“Oh really? The Queen needs our help, you say?” the Witch Doctor asked, chuckling as though the very idea of her captain dying was the beginning of some great joke. “Do elaborate.”<br/><br/>"You don't understand!" the Crow shouted back, refusing to adopt the same casual demeanor. "Either they catch 'er and slit 'er throat, or she kills the captain an' his whole ship crashes into the sea!<span style="font-style: italic">He's the only thing keeping it airborne!</span>We need to..."<br/><br/>His voice trailed off as he stared at the Flying Rotsman. The witch doctor was still looking his way, and therefore didn't notice as a spinning disk deflected off the ship's exposed underbelly and came hurtling towards them with all the speed and force of a cannonball. Without the time to finish his thought or explain what he was seeing, Ganelon simply dove out of the way as the thing smashed straight through the top of the mast and embedded itself into the deck of the Pervy Freedom. By the time he started to pick himself up, the crew was already jumping to action, with pirates running to stations that they were likely expected to have been attending the entire time, save for a few who dared approach the offending projectile.<br/><br/>Against all reason, it appeared to be a very large turtle shell with a metal pole driven through one end, though the Crow was more concerned about where it came from. He peered at the horizon beneath the Flying Rotsman and nearly choked on the sight; no more than a few minutes' sailing away was a raging maelstrom that swallowed the sea and blackened the sky for miles across. Though difficult to make out against such a dire background, a distant ship could be spotted sailing away from their own, and at the same time, a massive patch of foam had begun bubbling up around the Pervy Freedom on all sides.<br/><br/>Even as a man climbed out of it, the shell suddenly looked completely insignificant in the face of what was coming.<br/><br/>"The... the foam. The storm. Any o' this your doing?" Ganelon asked, still shaken as he tried to catch up to the Witch Doctor. "Can ye stop it?"<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF00FF">The Witch Doctor gave him a puzzled look; she was just as curious about this as he was. “This wasn’t my doing!” She snarled, “Sure does look like a nasty storm’s brewing, doesn’t it? I don’t think I can stop something like this.” Now that may or may not have been a lie. She was powerful; maybe she could, though to tell the truth she had never actually tried to conjure up or stop storms before.<br/><br/>If she could create sharks made out of fire, that survive in the water, the idea of her being able to stop a storm may very well be plausible.</span><br/><br/>"Bah, never mind then!" the Crow snapped back. "We need the captain here. Give me my knives back; I'll send her down the rope and kill Rotter meself. Ye can at least do that, right?"<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF00FF">“You want your knives back, do you? That can be arranged.” There was mild distrust, but she knew he was right. The Queen needed to be there. Most likely his knives would be in the hold where all the other weapons were normally kept. “They’ll probably be in the hold. Let’s get to it, but I have my eye on you...”</span><br/><br/>The Crow heaved a sigh of relief and quickly fell in line. In truth, he wasn't expecting anyone to believe him so soon, but it was easy to forget that he was not the only one who could experience desperation. He was, however, the only willing member of the crew with even a minimal chance of reaching Captain Rotter and bringing the Queen back alive. Hated aboard the Flying Rotsman as he was, he was still someone who would be recognized, and his unexplained appearance would at worst be cause for him to be taken to the captain. From there, he just needed a plan to get out. None came to mind.<br/><br/>When he and the Witch Doctor entered the hold, there were obvious signs of tampering - barrels scattered about the floor, gunpowder and clean water mixing together in a large puddle, and an open porthole which served as the only source of light into the room other than a lantern tied down near where the two had entered from. The first thing the Crow did was have his shackles undone so that he could maintain some freedom of movement, and the second was to take the lantern and carefully walk forwards. Barrels and crates obscured much of the room from where he was standing, and he couldn't see any immediate cause of the disruption, but he didn't much care either. What caught his attention instead was the gleam of a nearly countless amount of sharp and well-polished blades near the far wall.<br/><br/>They were the Crow's knives, and only he knew their exact number. Hanging on what looked to be the world's first dual-purpose coat and weapon rack sat the sum total of his worldly desires, incomplete only by the lack of a traitor's heart to stick them through. He wasted no time in tearing the coat from its resting place and placing it upon his shoulders, grinning wildly as he inspected the surface for anything out of order. The familiar burden of nearly one hundred pounds of sharpened steel was once again his to bear, and it was only just the beginning. His eyes turned to the floor, where they spotted a large sack that had been cut from the inside, and he dug into it greedily.<br/><br/>True to his expectations, the rest of his weapons were within, and he spent a rather excessive amount of time returning them to their proper places. When he was finally done, knives once again hung from his hair to his boots and everywhere in-between. By what could only be an incredible turn of his luck, the two most important of all had also not been stolen, and rested in his hands once more. Touching the cursed black things after three days' absence reminded him of how cold they were, and the feeling came with a strange sense of ownership; not that they were his, but rather that he was<span style="font-style: italic">theirs</span>. A body to keep them shining, sharp, and deadly. Like the target of a possessive lover, he embraced them and laughed.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF00FF">The Witch Doctor grinned while she watched him retrieve his knives. She was intrigued at how a man could carry so many knives on his person and still be able to move without being weighted down. It might have been in her best interest to keep the shackles on him, as someone with so many weapons could be dangerous. In a subtle way, the nature of the laugh almost reminded her of herself; admiration, enjoyment, excitement towards something loved. Those who asked about her sharks would often receive the same reaction. Maybe she was off, who knew, nobody really knew what she thought, she didn’t really put too much more thought into it anyway.<br/><br/>“If you have everything, let’s head back on the deck.” She said, a little impatiently, gesturing for him to follow.</span><br/><br/>"Of course." the Crow answered back, smiling. "Ye won't regret this."<br/><br/>Upon their return to the deck above, Ganelon immediately looked skywards, paying little mind to the scuffle which seemed to be taking place near the ship's newest shell-shaped hole. To his surprise and dismay, he saw the Queen swinging down from above, and the Rotsman still floating at a fixed height among the clouds. She was barking out orders even before she landed, but the Crow was too lost in thought to listen. Efer had returned without his intervention, but he still had a job to do. Captain Rotter still lived.<br/><br/>He looked at the Witch Doctor, who was understandably starting to show signs of doubt now that her desperation was gone. With a twinge of regret he drew a knife and pointed it at her, if only to keep her from trying to stop him, and backed up towards the rope connecting their ship with the Flying Rotsman.<br/><br/>"This may be the last chance I get to kill that bastard. Much as I'd like to trust ye t' let me go, I can't take that kind've risk. Tell the Queen that I'll be sendin' her doctor down like I promised, an' if luck's on me side I'll be comin' back meself."<br/><br/>Without hesitating he took hold, cut the rope, and swung out to sea.