<i><div style="text-align: center">((My fingers &gt;.&lt;))​</div></i><br/><br/>The succubus lingered in mid step, eyes pointing upwards as she tried to recall.<br/><br/>After a brief artistic pause, she turned to Tamaska. Her searing fel green eyes travelled unembarrassed across the quite shapely trolless before she answered with that mockingly enthusiastic voice of hers:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Sienna">Oh, normally, including sea-men, musketeers, engineers, entertainers and catering I would guess around four-hundred and fifty souls, give or take a handful.</span>”. She made a waving, indifferent gesture with her hand.<br/><br/>Then her smile bloomed into a devilish grin:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Sienna">But when the Baron himself is onboard bringing his personal guard, I’d rather say six hundred.</span>“<br/><br/>She twirled to open the door, but paused again:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Sienna">Oh, and just a trivial detail: At least five hundred of them are men, half of those men who haven’t yet had shore-leave. By the pits, you can imagine the glares I get.</span>” She chuckled in her best portrayal of conversational innocence, knowing full and well the implications it had upon poor Tamaska.<br/><br/>Hundreds of frustrated, downtrodden, and frisky men – and to consider that, if Bahiyya spoke the truth, they were moments away from shore-leave?<br/>The situation could easily be accused of most womens’ worst nightmare.<br/><br/>The succubus made a mental “Squee!” of delight and opened the door:<br/><br/>They were spotted by the sun, resulting in a glaring assault, briefly blinding Tamaska – she did notice a sudden cacophony of sounds and voices, however.<br/><br/>Her eyes adjusted to see…<br/><br/>..to see something she quite likely never had seen before: The would-be-blood elf and her domesticated troll stepped out onto a huge wooden deck spreading out before them. And despite its size, it was positively cramped with dozens if not hundreds of people, racing back and forth with each their particularly pressing objective; the mighty riggings above her teemed with dare-devil sailors adjusting sails, maintaining the intricate rope work and reporting wind currents and hindrances jutting through the skies. Some almost mocked their inherently dangerous situation by swinging across from one part of the rigging to another for speedy transit.<br/>The musketeers that Bahiyya mentioned were a sight in themselves: A small column of musket-armed men stood attention before a captain on the left side of deck: They were clad in deep-silvered breastplates with black cavalier shirts underneath, draped in ornate tabards with the same golden fist as Bahiyyas ring imbedded into its black background. Each wore capitano hats with long black feathers, broad sleeved military boots, two leather pouches at each side of their hips and an intricately fashioned rapier. Their muskets shouted state wealth considering how decorated the gun-lock was fashioned, not to mention the elaborate carvings along the barrel.<br/><br/>Tamaska noted that all of the soldiers, without a fault, and including the barrel-chested brute of a captain sported big bushy moustaches.<br/><br/>A group of goblins snuck between the legs of the two advancing women sporting large wielding goggles, discussing technical mumbo-jumbo with fervor akin the religious missionaries of trollish spirituality. One of the goblins was distracted by a bare-breasted Tamaska, shoving his goggles up his forehead with a tongue-tip exposed through a randy, surprised smile; four more were perched on top one of the four mighty, noisy, monstrous wooden gyrocoptor turbines extending along a wooden framework away from the main galleons’ hull keeping it afloat. Robe harnesses around their waists apparently gave them a chance at survival in case they fell – the goblins looked like they were in a heated debate concerning some technical triviality.<br/><br/>An ogre, yes, a full-grown ogre led by the leash of a capacious, black hooded brute of a man, carried a cannon over his shoulders, making constant inquiries concerning “<i>Wen is food thyme, me’s hungreh!</i>”; as the trolless was led past the exposed shaft leading to the gun deck below, a peek showcased a colorful assembly of strictly guarded belly dancers practicing a spectacle under the watchful eye of a Matron; if glancing to the aft of the ship, she could make out battered cages containing vicious and vibrant animals of all kinds.<br/>Some of the comely belly dancers looked more concerned about the animals than the lecherous guards feasting in the sight of their twists and turns.<br/><br/>As the two ladies approached the bow of the ship, a collective cheer from the men on the rigging pulled attention towards six shrieking, Bruutheim-fashioned gyrocoptors spat out from a puffy white cloud on the ships starboard (right) side; the ramshackle formation streamed around the humongous galleon in reckless maneuvers, with crying machines strained to keep up with the torture. The trolless could faintly make out cracked cackling from the air-jackals piloting the nimble crafts.<br/><br/>“<i>BBBRRRRRRRUUUUTHEIM SKIIIIIIESSS AHOOYYYYYYY!</i>” a sailor atop the crow-nest bellowed out giving birth to elated cheers and roars from the crew around Tamaska.