[IC] Dream Scar

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Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Lady Ethereal on Wed Dec 21, 2011 10:42 am

Mediterranean Wastelands - Cassim
The Decadence - Personal Cabin - Main Deck - Wheel
Aellai Neha, The Ephemeral


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Forest green eyes slowly opened to the sight of the glowing light hanging delicately upon the ceiling. Closing the eyes once more, Aellai covered her mouth to stifle the yawn emitting from it. A lot has happened in the past two days. She had been taking care of the Captain and the mysterious girl's well-being. Their wounds were already tended but they have yet to wake from their slumber. It begins to worry her but there was nothing else she could find wrong about the two. All she could do is to continue watching over them. There had been a lot of questions and minor arguments about the productivity of the raid they had done. The damage and the lives lost they had attained were not really worth it no matter how valuable the objects is in her opinion. Well, she could not blame the skepticism and tempers flaring because of what occurred. It suddenly turn into a nightmare. In any case, she should check how her brother and the girl were faring today. Standing from her bed, she began preparing herself when she heard Jan's voice echoing through the ship. The fellow Majnun had asked for her presence and announcing their current location.

"Cassim..."

Aellai softly mumbled as she looked out the window in her quarters. The place itself is truly a depressing sight but considering the condition of Decadence and the much needed rest of the crew. This town would do its job to supply them and divert their attentions at the moment. Hopefully, it would even provide them new opportunities. Removing herself from the window, she finished preparing herself and decided to attend Jan's announcement first. She highly doubts that Dee or the girl would be living their beds anytime soon. Furthermore, she was not that worried about her brother considering how resilient that man is. Walking along the hallways, she could already see and hear some of the crew members leaving the ship to enjoy the much need rest and entertainment that Cassim could offer. Hopefully, they would not return with bruise and injuries considering the reputation of this town. However, Aellai remembered how futile that idea was. They were pirates to begin with. Brawls, fights and such are normal occurrences.

"I should just conserve my strength in case I would need to treat them."

Emerging from the cabins below, Aellai had arrived at the main deck. The damages from their previous encounter were still present although, the grime and blood had already been cleaned. This was be done by Naga without doubt. The man had always done a splendid work especially towards his responsibilities. Looking around, she relived the terrible outcome of their raid. She knew for a fact that her brother would not be happy about it. They lost their gunner, second mate and merchant. It was truly saddening in many ways. Moreover, she wasn't even sure if they had acquired what they had come for in the first place. Releasing a soft sigh, she would stop worrying about those things for now. There were other matters that she should attend to. This hopefully brief meeting so, she could attend to Dee and the mysterious girl they have on board. Arriving at the location where Jan is, she gave the fellow Majnun a nod of acknowledgment. It seems They might not get along in terms of opinions and such. However, it does not mean they can't be civil with each other when needed.

"I have arrived, Sola'cori."
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Lady Ethereal
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Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Basta on Wed Dec 21, 2011 7:39 pm

Above the Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence - The Deck - Below Decks
Sharpclaw Shinyscales, The Sharp eyed lookout


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The birds chirped softly in the background of the forest as a small reptilian boy walked through, not really sure where he was going. Every once in a while, the lad stopped to pick up a rock or a piece of bark and examine it, turning it in his hands and testing his strength by trying to crush it. Soon, the boy stumbled upon a village of Ravien, bear men as it were. The lad cracked a smile and made for it at a light trot, hoping to beg a fish from a vendor or sommat.

All at once, the whole village froze and looked at him as one. The boy stopped dead in his tracks, confused and a bit disturbed. Maybe they have had trouble with invaders in the past and were cautious? But no, he reasoned. Their stares were too...intense, too predatory to be just watching. They were waiting for him to do something, make some sort of move. Now very frightened, but still hungry, the boy advanced into the village and searched out a marketplace. The croc boy approached the fishmonger, a great black brute of a Ravien, who was watching him particularly intensely.

<<Here boy. Have a fish. You will like it-->> whorfled the bear. With a shaky hand, the boy grasped the fish and tried to pull it away from the fishmonger's paw. As soon as the tail cleared the man's gigantic fingers, the entire village began to roar horrifically in unison. Great chunks of flesh sloughed off the village members, exposing their insides and muscles which were infested with maggots and flies. The village began to approach the boy, slowly at first, but then faster in the great shambling run of the bears. Those with great body wounds left trails of their organs, but they didn't care. Those with weak limbs were crushed by their fellows. Soon the hoard collided with the small reptilian Ravien in the middle and they began to feed.


With a great hiss, Sharpclaw leapt out of his pile of rags in the bottom hold, snapping his jaws and thrashing his great tail. Soon he had himself under control, but he couldn't shake the heebie-jeebies that the nightmare left him. He'd had the same recurring dream once a month since he was but a wee lad, when he stumbled upon a village of massacred bear Ravien and thought that one moved to attack him.

Grumbling angrily to himself, the giant croc lumbered through the tight (for him) corridors of the Decadence. When he breached fresh air, the large gator snapped his jaws a few times and stretched out the kinks of the night from his muscles. He'd noticed that there weren't many crew about, so he assumed they had taken shore leave. After all, the ship was docked at port. Waving absentmindedly to the remaining members of the crew still on deck, Sharpclaws made his way down the gangplank and into the city. After plodding ponderously through the windy streets, Sharpclaws noticed that the crazy janitor had followed him from the ship. Sharpclaws turned to say something to him, but instead had his eye caught by a hanging sign...literally. Stumbling backwards in surprise and pain, the great croc rubbed the side of his head and glared at a sign declairing proudly "Books".

His interest piqued, Sharpclaws ducked into the store, managing to only chip half the paint off the doorframe as he squeezed his bulk through. The owner glared at him steadily.

"Sorry 'bout th' door again, Mr. Sandry. I'll put th' shine back on 'er, quick 'n snippy like." The grumpy man huffed behind his moustache, but otherwise didn't bother the Ravien. Sharpclaws perused the shelves until he happened upon a book on the anatomy of birds. Entranced, the gator picked up the book and lost himself in the fascinating world of birds.
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Basta
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Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby That One Guy on Mon Dec 26, 2011 12:47 am

ImageCassim - Mediterranean Wastelands
Bookstore
Astrid Kur, Chronicler


An easy giggle escapes her pink lips, and all eyes are on her. The way the light hits her makes her a flower, her wavy locks a princess, and the brutes around her are undeserving of her presence. But she treats them like they must be the princes of her longing dreams. Does she realize the look in their eyes? She doesn’t, she’s blissfully unaware of the predator’s waltz. That is odd, in a place like this, how is one to hold onto their innocence? Ah, the answer soon becomes clear as her protector swoops in the bar to collect her, a stern looking man, dark, but warm, for her at least. Her face lights up when she sees him in a way that it never could for the men around her, she almost jumps to him, laughs goodbyes to her would-be predators and just as quickly as she had come and stirred up ruckus, she was gone, leaving a hole.

Astrid smiled silently, returning a watchful gaze back to the food Astrid had devoured. The bar that Astrid had spent an evening meal in did not have too many people in it thankfully; it mostly consisted of tired individuals and the loud group who was having fun until their muse left them. The owner was a rather burly woman who would take no flack or funny business in her establishment. That was made quite clear by the array of weaponry she kept on her person and on the walls behind the counter. Just the sort of place Astrid could keep to minding Astrid’s own business. The port was called Cassim, a place that had rules of its own. Astrid liked the people here better though, places like this were better than ritzy places in the Empire, where a fake politeness permeated the air and people who breathed it. Here, you were not liked by anyone, but at least you were sure of it.

“You want seconds Dove? You sure wolfed that down quick.” What must be the sister of the bar owner was now in front of Astrid, they were lioness Ravein. ’Well it was really wonderful cooking, how could I not? But really I’m stuffed.’ That would be the charming thing to say, but instead, “No.”, was all that came out. “Alright, suit yourself.” And she took the plate away. In reality Astrid was still quite hungry, but money had to be conserved of course, especially if Astrid wanted to visit that book shop that was rumored to be a few stores down.

Astrid paid for the food and left, toting the suitcase and rolled up umbrella. It was slightly chilly, but Astrid did not keep a coat on for fear of looking awkward stopping in the middle of the street and pulling out a coat. Astrid did roll down the left sleeve though, the right was not allowed. Astrid found interactions went much better if the brand of a Chronicler was visible. The bookstore was bound to be warm anyway. And when Astrid’s assumption was found to be correct, any discomfort, aside from the usual awkward rigidity in which Astrid stood and walked, was soon gone. The store was not big, but the books all looked to be traded and even exclusive, the advantage of opening shop at a port. A reptilian Ravein and hooded man were the only other ones in the shop aside from the teller behind the counter.

Astrid approached the counter, “It says you trade?” Astrid trained eyes on the sign crudely written on some wood hanging from the counter.

“Well, at least we know you can read.” The only movement from the teller in his chair was a sarcastic smile, he looked tired. Astrid did not look him in the eyes and simply nodded, opening the satchel carrying supplies and pulled out a few books. One was short, a fairytale book, the other was an encyclopedia of plants. Astrid was sure to hand over the books with the right hand, and was satisfied when the book seller eyed the scar. “Well shit, never mind, you can definitely read. I’ll look these two over and you go pick some books out of equal or lesser value, and we’ll bargain. But just to give you a hint, the second book of this fairytale series in right around those two over there.” His smile turned genuine. Astrid nodded and moved in the direction of the two people. Oh geez how awkward, the whole store and Astrid had to go and hover behind the only two other people in it, damn. Astrid quickly scanned the titles and found it, a hand reached out to grab it.
(°□°)┻━┻
FUCK TABLES


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That One Guy
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Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Ezarael on Tue Dec 27, 2011 1:32 pm

The Mediterranean Wastelands – Cassim Docks
Cassim – Cassim Mercantile
Neyshak: The Lost One


The Cassim Mercantile was bustling with activity as always and the gentle cook was not unfamiliar to its quick-paced atmosphere, but today was already shaping up to be a pitiable day for poor little Neyshak. As his keen eyes studied the brilliant sheen of the fiery red apples displayed by their vendor he could not help but continually berate himself silently at his stupidity. It had never proven truly problematic before because he had always been accompanied by a fellow shipmate on his food-related excursions, but this time there was not a single crewmember to be spared for this particular task. He was all alone, and already his day was shaping up very badly.

The apple vendor was hurriedly calling out to every passerby and heckling Neyshak as he eyed the tantalizing fruit, much like the street urchins had done as he was passing by the performers earlier. Street shows were by no means unusual for the slum-city of Cassim, and one could always find large crowds staring in awe as magicians, jugglers, tumblers, fire-eaters, sword-fighters, and all varieties of show people performed their dazzling feats of wonder. Most of the time they were all just that, shows, but on this fateful day Neyshak stumbled upon one of the ruses, a hoax staged in collaboration between two-bit hustlers and rowdy street urchins with nothing better to do than cut purses whilst the spectators stood helpless.

He should have paid better attention, but nooo the simple-minded reptile was too busy marveling at the tumbler trio juggling flaming swords whilst performing all forms of daring acrobatics, which was simply astounding if Neyshak was any judge of these performances, and that was when those weasel-like children slipped a dagger across the bottom of his coin purse. He would not have even noticed had the little rodent not made the mistake of trying to pluck one of his poisoned darts from its hold. Unfortunately the little rats had done this before, if not Neyshak could have caught the slow rats with their stubby little legs, and they had perfected an ingenious system of slinking through the packed crowd. The poor cook could not follow, and this also happened to be a day he had not brought his trusty blow-gun along with him.

Usually the placid Ravein might overlook such an incident, he did love children and so much more so the urchins and orphans, but these were not just any ordinary Ravein children nooo these were RODENT Ravein children. If there was one thing on the planet he could not despise any more it was rodents. They were filthy little creatures that only wanted to invade his wonderful larder and munch on the ship’s food-stuffs, how could he tolerate such blasphemy, such disregard for others, such unsanitary conditions? Oh he would definitely be bringing his blow-gun next time and hopefully find one of those fiendish little bastards, oh yes and if he did he would just find one of his special darts so he could watch the little bugger squirm. Neyshak HATED rodents with a fiery passion to match that of any violence-based deity.

