Listec muttered something in Tar-Eltharin as he loosed off three more arrows from his bow in rapid succession, lamenting the fact that these hairy-arsed Norscans were not the Druchii he would have preferred to have been fighting. Nevertheless, a raider was a raider and he was here at this moment in time; it was with professional interest that he watched the others fight, from the cleaving but proficient swings of Jehan to the more Tilean-like movements of Baltazar, pointedly ignoring the Dwarfs simply because he had seen them fight – and fought against them – many times before.

Before long the Marienburger was shouting something at those about him, rallying them and galvanising them against the brutal fore no less! His words seeming to steel the more wavering members of the ships crew, a call to drive the Norscans from the ship entirely and drive them back into the ocean.

Having been knelt down by the railing all this time, he only just realised that a possibly greater prize lay only a few feet over the sides...the Norscan longboat. All about him the Empire ship was beginning to sink, fire shining from the mast, and people spilling their lifeblood into the wood of the decks – yet just beyond their reach was a perfectly functional vessel, seaworthy and guarded by what remained of a skeleton crew now that most of the pirates had made their ways up and over onto the sodden deck.

Either this would see him cut off their retreat and secure them an escape craft, or it would see him dead...

Taking a number of slow breaths into his lungs and exhaling again, making sure the longbow was securely placed over his torso, he slid over the railing and began to make his way down to the deck of the Norscan ship, half dropping and half falling the final couple of feet but landing on the enemy vessel with barely a sound – this was due to both his natural agility and the raucous collective of screams, shouts and thunder all around them.

One look told him that he may have gotten into more of a problem than he could handle, the skeleton crew he had expected being over a dozen men, but their attention was drawn more to the battle above them than to the one figure half-swathed in gloom that came from the rear of their boat to end them.

The first died without a sound, a younger human with fuzzy hair upon his pubescent face, two arms coming up and wrenching his head about in a whip-like fashion, the sound of snapping vertebrae caught and carried away by the wind. Listec let the body slump to the curved floor of the ship, drawing his bastard-sword from the sheath at his waist and lowering it into what the Humans called a 'plow' stance – the hilt held near the hip joint and the tip pointing at the throats or chest of the enemy. 

As it was he had a selection of backs turned toward him, and they would do just as well as anything else.