<br/><br/>How a man could differ one part of sky from another wasn’t immediately clear to Tamaska before four deep, rolling horn-blows attracted her attention to the larboard (left) side of the hull: Two additional flying ships, frigates of a much sleeker and somewhat smaller design than the Catharsis were turning about to side with the Barons personal flying fortress to escort her home safely. She could just make out the small waving figures signaling a welcome home. The gyrocopters swarmed in spirals around the two air-ship newcomers like angry bees.<br/><br/>One thing that struck Tamaska was just how noisy her surroundings were – Johanneson was at least fortunate enough to rest his ears.<br/><br/>Despite whatever necessary preparations needed for their assumed approach, the bare-chested trolless wasn’t spared any looks at all.<br/><br/>Men of all shapes and sizes peered at her probingly from above and below, occasional rowdy observations between them spurring on roaring laughter. Some decided to throw a lewd comment on common towards the barely-covered woman which in turn caused her mistress to twitter delightfully.<br/><br/>One starry-eyed musketeer couldn’t help himself, letting guilty eyes concentrate on her a second too long: the captain was on him like a cougar, sprouting colorful profanity with the blunt force of a thundering elekk. The poor conscript shrunk on his spot, closing his eyes in absolute terror.<br/><br/>But the creepiest of men were those who instantly fell silent, letting their eyes do all the talking necessary. She almost felt a tangible weight pressing against her under their hawk-like glances.<br/><br/>At the bow towards the front of the ship, on an elevated wooden platform, three immaculately clad gentlemen and one casually clad, bald, cigar-wielding goblin seemed engrossed in conversation. The two first men had to be the Admiral and his first mate, sporting fulsome navy hats. Their uniforms were fashioned in the colors presenting Bruutheim: Deep grays, blacks, oranges and gold. The third man was Baron Carl himself, standing draped in his heavy black coat, crowned with his tophat, one hand keeping a crushing hold around his magician’s staff. Even with his back turned, he seemed to radiate a demanding presence.<br/><br/>Her mistress briskly tugged Tamaska along; Her gait was proud but in a fashion suggesting she was en route to show her master what a good puppy she was.<br/><br/>Emberspike threw a glance over his shoulder and let an “<span style="color: DarkSlateBlue">Ahah!</span>” escape his scoundrel’s grin, tapping his cigar over the railing.<br/><br/>The two officers turned towards the newcomers as well, the hawk-faced admiral letting both brows rise over a perpetually aristocratic face. The First Mate had a smile the size of Kalimdor.<br/><br/>Maneuvering Tamaska up onto the wooden platform, Bahiyya briskly said:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Sienna">Kneel in front of the Baron, pet.</span>”<br/><br/>She then did a hard-practiced curtsy before the Baron, saying in her best professional voice:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Sienna">My Baron. I bring you your new servant. She is clean, young, dazzling like an evening star and more importantly, obedient as you plainly can see.</span>”<br/><br/>The succubus in disguise took a rehearsed step backwards, leaving Tamaska kneeling in front of the stately figure.<br/><br/>The Baron slowly turned – or rather, it didn’t feel like he turned: it was like the world spun to his liking and all he did was to shuffle his feet.<br/><br/>He was exactly as she remembered him: seven worlds of spooky:<br/><br/>Perfectly round, completely iris-less white eyes bore into her being unblinking. Imbedded in a long, gaunt yet broad-jawed face swathed in ashen-gray, wrinkled skin with dry lips under a spotless copstash. The nearly two-meter tall man gave allusions to a particularly densely packed mantis as he just stood there just looking.<br/><br/>He radiated just how little he was to be trifled with. The odd thing was that she felt some of the same tingles as when in the presence of Bahiyya. He was dangerously alluring despite his visual faults.<br/><br/>As Bahiyya informed the First Mate that Johanneson was slacking in the slave-chambers, causing the man to grow a tomato-red face in sheer anger, the Baron slowly bent at the waist, his face coming to hover closer at Tamaskas.<br/><br/>“<b>Fascinating…</b>” a deep, Tanaris-dry voice fashioned to command legions and contest gods murmured.<br/><br/>“<b>And how does she perform?</b>” he asked, not bothering to look away.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: DarkSlateBlue">Likes a charm, Baron. I’d bet mah’ skin she’s just up your alley-.. erhumn, to your likin’, boss.</span>” Emberspike briskly said.<br/><br/>“<b>I’ll make my own conclusions, Emberspike. But I’ll humor you and consider it a wager.</b>” The baron bluntly replied with a voice fashioned to topple governments and chastise dragons.<br/><br/>Emberspikes cocksure smile was wiped away in one swift verbal stroke, one hand tugging at his collar.<br/><br/>The admiral mimicked Emberspike, simply by sheer intimidation.<br/><br/>As a sailor in the rigs – who spent too much time oogling Tamaskas beautiful orbs and not more pressing things like holding on - lost footing and plummeted into thin air, only stopped by his rope harness after a deathly wail, the Baron asked:<br/><br/>“<b>I would like to know the name of my servant, troll.</b>” ..with a voice fashioned to curb volcanoes and reform religions.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>