What was worse than merely losing the currency with which he was entrusted for procuring provisions, not that they had needed much since their last time in-docks had not been all that long ago, was the fact that he had to go sneak back on board to dip into his savings. The bad part was that so many of his associates were roaming on and off of The Decadence and the docks that he was practically dodging behind and creeping around the freight the whole-time, and upon reaching the ship he was forced to scale the rigging so as to hopefully elude detection. If that was not bad enough he had to leap out of windows and cling on for dear life every time a shipmate turned the corner to the same hallway Neyshak was traversing for the moment. By the time had arrived at the Mercantile, WITH his coin this time, it he felt that he could have quit the pirating life and taken up one of tumbling!

It had taken quite a bit of bargaining to obtain the number of apples he desired for a reasonable price, which was no small task for the speech-impeded creature, but his day was far from over. This was just the first of many items on his list he need to obtain, and at every exchange he would need to haggle over unit and shipping prices, the slimy merchants always wanted to charge to have wares taken to the docks and loaded, yet hopefully he could manage on his own. Usually Roussan or another higher-ranking officer on the ship, like Jam, would accompany him to assure the security of the wares, but he liked having some freedom on this occasion. Roussan was always decent company, an amiable enough creature who could always deter ruffians through by merely looking mean, but he did not like Jan so much. She was ruthless, cold, and deadly efficient in fact she always seemed to be the better of the negotiators in concerns to wares and could always find the lowest prices.

It was definitely going to be quite a long day for Neyshak. It was barely high noon so the merchants were nowhere near ready to try and give up their premium prices for closers, and the cook was unsure just how well he was coming out of these deals. He had no head for numbers, but even though they acted like they were being cheated his purse was becoming light remarkably fast. He would give anything for just a little company this once…
Isn't it strange how Decidedly we
will chasE such an iNdefinable concept
That cannot truly descrIbe us no
maTter how hard we trY?
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Ezarael
Member for 3 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Wudgeous on Thu Jan 05, 2012 11:08 pm

Cassim - Mediterranean Wastelands
Bookstore

Sharpclaw Shinyscales, The Sharp eyed lookout
Naga Neroli, That Janitor
Astrid Kur, Chronicler



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He was ureadable when he finally caught word of the casualties. Lacking a comment to spare, the blind majnun searched for them without a single movement. Reaching back into the crevices of his mind, he searched for precious moments; his first greeting of one, the arrival of the other. Dimpled smiles and warm tittering, restrained laughter they had so kindly shared with him. Naga was not religious by any means, but found it a custom to murmur a prayer or two for the departed. La Feline and Mistress. Jacqueline and Asherah. "I knew you hardly enough." Both so young... hm. Perhaps he could not say that of the majnun missus, but it did not change that they were certainly taken far too soon. But then, couldn't he say the same of the other side? Yes, their enemy of the night. "Dance partner," as a certain lion minstrel may put it. How many screams from them had been silenced before they could escape crushed throats? How many veins torn open into gaping, drooling wounds? He did not like it, all this death, but it was not out of his range of toleration. It was in times like these, he reminded himself, that a faith in one's comrades was a vital idea to hold close. Roussan, and whoever his old friend chose to place his trust, surely did not take pleasure in the kill. Pirates and cutthroats though they were, they had codes of honor to uphold. Innocents were spared. As many as possible were spared. The kill was limited to a necessity, no more and no less. Besides, it was not in Naga's nature to judge them. The murdered were, surely, granted as merciful a death as possible.

The day they made port came slowly to him. It was not that work was neverending (though he's had his fill with spilt bits of lamb and gravy and pools of vomit during the trip, he'll admit), but that his thoughts slowed to the pace of a sickly slug, bringing all of time down with it. Lightless days were long, and his dreams were oceans of suffocating detail. He was relieved, even eager to be off the ship when he caught sight of Cassim through one of the bolted, round windows; was keen for faces and greetings from residents out of The Decadence. Not that he suddenly hated his crewmates, but even one so mellow as the janitor could grow weary of repetition. With his metal walking stick gripped faithfully, he made his way out of the docks with his chin, for the first time in a little while, untucked from his chest. A crestfallen attitude was unbefitting of him, and the fresh, sweat-filled air of the city, of its people, was strangely refreshing. A hulking shape was not too far off, no doubt one of the crew's Ravein, so Naga decided to stick close by. For once, he remembered exasperated pleas from his closer friends, bidding that he at least not wander around alone. Piss-poor sense of direction aside, what if he got himself into an attempted mugging? No poor sod of an urchin wants to end up with a blunt end of a pole between the eyes, unintentional on the muggee's part or no.

It was Sharpclaws (again), Naga discovered, for anything he said was responded to "And where are you headed, good man?" with such a gruff and curt voice, it reminded him of a tangled ball of yarn. And there was still that spectacular nose of his. Soon enough, Naga found himself an escort for the large reptile's visit to the bookstore--he himself had nowhere specific to hurry to, and nearly dawdled as he attempted to enjoy the sounds around him, indeed, nearly getting himself lost. It was good of Sharpclaws to be so easy to spot from a crowd. The keeper of tomes (Naga had a hobby of making otherwise "dull" occupations sound exotic) seemed to be friendly enough, and an acquaintance of his acquaintance.

Ah, he could smell the musty pages and the coats of dust embracing book jackets even before the ring-a-ding of the door's bell subsided. He remained near enough to his travel buddy--not enough to be a nuisance, but enough to take note of major movements--and wondered just how much information he could garner from an engraved spine. A bare hand reached for what looked to be one such design, but came into contact with something else. The edge of a cared for finger nail, as far as he could tell. "Oh... My apologies," he said, and tipping his head as a gesture, though it was angled enough to be both one of regret and curiosity. He'd intended mostly the latter. It was a small figure, compared to figures like the captain's and various others on the ship, and Naga felt sheepish that he'd almost stolen a book from the stranger's appreciation. "Here. I was only browsing."



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Astrid's worst nightmare was happening, right now. Astrid reached for a book while someone else was reaching for one, how rude. If Krish were here, she'd be cracking up, she knew how to zero in on situations that made the Chronicler uncomfortable. The lack of eye contact Astrid made was most likely noticed, but it had already happened so no sense in looking even more awkward by saying something like, 'Oh, do you like fairytales too?' or commenting on the author. Or maybe that'd be congenial? Oh damn, what was she/he doing just standing there?! "Thanks." Astrid took the book and nodded. 

And "You're welcome," said he, with a similar amiable gesture of the head.

There it was, the most interaction all day, sorry, all two weeks for the Chronicler. Astrid had left that nomad tribe too soon it seemed, they always did their best to engage Astrid and interact. The bite of lonliness after parting hurt almost. Astrid let out a breath of air to try to regulate heartbeat, though it was so slight it didn't help at all. Rather than move, Astrid continued to scan the books right there.



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After an uncomfortable stretch of silence, Sharpclaws (who'd just become aware of the world around him once more) poked Naga in the back and showed him the book of anatomy. "Oy, Naga. How d'ya say th' word 'ere?" The large croc pointed at a line of text above a small bird with a yellow chest, indicating with frustration that he couldn't read it. He'd seen this particular type of bird before, but now when confronted by a name, the only thing stopping him from completing his knowledge of it was his own illiteracy.


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It was a bit of a silly thing to ask a blind man barely acquainted with the text of his own people, but Naga tugged off his shades nonetheless. Must always be willing to give new things a shot! A golden rule for the ages, that. Barely, he could make out scattered black lines, ultimately composing a neat box on the page beside a picture of what appeared to be... perched on a branch. Yellow. "I don't read human either," he said finally, surrendering with a low chuckle. "You like birds then?"


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Sharpclaws raised one scaly eye-ridge at his companion. "Did ya really jus' ask me that? O'course I like birds. Ye'haven' seen th' decadence? It's my hobby, an' I'm always on th' prowl fer more fodder ta fuel my musins'."


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Ok, so that didn't kill Astrid, it didn't really. Astrid was still alive, and it seemed like the two next to her had moved on. The Ravein asked his friend a question, about what something said. Perhaps the Ravein was not entirely literate? In places like Cassim, some weren't. His friend didn't have such luck either, Astrid glanced at the two, then back at the shelves, and then back at them. "Yellow Bellied Sapsucker." Astrid was now in between the two, staring at the page, having blurted something like an idiot. Did they ask her/him into the conversation? No, but here Astrid was anyway, shit. No wait, perhaps this was good. Perhaps...no she/he was intruding. "Sorry..." Astrid backed up one step, still eyeing the book, as cool as ever in outer appearance. Astrid had only had the inclination to want to help the Ravein, since he was interested in learning something, and it was not his fault he had no idea how to read.


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Sharpclaws looked at the book, then at Astrid, then at Naga, and finally back to the book. He opened his mouth to say something witty, but all that came out was a soft "Oh." The Ravien opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish, trying to alternately thank and ask extra questions. Finally, the Ravien looked at the girl for the first time, trying to figure out who she was and why she was here. The woman was of average height, light skinned, thin, a traditional girl. Realizing that he was being rude, Sharpclaws quickly bobbed his torso in a bow. "Sorry, my lady. I dinna intend ta be such low creature. Thank ye kindly fer yer help, missus...." He stopped for a moment, realizing he didn't know the woman's name. "Erm, Forgive me, but what're ye called, by chance?"


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Oh, the stranger had become a friendly stranger! How pleasant. The thought was apparent, as after the raised brows and searching pupils, he donned a smile that might have lit up the entire shop. "Oh, thank you." He stopped, then, for Sharpclaws was speaking (and then he wasn't, and breathed as if... flustered, maybe? But that wasn't the point).

Naga kept his words sealed until he was certain his book-browsing ally felt the need to pause absolutely: "That's Sharpclaws," he mock-whispered and then, after a brief rumination session. "And I'm still sorry about earlier. Hahah, a bit hopeless with the texts, he and I."



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Both said 'oh' at the same time, and an onlooker might find this whole meeting to already be comical. Rest assured, the book seller behind the counter was indeed already amused. But Astrid was instead impressed by how in sync the two were to speak at the same time. The Ravein, reptilian, looked her over for a moment before speaking, and Astrid kept eyes trained on his snout, again avoiding eye contact. He bobbed a bow, with which Astrid returned a nod, not minding being called a lady at all. It was of no surprise that he saw Astrid that way, more surprising was that he was polite, especially given his own intimidating appearance. Looking at a book of birds, delicate creatures he could easily break, made Astrid deduce that he must be a delicate soul himself. He was also humble, definitely not a regular trait of the Cassim sort, how curious. It was so curious that it almost made Astrid forget how nervous the interaction was making him/her. 'Lowly creature? No, the low creatures are those who have no respect for books at all, no desire for knowledge beyond what they think they know. No drive. It is a pleasure to meet two fine gentleman at least interested in knowing a thing or two. My own name is Astrid Kur, I am a Chronicler.' And then a lovely Chronicler bow would be given and they would chat about all sorts of things...yah right.

"Not low.... Astrid Kur, Chronicler.", None the less, a proper Chronicler bow was given, head tilted down, right forearm with an open hand presented, supported by the left with a closed fist.



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Unsure how he was supposed proceed on account of his unfamiliarity with the Chroniclers, Sharpclaws cupped her hands with one of his own and kissed it lightly, in the manner of the gentlemen he had seen in the big cities. Sharpclaws didn't really take into account that if someone is shy or unused to contact with other people that they might be a bit taken aback, or even offended by the forwardness of another. Since most ladies simply shied away from him, he didn't really have many chances to practice his etiquitte. Sharpclaws stood back up and gestured at his companion with one massive hand. "This 'ere is my friend an' crewmate Naga. We're 'ere on shore leave, as it were. Th' Decadence be our home, an' she's a faithful companion on our travels. Really, we jus' finish a leg o' travel, an I fer one am glad ta be on solid feet again. Don' get me crossed, I love th' Decadence, but a body needs a bit o'..." The croc stopped for a second as he realized that he was rambling about things that he didn't need to talk about and that he might be boring his new aquaintence. After shooting a quick glance at Naga for support or pointers, Sharpclaws coughed awkwardly into his massive fist and scratched the back of his head in a nervous manner. "So...Ye'seem like a shiny mot. Why're ya pokin' round this dung heap fer? It's not a town o' ladies or Chroniclers, ta be sure." 

