crap shoot kill (leironuoth)
"They look pretty ugly from here."
Skandra was kneeling behind a tree, half of his face hanging into open view. Enough for one eye to see what they were up against. The first man was something out of a story. The sword on his back, as wide as Skandra's torso. As tall as the pirate himself, with no dull edges and a rounded point. So you weren't going to be winning any contests by running a man through, but Skandra was fairly certain if you hit someone with a weapon like that, they were done. No matter how small the hit was. That fellow, whom Skandra affectionately dubbed Brickhead, was surrounded by a group of four other pirates. They were strapped from head to toe with knives. All of them had crossbows. They were throwers, then, range experts to his melee. Skandra grimaced as he twisted on one heel, shoulders coming to rest against the bark of the tree. Sweat was rolling down his face in waves. Even with his hat back on, the jungle heat was taking its toll.
Why had he agreed to come out here?
It wasn't as though any of this mattered. There was a sword - not the big one, Skandra theorized, but maybe - but there was also a well-muscled, lean and brutal pirate surrounded by enough backup to ruin both of their days in a hurry. Skandra wanted to tell him that a sword could be replaced. It didn't matter. This was where they were, and this was what they were doing. He took a moment to mop his face with the sleeve of his coat. Like his face it was streaked in dust and filth. Like his face it was overwrought. Like his face, the jacket wanted to be buried in something cool or something sensual. This did not qualify as either. Even with the saber, and the throwing knives, he had to wonder if they were going to come out of this alive. The pirates seemed content to watch a pair of workers dig. Burying something, or digging something up? Either way they were alert. And ready for combat. Armed to the teeth, in fact. Bristling with steel as an old friend of his would say.
Not likely.
"The big one has your sword," Skandra added as an afterthought. "It doesn't look like much from here, you know. We could just..."
The frosted look he received still the complaints he had on the tip of his tongue. He'd agreed to help. The angry scowl crossing Skandra's face was not for Leir, but for himself. If he gave his word he ought to keep it, or else not give his word in the first place. The elf seemed more at home in the jungle than Skandra did. He was also a good shot with a crossbow. That made him the perfect assassin in this situation. What they needed now was someone to draw attention away from the perfect assassin with his deadly aim and lethal quiet. For a moment Skandra considered explaining the plan to him. That was all the time it took for Leir to nod, as though he knew the plan, and begin creeping off into the dense thick of the forest. So it was up to Skandra to issue a distraction, the sort that couldn't be missed by the enemy or the ally. Singular. He could burst out and offer to shoot dice with them. That would earn him the right to be pincushioned by their crossbows.
Shantar couldn't possibly know what he was talking about. Nothing was worth this.Not any of the things that Skandra had seen, anyway. Certainly not on this godsforsaken trip. How long before the elf was in position? Privateer or no, he was - or at least seemed to be - handy in a fight. Skandra wondered idly if he could take the elf down. Should it come to that. Well, he looked like he had a soldier's training, but Skandra had learned never to count himself out. Not unless he facing an endless sea of hard-faced pirates with steel to spare and murder in their eyes. They weren't just watching because that was their job. They were waiting as though they expected all of their dead ancestors to leap out of the forest at them in search of blood. They didn't know how right they were. Leir's time was up. He was either in position, or they were both going to die messy deaths. Skandra tugged on one sleeve, then the other.
"Hello there!" Skandra called from behind the tree.
"Show yourself!" a hard voice called back.
"Behind you!" Skandra shouted in reply.
The snap of a crossbow's string made him laugh. It wasn't the elf. Not yet, anyway. One of the pirates was jumping the gun.
"I'm just kiddin'," the Immortal didn't stop laughing.
A bastard with a massive sword. He could hear the crank of the crossbow working, reloading. Readying for the next shot. He couldn't say anything else without giving himself away. That was assuming they knew where to look. Skandra dropped into a crouch, one knee resting on the ground, and pulled the knives from the top of his boot. One for either hand. Not much against a sword, but if he got close enough for the bastard to use that sword, he was finished no matter what weapon he had. The short saber wasn't going to stop anything Brickhead could throw at him. This was going to be a finesse fight, not a brute force one, and he had to pick his battles. Tension felt like sweat stretched across his skin, a second nightmare cloak that he couldn't shed and couldn't accommodate. Burning his eyes. Forget about the sweat. Take action, or die alone on an island while the elf keeps his head and ditches you as a loss.
"Come out, and we might be able to make a deal," Brickhead's voice was smooth and easy.
Cool.
Skandra answered by pivoting on the same heel as before, driving one knee into the ground to save his balance, and hurling a knife as hard as he could. It passed through the air at a remarkable clip. And it buried itself in the throat of a pirate. Just as quickly he pivoted back, taking cover behind the tree, his shoulders slamming hard against unforgiving bark. Just enough time to hear the snap of another crossbow, and the thunk of a bolt as it buried itself in the tree.