[hr][hr][h1][center][color=a187be]V E L Y N   V I R I T H[/color][/center][/h1][hr][hr]
It is said in philosophies of the Velothi, that all suffering and strife is a sword designed to cut mortals into better shapes. Sometimes Velyn questioned just how small a shape his Lord was trying to cut him down to. 

The clash of steel resounded around him as he ducked and weaved his way through the frenetic melee currently taking place where the forecastle of the pirate ship had rammed into the side of the Arslan's Fortune. Pirates were streaming across on several gangplanks while what remained of the crew desperately tried to hold them off of the burning decks of the galleon. 

Whether by luck or design, Velyn had not been able to sleep that night. He found that as he got older, he needed less and less sleep, and he was very old by the standards of pretty much everyone these days, so he rarely slept. He had taken to the deck that night then, in hope the the cool sea air might relieve his feverous brow, and he might find some measure of rest, perhaps even compose sonnet or song beneath the starry sky. 

In another stroke of luck, or perhaps providence, but in fact most likely paranoia, the old mer had taken to wearing his armour beneath his outer robes once he had discovered the presence of a Thalmor Justicar aboard their ship. The prayer mat strapped to his pack that he had brought up on deck to serve as a pillow just so happened to be wrapped around his sword. And so Velyn found himself armed and armoured when the enemy struck.

A volley of fire had rained down from the sky above, before a band of skulking murderers tried to sneak their way atop the blackened waves to slit the throats of any not killed in the inferno.

In truth he found it somewhat lacking in elegance. Sloppy work for would be assassins, he could have done better. In fact he was almost sure he had done better at some point or other, it got hard to remember the details of every skirmish he had fought in when you had been fighting as long as Velyn had.

For every one that he had spotted and lopped their heads and hands off before they had a chance to scale the gunwales, three had made it over. Perhaps they could have turned the tide if it had been only that, but with their rigging and sails a flame, the parent ship of these lone raiders had closed within grappling range before ramming them and disgorging a horde of fighters onto their decks.

Hence, Velyn found himself here, defending the breach, surrounded by enemies, cutting his path to heaven one sword stroke at a time.

An Orcish warrior, dressed in hides, wielding some great machete like knife had swung wildly at Velyn. The old mer nimbly stepped out of the way, unsheathing his sword as he did so. The quicksilver and moonstone blade blazed bright with burning light as the enchantment on it flared to life. It slid beneath Orc's guard, catching him at his exposed waist in a long drawing cut, disembowelling his opponent in a spill of entrails.

No sooner had he went to return the sword to its scabbard, was he surrounded once more by a Redguard pirate with a curved sword and an female Imperial raider with some kind of hideous sharp boathook. The Redguard lunged at him, making some exploratory slashes at his guard, while the Imperial circled him, jabbing at his back whenever she had the chance.

Sloppy. Crude. Inelegant.

He hated fights like these, where he knew his skill surpassed that of those he fought, but victory remained illusive. If he were a century younger, and not suffering from the lingering injury that still affected his sword arm, he could have carved these pirates up like a sweetroll. By the Triunes, how he hated being old sometimes. 

With a whispered word Velyn formed a seal with his free hand and launched a gout of flame at the Redguard driving him back away from the Dunmer. He spun on his heeds to face the the Imperial who herself was already backing away to get out of his range. But that free hand pulled a dagger from the inside of his sleeve, and hurled it spinning end over end to slice into her left shoulder. 

It was enough to buy him a moment's reprieve. Velyn needed to reposition himself on the battlefield, most of the crew he had been fighting alongside were dead by this point. With all the smoke coming from the flames on deck, it was hard to see where the fighting was still ongoing, where he still might find some allies. He needed a better vantage.

Before his assailants managed to launch another assault he pressed both his hands together in another, much more complicated arcane seal, whispered something in Dunmeris, closed his eyes, and jumped. 

The wind rushed past him, pulling at the cloak that still shrouded the chitinous shell of his armour. He felt the heat of blazing fire beneath him warm the soles of his boots, the taste of acrid smoke filled his nose and lungs for second, and he was clear of it. Velyn opened his eyes just as the spar of the mainmast appeared through the smoke, and tucked his legs up in order to land upon it with feline grace. 

Better. He could actually see what was going on from up here. 

The situation did not look good. Fires were spreading over much of the deck, by his count more than half the crew was dead, though there was still a pocket of resistance holding at the aftcastle and some of the hatches below, although the smoke billowing out of one of them indicated that the fighting, and more importantly the fires, had spread below as well. 

From immediately below him Velyn heard the sounds of combat, and watched as a Redguard man he recognised as a fellow passenger emit a high pitched scream and thrashed about of the decks like fish of out water while trying avoiding two of the pirates closing in on him. He almost dismissed the man as done for, until he neatly sliced off one of the pirate's hands before thrusting a short sword through the back of his mouth. A clean kill, perhaps he had some skill with the blade after all. 

His reappraisal was abruptly halted as the Redguard allowed his foot to be struck by the falling axe of his deceased opponent. Sloppy. Still he supposed he should help the fool. 

As the other pirate, a Khajit, began to square up with the Redguard, Velyn silently dropped behind them. Over the sounds of the battle raging across the ship they did not hear his feet touch the deck. With one swift fluid motion, Velyn drew his sword. The fiery light of blade flashed again, just enough to make the Khajit to begin to turn in surprise, before the sword met the back of their neck, and sent their head flying from its body. 

The Khajit's body collapsed to the floor like a sack of potatoes, the stump of its neck already cauterised by the heat of the blade. Velyn casually flicked the blood off of it and sheathed it once more. He was now face to face with the Redguard. With one hand he tugged off the bug like chitinous helm that up until this point had completely obscured his face. 

[color=a187be]"Excuse me, sera. You wouldn't mind passing me my pack would you?"[/color] He gestured to his discarded travelling pack that lay on the deck just behind the Redguard. 

[color=a187be]"I think this ship may well be doomed. Tell me, sera, are you a strong swimmer?"[/color]