder. Behind him is a tired and bloody Nathi with close-cropped hair and beard. Behind him is hard to see, but there are at least two more people back there.

Niktar, expecting something Bad, charges his bolter again and takes aim at the door,

"Stop and identify yourself!" barks the voice of Hunot from behind the door.

"Who the hell are you?" is Sarkin's response.

Looking over Sarkin's shoulder Niktar sees the surprised and disgusted face of Mr. Nikes, a very perturbed Edward, and the rest of the party behind him. Behind Hunot, Raddukk has an arrow nocked and is bending his bow.

In front of Hunot, Mr. Nikes sits down for a moment, breathing hard, and almost hyperventilating.

(Sarkin didn't know them, so he didn't get any names when he looked.)

Niktar breaths a sigh of relief and lowers his bolter. "Hunot, it's Niktar, Loki, Galdwan and this is Sarkin. Awright. Let's get this woman unbound and see who else we lost. Nice to see you fellows again."

Raddukk lowers his bow, holding it in only his left hand. He retrieves the remains of Loki's stick, and walks over, opens the remains of the door, and hands it to him. "Think this belongs to you. Figured you'd like to have it back." After a moment's pause he says to all these others, "hope your part of the mission went better than ours. All we have to show for it is a dead elf. Oh, well, we forgot to bring him along. Dead weight you know."

[For Sarkin and Reekik, Raddukk is a tall Nathi with grey shot through his hair, and a habitual determined attitude. He's carrying an elvish longbow and wearing a crystal sword at his side. At the moment, he looks like he's taken a few wounds.]

As the door is opened, those within can see Niktar, Galdwan, Loki, and the Nathi who had first looked in, whom Niktar had introduced as Sarkin. All of them look much the worse for the wear, particularly Sarkin, who is covered in blood.

In front of Hunot, Mr. Nikes sits down for a moment, breathing hard, and almost hyperventilating. Edward, his lizard familiar, chitters nervously and nips his ear.

Loki beams happily. "We're all together again. Wonderful! Now we can really get on with things. How did you all fare? Did you find out anything important? Everyone made it all right, didn't they?" Loki glances around for Kiri. "Mr. Nikes! And Edward! I didn't think you'd make it back, after all your talk about being a civilian. Easy on the bow, there, Raddukk. Thanks for my Stick, though I don't think it'll be much good anymore. I'll have to make another soon. When we get the time. Which isn't likely to be soon."

Kiri blinks at the sudden onslaught of enthusiasm, but smiles at Loki anyway. She edges her way past Hunot and Raddukk, and stops short at the sight of the massive amount of carnage in the room. "You're all okay?" she ventures. "I thought I felt someone die..." she looks around and sees all her former comrades alive and generally well. Then she sees the scattered Nathi bones near the double door, and lets out a long tight sigh. "Oh no..."

Meanwhile, Reekik addresses Sarkin, who goes over to her. "Sarkin, sir, I'm glad to see you're alive too, but I don't think we have much time. This was meant to delay you until the elves left harbor with the Apotheosis and the Sil...something or other in Elvish." Reekik will take a moment and attempt to remember something she saw briefly, "I think they had a prisoner they were leading on to one of the frigates."

Sarkin unties Reekik as she talks to him. She stands up a bit shakily and says to him, "Sir, they've repaired Her," with the emphasis such that presumably Sarkin will guess which her is meant.

When she mutters that last statement to him, Sarkin looks sharply at her and mutters back, "Repaired her?! That's wonderful. No, that's horrible! Where is she? We've got to get her back." His voice rises near the end of this statement - it is more likely that others may hear the last sentence or two, as opposed to the earlier comments. He lowers his voice again as he goes on. "What do they know?"

Reekik manages to keep her voice lower than Sarkin, "I only caught a glimpse of her in the harbor. She's near the other frigates, and has had least her hull repaired."

Sarkin speaks very softly now. "We need to get her back before they reverse engineer her and discover what we were working on. But we can't do it alone." He looks up at the rest of the group, who are doing whatever it is they're doing while we're muttering at each other (hopefully not standing there and staring at us) and gestures at one of them with a flick of his head. "That one there, Niktar, he told me that they're supposedly here to protect the Kraken; a rescue mission seems well within their given parameters." He raises an interrogative eyebrow at Reekik. Loki's face lights up with the now-familiar and much-feared gleam of realization. "An interesting facet of the tendency to refer to ships and other such objects as 'she' and 'her' is that the pronouns were originally applied to almost everything, although many languages subsequently left them behind. A notable exception is the language of a small island far to the south, where all people are 'it' and objects have genders, although saltshakers and wooden tables are exempt from this rule." Loki smiles quietly to himself and finishes cleaning Pen.

Niktar scowls at Sarkin and Reekik. "If you two are done whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears, I suggest we DO something. First, Galdwan if you have it in you Hunot and Raddukk look like they could use a little help. While we do that we can do a quick catch-up on what's happened. Second, I want to find out what's behind these doors and who else we lost. Reekik, were the others held near here? Third, we head out and try to catch up with Orren and the Apotheosis. You say the Kraken was repaired. Do you think if we could get to it we could take it over and use it or should we try to commandeer something else in this, forgive me Kiri, gods-forsaken city?"

"By the way. That's Hunot," he points to an exhausted and seriosuly injured Nathi sitting down just within the doorway, "Raddukk, and you've probably guessed, Nikes and his salamander," He indicates the man with the lizard, who has just recovered from a fit of severe breathlessness. "And Kiri." Kiri is a Nathi girl of about 17 in trousers and a dark green shirt, and shoulder-length straight black hair. Niktar points to each one in turn and then says to those who just arrived pointing at the new ones in his own group. "Sarkin and Reekik of the Kraken."

...and the party is once more reunited...