Open - Would I lie to you?

Smoke suffused the amber glow of the lantern light within the small tavern which smelled surprisingly of lavender and lilies. There were the tell-tale stains of blood and bile littered upon the pock-mocked wooden tables and bar tops which were a staple of any shady wharf-pub, yet the scent was uniquely pleasant. Perhaps it had something to do with the potpourri which was graciously decorating several wooden bowls at every few tables. They seemed to mirror the sentiment of a sign that had been nailed to one water-warped wall which read “Cleanliness is next to godliness; so damned we be! But at least we don’t have to smell like it.” It was a funny sentiment, but one that The Admiral was glad for as he adjusted himself in his chair.

His normally dark and playful hair was thick and matted with blood, a bandage around his head showing signs of some escaped scuffle he’d obviously been the victor of. A busted lip finished the tale, a story that he’d recounted throughout the night while a storm raged outside akin to the storm in his heart. Bold was the legend of how he earned such dreaded wounds! He’d slipped getting off of the dinghy that brought him here, and busted his head on the dock. He had made a bandage out of tattered sailcloth and rubbed his face until the pain went away; real pain was no stranger to Henry, but it had come as a shock to really feel all of that happening. But nobody had been around to see that, and so he’d decided it was much more interesting to tell people about… many-mouthed thing.

“So there it were, thrashing about within the briny depths of the sea, the hatred in its eyes the likes of that felt by no man no beast outside of the most-damned Tora! Such was its fervor I reckon it was spawn of Ansora his’self!” Snapping his head to the side, The Admiral snapped his teeth at the man closest to him, causing him to hop lightly in his seat, startled. So how was it that one walked boldly into such a dark and deadly place as this without issue? He lied trough his perfect teeth, which he had claimed he took from a gentry on the road towards Dunnstads. Left him a broken and bloodied mess upon the side of the street while making off with the treasures of his holds and the pleasure of his wife's loins.

“Teeth the hewn of razor most foul, and a tail that kicked like the strongest mule, this wretched fiend took to the keel o’ our ship like pig to porridge. And I knew, were a man of us to stay alive, something ought to be done ‘bout it. So I threw the cabin boy overboard to buy us some time.”

Those within the tavern enthralled by his story gave a boisterous laugh and began pounding the tables, or one another’s faces, as was their wont. He gave a friendly snarl of contempt and chortled along with them before silencing those at his table with a level glare. None were the saltiest or nastiest cur, but all seemed respectably disrespectful and downright loathsome enough that if he could cow them successfully, others might not wish to give him much consideration or struggle. If all went well, he could make some coin here and be on his way by morning.


“So the bastard took to the boy and his screams kept it occupied for but a scant moment, but it were time enough to go and get me’self equipped to task! Sporting my finest arms and armor, I tied me’self to the jib by way of hemp and had my men lower me enough to lash at the water, summoning the creature towards me. I tell you, I must have been mad or both!” He paused, letting that sink in… intentionally attempting to confuse people by his dead-serious delivery of an incomplete thought. When it seemed as though someone across from him was about to call him out on it, he merely nodded, the body language convincing others to nod along and acquiesce.


“But… you’ve heard the story enough times I’m sure,” he went on, waving a hand dismissively as though they must all be bored to tears of hearing the gory details. Protests arose, and so it was that The Admiral was forced to relive yet again the horrific encounter for their enjoyment and his. How the storm tossed his ship and sent it yawing forwards into the crashing waves, which plunged him into the deep. How the monster and he fought tooth and nail and it tore at his beautiful plate and lost him his sword. How he had managed to lose his gauntlets down one of its six mouths and a boot to another, weighing it down and sending it plunging into the inky black sea from the sheer manly weight of his armor! How, lost to his ship, he had broken the surface to find himself alone, washed ashore in nothing but his simple clothes he’d worn beneath. Fashioned himself a club from a fallen branch and beaten a tramp for his lute, as he fancied himself a tune, and wandered in here for a game of cards. At the story’s conclusion a few men gave a hearty cheer and went back to throwing darts at some debtor tied up to the wall. The Admiral chortled along with those sharing his table and he dealt the cards once more.