He realized that he was just making things worse as he continued to open his mouth. Usually Sharpclaws had no trouble with a simple discussion with the ladies, but for some reason this one was throwing him for a loop. It must have been her demeanor or something. After all, usually the ladies that he chatted with were hardned veterans of combat that had seen much worse things than him, and they were comfortable to discuss things like past battles, or their ships or something of that nature. Here, he was floundering and trying to find some common ground with the girl that didn't highlight his faults and failures, such as partial illiteracy.



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Indeed, his comrade was a lively one today! Though he'd had little words to spare earlier, now he spoke like champion of verbs! Naga had to admit he was impressed, and perhaps a smidge humbled. It did his old heart (well, old by certain standards) good to be in the presence of a tongue reaching out for another.

... He'll have to remember not to say that one aloud, or to use it at its peak potential for embarrassment. The Monkey Man seems like a good victim for that comment. He noted the turn of a reptilian head in his direction, and offered a reassuring beam. "Bit o' arr and arr?"
Oh, Naga almost felt bad about that joke, and worse for actually finding humor in it. One clearing of the throat later (which sounded almost like a choke, due to suppression of a display of said humor finding), he fell into an almost embarrassed quietude, allowing Sharpclaws to go on while he picked up the pieces of his shattered pride, trying not to cut himself further. Arr and arr. For shame.

The sweet, meek thing said so little, on the other hand, and while he was truly sure she did not detest their villainly (and poorly punnilous) company--because otherwise she would be caving into herself a little, no? Such a fine, straight spine, and a powerful gaze to rival even the most vicious of noblewomen of Faelsie, he'd surmise! he feared it may be difficult for a dainty one to relate to burly grunt workers. Eighty years of breathing has given him enough pointers on rectifying such moments, however: "Yees, I believe--last I met a chronicler, it was in a fairer establishment..." Naga paused to utter his lack of intent in offense to the bookkeeper, laughing sheepishly. "He'd found his niche on a merchant ship, I believe. Very, very nice man. I'm afraid I don't know a great deal other than that, but--you have a place on a ship as well, I expect?"



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Astrid’s open palm was taken into a kiss that seemed like it had been meant as a gentlemanly gesture. The Ravein was quite incorrect in execution of the act, but true in the heart of the gesture, which honestly meant more than if he had been a Valshe Kur look alike, a man to whom Astrid gave no second thought, except maybe at night. The hand of the Ravein was calloused, but smooth, the claws frightening, but the grip surprisingly controlled, maybe even gentle. It caused Astrid’s cheeks to redden into a blush, the attention Astrid was receiving; it was more than Astrid was used to. This night was definitely the most interaction to be had since quite a while. Astrid pretended as though the blush was not happening however, and simply gathered an answer. But the man interjected with a joke. If Astrid was an odd one to find in Cassim, silly and gentle men like these two were certainly in the same boat as she/he. Astrid's lips parted ever so slightly at his comment about the establishment a Chronicler chose, and then opened wider when the same man spoke of having met a Chronicler. So far, the most fraction of an expression Astrid had shown the entire time. Astrid was quite surprised he knew the term 'niche', he now had Astrid's full attention. 'It does not matter where our work takes us Sir, it could be the harshest of environments, or the most glamorous, our calling is the same, to write down history. You are lucky to have met two in your lifetime then, I am still searching for my niche.', but instead... 

"No niche...yet." and Astrid gestured to the suitcase Astrid had been rolling around. Everything Astrid needed was in there.



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Sharpclaws rubbed his chin in thought for a moment, thinking about the current crew composition and how many bunks were left open. At his last count, there were more than two, so that means that they could pick up new crew members at their leisure. As far as he knew, (and he knew a lot) there weren't any Chroniclers on the ship at the moment. The girl, Astrid he corrected himself, had said that she had no place to stay. Well, she said she had no "niche", but Sharpclaws had no idea what that word meant, so he simply assumed that meant that she had no ship. "Oi, Naga...Don' we have a few bunks left open? I mean....We're lackin' spots in our crew, 'n we can't rightly call ourselves "a crew" wivout th' whole shebang, right? We need's a shiny mot ta write down th' adventures we 'ave. D'ya think th' Cap'n would be riffled if we tail a new mot so soon af'r th' las' ones?" As far as he knew, the captain wouldn't be too upset, especially if they managed to secure such a valuable crew member such as a Chronicler. What's more, they wouldn't even be stealing her away from any other crews or jobs if she was a homeless waif. The more he pondered it, the more sound of an idea it seemed. Grinning at his friend, Sharpclaws tapped Naga on the shoulder with one gigantic palm and gestured at Astrid. "After all, she's wivout a home, an' 'er bags be packed as we breathe. Shiny, I'd say. Whadya think?" The large croc man smiled encourageingly at Astrid, hoping that she came with them now. She'd make for a good companion to sit and talk to, since everyone else was really dodgy about him.


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A ship? Astrid had been on one many times, it was a quick way to travel, more so than by foot or Raptor at least. Astrid's niche being on a ship might work out, but it certainly hurt no one to try. After all, Astrid's traveling trail had been dry for some time now, and given Astrid's age...let us just say Astrid needed to show some results already. Though thr prospect of being evaluated made Astrid even more nervous, and if it were possible, Astrid's cheeks turned even redder. "Um...do you have... an opening? I can be useful." Astrid said so on the fly, not a second thought about it.


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Naga elbowed the Crocodile ravein in turn, not one to take amiable nudgings without retaliation. Ah, the wonders of people coming to an agreement, and so easily! No bartering, no cross words or relenting sighs. Moments like these were bright points in life, he'd say. "We do like useful things..." he mused blithely, stroking his chin. "And we very evidently have Sharpclaw's vote 'for' the arrangement. Why not, then?" She was a lucky one, thought Naga. How many small creatures placed their faiths on two big strangers with positive outcomes toward their general well-being? Not many, he'd think, but he could be wrong. He was mainly remembering the activities of what wildlife was outside his cousin's home, however. He could not help but refrain from a mirthful snort as another thought came to him: "I'm not sure the captain has ever said no to a woman, besides."


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It had sounded like a plan, and mind you, by no means was Astrid distrusting of either of the two, in terms of they being stranger danger. Not even for a moment had Astrid considered that they were predators that Astrid had been watching not too long ago while eating dinner, and there Astrid thought she/he had any room to comment on the pretty girl from earlier. Lucky for Astrid however, no such harm was going to be done, hopefully...
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Wudgeous
Member for 3 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Crooked Thoughts on Mon Jan 16, 2012 3:16 pm

The Mediterranean Wastelands - Cassim Docks
The Decadence - Main Deck - Captain's Quarters
DeVargo Barvassi & Roussan Filondar
Summer - Morning - Day 3


ImageDrink in one hand and a glass in the other, this was the self-prescribed remedy to Surge's problem. But, who was he kidding? He wouldn't stop at just one drink... no, he wouldn't stop until this bottle and many more lay empty on his cabin floor. To him, these bottles contained the truth, the answers to all his problems were waiting for him at the bottom. This was how the captain of the asura dealt with life. There was no time to mourn the dead or dwell on lost ventures, not when you were responsible for the lives of so many. You had to be strong. No matter the news, he would stiffen up, nod and move on.

Speaking of his quest for the truth, it had brought him to his first mate Roussan. It was his duty to make sure his orders were carried out, but he also had another task. Surge couldn't be everywhere at once and where he couldn't exist, his Ursin first mate could and would act as his eyes and ears. In situations like the one a few days ago, Roussan replaced him entirely. So, if anyone was to deliver the news of a devastating loss or soul lifting victory, it would be him.

The sound of approaching foot steps grew louder, causing Surge to straighten up immediately. He couldn't shake the feeling of nervousness or embarrassment -- if his hands hand been made of flesh, they would be shaking uncontrollably. Sure he had saved lives, but for a captain to be rendered unconscious it was hard to stand in front of a pirate crew and demand their respect.

Suddenly, there was knock and a pause, assumingly waiting for permission to enter. Once it was given, the massive ravein made his way in. From there, no pleasantries were exchanged, it was straight to business.

"What happened?" Surge asked, sternly.


ImageHis ponderous steps were as heavy as his thoughts. Roussan lingered in the hallway, scratching fiercely at the shaggy scruff of his chin. It certainly did nothing to ease his mind. Nothing that he reported would come out easily. Everything seemed far more complicated. Sure, they'd lost good men and women in devastating battles before, but this time it'd been for causes the Ravein could not completely understand. An old bottle lined with brass and copper cog symbols was tucked against his side, peeking out from beneath the folds of his brown pelt. Traditionally, the First Mate would enter the Captain's chambers and report all that he had witnessed, heard, and felt—in great detail, he'd always promised to be as frank as possible—and once everything was done and said, they'd whisper muted toasts and drink their strongest vintages. For lost treasures. For shameful failures. For fallen comrades. Truthfully, it did little to ease any of their pains. Moving on was much easier when you simply delayed mourning.

The Ravein wasted a few more ponderous moments in front of Surge's door before rapping his knuckles near the circular window, hunkering forward so that he wouldn't knock his thick skull against those damnable rafters. “First Mate Roussan, reporting.” Came his sonorous voice, announcing his presence. Roussan finally opened the door when Surge called him in, closing it awkwardly behind him before straightening his shoulders. It was larger in the Captain's quarters, large enough that he could comfortably pace or stretch his arms out if it was needed. A morose expression sidled itself across the Ravein's muzzle. The Captain's eyes were glossy; wary and hard. He'd seen that look so many times. It shouldn't surprise him that the edge had taken up permanent residence in those eyes, but it still did. Roussan decidedly looked for the nearest vacant chair and slowly eased himself into it, wincing at his aching joints. Command could be isolating, so oppressively solitary; such was the weight of command. He understood that much.

“We've suffered casualties in our efforts ta' retrieve the artifact, Captain. Specifically young Asherah Koe and Jacqueline Dezantro. Killed in crossfires. The Decadence requires repairs to both it's gunports, a'swell as tha' majority of starboard; minor damages to tha' forecastle and bow. The ballistaes might be needing to be replaced. The raid was successful but we're not outta' troubled waters yet. Cassim is the closest port—one free of any influence.” Again, Roussan paused to scrape his thick nails behind his twitching ears. A single moment given to absorb the information he was relentlessly spewing. He dropped his niceties, glancing up at his companion. “Not only that, Bravassi. Sharpclaw came aboard with a woman in his arms. One tha' smells of two kinds. She had something—a compass o' sorts. What should be done?”


ImageThe news washed over him, drenching his body in waves of sorrow and despair. Though he had expected such results, the words still hit him with tremendous force. But, just looking at him would reveal nothing. His face was expressionless, blank, giving away nothing. He sat still, his stone chin resting on his supported hand.

Once Roussan was finished, Surge nodded, showing that he understood. In one motion he rose from his chair and turned to glance out the window behind him. His fist were clinched so tightly, electricity ripples across his body in vibrant streaks of blue. He wanted to break something, thrash his belongings until satiated by their destruction. Maybe then he would be able to carry on with his day. But he couldn't do that, instead, he slowly inhaled and exhaled before returning to his seat.

"The necessary repairs will be made while we are docked here, I am sure Jan has begun already. We will then make sure our fallen members receive a proper burial. As for the girl..." Surge stopped and cast his gaze upon the mysterious woman. "We will discuss her and the compass, soon enough. In fact, Rhys and Jan should already be on their way."


ImagePatience and understanding had taught Roussan to remain silent while the news spread it's thin, ill-looking fingers across the Captain's slouched shoulders. He couldn't allow any of emotions to play across his features, not even in the silent confines of his chambers, not even in front of his most trusted friends. It was a sordid deal one formed when taking on such a role. It wasn't exactly weakness, but the Ravein understood that the Captain didn't want to rouse any grievances in his men by expressing his despair. But, even still, the man felt the heavy pangs of loss. He could tell.

