Kaltor had found the days had passed almost irritatingly slowly. He'd kept his word and had been running training drills with the crew. They were, for the most part, just competent enough to avoid getting killed in one blow. With a little bit more time he thought he'd be able to work on that, but he didn't have a way of creating that desperation and ferocity that would give them the edge in combat and he doubted they'd ever discover it working on a relatively comfortable and mostly reputable airship like the Requiem Dawn.

He could always hope though.

Aram had been his most enthusiastic pupil, even convincing him to give him some extra lessons. It had been slow going, but Kaltor would grudgingly admit if pressed that the bard had a knack for the blade. After the morning lessons that he gave the crew, he tended to continue on for another hour or two with his own practice, though regrettably Solomon had denied his request to set up a target for his throwing knives.

Didn't seem to trust a man with an eyepatch to not go wide with a throw and take out one of the crew.

Afternoons had been spent drinking and playing dice with the offduty crew. Kaltor cheated outrageously, but that was fine - so did everyone else. Apart from the daily training and dice games though there wasn't a hell of a lot that he could actually do. He leant a hand where he could around the ship, but he was a fighter first, not a sailor.

The clamour caused by the Orcs beginning to attack roused him from a lazy slumber. A little lethargically, he buckled on his weapons and cloak and headed up to the deck to take a look at the threat. He was just in time to see the exotic mage throw an attack that blew one of the rocs straight out of the air. A grin crossed his stubbled face. This was going to be fun.

The first wave of Rocs swept over the deck of the ship, their passangers leaping down with weapons in hand to join the melee battle. Without hestiation, Kaltor waded into the thick of things, swords drawn. His fighting style was hard, fast, vicious and dirty. The first Orc to cross blades with him went down as Kaltor calmly shot him in the head with his flintlock, shoving the gun back hurriedly into its holster even as he parried an incoming swipe from a particularly ugly Orc with a large battleaxe.

"BLADES UP YOU WHORESONS!" he roared as the crew spread into the growing melee, "REMEMBER WHAT I TAUGHT YOU OR I'LL THRASH YOU MYSELF!" The ugly Orc, believing his opponent to be distracted, swung a heavy swipe across at Kaltor's left, attempting to take advantage of his blind side.

It was the last mistake he ever made. Without a second of hesitation, Kaltor ducked down and lunged forward, the battleaxe passing harmlessly over his head. Shifting to a two handed grip on his sword, he shoved it upwards in a brutal thrust, tearing through a gap in the Orc's clumsily cobbled together armour. The point erupted out from the back of the Orc in a spray of blood as he let out a choking death rattle.

Moving like a snake, the pirate wrenched his sword free and spun away as the corpse crashed down to the deck. Grinning like the cat that got the cream, he threw himself back into the general fray and fought on.