“Same game as before, you dog-bred curs. The name of the game is Cheat. Now the rules are simple: cheat to play. If you get caught playing honestly, you’re out! First to seven aces wins.” Nevermind how that was supposed to work, exactly. The point of the game was to have fun, not to actually gamble anything and win. So, naturally, everyone at the table including The Admiral was gambling pretty heavily. The current pot on the table was somewhere in the value of a handful of coins and a knife somebody had found in their side when they woke up after an all-night binging, which had a kind of funny stain on it from the blood. Truly it was the big leagues!

 

The game went on for quite some time, with very little in the way of brawls to interrupt it. His cover as a cut-throat raider seemed to be sticking, for now, though that was more due to the alcohol-based debilities on the NPCs than because he was actually so fantastic a liar. Still, he'd take what laurels he could when they came. Careful not to drink too much himself, the bardic man raked in a small fortune in gold only to purposefully lose it all again and again. It was as much about the company and seeing what stories he could listen to and steal, than it was about actually turning a profit. Besides. Nobody liked a consistent winner, here. Even in a game called "cheat" you were likely going to wind up with a Chelsea Smile if you were caught tipping things in your favor too often.

The amount of useful information to be gained here was tragically minimal. There was no quest-dropping for where a raid was taking place or hints at treasure that he had picked up on. Really, it felt more like an actual dive in which the broken and weary sailors of the world could fight and fuck their frustrations out until the next time they had to set sail. He had turned down a number of scantily clad women of leisure out of fear that his avatar might receive a virus, opting instead to find a seat near the hearth with his back to the crowd in stark contrast to the "lone figure in a dark corner" stereotype. If they wished to come slit his throat, let it be so! He'd come to paint himself a fearless brigand, and no man worthy of such cowered in the corner.

The time spent alone was fruitful, allowing him a period to think and reflect upon song and verse. It wasn't a true original, as it was based off of a band from the player's life back in Texas; but the people of this world wouldn't realize that the words had been changed and the tune had been borrowed. Pleasant thoughts went out to Bone Doggie and the Hickory Street Hellraisers for the beautiful song of there's which was no longer known as "A little bar in Texas." Here, now, it had become something designed to fit this perverse scene. Standing, The Admiral faced the crowd. It had been an hour or so and the faces were different. None appeared to be familiar. Ah well... perhaps he could delight this lot as well. He couldn't play instruments yet, but a brief conversation with someone sitting nearby revealed that they knew how to play the lute. The NPC raised it up and fixed the off-key strings for a moment. Strumming a few sad notes on the lute, his hands began to move in rapid harmony and fill the once quiet and storm-shook pub into a frenzy of tapping foot and stomping boots and mugs upon tables. And above it all, The Admiral's voice began to chant the song for all to hear.

"There's a bar upon Druuk Island called The Hurt, The Dead, The Dying.
They fill it floor to ceiling with the strife!
When the locals start to drinkin' and the glasses start to tinklin'
You'll be lucky if you get out with your life.
Got some smoking raider lay-offs looking for an easy payoff-
They walkin' down a runway full of bling.
And the soldiers and the sailors in their pitch and patch regalia
Tryin' hard to find a song they all can sing!

Then the bodies start a flyin' through the air.
And it's curtains for the tables and the chairs...
You bet there’s no denyin’ - we gonna have a riot!
And the Admiral and the Druuk Island curs were there!

Well we got us some commotion in the alcoholic ocean:
A whiskey voice is heard above the din.
“You’re a bastard, Will O’Grady, get your mitts off my old lady-
You knew she was with me when I first come in!”
Then the people start to waddle, some damn fool will pull the throttle...
A pint of piss-bear over someone’s shoe!
Then another one took umbrance to deliver some comeuppance,
While knives were drawn and fists and tables flew.

Then the bodies start a flyin' through the air.
And it's curtains for the tables and the chairs...
You bet there’s no denyin’ - we gonna have a riot!
And the Admiral and the Druuk Island curs were there!

When it all was over, there’s not much to recover
‘Cept splinters and the remnants of life.
And the parties of this action - sit back in satisfaction...
It’s a hell of a way to spend a Friday night!
So we up-righted the tables and the chairs.
And we walked ourselves into the morning air...

You bet there’s no denyin’ - next week another riot!
And the Admiral and the Druuk Island curs were there!
And the Admiral and the Druuk Island curs were there!"

@Kessler Cole

 

For all of Greg's unique character traits, being a drunkard was not one of them. Then, of what sort of reasoning could a guy like him have, to make an appearance in a tavern? Well, it's a rather simple one. He was here to take things that weren't his, so that he was no longer piss broke without anything to show that he was him. He wasn't dressed nice, not many were at the start and especially not he. He was dressed like a common man, with somewhat pretty-boy looks.