His mouth formed a hard line as Surge nodded. He'd taken an involuntary step forward when the hulking man heaved himself from his chair, glancing through the circular window as if it had all of the answers to his questions—as if looking through and past could somehow bring back what they'd lost. It hadn't been Surge's fault, no more than it'd been his own. Responsibility and contrition were fickle creatures that whispered lies in your ears. His flickering onyx eyes watched his companion's hands curl tightly, winding slithering snakes of silver and yellow rippling across his knuckles and forearms. There were no words of comfort that Roussan could offer that would soften the blow. Nothing he could do save but be there. His presence instilled his friendship. If Surge wished to have a quiet word with him, all he had to do was ask.

Once Surge was seated, Roussan adjusted his position by slinging his shaggy arms across his chest. He followed his gaze towards the strange-smelling woman and nodded solemnly. With the mention of Rhys and Jan—let alone in the same sentence—he clicked his clawed fingers together and snorted slavishly, shaking his great head. He still needed to speak to Rhys privately, to reprimand him for simply stealing off in the night with his guns' blazing. Damnable boy. “They will be lookin' fer' us.” He mused quietly, arching his thick eyebrow. “And fer' her.”


ImageThe mighty sky empire... they had indeed suffered a significant loss and would be scouring the wastelands for the culprits responsible. Their search would be unforgiving in the pursuit of answers, and anyone who got in their way would suffer severely. Surge knew they wouldn't give up until they found what was lost. The Asura didn't raid any old cargo ship, no, this was a personal transport fleet belonging to The Architect himself. By now, the news had reached the corrupt emperor and he hadn't wasted anytime in scrambling his elite dogs to scavenge the area, but not before beheading a few innocents out of relentless rage.

Knowing that countless lives would suffer because of actions the Asura were solely responsible for, would be enough to cripple a normal man with guilt, forcing him to turn himself in. But, not Surge, he was a pirate first and a human second. There were too many things that came before the needs of those he didn't know. Because of that, the Asura would continue to hideout and run as they always had, until a new business venture made itself known.

"Yes, but when has that ever presented a problem for us? Someone is always looking for us... which is why we must stay one step ahead. As soon as we are able, we will leave here and set course for a place no one will be able to find." Surge explained as he eyed the girl, before looking back to Roussan. "In the meantime, let us drink." Referring to the bottle the first mate had brought with him, the two shared the contents as they waited for the others to arrive.
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Crooked Thoughts
Member for 5 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Kurokiku on Wed Jan 18, 2012 12:09 am

Above the Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence – Belowdecks – Captain’s Cabin
Estelle Amorica, The Emperor’s Alchemist

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Misery sat cross-legged on an overstuffed chair in the captain’s cabin, recently violently torn from the grasp of unnatural slumber by equally-troublesome dreams. Fear tensed the lines of her posture, each nerve ending thrumming almost painfully with the desire to flee, for Reason knew she was in the company of criminals. Pragmatism stayed her anxious limbs, for to be sure even the company of criminals was more a chance at survival than wandering the barren deserts, trying to flee the Architect’s scavengers under nothing but her own steam. Resignation had placed down the bow and arrows she’d grabbed in some half-formed panic, and instead taken up the leather-bound vellum and a quill, driven to the pleasant arms of Distraction.

So Estelle sat across from the taciturn captain, the methodical scratching of the writing implement against cream-colored parchments the only sound in the room, save the thundering of her heart in her ribcage, but then she wasn’t so sure he could hear that, else he might have told her to be quieter. Despair did not pen her final memoirs, for Ambition still had hold on her, and there were much more important things to be recorded, including the results of the first-ever emergency test of her newest innovation.

The knock at the door startled her so badly she nearly spilled the inkwell balanced precariously on one knee, but as it was, she saved herself and the pirate’s furniture the misfortune by dint of quick reflex. She heard rather than saw the ursine man enter, his voice a rumble that might have crept up the floor and through her seat to her very scalp. Perhaps she only imagined it.

She did not speak, as she was not being asked to. Estelle was well-used to being discussed as though she were not present, and so this behavior did not offend her in the slightest, though she had once been told that it should. Her quill paused only once in its movement, when the word compass was spoken, and her free hand went automatically to her clavicle, where the selfsame object rested against her skin beneath her blouse. It resembled no compass, which meant that this man at least knew exactly what it was. She watched with guileless gaze as the electricity rippled over the metallic arms, and knew without asking that something had upset him. She could only hope it was not her, for it was a circumstance she had no reason to believe she would survive.

In the wake of their discussion, silence fell, and she glanced between them once more, before turning her eyes downward and resuming her business. Probably, she should be begging for her release or inquiring after their intentions or something more becoming of a hostage, but truthfully she saw little point. These were not people to whom her distress would make a whit of difference, and so she chose not to display it. This, too, was an old habit, one that was serving surprisingly well.



Above the Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence - Belowdecks – Crew’s Quarters
Rhys Wilcox, The Tempest

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This had better be good. Rhys didn’t really care to correct the toxic nature of his thoughts as he blearily rubbed at his eyes to clear his vision. As usual, Barvassi had to do things in the most inconvenient order possible and had chosen to properly awaken as Rhys himself was headed to sleep, having been up most of the night. Ostensibly, he hadn’t been doing much of anything, but really he was helping Roussan keep things as orderly as possible in the aftermath of what was admittedly a rather chaotic sequence of events. Of course, he’d never let it look like helping, because he had a reputation to maintain as the biggest layabout in the lot. It was better to be thought of thus, because if people assumed you were unreliable, they never asked you for anything important.

Unfortunately, DeVargo knew somewhat differently, and sometimes he forced Rhys to regret that fact. Like now, when he should be enjoying some nice shut-eye while Jan got them to Cassim and most of the rest of them went ashore for a while.

He picked out the low murmur of voices as he approached the captain’s quarters and yawned widely, tossing a lackadaisical salute at Jan, who was approaching from the other direction. Rapping the door smartly thrice, he didn’t wait for the response before he entered- Barvassi would know it was him.

“Barvassi, Roussan.” He greeted both without title, moving to stand against a wall to the side. He could see everyone else that way, and also the door, which was his preference. After that, it was really just a matter of waiting for someone else to say something. He wasn’t the sort of person to express opinions about what they did unless someone was being a complete moron, which did happen sometimes, but not often.



The Mediterranean Wastelands
Cassim Port City – Dancing Sands Tavern

Smoke curled lazily from the antiquated Ravein’s pipe, filling the small back room with the pungent odor of moonbloom shoots- a peculiar plant long considered to have analgesic effects. These days, it was the only thing that kept the pain from the old war wounds down to manageable levels, and the lupine gentleman partook religiously.

Clawed hands gripped the bowl of the pipe and removed it from his muzzle, tipping it upside down and tapping until the ash fell out into the glass dish. Glancing at his young associate, he raised a brow. “I fail to see how this is my concern.”

The other man, a half-human from the looks of him, narrowed his eyes, but refrained from speaking, correctly guessing that the wolf had not yet finished. It was unwise to interrupt, after all. “I built this city from the ground up, and while I understand that idealists such as yourself see much to be changed in it, I maintain that I would rather be free of all that rubbish than a little richer.”

The only other conversant party in the room (the rest being bodyguards) crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, which was frankly a little more haughtiness than the old canine usually tolerated, but he had rather liked this one at one point, and perhaps grew sentimental in his age. “I’m not the only one who sees profit to be made in the deal with the majnun. There’s a lot of raw material underground, and they’d keep us out of reach of the Empire besides-”

“Are you stupid, boy? You’d submit to one master to avoid a lashing from the other!” Several of the guards in the room tensed a bit at their employer’s tone; it would soon be time to eject the whelp from the room. “I’ll not trust the devils underground, and we’ve made plenty from keeping things just as they are.”

“You misunderstand, Ulfur. I’m not here to ask your permission. I’m here to secure your agreement.”

There was a short bark of laughter. “Well, you don’t have it. What will you do now, boy?” It was readily apparent that Ulfur himself knew the answer, for the anger had seeped from his voice, and he merely sounded resigned.

So perhaps, then, the men-at-arms were the only ones who didn’t expect the firearm to be leveled at their employer, and the trigger fired.



The first whispers of the death of Ulfur One-Eye were in the taverns and shops within an hour, as various people discussed the most likely culprit. Many were quick to blame the Empire and the Architect, supposing that at last the most powerful man in the world had grown tired of a city that escaped his influence. Others were wiser, and decided that the deed smacked of an inside job.

Once this was decided, the accusations were quick to follow. This or that man or woman with a dissenting opinion found themselves on the wrong end of baleful stares and fighting words, and, true to its reputation, the city of Cassim could only hold so many confrontational shouts before fists began to fly. The taverns were, predictably, the first places to hold brawls, but in time the fights spread to the very streets themselves, and in truth by then most people had not the faintest idea why they were suddenly attacking the nearest person to wander by, only that nobody seemed to be doing anything to stop it. What had once been a peaceful, if seedy, city was in the matter of an afternoon a full-on civil dispute, and woe was the poor stranger who became caught in the crossfire, for the throng of people was so thick as to block passage just about anywhere.
Now our whole task's to hack
some angel-shape worth wearing
from his crabbed midden where all's wrought so awry
that no straight inquiring
could unlock
shrewd catch silting our each bright act back
to unmade mud cloaked by sour sky.
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Kurokiku
Global Moderator and Scholar
Member for 4 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Shiva on Sat Jan 21, 2012 12:01 am

The Mediterranean Wastelands
Cassim - Market District
Aren Hollystone, Mad Bomber


Image The moment the ship docked at Cassim, Hollystone could notice it, even from the bowels of the ship where the hired men slept and the roaches Naga worked so hard to exterminate lived. He was one of the last to leave, almost deciding to stay and lounge in the ship until he realized the most recent battle had drained him of his explosives and ammunition. He would need more ingredients, and bullets. He reached under his bunk, pulling out a weighty bag of coin and counted it. He could have used his own money, but this was Jan's. The Majnuun had given this to Hollystone, believing him to have less coin than a miser after breaking him out of prison. Of course, he wasn't- but Hollystone's stashes were spread out far and wide among the sands, and getting to them would have been a pain for such small amounts that meant little in the wilderness. Jan never had to know that, of course. He could just barely sense her contained emotions (what exactly they were, he was not sure) despite her reliance on his mastery with explosives and firearms. Not even the Mad Bomber was detached enough to disregard his surroundings. Quickly, Aren disguised himself- garbing himself in a white, thin hood in the semblance of a desert headdress that covered a majority of the head and showing only the face. He tugged the tight cloth around his neck to cover his mouth, and carefully patted an eyepatch over his left eye, disguising most of his burn scars on the face. He then changed his clothes to more fit the hood, donning a bleached yellow light shirt and baggy pants. He replaced both his guns on the ship, taking out a regular-looking repeating short-rifle, modified slightly so that reloading was easier. Slinging it over his shoulder, he disembarked the ship.

The streets were crowded as usual. Despite being a dusty city, it sure was bustling, almost like a certain city he had seen in a movie regarding an Empire. Walking down the worn roads, he quickly made his way to the Market District. It was not hard to distinguish which sections were selling food, which sections were selling clothing, and which sections sold everything else. Moving among the stalls and storefronts, the mad bomber made his way down the streets and saw a store that caught his eye. Ducking into the shop, he looked around. A common weapons shop, it stocked little more than what was absolutely necessary to imply that it was a weapon's shop. Approaching the counter, Hollystone glanced quickly at the clerk before asking if he did custom shells. The clerk scowled. "Do I look like some sort of rich pantie-wearing sand eater like who you usually deal with?"He asked, an edge of hostility in his voice. Hollystone fought the urge to flinch- he was horrible at social interaction. The clerk seemed to act this way to everyone, however because even as Hollystone hesitated the man eyed him in slight confusion. Recovering slightly, he asked quickly what kinds of ammo he carried. After rattling off some caliburs, Hollystone settled for the .357's, standard and simple. He also quickly asked for a couple boxes of .45s, deciding he would modify those bullets into the soft rounds his rifle. Making them by hand was extremely annoying and painstaking, but they ensured the kill way better than regular bullets.

