Gunpowder had a certain smell to it, metallic and biting in Emmaline's nose. Although it wasn't a familiar scent to her, most gunpowder she had encountered being in the reeking post combustion form, the alchemical nature of it was oddly calming. The interior or the barge reeked of it, the scent oozing from the hundreds of barrels packed in the hold. Emmaline ran her hand over one of the casks that was packed tightly into the hold. The leaden seal of the manufacturers were still in place, for all the world as though the barge were on its way to Altdorf or some other port. Emmaline followed along behind Neil, mightily impressed by how he had dealt with the Norscan.

"Well we have found the powder," Emmaline observed soto voche. 

"Yes congratulations," a voice drawled behind them. Emmaline and Neil whirled to find a slender looking man in middle age standing at the passage between one of the bulkheads. He was an unremarkable looking fellow, save for the fact that he was shirtless. That wasn't a good look for his gaunt and unimpressive frame, but strange growths covering his chest formed a stigmata of the ruinous powers. Emmaline was between Neil and the cultist and she turned and began to surptitously shift to the side.

"Thanks," she said evenly, thinking to give Neil a clear shot with his pistol.

"Surrender," the cultist demanded, raising a hand. The air shimmered with magic as a barrier of some sort rose between them, a bluish patch of disrupted air.

"Very well, we accept," Emmaline declared, "we will escort you to the Cathedral of Sigmar for..."

"Silence!" the apparent sorcerer roared, raising his other hand, purplish fire gathering around it. Neil's pistol cracked behind her and the shield flashed as it deflected the ball like a ceiling tile batting away hail.

"Weaklings!" the sorcerer laughed, raising his fist. Neil grabbed Emmaline by the belt and hauled her around the corner a heartbeat ahead of a blast of purplish energy that shattered the bulkhead to kindling. Emmaline stumbled backwards and raised her own hand, chanting rapidly. Deck nails began to rip themselves out of the floor, floating into the air and gathering like ferrous bees before streaking down the hallway in an angry cloud. The sorcerer yelped in surprise although the cuts and scrapes were hardly likely to be lethal. Emmaline turned and ran, bolting past Neil and up a companion way onto the deck. She crashed into the remaining guard at full speed, knocking him to the ground and careening away from the impact. She swept up a boarding axe and chopped through the painter cables with two swift hacks. 

"Get away from there you bitch!" the watchman yelled, but the current of the Reik was already drawing the barge away from the dock and out into the river.