He might be a terrible person to have at parties, but was this really a party? Sure, there was a card game going on, with a bunch of drunkards, but that wasn't really a party, was it? It was simply just someone having a good bit of fun in what was, likely, a dishonest method. That... well, honestly, it wasn't half bad. He could be down for that, however his current skill set was lacking in the ability to do so. He had heard the man singing, and he hadn't the brightest the song or shanty, but he was going to act the educated type. Somewhat educated.

He's a bit rough around the edges anyway.

"So, you're the Admiral? I've heard stories of you!"

He acted shocked, which he certainly hoped would fool the other party goers.

"Well, I heard you fought a massive Kracken, and it submit itself to ya!"

He raised his eyebrow towards the man who, he assumed, was the one called Admiral, or he was completely misreading the situation and he shall have buggered it all.

"I've heard legends of your wit, but I want to test it myself. Would you take my in a lyrical battle of which people could write stories about?"

He hoped that the man would accept his battle. Surely, making the patrons laugh enough would make the drunks pass out, and easy to steal from.

 

Things seemed to be going fantastically, with his little treasure goblin running about between tables and greedily collecting coins in a tattered hat as tips for his performance. The music swelled within the building and poured out into the drizzling nighttime storm. As the music began to wind down he collected the coins from the goblin and put it away in his inventory once again so as to prevent it from making off with anyone's glass eye, gold tooth, or the pub owner's good silver he probably kept hidden in the back. Instead of a bow he looked over the applauding men and waved a fist at them, ducking as somebody threw a chair. Truly, these were men that knew how to express themselves. Though not poetically.

Separate from the rowdy crowd stood a young looking man in common attire, looking him over with a look that said he wanted something. As Greg spoke, he stepped to the side of the stage and picked up the thrown chair, seating himself in it and lounging obnoxiously like any decently indecent vagrant ought to. At his mention of the Kracken he gave a trouble making grin and let out a hearty laugh.

"Oh ye heard that tale did you lad! Indeed I slew a mighty Kracken, but not before I made it SUBMIT ITSELF TA ME!" He grabbed at his crotch and pulled on the fabric of the pants suggestively as if to emphasize the not so subtle innuendo. Cackling at the perverse joke, he tilted his head back and laughed as the other sea dogs began to join his lead. After a moment it died down and he listened to Greg continue, challenging him to a lyrical battle. He walked over to the boy and stood, looming slightly, until after stepping down from the stage which made him an inch shorter than the boy. Looking ever so slightly up into his face he scuffled up closer and closer until their noses were practically touching, eyes narrowed and unblinking, and in a sinister and hoarse whisper began to speak.

"Put on a tough act kid, or these NPCs are going to split you from heel to head..." His eyes narrowed further and he tilted his head back to laugh at the ceiling, boisterous and proud, and took a healthy step backwards.

"I'll take yer challenge aye, but if we do this then we do it by HURRICANE RULES!" There was no such thing, until he made it up. Still, he raised a fist with a shout and several people joined him.

"As any salt knows, in a battle of wits it is for the CROWD to decide who live and who die. And boy, we play this game of yours to the bitterest of ends! Yee think yerself brave to challenge me, but I think you the fool! So here's how it works... At the front of town are two watchtowers. Each of us takes to one and stands there, delivering what best we have to speak. Before each tower lies a catapult left unwound. If our words speak well and true to the crowd, the other man's catapult gets a hearty CRANK! And if our own words fall short o' their keen interest and pleasure, our OWN catapult gets a hearty CRANK! And when last the catapult is loaded, the bastards LOAD AND FIRE!" He thrust a finger out to stab Greg in the chest before the crowd, to egg him on. "What say yee, cur?"

 

"What say I? I say that you're not willing to put your best boot forward and step in the catapult when you lose, ye scallywag!"

He laughed, and got up from his chair. What a guy. He'd dare say that this Admiral fellow was as terrible a guy as he, and well, that was quite well. So well, in fact, that he might earn a smidge gold this day for merely stepping into the verbal ring with a stranger who was obviously on board with such odd things like conning people. Now, while one should be concerned when one tells them that they will be laying in a catapult, he didn't care much. He could be laying on his back on a bed of spikes and this still should be an easy con, considering everything. What a poor sod.