He counted out the money necessary to pay the dealer, and was examining a crossbow imported from the underforges of the Ravein society when a loud gunshot alerted the clerk and Hollystone to the commotion outside. For some reason or another, an all out civil war has erupted suddenly, chaos quickly overwhelming the market district as looters looted, people fought, and the smart ran. Looking at the clerk, he cocked his weapon and exchanged quick nods. The clerk quickly took what little merchandise he had on display and locked it in a strongbox, drawing a bolt-action rifle. He opened the back door just as looters kicked the door in, just as Hollystone loosed a round. The bullet cleanly cut right through the man's torso, sending him toppling backwards as the recoil from the kick and force of the bullet propelled him into the other looters. Hopping over the counter, Hollystone entered the back room just as the sturdy metal door was shut behind them. Racing down the rows of ammo and guns, the Mad Bomber couldn't help but get slightly excited when he saw a row of rocket-propelled grenade launchers stacked neatly against the wall on a rack. Now was not the time, and they were at the end of the room before he could lick his lips in desire.

"Aren't you worried about losing your stock?" Hollystone shouted over the din that the outside chaos was making. The clerk scowled again.

"I worry for my own life more than my stock." He said gruffly, gingerly opening the heavy door and ushering him out. The man gave Hollystone a package, winked, and then closed the door in his face. Clipping the package to his belt, Hollystone cocked the short-rifle he held, trying to figure out the best route back to the Decadence. He dashed away from the main street, further down into the network of alleyways that defined the marketplace of Cassim.




The Mediterranean Wastelands
Cassim - Mercantile
Bryan Darco- The Monkey Man

Image Oh Cassim. You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. Well, maybe aside from those damned Imperials, but they were so big it hardly counted. Bryan's whimsical thoughts carried like this all the way from the ship where he hopped off eagerly to the markets and streets where idly browsed the merchandise. Luckily, despite his career as a relatively famous athlete he had fallen so far from grace he doubted there would be a soul that would recognize him, much less expect him to be here of all places. His cybernetic leg pumped as he pushed past crowds in order to proceed, looking for things of interest. He bought small little trinkets here and there with his money, but more often than not would give them to little kids that ran down the alleys playing games because he simply didn't need them. He did admit that giving a kid the brittle-looking bowie knife wasn't the best idea in the world, but in the end he had his knuckle dusters, which proved to be a much more valuable asset in close quarters combat than an oversized knife could be anyways.

He saw a hilariously stereotypical rug merchant, and for a while chatted with him as they discussed which carpets would be good for pets, food spills, or mental health. Apparently, as the merchant says, the color of the carpet can dictate your mental health. He decided to get a small mat, colored brown and gold that he would bolt onto the floor of his crows nest. Rolling it up and using rope to affix it to his back, he sauntered back into the shifting crowd, amazed that such activity was merely everyday business. He wondered if people have died being trampled here quickly before he recognized a familiar face.

"Oi, Shakie!" He called to the lizard man, cook of the Decadence. He was carrying a multitude of packages, which Darco quickly believed to be supplies for the ship. Scooping some out of Neyshak's hands before he could protest, he gave him the typical thousand-watt grin he carried. "I was just getting bored around here. Cassim's a nice place, but man your typical cowboy town does get boring after the umpteenth time we're forced to stop in." He prattled absently, falling into pace with the lizard-man. It was not long after that suddenly, the markets exploded into activity. Due to some sort of event that Darco could not determine, the Mercantile has combusted into a whirlwind of violence and chaos that was steadily converting the shocked crowd into an all-out brawl. Bryan would have loved to take a few swings himself, but as he was helping carrying Neyshak- as well as looking out for him like good comrades do, he had his hands a little tied. "We should get going, eh?" Bryan said nonchalantly, belying the low nervousness that filled his stomach with butterflies.

Image
Victorian Age kind of Crazy.
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Shiva
Member for 5 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Yonbibuns on Tue Jan 24, 2012 7:00 pm

Image

Above the Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence – Belowdecks – Captain’s Cabin
Roussan Filondar - First Mate


The sky empire would stop at nothing until their fleets overrode the Decadence. Nothing was more important now that they'd taken a probable hostage and laid waste to expensive weaponry and machines. They weren't the sort to forget any slights against them. The large bulk of the ship was keeping low in Cassim, until the costly repairs were finished, but that didn't mean there weren't Imperial spies skulking the alleyways. Caution still needed to be taken into consideration. Anyone could be bought in the slummy areas of Cassim with the right amount of coin. By some small mercy, Roussan had avoided the motherly, insistent lecture that the entire crew had always come to dread. He was always nattering at them, heaving his heavy shoulders in distress when he was greeted with rolling eyes and jutting lips. Few would listen, fewer still would come back without a few bruises to show for their recklessness. He was glad for the opportunity to slip away into the Surge's office and get away from the noise for a moment, even if it was solely bear bad news.

Such things were to be expected. Roussan watched his companion's downcast eyes before he slowly uncorked the aged bottle of brandy he'd acquired from the limp arms of an Imperial man. The bottle hadn't been opened and most likely was being reserved for a small victory; a celebration that was never coming. “O' course. Caution be tha' parent 'o safety, me m'aam used ta' say. Seems ta' me that'd be the wisest course.,” He replied in a thundering, hearty laugh that was neither content nor delighted with the sordid situation. It was a sad sound that rumbled from his belly, reminding him of ancient losses and new wounds. He glanced towards the slender woman—who was perched in an overstuffed chair that seemed to swallow her whole—and offered her a small nod, acknowledging her presence there as well as inviting her to share any words of her own. And a small apology for startling her so. He wondered vaguely whether or not the strange-smelling woman mistook Surge's words for a threat; that she wouldn't be found and rescued by the Empire. Was she frightened?

His onyx eyes darted across Estelle's petite features before he turned back towards the task at hand; fetching five ornate, wooden cups (presumably from another raiding adventure) and filling them to the brim with the bottle's contents, before discarding the half-empty bottle back across Surge's shelving unit. He lumbered towards the Captain, then settled the drink in front of him, clumsily pawing two extra cups in his clawed hands before he stepping towards the stranger. A small sound escaped his folded black lips. Essentially, it was merely a huff of breath—a quick intake of oxygen that indicated he'd brought the drink for her and mutely explained that if she wished to drink it, she could, and if she wished to leave it be, she could do so without offending anyone. He'd glimpsed her tapered, Academic fingers swish over her clavicle, resting against seemingly nothing—but he knew without asking that she possessed something. He wasn't sure what it was, nor it's purpose. A small flash of gold, and that was all.

“You,” He began slowly, attempting to soften his voice to a more pleasing tone: with little success, “are not a prisoner here.” Perhaps, Roussan had grown soft through the years of pirating. His sonorous voice and beastly appearance had always masked his maternal disposition. Long in his years, Roussan had grown weary of cruelty—he would allow none of that in or around the Decadence, and for the most part, everyone seemed to agree with his passive views. However, if something needed to be done, the Second in Command would not shy away. “May'aps, introduction's er' in order?” Another knock interrupted his thoughts, causing him to swing his shaggy head towards the closed door. Reminding him smartly that he'd have to have a word or two with Rhys. He offered his own short greeting, “Laddie.” Then tipped his muzzle. No doubt, Jan was verbally laying waste to the crewmembers as she swept across the decks, inspecting the damages with keen, hawkish eyes.

Intrusive thoughts of her offered him no quarter. He quietly sipped his brandy, savoring the smooth, woody flavour. It might seem a wild goose chase, but he considered asking Naga and Neyshak to accompany him; perusing Cassim's streets would be a welcome distraction.
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"I carved your name across my eyelids.
You pray for rain, I pray for blindness."
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Yonbibuns
Member for 4 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Ezarael on Wed Feb 08, 2012 7:28 pm

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He had been swindled by those despicable cretins who dared refer to themselves as "civilized businessmen" and plucked him for his hard-earned coin as their cooks would the poultry they had stolen from the alms-givers on a daily basis! How could he have let such a catastrophe happen in such a short amount of time? Was it his poor mathematical-expertise, near-absent bargaining skills, or simply the dumb look on his face as they began spitting their ambiguous words with a rapidity he was unable to follow? Merchants be damned! The last one knew exactly as he had felt and the penny-pinching bread-monger had it coming to him when Neyshak heartily kicked the unsuspecting human in the shin and took off with several more rolls of bread than had been agreed upon! Oh dear...what did he just do? Did he resort to violence and theft to resolve his latent issues concerning aggression and incapability to manage simple dilemmas? He was a pirate, at least that was what the Captain and everyone else said anyways, but is that what pirates really do for a living? Then the tidal wave of memories of his partaking in several raids such as the previous flooding before his eyes settled the mental debate. They stole from the few people who stole from a larger number of people. So it must be pretty heroic to choose the life of a corsair who steals from the thieves! Well... at least that was what he needed to believe to keep such a broad grin planted across his face.

The reptillian had kept his brisk pace for long enough to slip into the crowd and down several side streets to succesfully avoid the bread-monger. Of course this meant he was more than likely unable to ever venture into this mercantile again, which would mean he would need to explain to the Captain why that was, which meant he was probably going to be put of dish-pans again. Wait a minute... he did dishpans anyways, so what did it matter? The impossibly broad smile spread across the cook's face somehow grew even wider at the idea that his possible punishment for the transgression would be something he did anyways! Marvellous! Well...the smile seemed impossibly large for a few minutes, but shrank with a speed unequaled by even the fastest Raptors one could find as the most dreadful words he could imagine were uttered from the mouth of one of the last people he had wanted to see...Monkey Man!


"Oi, Shakie!"

Without even inquiring as to whether the Ravein needed, much less cared for, his help the pesky, little man scooped up the sack of pilfered goods as Neyshak gazed helpless, speechless, and somewhat relieved after he thought about it. If someone WAS to question him over the subject of the stolen items he could merely brush them off by telling them who was holding the goods. If that did not work he knew he was faster than the pestering human, even if just by a hair. How well such a plan would work out did not occur to the cook, but the prospects seemed wonderous. Neyshak mirrored the bright smile given by the Monkey Man and continued down the road leading back to the docks. The man just had to start talking though, there was a word for people who loved the sound of their own voice, but he could not remember it for the life of him at the moment, well that was a lie because he did not even know the word, but it all seemed to make sense anyways. It seemed he had to grin and bear with it though, especially since it kept his associate occupied with other things than finding new nicknames for the nonce.

"I was just getting bored around here. Cassim's a nice place, but man your typical cowboy town does get boring after the umpteenth time we're forced to stop in."

Unfortunately the events unfolding at this time did not seem to coincide with his companion's observation. The streets were becoming quite crowded with mobs of unruly people assailing one another for unknown reasons, and a riot very quickly enveloped the two poor passerbs-by. The Monkey Man looked worriedly towards the Ravein cook, whose excited eyes responded in kind to the violent stimuli surrounding the two. This was bad, and he did not need some book-smart, nose in the air type to tell him so much.

"We should get going, eh?"

A violent shaking of the head in acquiescence to the hypothetical question sent Neyshak's orange head-fin flopping back and forth, well so much as it could seeing as to how rigid it had just grown due to the turbulent climate thereabouts. The little reptile quickly scurried off with a much hurried pace, his hands grasping the sacks of pilfered goods like a child would a saftey blanket under similar duress. Hopefully they would not need to involve themselves in such a violent situation as they were facing currently, but when people just started fighting and beating each other to a pulp the poor cook always seemed to be thrown into the melting pot. It was turning out to be SUCH a dreadful day!

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It was almost comical, really. The entire civil war was approaching in the form of "he who punches shall be punched in return"- but with the terrible aim of most of the civilians in such a small space, an elbow was sure to go somewhere unintended. Even as he waited for the reptilian's response, he looked back at the weight that had lifted from his arms and realized that he had just been left for dead. Goddamnit. "Hey, that ain't funny, Cook-man!" the Monkey Man hollered, pushing his way past the dumbfounded crowd after him. Luckily, close-quarters was where Darco did best. The knuckle-duster he carried at all times was almost made to be used in such cramped spaces, and it was itching to be used. However, even with the retired athlete's impulses to stab somebody with the stiletto that could extend from the improvised knuckles, it would draw attention if he weren't in the brawl itself- which was gaining on them (or maybe just him, Darco had no clue how well Neyshak could move among this morass of people).

