Tonya
Sand crunched beneath heavy boots on the debris strewn beach, a gang of men leather clad in uniformed armour, the foreman standing forth, leading the steady march towards the merchants vessel. The fresh wind tug at the dangingling locks of hair hanging before Danté's face, the calm often seen after the roaring storms of the South Isles

"MEN, TEAR UP THE WRECK, FIND ANYTHING WORTH SELLING ON OR PUTTING TO USE... AND REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU TAKE ANYTHING WITHOUT RUNNING IT THROUGH ME FIRST"

Blood mixed with sand from fallen passengers, their bodies sprawling the beach, either bled out, crushed or left half dead. Crows already bickered and fought over the scraps, fleeing as the flock of magpies converged on the cash cow- lead by a hard faced fox dressed in a longcoat. His boot kicked over a gent, the lifeless husk shaking as leather gauntlets ruffled through his pockets and pouches

If the company weren't going to find any particular riches they'd find information, whether it be on trade routes, kingdom diplomacy or useful blackmail. The group continued to kick through boards, bodies and debris to find any leftover riches.

A man called out from near the captain's log, beckoning over his boss to see the phenomenon he had just witness, Danté followed the lead, seeing it too- fucking survivors. He had never seen such a thing in a wreck like this, they're usually all dead by now. He stepped through the shattered doorframe, holding the handle of his dagger in anticipation

"Ahaha, well, what do you have here, two little stragglers- which of the gods did you pray to eh?"

Water warped floorboards creaked and resonated at each stern footstep, the hardened façade cracking into a cheeky grin. He neared the flustered merchant, his free gauntlet now placed firmly on the merchants shoulder

"Now, do be a dear, where's the main stock held here? And any special documents on board?"
John
Ichabod Sigmar
Southern Island

Ichabod reached out to William as he walked by, stooping next to his pile of scattered riches. He wheezed slightly, feeling his heart fall to his stomach as he had to have a harsh reminder that William wasn't actually his father. No. His father died. He was alone. He looked away, feeling himself wincing from the pain that seemed to hug his body.

When he was told to let go of the book, he obeyed, sitting it in his lap as he held out his bloody hands to the merchant.

Only to be interrupted by a gruff voice taunting them at the shattered doorway. He pulled his hands away from the merchant as the outsider walked in, his voice dripping with ill intent and greed. He had seen this kind of man bedore. The entire room seemed to fall away as his voice rang in Ichabod's ears, and Ich froze, hands beginning to shake as he stared at this new man with a cold, violent glare. He may have been some boy on the cusp of manhood, but his eyes shown as that of a bloodthirsty warrior. 

As he placed a hand on the Merchant's shoulder, Ichabod spoke up with a snarl in his voice. "How about you fuck off, you greedy little *Cunt*." He growled, balling his hands up into fists.
Elizabeth
William "The merchant"
Southern island

As the handful of men showed outside, it was a force with similar numbers to those that were with the merchant, and luckily they had enough time to prepare for an incoming assault. Adjusting their clothing, the padded armor, though ragged at some parts, could still work well for protection, and the sailors got to putting their boots, gloves and whatnot on. They each had a skullcap, equipped a dagger, using harpoons as their spears as they shouted to the captain's lodge...

"Got folk coming in yer way! Break the window if ya need us!"

And as such, the sailors went into the nearby sands, hiding amongst woods incredibly close to the shore. Using the shout as a hint, the merchant was able to have enough time to get his longsword, longbow and a quiver with thirty arrows with hardened steel arrowheads, besides boots, gloves, a skull cap and a riveted mail shirt as soon as he had heard his men speak. Putting a replica of the crest of house maith on the ground, a smirk ensued. He was a good liar, and that may be enough to go free alongside his son.
_ _

Perhaps that explained how Danté had been able to get in the ship without any resistance. A trap was waiting for him. Standing straight with his back towards Ichabod, William kept the look of a wolf guarding his cub. His hand went over his longsword, keeping safe distance from the man as his other fist unsuspiciously neared the window.

"Welcome, good sir. I was just telling my boy over here how the people coming for us would be very nice folk, and I was also making him be certain that nice folk get a surprisingly good amount of rewards in return. However, my lad just does not find you to live up to the expectations I made him believe in... And I am afraid that bad folk are not rewarded in any way, but instead forced out of ships belonging to the ruling house of these isles... House maith, I believe, is not very kind to those who wish to plunder their vessels, no?"

Motioning to the ground with his head, William remained straight, a surprisingly tall and strong man even at the elderly age of his late twenties.

"However, if you were to safely deliver survivors from this wreck to a nearby port, I could arrange a fine payment to fall into your purse, so long as you tell me where to deliver it, for I am a humble trader and knight that goes by the name of Julian, though a very good friend of house maith. I know you will be very wise in your choice of words, my dear sir...?"

'Julian' awaited for an introduction as he remained aware of his surroundings. There was no way he could be surrounded considering there was only one door foes could go through, and the corridor could not withstand any more than the width of two and a half men in it.
Tonya
Danté sniggered slightly, looked at the battered and bruised boy standing towards him, whilst an honourable feat of bravery- he was battered black and blue and just out of the womb, fairly amusing and heart warming

"Sit down lad, you're half dead as it is"

As conversation grew back from this Julian figure he took in what he was saying, the man was rich, could pay a fair sum, would save him from too much hassle and seemed a pretty fine gentleman- who's to argue with a resume like that?

"Aight aight, calm down with the fuckin soliloquy, I get what you mean"

He was a fairly straightforward man, and found bore in long and dramatic speeches that he so often had to counter. It is true he could just murder these men and get on with it, but at the end of the day that'd just make him a shitblood bandit- and Danté, well he was a merchant, and diplomacy came with the trade

"There's no need to worry, out of everything I'm just shocked- with a wreck like this I'm surprised anyone is alive. I'll get your men a pint and a pipe to smoke on the way"

Tension lessened as he lessened his grip upon his dagger and the merchants shoulder, turning away from the door and pulling out a fancy metal pipe, inserting a tobacco lavender mix in it and took our a flint and steel striker- kissing it with sparks which resulted in sweet light smoke drifting from Dantés lips

"Come, I've got a farm not too far from here"
John
Ichabod Sigmar
Southern Island

Ichabod tipped up a splintered chair and sat down in it, looking quite pissed. He crossed his arms and looked away from both of them, feeling his stomach feel almost nauseous with fear and anger. He took a deep breath, feeling quite defeated already, but he had standards. Standards that didn't involve men like Dante. He felt his memories wash over him and he reached his hands up to his face, covering his eyes and staining his cheeks with the blood from his fingers.

"I'm gonna stay..." He seethed, leaning forward and back as he began rocking in the chair. "I can't go. Not with 'im. I have to stay. I... Have to stay." He began stammering, feeling his throat close and open as the anger and fear began evolving into panic. "I can't... I CAN'T! I can't..." He raised his voice. His head was already broken, and now with the trauma and a recurring theme arriving with Dante, he was breaking down farther than before. He groaned, loudly, as he continued to sway.