"I'll bet that those dirty pants aren't just from sea-fearing."

He'd send vocal jabs on his way there, doing what he did best. Bully people. That was his thing, after alll. He bullied you until he felt like he didn't want to. It was never the parent complaints or anything like that that would stop him. Why would it? That's what he fed off of. That, and the laughs of other kids because they were too scared to fight him. He wasn't quite as lithe in this form, and considering everything, was a lot bulkier in life and could probably beat most of these drunks up.

Once there, he'd find a catapult, and quite literally lay down in it.

@The Admiral

 

This little shit. He had tried to make it plain as possible to his challenger that there was a larger plan at stake- one of tricking the NPCs into destroying their own watchtowers, too fueled by sadism to think clearly and prevent their own sabotage. His whole reason for even coming here was to collect bounties on their heads, but rather than run in like a piss-brained fool he had thought out a needlessly complicated and very likely to fail but had it succeeded would have been an impressive story to tell others. Now it was tits up and pants-down, gone out the window with that door slammed in his face. He could no longer clean house with Greg mucking about with his plan. That ship had sailed, and so it was time to come to port with a new plan. Blah blah, other clever things.

He thought quickly of a way to salvage things but there wasn't time enough before Greg had deposited himself into a catapult and challenged the Admiral to do the same. Scoffing as if it were no serious threat, he climbed into his own and stood up in the wooden cradle that normally held rocks for throwing. It seemed fitting for a throw-down to happen in a siege weapon meant for hurling things, so he'd let Greg have this one.

"Loser gets launched, then!" he shouted happily to the crowd, gripping the edge of the basket and shaking it in excitement while letting out a roar of aggression and machismo. He thought quickly about this boy who clearly knew more of him than he knew of the lad... Troubling, that handicap. Still, they had thrown down the gauntlet and there was no turning back from this. Smiling, he began to clap his hands rhythmically, repeating for about ten seconds before the crowd took up the pattern for him to set pace.

"I'm honestly not sure what to make of this jest-
That someone so worthless throws down with the best.
What could you be thinking when you brought your ass here?
Are you suicidal or stupid, or just fucking queer?
Come into my palace and say GOLLY, SIR, GEE!
I'M SO EXCITED I THINK I MIGHT PEE!
See I'm such a big fan, and think you're just great;
I recall your stories as I masturbate!
Well that's quite a compliment that you've gone and paid,
But Admiral don't play that - it won't get you laid.
I live by one rule through the thick and the thin:
When it comes to love-making it's sink or it's quim."

Raising his arms, he gestured across the gap for Greg to begin, hands waving to encourage the crowd to make some noise.

 

"Oh, I see you've prattled off the insults of a scallywag, and for that, I give you one thing.
Your words, they do not ring.
They do not sting.
They are the words of a man who's queer sense of rhyme
And queer sense of challenge will get him launched.

You speak of me acknowledging you
But what of me, you?
You not know who you speak to?
Not know who you bask in the presence of?

Not that it matters
Considering all of your stories are about fucking animals.
You talk about being great,
But since when have you had a woman to repopulate?"

From his laid down position, he threw out his arms at the Admiral, who already showed to be a grand challenge. He just hoped that he kept the interest of the man who obviously knew how to bully people. This wasn't a true rap battle, per say, more a flurry of insults that were intended to get grander and grander as time got on, just like the Admiral's stories, of which he knew few. In fact, he barely knew anything about the man, but it wasn't like most did.

If he were a truly popular man, Greg would've heard about him. For now, he's just a peasant with a penchant for wordplay. Greg wasn't much better, but there wasn't much point in getting up, it's as though denying him the fact that he's worth getting up for. If he were, Greg would've gotten up already. That was the logic, and Greg refused to do so. He wondered what the raiders were thinking under the rampant alcoholism and the blood-lust.

 

The boy had some talent, but so far it was only some. He gave an amused snort at the insult about animals and noted when Greg's arms flew up, signalling that it was the Admiral's turn to deliver the exchange in their verbal fencing match. It felt about time for a riposte, then, and deliver a few more cuts to gradually bleed the boy out.

"Wait, wait, what is this I see?
A nancy-lad inquiring my re-productivity?
Just know that by my sword some beasts do fall
And the ugliest of them's that bitch that you call ma.
I hate to admit it, and I hate to confess,
I was just so drunk didn't notice the mess-
Of her leprous face and her saggy old tits
But halfway to finished I just called it quits.
Like your pa should have done, just pulled out, let you fly
Like the mistake you are down the fat of her thigh.