He soon learned it the harder way, as he finally rounded a corner and caught the brief flapping of the Ravein's fin. In a chaotic situation such as this, Darco sincerely hoped the cook knew where he was going- as he certainly didn't without being able to clamber onto a rooftop. Suddenly, the alleyways seem to explode outwards as the melee enveloped the small branches that pulled themselves from the main streets to join with others. How in the world did such a city even fit so many people? How did it get so damned crowded? The answer to both questions would continue to elude him as Darco pulled out his Knuckles, hastily sliding them on and making his last dash toward the bobbing fin before rioters surrounded him.

The people were not much of an obstacle physically, the only problem being that he physically couldn't see the Ravein now. He just had to keep proceeding in the general directio he saw that damned fin moving about. That cook could move. There was little time for grudging admiration, as the Monkey Man turned his attention to a racketeer who tried to clock his quarry with a swinging arm but missed. With two deft punches, augmented by his knuckles the man was out cold. Whether or not he would survive the trampling later would be another story Darco would not see the end of. Raising his knee at lightning speed, he lashed out with his mechanical leg, sending another rioter doubling over to receive a punch to the side of the head. Pushing past him, Darco managed to avoid the worst of the fighting but had to dispatch three more men in a similar fashion before being able to move on. Flicking his wrist, the small stiletto dagger popped out of the knuckle's holding area, allowing the Monkey to quickly eliminate another man. Even as he withdrew the pin-like blade from the man's neck, he burst from the top of the crowds trying to catch sight of the Cook. Luckily, his sharp eyes were able to do just that.

It would be a while before he managed to catch up, and they were in no way free from the melee that continued to rampage through the streets. Slightly out of breath, he managed to fall into the Ravein's quick movements. "And I thought I had agility" he muttered, forcibly pushing a man out of his way so he would not be left in the dust by Neyshak.


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Despite Neyshak's substantial speed he could not outrun or outmaneuver the constantly growing crowd. The whole city seemed like a hot pot which had been left to boil with the lid on for much too long a period of time, in other words things were getting worse by the minute and all the scum started to rise to the top of the situation. Lukcily the little creature seemed half a step ahead of any direct confrontations, aiding in his ability to navigate the packed streets and alleyways that littered the city of Cassim, seeming more like a honeycomb with every passing second he thought about it subject. Hopefully the Monkey Man had been able to keep up with the cook's brisk pace, he had seen the little man hop around on the ship much quicker than any of the other crewmembers save himself, but the reptilian did not dare look back to check. He should be fast enough to keep up at least, even if he did not have a chance to tie the nimble Neyshak.

A new problem soon rose to the forefront of his mind as the streets began growing darker, dirtier, and much more dangerous. In fact, if he was to be any judge of the situation which could be a pretty good assumption seeing how chaotic things were at the moment, Neyshak could swear he had never been in this particular alleyway before. This startling developement was all it took to send the little reptile tumbling head over heels, still clutching desperately at his sacks of pastries, and smack dab into a pile of rubbish. Luckily there were fewer people on this particular alleyway than in those adjacent to it, but what they lacked in numbers they made up for in sheer ugliness. An excited head-fin fluttered rapdily as the reptile's eyes darted back and forth down several other alleyways at this particular juncture, his head moving so fast it seemed his neck might break from the pressure. Luckily the Monkey Man did not take long to catch up with the confounded Neyshak.

"Hey...I'ss don't know where we'ss at...Which way iss t'e ss'ip?"


"Well bollocks, neither do I!" crowed Darco nervously, "I thought you knew and I was just following you!"

The little creature finally gave up in his search of the alleyways, but things were soon beginning to heat up dangerously so in this particular area. It seemed that whatever conflict was in the main streets had seeped its way this far into the back streets, and soon they would be in some big trouble. Neyshak dropped his bags of bread, now completely destroyed thanks to his tumble, and dropped his head back in a show of complete failure and surrender, his inner-lids closed to keep out the dust flying throughout the air like a fog. Then the idea hit him. If they could not make their way down here... then why not try up there? While still looking up he posed a question to the Monkey Man.

"Hey...why not go on roofsss?"


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"I was hoping you'd say that" admitted the Monkey anxiously, eyeing the ever-present crowd that threatened to overcome everything. Like a land wurm. Looking around quickly, he pointed toward a slightly more run-down building, where chunks of stone had fallen off to provide decent handholds. "Up that way, 'Shak." He said, bounding toward the building and easily hauling himself up. He didn't look down to check up on Neyshak, considering the focus it needed to climb and his confidence that the Ravein would definitely be able to manage. Reaching the top, he looked down and reached over to scoop the groceries from him to quicken his pace before quickly handing it back to him when he reached the top.

Using his sharp eyesight, he easily picked out the docking areas despite the inhuman amount of dust lifted from the fights along the city. This seemed pretty easy then to jump jump from rooftop to rooftop and avoid everything. It didn't seem too hard- the roofs were just as cluttered so there were a lot of handholds to grab and whatnot. "Alright, I think I got us a route." Darco said, double checking before nodding eagerly. "Let's get there before people start getting the same idea.

Throwing himself off the edge, he easily made the leap and rolled to his feet, raising his hands to show that he was open. If Neyshak decided to toss the food instead of just jumping across with it, he would place it down when he came back and the system would continue. It was pretty smooth sailing at this point, but even as they made the first few jumps Darco realized this might be a very physically daunting task. They were a respectably far distance from the ship. Checking back on Neyshak, he decided that if it was necessary they'd rest. However, as they made the next few leaps, men began to haul themselves to the roofs. Some, like Darco and Neyshak were simply trying to escape conflict. Others pulled out rifles and began firing into the crowd like madmen. A gunman that had positioned himself fairly close to Darco and Neyshak seemed to notice him, but suddenly collapsed as a bullet pierced through his head. Darco quietly thanked their savior, as he was terrible with a gun. "Hot damn," exclaimed the Monkey, a grin on his face "things are certainly heating up. We should keep moving."


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Neyshak watched the Monkey Man dart up the side of the wall, using the conventient improvised hand-holds thanks to poor building maintenance, of a rather run-down building some distance away from his current locale, for a human he was definitely a nimble creature! In fact the cook had been so impressed by this show of agility and ability he had forgotten the plan he had suggested in the first place, that was until a rock, roughly the size of a grape, torpedoed into the side of his delicate skull, sending the poor reptilian spinning for a few seconds, but luckily his instincts kicked in and little feet began to peddle wildly. Unfortunately his dazed state sent him peddling into the wrong direction, and straight at his assailant! As his head-fin stood straight to attention the cook leaped wildly into the air, using the man's chest and face as a kick-off point to flip himself back around, and it seemed the confounded and near-maniacal look upon his face helped to startle the individual long enough to let this happen. A flurry of sand, trash, and dust signalled the scurry of the Ravein towards his intended destination.

Some might think that trying to leap frog up the side of a building with a sack full of goodies would prove impossible for a mere mortal, yet whoever would rush to such assumptions had never met a creature as resourceful and creative as Neyshak, especially when a heavy dose of fear, pain, and adrenaline were involved with the process. The ingenious, who would ever think of using that word in the same sentence as Neshak except to say, "Neyshak was outmatched by an ingenious opponent," cook curled his brilliantly useful tail around his sack of pilfered and precious cargo so as to make the use of both hands available. You would be surprised how well a reptile can scurry up a wall, especially when the threat of a good stone-pelting was foremost upon their mind, well that and losing whatever it was they are focused upon at the moment, whether that be their lives or sustenance. As he reached the top the Monkey Man reached down in a seemingly benevolent gesture that warmed the cook's heart, well that was until he merely snatched the sack of bread from betwixt his rear appendage and then so rudely thrust it back into his grasp the moment he regained composure amongst the rooftops. Humans could be so rude!

After the capable inhabitant of the Crow's Nest surveyed their area to distinguish the docks amidst the carnage that was the city, a mean feat the Reptile could not have matched oddly enough, and soon set off in the direction of The Decadence, safety, home, and a place to finally get some rest. It had been too long since Neyshak had himself a good run such as this, indeed his little paunch was even bouncing slightly with each step, and the leaps from roof to roof were none the easier upon the jiggle. He would definitely need to start exercising more often than he had been of late. Now he knew why the Green Lady had always been warning him about eating too many of those pies he had been baking as the long, lonely nights wore on. Sweets could be so treacherous, one minute they comforted you with their juicy succulence, and the next you are just a PILE of juicy succulence!

He did not have a clue why the Monkey Man stood there with his arms held out. Maybe he was just trying to be nice and catch Neyshak on his way over? Oh he must be making up for his insult earlier the kind man! Unfortunately as Neyshak leaped, with eyes closed none-the-less, he failed to realize Darco was just attempting to catch their food should he desire to toss it. The end result of this misconception was near disatrous as Neyshak went tumbling head over heel while the Monkey Man took off without even a look back! The damned human definitely starting to irk the cook, and to think of all the delicious meals he had prepared for the man, all the special snacks he had sent up to him while in that damnable pigeon coop of his! He would definitely have a few surprises in store for Darco the next time he was armed with a spoon. Unfortunately as they continued their leap-frog procession towards the docks many of the unruly populace began to conclude the rooftops were also a good spot for sniping/hiding/fleeing. A rifleman near to the Monkey Man turned at their approach, yet soon fell limp as he was shot.


"Hot damn," exclaimed the Monkey, a grin on his face "things are certainly heating up. We should keep moving."

"Shass up 'n keeps runnin' Monkey!" That had been all the inspiration Neyshak needed to double his efforts in their sprint for the ship.

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"Right, right." Darco replied, flashing another cheeky grin at the reptile. Gazing down the rows of rooftops he once again confirmed that they were going in the right direction. It wasn't too far away now, Neyshak was doing surprisingly well keeping up with him. Despite the severe miscommunication block that so irked the Ravein, they were making very good progress, and the angry streets have not fully saturated the area of the rooftops just yet. Forging a path ahead, he kicked over planks, hopped over ledges, and maneuvered around obstacles in his effort to reach the Decadence, which was steadily growing in size. Luckily, the streets of Cassim had mostly uniform building structures, with one or two variances and it was relatively easy to move from roof to roof. Gunmen were certainly an issue, but since there were few and far inbetween, it wasn't much of an issue. In such chaos, a gunman could hardly afford to be wielding a rifle, can he? It was an easy way to get taken down quickly by a dagger or blow to the head. Suddenly, a hulking man hurled himself onto the roof, right in front of the monkey- who seemed dimunitive in size. He peeled off another man, who angrily clutched to his back while kicking him and threw him like a stone.

The man seemed to be in no mood for diplomatic debate, and was covered with various scratches and bruises. His eyes were red with rage, and his teeth were bared menacingly. He was a Ravein, a lion with a mane of black. Snarling, he turned to Darco and raised his large paws. "Get back, Shaka!" Darco hollered, dancing around the angry swipe, arming his knuckle dusters once more. Throwing himself under the Lion's reach, he proceeded to distract him by throwing a jaw-breaking punch to his stomach, causing the Ravein to snarl and slap at the ground under. Rolling away, the Monkey hopped back to his feet, throwing a vicious heel kick to the bear-man's knee. There was an audible thud as the Ravein fell to his knees, but he was easily able to shake it off before retaliating with a wild haymaker. The claws shredded the front of Darco's clothes, and part of his torso as well- barely missing the ribs and vital organs as he jumped back to dodge the attack. Superficial flesh wounds were always the worst- they hurt, but not enough that adrenaline would numb it. He dared not use the tiny gun on his knuckledusters, as it lacked veritable stopping power that would not be able to do significant damage to the bear unless he had it pressed to his skull. Fearless, the Monkey did not hesitate to engage him again, parrying another swing by lifting the offending arm over his head as it whistled toward him. It was harder than it looked, but it allowed Darco to land two hard punches to the enraged Ravein's side, causing it to flinch and roar. The lion then shifted it's weight, violently twisting it's body so that it made contact with Darco, sending the man flat on his ass. Before he could recover and get away, another dangerous haymaker slammed into Darco's left side, causing him to go skidding along the rooftop until he rolled to a stop at the edge.

