Chapter 8: Yar Har a Pirate's Life For Me
"Shiver me, timbers!"
Marq's first thought is oh fuck. Swiftly followed by, oh shit, and oh damn. It takes him a few moments to prevent his lunch from coming up, during which time several more of the pirates jump onto The Soggy Crow.
A loud shout from the back of the ship tears him from his thoughts. The distinct bravosi accent lets him know it's Captain Crow. "To arms, men!"
Marq roughly grabs his war hammer off his belt. Holding it in a white knuckle grip to stop his hand from shaking. He suddenly realizes that he has left his shield and helmet below deck and has never been trained to fight aboard a ship.
He doesn't have much time to process how fucked he is before the same man who killed Jack rushes toward him. The years of training and pure instinct save his life as he narrowly dodges backward from a sloppy swing. His muscles move without command, swinging his hammer upwards, connecting with the offending man's jaw. With a sickening crunch, the hammer blow breaks the man's jaw, sending him backward, collapsing to the ground.
Marq looks down at the man in shock. The pirate's jaw is crumpled inwards from the hit, bits of bone protruding through his skin. Part of him, the sane part, wants to shout, scream, and throw up at the sight. But his body won't allow it. He doesn't have time to think, to mourn.
Red is the color of blood. It's the color of sweat in Marq's eyes. Maybe they're the same thing. He's lost the ability to tell, process, and think. There's a target somewhere in front of him, and bodies pile up around him.
His body moves on instinct and years of training. Moving forward, his arm thrusts out fast enough that he hears a crunch and almost thinks he dislocated it for a moment, but he hasn't. The crunch came from his hammer hitting another pirate in the skull, dropping him instantly.
His hammer breaks a human, blood splashes over him, and he feels nothing.
Marq wishes he were a better man, but he's not. He distantly notes Captain Crow, cutting down pirates like they are nothing. His rapier flashes forward, and each time it does, it ends a life.
Marq himself turns to the next target. Once more, bringing his hammer down on a man. This pirate gets his sword up just in time to block the blow from cracking his skull, and his arm pays the price for it. Straining against the force of the attack as metal screeches from the clash. He hears something crack and realizes that was the other man's wrist. His sword clatters out of his hand, and he holds both hands up.
"Mercy, m'lord mercy!" The man screams.
Marq blinks, and everything comes rushing back. Pirates attacking, and Jack dying, Marq killing. It's too much. He ends up vomiting his lunch onto the man begging for mercy.
His grip on his hammer goes slack, almost dropping it from his hand. Jesus Christ. However, he doesn't have much time to muse about the situation, as over the noise of the battle, he hears a shrill scream from below deck.
Torrhen! The worst-case scenarios run through his mind for a moment before he forces himself to act and rushes down below deck. Leaving the pirate, he had been fighting with a broken wrist and sitting in a pile of vomit.
As he steps below, he sees blood, and his heart freezes for a moment, only to go further down and see an even more unexpected sight.
Addam, standing tall at his almost seven-foot height, with a headless corpse in his bloody and gore-covered hands. It takes Marq a moment to realize the corpse isn't just headless but that Addam had crushed the man's head. Torrhen also stands, unhurt, holding his lute by the handle but with the head of it broken. At his feet lay a pirate, with splinters all over his head, very much unconscious.
However, possibly most disturbing is Tybolt, who has grabbed onto the back of one of the pirates and is riding him around while trying to gnaw off the man's ear. Like the world's most fucked up piggyback ride.
Between the events above deck and the scene below deck. Marq cannot fathom how to comprehend what is going on. Luckily his body does, and he vomits once more, the last of his lunch leaving him and drawing the attention of Torrhen.
When Marq looks back up, Torrhen is hovering worriedly over Marq.
"Is that all your blood?" The would-be bard asks.
"No? At least, I don't think it is. It's a bit blurry what happened up there; honestly, I'm feeling faint right now. God, why did I think it was a good idea to d-" Marq rambles and rambles until he is interrupted by a slap across the face from Torrhen.
"Marq now isn't the time. There is still a fight up there, and if you die because you got distracted, I'll kill you." Torrhen frowns, staring at Marq.
Marq shakes his head as if to clear some imaginary cobwebs off his mind. "Right, right, got it. I suppose you'll be safe down here with these two?"
Addam answers, dropping the corpse and wiping his hands off its clothing. "The little man tells jokes and sings songs. We'll protect the little man."
Right, of course, Torrhen made friends with the recruits. Why wouldn't he? "Well, I will leave his care in your very capable and bloody hands." Marq turns to go back above deck but hesitates. If he stays here, most of the crew wouldn't blame him, and he wouldn't have to fight again.
He banishes that line of thought. If he cowers down here, more people might get hurt or die due to those pirates. Things he might be able to prevent above deck. So above he goes, tightening his grip on the handle of his war hammer.
When he climbs above deck, he is greeted with the sight and smell of the dead and dying, most of whom seem to be pirates. A roar brings his attention across the deck, and he spots one of the last remaining pirates—a tall bald man trying to wield two swords at once, the operative word being trying. Crow casually dances around the taller man, and the roaring stops with a flick of his wrist. The roar is replaced by a choking as blood spills from the man's neck, and he falls to the ground, dead. Just like that, the attack is over, and the remaining pirates on the other ship begin to hurriedly try and steer their boat away, wishing to avoid the fate of their comrades.
Crow ignores them and quickly begins barking out orders. "Back to your stations' people. I want these bodies cleared off before the day is over. If I must step in blood tomorrow, I'll throw you all in the sea."
The Captain then turns his head toward Marq. "You! Follow me."
Marq follows the Bravo to the Captain's cabin, taking care not to step in any blood or on any bodies. The cabin isn't lavish. A simple room with a table in the center, a few chairs, a bed in the corner, and a desk across from it.
The Captain sits at the table, taking a bottle off it. "Sit."
Once Marq does so, he continues to speak. "This was your first kill. You reek of it. Also, I saw you vomit in the middle of the battle."
Marq mutely nods. Unable to think of anything to say.
The Captain quirks an eyebrow at his silence. "And? How do you feel because of it."
"Why do you care?" Marq snipes back quickly.
"Because you are a boy, I want to ensure you are alright. Most grown men would be shaken up by it." The Bravo motions with his hand, trying to encourage Marq to speak.
"I don't know… I felt disgusted, obviously, at the bodies and stench, but I didn't feel… anything about the act itself. Outside of feeling overwhelmed. Is that strange?" Marq speaks slowly, trying to parse his own feelings about the events that occurred just minutes ago.
The Bravo thinks a bit before speaking. "In my travels, I have encountered three types of men. Those who despise killing, maybe they are scared of it, perhaps they feel it unjust, but they hate it. Those men are either good men or cowards. The second type is the ones who enjoy killing. They relish it. Most bandits, raiders, and other nasty folk fall into this. The final type are those like you and like me. I find these are the most ordinary people."
Crow pushes the bottle towards Marq. "Braavosi rum, best in the world. It'll help with any moments of doubt but worry not. You are not strange for your feelings or lack thereof."
Marq takes the bottle and stands but is interrupted by Crow. "Also, you may wish to clean yourself. You smell like blood, piss, and vomit. Not a very pleasant aroma to be around."