So shut it, or leave it, but brother you better not say shit-
'Cause the Admiral'll throw down each time your ass comes around
With a killer's conviction that you're not up to this diction
Since you're still laying down 'cause you're ready to take it-
But know that with me there's no reason to fake it.
And if you have doubts about my truth and aplomb,
Tuck that tail, just fuck off, and then go ask your mom."

 

He shifted slightly to the right in his seat, getting comfortable. He wasn’t going to verbally spar with someone without getting comfortable.


He had a small chuckle as the man assaulted his mother, but boy did he have it wrong.


“You fucked my mother?

No wonder she went for my father.

Her standards couldn’t have gotten any lower;

Considering your Glower.


Now, Leprous is something you’d know about;

As it’s obviously something we need not in this ‘bout.

If I went for everything wrong with you,

We’d be here seven days;


One for your hair;

Two for your clothing;

And Three for your choice of assault.

Truly a shame.


Not to mention;

I must insist that I must pension you;

I wouldn’t want to give you a heart attack;

That’s just be a cruel hack.”


He threw his arms toward the Admiral, with a smirk on his face. This was going to be fun. He was getting warmed up, and was sure as time went on, He’d get better. That was how it worked. The longer you did something, the better you got. It was like a simple algorithm that he hated following, but it was natural.


He was sure that the raiders were making a noise, but he wasn’t paying attention.

 

Smiling, the Admiral listened to Greg's retort and gave one soft clap of applause in return, then each of his weapons out and began to lift one, the hammer, to his lips as though it were a microphone. The NPCs would likely be confused as to what this action his pantomiming was meant to be, but this was no longer about them. Besides, he could always spin some tale about magic later, or pirate custom, or whatever nonsense. But for now it was purely for Greg's benefit that he had a prop in hand, now that they were being serious.

"Stop with the games and stop with the gimmicks,
And come at me hard, if you really wanna win it.
You're throwing light verse, and of course, I'm unphased
'Cause your week is so weak you only counted up three days.
Now let's look at your assault and piece by piece review,
So when I'm done laughin' at you I can beat you black and blue.
You're telling me I'm infected, well that ain't true, but I ain't clean.
I'm a dirty motherfucker and all the hoes know what I mean.
Not a thing's wrong with my hair; it's called style and you should try it.
But you'd rather run your mouth 'cause your defeat you're denying.
It's the clothes that make the man so that explains how you dress.
But I've done laid out that secret; it's up to you to confess.
And if you're bored of my style, if you're tired of this attack,
Then mouth shut and attention on me: it's too late to take that back.

I'll come at you sicker and quicker than you ever could cope, laying out your corpse beside the grave where I buried your hopes - of ever arresting or besting me when it comes to the sword or the word. Because you're just so dumb and come for some of the best lines you've heard. I've got a passion for violence and I'm trying to deny it but you woke the beast. When you came in waking lying dogs which you let off their leash.

I'm a demon, don't need a reason to murder you and leave you for the hearse; but I won't do that, save my attack, 'cause I'd rather kill you with my verse. I've got wisdom and reason for every season you can't comprehend. How could you know when you started this show this is how it would end? There's some things no preacher can preach ya, or teacher can teach. No practice can help you - it's out of your reach. But enough about owning you: let's talk about me."

 

He saw the Admiral himself pick up a hammer, and put it to his lips. He had to repress a laugh, as he knew it was time to get quite serious, and stop being a twit. He listened to each line, but it was sort of off. Yes, it was masterful but they had continued petty insults. He probably wouldn't change that, but he'd get up and stand in the catapult, looking directly at his opponent.

A foul bastard that Admiral is.

Greg wouldn't have it anyway.

Once the Admiral finished, it was time. He took a deep breath, and took out nothing. Nothing but a smile.

"I didn't think it was fair for a youngblood like me to poach;
but it looks like I can do it without reproach.
Let's start with the gimmicks
and the fact that you're just a con artist with a forked tongue.

From one to another, that's a respectable business.
However, you are going to leave a befuddled mess.
For proclaiming such a demonic nature;
I'm afraid you'll scare the common man.

However, I'm not a common man.
I'm the man who's faced down demons over breakfast,
Dishonest Bards over tea, which was even more boring than you,
I even faced with raiders at supper, meaning that you aren't much.