Blinking stars from his eyes, the Monkey winced as his left arm exploded in pain- it must have snapped. Not surprising, coming from a Ravein with so much strength fueled by adrenaline. Stumbling to his feet, he barely managed to evade another heavy strike, taking heavy steps toward the edge of the rooftop that face the Decadence. However, because he was so disorientated, the Lion had no trouble catching up and pinning the Monkey to the ground. Baring his fangs, Darco helplessly looked around for the cook- at least he could have taken the opportunity to make it to the ship while the Lion was distracted.


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What in the blue blazes was wrong with the people of this city? Every couple of buildings they jumped across there seemed some other insane creature wanting to do nothing more than rip their hearts out and eat them. Well he could only guess the whole eating part, but whatever they wanted to do with the ripped out hearts would only serve as speculation at this point in time. The cook tilted his head quizzically as the Monkey Man tried fighting his behemoth of an opponent, of course most people could be considered behemoths next to Neyshak, but that was another matter altogether, the problem right now was he was actually trying to fight the damned thing. Why didn't he just duck to the side and take off? They were obviously faster and more nimble than the burly creature...The things people did sometimes certainly confounded the simple Ravein at times, he would definitely need to ask why people would do things even HE knew better than to try.

Unfortunately it seemed that his foolish counterpart was being beat by the worst end of the stick, it was a pointy stick at that, and was soon overcome by the huge beast. This was folly enough as is, but soon there would be others with the notion of climbing up the sides of the buildings and trying to rip out their hearts for feed as well. This most certainly was a terrible predicament with which he was faced...oh why did HE always have to pick up the heavy loads? Without wasting another second of time, well maybe not two that is he was not really in a hurry, the cook whipped out his trusty blowgun strapped to his right thigh and carefully loaded the weapon with one of his infamous darts. He took careful aim of his query, and just as the leonine look as if he wanted a Monkey Man Meal the vicious, barbed projectile whistled out straight for the creature's left eye. While it would seem only like a superficial would to most, not many knew of the special liquids he dipped his darts into when preparing them for the week. Being this close to his brain should not take but...

Oh yes that was definitely fast-acting! The initial reaction from the beast was somewhat...stunned as it did not quite know how to handle being shot in the eye with such a small weapon, or that it did not know how such a little creature as Neyshak could effectively semi-blind him, but whatever the case the few seconds it decided to wait and think were what saved Darco. The beast began twitching in agony as the poisons began working on his nervous system, and the body involutarily heaved to try and expel a substance that was not in its stomach. Too bad Monkey is unda da creacha. Pondered Neyshak, oh well too late to do anything about that. As the lion toppled over onto its side, writhing in agony as his dart continued to do its job, Neyshak triumphantly replaced his trusty blowgun to its holder and traipsed towards his companion.

"You gets up now o' w'at?"


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The monkey caught sight of the Ravein, who had stayed and pulled out a strange reed-like weapon. From a distance, it looked no thicker than his thumb. If he were to estimate it's size. With a quick puff, the dart flew from the tube, so quick Darco could barely track it as it carved a path straight into the Lion's eye. Nice aim. However, the time to admire the reptile's shot was not long, as whatever that dastardly cook put on the tip was beginning to work on the Ravein. It's hold on Darco weakened noticably, but even as it made groaning, belching sounds Darco knew what was happening wasn't pretty. Soon enough, Darco wasn't looking too pretty either. So much for netting some ladies down at the cantina. Even as the creature pitched over, falling down to the streets below, men and women were beginning to take the fight to the rooftops. Wiping lion sick off his face, Darco resisted the urge to wretch himself from the vile smell. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks." he said begrudgingly, making sure none would affect his vision. As ironic that would be. Without hesitating, he tested his left arm and confirmed it to be more-or-less useless for climbing until he could reach Allie. She could patch this up in an instant.

Judging by the distances between the remaining houses, Darco was fairly certain it was just a straight shot unless more Ravein or otherwise began climbing the roofs in front. Quickly taking decisive hops, he avoided jarring his broken arm as best as he could- but parkour was not a healthy way to treat broken anythings- as minor as they may be. He had certainly learned his lesson. Falling from the last roof, he sighed in relief. The torturous part was over. However, the docks were in turmoil as well- they had barely managed to make it ahead of the fight, even while hindered by Darco's slowed pace. While the fight in earnest raged well behing the crowd, looters and rioters loved pillaging in a chaotic environment, and if they were overcome by the crowd, Darco would find his purse cut and Neyshak's groceries stolen. If the reptile still had them. The Decadence was not far now- and as they took each step, the gangplank that lead up to the relative safety of the deck was almost tempting them to take an early leap. Throwing himself up the steps as he reached it, the Monkey turned back to look for Neyshak- but was met with a crowd ready to board just as they would a merchant ship. Luckily, the gangplank was narrow and the smooth sides of the Decadence were a natural wall to those who tried to scale it. Thank goodness the damaged side faced away from the docks. Lashing out with his mechanical foot, a looter felt his nose cave in as he toppled over his fellow thieves. "Get outta here, scum!" Darco snarled, hoping to scare them off. However, it would seem that each looter needed to be reprimanded.


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This was about all he could handle for the day. Right when they come to the relative safety of the docks things start heating up real quick. First he had been robbed, then swindled, and almost murdered today. The worst part was his bread was now flattened and beat up so much it was nearly all crumbs now. NOW there were people trying to get on the ship, and they were in HIS way. He didn't like using his dart-gun all that much, but enough was enough. A few select darts later, and about five seconds, hey could hear the voice of Monkey bellow out some kind of useless thing at the mob, but his tactic was working much quicker. As looters and rioters began dropping likes flies, twitching, vomitting, and bellowing in pain the rest began to take notice, and they also took notice of the fire-eyed Ravein with the blow-gun. That was all it took an they soon began to rush of in search of easier prey. The cook harumphed in triumph as he happily trodded back onto the ship, his face beaming with a large smile. It was a bad day, but everything's okay now!
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Ezarael
Member for 3 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Smith on Mon Feb 20, 2012 11:12 pm

Cassim
The Decadence - Upper Deck - Port Side
Jan : The Sky Dragon


Image It was barely an hour after they'd made landfall in Cassim that Jhanjhavata had begun the prepares for the Decadence. It was not a wreck, as she'd feared, but the ship was in bad shape. One or two more good hits from artillery weapons of even median caliber would tear into the heart of the ship with ease at this point. Several plates of armor and support rungs within were twisted and blackened, while others were missing completely, the only signs of their forcible ejection the stretched bolts and jagged holes to which they had been moored. A good deal of underlying circuitry was damaged as well. Superficial things that were added into the design of the Decadence or tacked on during its time under Devargo's care.

Jan hissed a curse and jerked her arm out of the hole in the hull of the Decadence. An angry red welt on her wrist was already beginning to swell, a gift from the torn steam-pipe and an untimely spew of boiling water. The majnun gritted her teeth, reached into the fourth pouch on her waist and produced a green bandage. Slapping the adhesive on, Jan figured it could have been worse. She'd seen humans come out much worse from water-burns. Shrugging, the azure woman reached back in to the gap with a soldering iron. Numerous gashes, punctures, and burns lined Jan's forearms after only a couple hours of work, marked by the green and red bandages.

Reaching out to the scalding water within the pipes, Jan whispered fluid words of the elements and cooed it in to a lulled, cooled flow. During that brief reprieve, the majnun welded the pipe shut. With a sigh of relief, the helmsman backed out of the innards of the Decadence, leaned back in the harness keeping her attached to the ship and stared up at the sky. She squinted and held back a sneer.

"I have arrived, Sola'cori." Aellai. The lilting, gentle caress of her voice, so like the element that permeated her being, caused Jan no end of annoyance for Jan. Perhaps, Jan pondered, she may have been jealous of Aellai. Aellai was more charismatic, prettier in a classical sense, more statuesque, less icy, and had a less tempestuous personality. Jhanjhavata grinned at Aellai. It was not for the other majnun, but for herself. The woman with a brother-complex could be as superior as she wanted.

"You're a few hours too late, Iss'a." Jan responded with a laugh, using an old majuni term that roughly translated to 'airhead'. Jan replaced the soldering iron and withdrew a bolting hammer and some oversized nails. To the left of Aellai, a pair of deckhands were lowering the metal plating she'd ordered and half of the reinforcement bars. With only the slightest glance at Aellai, Jan donned red-tinted goggles and began the muscle-wearing work of pounding the new metal into the hull. The ship literally groaned in protest as its wounds were bound in steel and iron. "Try talking to brother dearest or the bear. Someone who's more up to date than you. Saying something, considering Barvassi's been out of commission for half a day."

With that, the water majnun delved in to her work once more. Roussan's assessment of Jan having some sort of empathetic connection to the Decadence was not far off. Each time the ship was attacked, torn, beaten, ripped in to...Jan felt a twinge of pain. A pang of loss originating from deep within her wallet. This blasted ship was, in Jan's opinion, the greatest investment of her life. As long as she kept it in one piece, the money would keep flowing in. Sadly, its repairs were nearly as costly as the average mission when things got as bad as this. With one last sigh of resignation, Jan focused on her work. Those damned tubes better arrive before she was ready to seal up the next part of hull.


The worst of the damage was about a third of the way through already, and that was only three and half hours of work. Granted, Jan had not slept in a couple days and this would most certainly not help, but it was the efficiency that counted. She'd left Akir and Paul in charge of handling the loading of the sudden influx of supplies from town, freeing her up to relax a bit and report the progress of things for the moment. Upon arriving at Barvassi's room, Jan entered without preamble and proceeded and lean against the wall near Rhys.

"Captain," she said, inclining her head slightly. Covered in grease, sweat, and hydraulic fluids of varying origins, as well as a slew of bandages, the majnun was quite the sight. For the sake of work, Jan had opted to wear only leather breeches, boots, and a midriff exposing her scarred core. She seemed not the least bit self conscious, although her crystalline eyes did rove over the human girl. Not caring to observe her further, Jan assumed that Estelle was another pomped up human lass that Barvassi had taken in as a bargaining chip.

"We should be ready for battle by the end of tomorrow, the day after if we're in no hurry." the words sounded foolish, considering they were always running from something. "She'll be ready to fly again by the end of today. Although, i'd rather not finish the repairs dangling over several thousand feet of open air as some rube pilots my ship." Jan shrugged as if the possibility was bearable in any case, absently fingering a bandage on her forearm that was stained red with blood that had seeped through. Glancing at Roussan, then Barvassi, the blue-skinned woman straightened as if to leave. After all, this was just an excuse to let the lactic acid in her muscles die down a little. "If that is all...?"
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Smith
Member for 3 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Lady Ethereal on Tue Feb 21, 2012 10:18 pm

Mediterranean Wastelands - Cassim
The Decadence - Wheel - Main Deck - Captain's Cabin
Aellai Neha, The Ephemeral


Image
Aellai closed her eyes briefly upon being called an airhead. Jan had always liked being sarcastic in the most annoying of ways. The older majnun does have a point in her description of her although, she knew Jan has another meaning behind it. Well, this is how civil they could get even in terms back at their homeland. Looking around, Aellai could see that the repairs were ongoing and that Jan was truly quite busy at the moment. Glancing back at the fellow majnun, Aellai felt that at the very least that Jan didn't choose to ignore her. After all, the female majnun has her work cut out for her. "I will do just that. I will leave you to your work now." Aellai chose not to retort about the show of humor towards her person or anything. It would seem that Jan needed the fresh air of resentment once in a while. Without further ado, Aellai left the fellow majnun alone to her work. There was no more reason to stay.

