<div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/60/51/df/6051df824f680439ddb5b4217d31903c.jpg)</div>At first, Claire and Enniya begin with the non-destructive route of freeing the pinned warlock, Enniya stepping up onto Claire’s hand.  Then the roars and shouts of attackers come and the plan changes.  Perhaps Claire’s joking suggestion wasn’t such a bad one afterall.  Between Claire lifting Enniya and the fae-elf tugging, they lift and grind her clothes along the haft of the spear, ripping through the fabric as they apply their strength.  The clothes that are pinned split in the back and Enniya stumbles forward, freed from the trap, but also freed of the clothes that held her.<br/><br/>With the strength of her own pull, Enniya stumbles forward, heading directly towards the spinning axe of the muscled, oiled grey skinned man.  The axe misses her head by inches, the rush of air above her felt as she stumbles on uneven and scattering coins, continuing to move forward.  She catches her balance at the bottom of the treasure pile, standing up to find herself faced with two enormous snarling crocs, one with an eyepatch and the other with a thick scar across his chest.<br/><br/>After missing Enniya, the grey skinned pirate turns his axe towards Claire.  He bellows out in a hoarse rageful scream of utter abandon, “Know this, you face Maclah the Grey, champion of the wastes, tooth of anarchy!  Submit to me and live!  Face my axe and perish!”  The axe swings again, swishing past Claire as she dodges aside, almost catching her chin with the haft as he turns his body, each attack pushing her backwards to climb further up the treasure hoard.<br/><hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/originals/a8/46/d8/a846d8f482145000a86adfb8d323b70d.png)</div>A shriek of rage comes from the armor as it straddles Abigail, it’s gauntleted hands catching her arm to stop her from getting a good swing.  The armor is powerfully strong and for a moment manages to pin her hands up above her head, the breast of the armor pressing onto Abigail’s face in a decidedly unerotic way.  It transfers her hands, using it’s sheer weight to keep her unable to swing as it prepares to strip the armor from the fighter’s front- when a slam of Fugue’s halberd pushes it off of her.<br/><br/>The armor falls, rolls quickly, and is up again with another shriek.  It hurls itself at Fugue, but Abigail is too quick and<strong>snicker-clank</strong>Hatch slams into the armor’s stomach.  The elongated breastplate dents hard, nearly slamming into the backplate as the armor is thrown through the air by Abigail’s strike.  It hits the ground and pieces scatter, the helm rolling several times before coming to a stop at the feet of Len who has moved into position near them.<br/>In the darkness nearby, four crocs were approaching, waiting for the armor to deal with one of the Delvers.  They pause to look between themselves.  “Maybe not easy prey,” the tallest one hisses out as he reaches for a club at his side.  “Good,” replies a second, his hide covered with thick ridges.  The final two, an exceptionally hefty croc and one with pale red scales snort out reptilian laughs and grab their scimitars.  The crocs charge.<br/>The two with scimitars run at Abigail letting out warcries as the other two charge towards where Len is blocking Fugue from harm.<br/><br/><hr/><div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ca/c1/08/cac108f3a83f058a2121aa78b42e658e.jpg)</div>Captain Saltbeard, his face all wreathed in white flame, lets out a hearty laugh of victory as his troops descend upon the Delvers.  Clearly the loss of the armor is no concern to him, he’s got crocs to fight for him.  “Nab them all!” he shouts above the din as he pulls Priscilla with him, the blade of his sword gently placed on her soft breast.  When she considers her blade, he pauses, looking at her with cold white eyes before shifting the sword to gently rest between her cleavage, “Bad idea, miss.  I’ll not hesitate to be harsher with you, though you do me more good whole.”  He looks over her with interest on his face, a crooked grin coming to his face.<br/>Clearly he was not expecting her to speak to him this way.  His mouth opens for a moment, white flame filling it as he considers then begins to stammer out, “What… Miss, I’m no noble adventurer.  Always been a pirate-”  As she barrels right through him verbally, he hesitates again, glancing down at his boots for a second and carefully removing the blade from her skin.  “I-”<br/>Captain Saltbeard clears his throat and shakes his head, “Pardon me, my lady.  We… Few visitors here.  And we need them that we get.  Without sacrifice-”  His hand is like iron on her arm as he turns to face her more fully, “Without sacrifice we are no better than wandering meat.  We need your companions, though your fair self needn’t also be.  Perhaps you’d join us.”  A crazed grin comes to his face as he pulls Priscilla close to his body, shifting his hand from her arm to around her waist.  The pirate is absolutely rock hard, the jacket doing little to hide his hardened cock pressed against her leg as her chest presses against his.  “How’d you like you live forever, miss?”<br/><br/><strong>Claire!  You face down Maclah the grey!  He’ll surely cut you down given the chance!<br/><br/>Abigail, Fugue, Len, the armor is defeated but crocs are coming up!<br/><br/>Enniya!  You’re free (including of some hampering clothes) and practically right in the arm of a couple crocs!<br/><br/>And Priscilla, you’ve got an offer before you.<br/><br/>Delvers!  What do you do?</strong><br/>