He brushed his hair back, he wasn't quite done.

"Take this into consideration, you Bardic Falsetto.
I, Greg Jones, have faced down threats from things bigger, badder;
Even under you false legends, you don't stack up.
I just wish that I didn't have to bully an old man like I must.
However! You stepped up to the line and I can't just let you go.

What's even worse, I was going to let this go lightly. I was going to be nice.
However between your need to reimburse your ego for lending itself;
and the knickers that are in a twist,
I'm afraid I have to go a bit rude.

Now, I'm afraid to tell the old ladies that you like shagging.
Since your knickers are in such a twist;
Your no longer able to shag.
You're stick ain't straight no more.

He figured that was enough for one round. He threw it back to his opponent.

 

Greg was certainly a clever youth to have strung together his insults and tried keeping pace with the Admiral, but every game had to have its conclusion. Snarling, the man leaped down from the basket of the catapult and began to make his way towards where Greg was waiting, swinging his hammer and club angrily at anyone in reach to force them to keep their distance. Several received a good clobber to the face and fell over, or swore and began to double over in pain, nursing broken or bruised ribs.

"You think you're clever, boy?" he asked of Greg, whacking another nearby pirate in the shin with a back swing.
"You think you're tough, lad?"
Teeth flew from the mouth of a man who tried to step in with a knife and stop the Admiral from swinging so wildly.
"Well I do too! Now get the fuck down from there and help me kill these whelps..."

 

This Admiral guy was really just a shitty guy. Downright despicable.

And hey, that was pretty good.

He jumped out of his catapult, breaking a small piece of it for a wooden club of sorts. It was then that the scrubs who were watching them that it was a grand and fantastic idea to go and attack Greg once it was a 2 on whatever. Yes, that was perfect.

"Time to beat these idiots!"

He'd bring down the wooden stick onto one guys head, before smashing it over another. He'd then climb the catapult a tiny bit before jumping back down to tackle a guy. He didn't quite have a grasp on the magic that was used in this world quite yet. He just was using typical bully moves, like headlocks and left hooks. Sure, they weren't quite as effective, but the opponents were both drunk and unsavory, that was a plus two in his book.

 

A riotous roar broke the relative silence of the island as the entire mob began to pull out weapons, rushing... anyone? Of fucking course, he had overlooked the fact that they were bloodthirsty idiots who didn't care about sides, or right, or wrong. As Greg jumped down and began clobbering people with a strip of wood, the Admiral started to lay into the pirates in earnest; smashing in chests and caving in skulls left and right as the iron hammer's rust-covered form became stained red, and his trusty wooden not a table leg broke the legs of the men around him. He flailed wildly, making full use of the dual wielding and the berserk aspects of his character design, grunting on the rare occasions that a strike did land upon his own body and drain some of his health.

It seemed that it was not the pirate encampment against he and Greg, but rather everyone against one another... still, he let them begin to shank and stab one another; one group even launching a pirate friend of theirs out of the catapult the Admiral had been laying in, splattering him across the deck of a ship. The ship in turn came to attention and its crew started to shout, watching the chaos on the island and wondering if they were perhaps under attack. And then the shoreline began to explode as something very much like tree trunks landed around them, fired from the pirate ships' ballista to quell the fighting going on here. One panicked look at Greg was all the warning of "RUN" that the Admiral planned to give, before he started to book it farther inland towards some caves to hide in.

 

Greg was most certainly enjoying this tussle. If he were in his actual body, though, he'd likely stand a much higher chance of winning and actually beating them all in. However, a saving blessing was that they were drunk idiots. Drunk idiots who were flying everywhere and people got stabbed and surprisingly one of those people wasn't Greg, but it was someone else. It was one of those pesky pirate types that went flying and smashed onto a ship that was docked. Greg didn't care nearly as much as he could have. Partly because he wasn't in nearly as much danger as he could've been. He was still smashing skulls and breaking knees.

That was, until he heard a thunk and tree trunks started landing everywhere. Apparently that ship was armed and this was no longer a place he wanted to be. When he heard the resident terrible guy tell him to run with them eyes, he knew that it was time to bolt. If the Admiral could stand in front of a bunch of them a con them, something that could make the man run, must've been something awfully special.

He was no expert with those ballista's but he knew one thing. One hit and he'd be dead as could be.

He'd run after the Admiral, and stay a bit behind him.

"I don't suppose this was a part of your genius plan, was it?"