What is Done
Stickyfingers took a deep breath of annoyance.
He'd experienced something... almost inexplicable.
Looking down, his left arm was securely wrapped around Bistol's head.
His right hand tightly gripped a crossbow bolt.
Its point was buried in the bulge of the dark elf's neck.
He had no idea when any of that had happened.
There was some kind of magic in the air... something Stickyfingers found familiar.
All the crewmembers that served under the Bosun would find it familiar...
"Cat-f*cking-shit!" Stickyfingers raised his voice... "what... the f*ck... was 'at?"
Confused... and a little bit pissed off, he snapped Bistol's neck and threw his corpse to the dirt.
...Then he threw his knife down so it stuck in the elf's spine, "Stupid f*ck..."
"Ah... hah..." Catshit rubbed the back of his neck, "Sumfin' da Bosun taught me, I s'pose."
That... confirmed the only sense Stickyfingers could make of it.