Making her way across the deck, Aellai looked at the scenery of Cassim. Some of the crew members had already made themselves at home at this place. She had not ventured alone in any place unless with the company of anyone available. It is not because of fear but rather due to her obsession of clocks that would make her forget everything including time if the fate permitted it. A companion would be able to release her from the trance when needed. In any case, she would just check on Dee and their guest. Once that is all settled, she would explore the streets of Cassim. She should be fine on her own. She is after all, an Asura pirate. Removing her eyes from the site, Aellai entered the cabins below and made her way towards the Captain's cabin. She acknowledged the crew members that would come her way with politeness. It had always been that way ever since she could remember. They did say she was the most approachable among the three majnun which is now only two aboard the Decadence.

Arriving at the Captain's cabin, she could hear the voices beyond the door. Aellai wondered if she should interrupt them so candidly. Well, she would just see if they are up and well. It is not like she would be staying for the entire time. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the doors. "Please pardon me." Aellai opened the doors and saw that Dee, Teddy, Rhys Jan and their guest were all convened here. "I am sorry for the interruption. I would just see if the Captain and our guest is physically feeling fine now." Judging by Dee's aura, he had been informed of the lost that the Asura had acquired from the raid. Still, he is the captain and a pirate. Feelings such as loneliness and fear were hindrances for their profession; although, she had always beg to differ on that matter. Entering the room, she closed the doors behind her and gave a polite nod of the head to the people present. Aellai had always been raised on proper manners and had now became a habit of hers through the years of her existence.

After indicating her purpose, Aellai made her way through the room rather it was more of a glide and stood beside Dee. Her eyes of forest green looked at her brother who was now drinking alcohol after just being unconscious for days. But, this is a habit that she could not hope to break. In addition, Dee already knows her opinion about his alcoholic tendency. "I see you are doing fine now Captain. I am glad." Transferring her attention to their guest, Aellai gave a polite smile. The female seemed a little frazzled by what was going on around her. Well, it was normal in her opinion. "Good day, my name is Aellai. I have been tending to you for the past 2 days. How are you feeling?"
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Lady Ethereal
Member for 5 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Crooked Thoughts on Tue Mar 27, 2012 8:45 pm

Image
The Mediterranean Wastelands - Cassim Docks
The Decadence - Main Deck - Captain's Quarters
Summer - Late Morning - Day 3

In one swift motion, Barvassi picked up the ornate wooden cup and threw the contents down his throat. The liquid set his body on fire with soothing flames. Consequently, his pores were forced wide open from the blazing tempest, allowing him to breathe, yet numbing his senses at the same time. The ubiquitous feeling was one he wanted to recreate, and so the small cup was traded for the half-empty bottle resting among his other beloved remedies. Besides... being limited to a cup made him feel like a child, not to mention drinking from the source of the rich nutrient was his preference.

Though it was reluctantly given, the sudden uproar of noise beckoned for Barvassi's attention. His eyes lifted from the bottle to survey the surroundings... it was much different from the room he woke up in: more people, more noise, and less to drink. He pondered on what he could attribute the sudden influx of bodies to, when he recalled that it was he who was the mastermind behind this insidious plot to raid his quarters. Roussan, Rhys, Jan: all summoned at his request... Aellai, however, had not been. But, with the weight this information bared, the whole crew might as well had been there -- this meeting could very well mean the end of the asura pirate crew.

Barvassi took in a tired, exasperated breath before he rose to address the populous.
"I have kept you all waiting long enough..." A blanket of silence fell over the room as all concentrated on Barvasssi -- he needn't call for their attention or ask for them to be quiet, it was inadvertently done. "I am sure you have all been wondering what the reason was for our recent raid and what it is exactly that we have gained besides more comrades to mourn... well, I will tell you." Barvassi lumbered toward the captured girl, his shadow engulfing her as he closed the distance between them. He loomed over her before lazily extending his metallic hand, palm face up. The girl obviously understood his gesture as she placed a small golden orb inside his cold metal hand.

"This-" Barvassi said holding up the sphere-shaped-object where everyone could see. "-little guy is worth the life of every crew member on this ship and more. It could mean a fortune beyond our wildest dreams, or, the death and destruction of everyone we love and care for. This, will change our lives forever..."



The Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence – Main Deck – Captain's Quarters
Estelle Amorica, The Emperor’s Alchemist

The ursine man lumbered about the cabin, pouring a drink and setting it in front of the captain. Of all of this, Estelle was aware but uninterested. At least until one was placed in her vicinity. At the small clink of the cup on wood, she glanced swiftly upwards, pausing in mid-stroke of her quill. He spoke, voice low and raspy, and she shifted slightly, cocking her head to one side as she looked up at his towering form.

"I am Estelle." The words were succinct, efficient, and she fought very strenuously the desire to climb from her seat and bow. Right now, though, she was in the company of brigands, and doubtless this would only earn her mockery or confusion. Her piece said, she averted her gaze to her parchments once more and continued writing. The next guests into the room stayed in the back, and she silently thanked them for it. The final entrant was not so unobtrusive, however, and she found herself feeling distinctly uncomfortable as the woman spoke to her.

"I thank you then, though it was wholly unnecessary," she told the one called Allelai, though she did not look up from her work. "My own precautions would have seen me returned to wakefulness in time." She had the grace not to mention that magical interference might have actually delayed the process somewhat- there was no need to make this woman feel bad if she had been attempting to do a kindness to a stranger.

The captain threw back his drink, and she gathered from what followed that he had not made his goal explicit to the crew. Estelle wondered at this, unsure if even the man himself knew exactly what he had stumbled upon. She herself knew only a little, and she'd had a week in the world's finest library to discover even that much. When his looming shadow feel over her, though, she did not protest, tugging on the titanium chain that bound the compass to her neck and pulling it over her head, placing the object delicately in his outstretched palm.

She might have initially be concerned about giving up her only bargaining chip, but his words had her convinced that her knowledge of what to do with it was worth just as much, if not more.


The Mediterranean Wastelands - Cassim Docks
The Decadence - Main Deck - Captain's Quarters
Summer - Evening - Day 3

ImageThe day had come full circle... Devargo awoke in his room with the company of a captured woman and now, that very room had emptied until just the two of them remained once more. The others had cleared out in order to wrap their heads around all the information Devargo had given them. Extinct races, lost artifacts, hidden cities... admittedly, it was a lot to digest. They were basically chasing after a fairy tale, in hopes that it was much more. It was expected that the crew would meet this with mixed feelings, but they all trusted and believed in Devargo and would follow him to depths of hell if he asked them to; all he had to do was get them there.

Since it had been given him, Devargo had been toying with the small golden orb, otherwise known as the Eternity Engine. To his dismay, he couldn't get the darn thing to work and his over-sized fingers did nothing to simplify the the task, either. He was beginning to wonder if what he held was nothing more than a fancy paperweight. An enraged grunt signified his surrender as he set the compass on his desk. He sat back in his throne like chair and exhaled deeply, chest heaving in unison. A curious gaze landed upon the human girl. He had a number of questions for her: who are you? where did you come from? why do you have this item in your possession? In the end, he settled for only one.


"Make this work and you will be free to leave." It was more of a bargain than a question really, but it was the only information Devargo cared for at the moment. He tossed her the compass and waited for the girl's reply.


ImageA few hours passed after that, during which the captain slept and Estelle finished her writing. She dozed a few times herself, but found that she was unable to gain much rest in such intervals. He woke eventually, and after that she dare not sleep herself.

He was tinkering with the device, passing it back and forth between one enormous metal hand and the other, the compass itself dwarfed by the size of his limbs. She watched for a time, silent, until he seemed to remember that she was there and pinned her down with a glance. For a while, neither said anything, though she could tell there were many things he wanted to say. The alchemist was not going to make it easy by volunteering information, though, and waited with inordinate patience.

The terms of his bargain were clear, but she shook her head. "Leave and go where?" she asked, and though the question was mostly rhetorical, she answered it herself. "No, thank you, if I were to leave, I rather think I would be found and killed. If I show you what to do, will you instead allow me to stay?" It was rather risky, she supposed, bargaining with a pirate, but the truth of the matter was that she lacked any other option. These people had defied the Empire and lived to tell of it, a thing she too wished to accomplish.

It only made sense to throw her lot in with them.

ImageIt made sense now... the girl, Estelle, was hired by the Architect to retrieve the compass, but decided she would keep it for herself. However, the night she would flee with the artifact, the fleet was raided and she was intercepted and taken hostage. With her and the compass missing, the grand emperor of the sky empire would assume that she orchestrated the whole thing and would have her head along with the pirates. The irony, the bad timing, it all made Surge smile. Her need for protection was clear which is why she counter-proposed to stay among them. Still, how could he trust someone who was so bold to steal from the empire, knowing the risks it held. The threat of death would not be enough to satiate her hunger to repeat history. On the other hand, she could further prove to be useful, she obviously held extensive knowledge of the Eternity Engine and the other artifacts.

"Agreed. But, you will share your knowledge of the compass and everything else you know. And if I suspect you have plans to betray me and run off with what is now mine, I will not hesitate to fry you." Electricity jumped from his body to enforce his threat of death. "Now, if negotiations are done, show me how it works."


ImageDespite the fact that the threat had a very palpable effect on Estelle, she couldn't help the retort that leaped to her tongue. "It would take a very long time indeed for me to recite to you everything I know, Captain. I assume you value your youth, and so I will attempt to limit my explanations to the truly relevant." Somewhat surprised by her own boldness, she glanced back down at the small device in her hands. Passing her thumb once over the smooth, amber surface of the glass, she twisted deftly, causing the face to separate from the silver-wrought backing.

A tiny, golden orb fell out, and this she gripped between her index finger and her thumb, holding it up to the light, where it glinted softly. "This... is the Eternity Engine," she remarked softly. "It powers the Blank Compass." The silver-and-amber construction was pieced back together with her other hand. "And a number of other things, I would expect. I haven't had long enough to study to be certain. " She lowered her left hand, holding the orb out slightly so that he'd be able to make out the etchings carved onto its pristine surface.

"The pattern is ingenious, really... alchemically, it's a never-ending feedback loop of energy. Normally, it shouldn't work; the substance underneath must be incredibly resilient, perhaps even indestructible. I-" she cut herself off, shaking her head. It was probably not worth mentioning that she'd been able to modify it for less-durable surfaces, mostly because that was knowledge nobody should ever have. A glint lit in her eyes as she turned the orb over and over in her palm. "The point is that once it's running, it won't stop unless someone causes it to. That's complex in itself, but it should suffice for your purposes that I can do it."

So saying, Estelle took a deep breath, setting the orb down on the table in front of her and scooting to the edge of her chair to lean over it. Rubbing her small hands together, she activated the transmutation circles on her back and palms, and as soon as all had flashed with a bluish-purple light, touched the device. It was like watching a black hole, she supposed, for the thing absorbed all the light, then fell dark for a few seconds, during which she waited in complete silence. After an interminable number of heartbeats, a soft golden glow began to issue from the device, and she smiled, picking up the orb and fitting it back into the compass.

The amber glass, which had once been foggy and dark, was now backlit by the Engine, and a tracery of precise lines projected itself through the surface. Estelle turned her wrist, throwing the image onto the nearest blank wall. There, clear as daylight, lay a map of the world, a particular point marked by what appeared to be a six-pointed star. "I cannot promise it leads to anything, anymore. But I'd stake my life on the fact that it once did." She already had, as a matter of fact.

ImageBarvassi nearly jumped from his chair at sight of the spectacle taking place before him. He marveled at the vibrant display of lights and color, like a child seeing fireworks for the first time. So that little thing was the Eternity Engine, huh? All this time I thought that the compass was the engine... makes more sense, I guess. Barvassi continued to watch as the girl used alchemy to activate the engine. Slowly, it was becoming more apparent how valuable she was, and that he would have been a fool to let her leave. He would have to make sure she was well protected and taken care of... Estelle then went on to place the Engine back in the compass to complete the process of 'making it work'. When she was finished, a light glowed from the compass that took the form of a map when projected on a hard surface. The map itself seemed no different from the ones they possessed... however; there was marker in the top right corner. The marker was located between the Great Asian Ocean and Japan Lake, in the Philippine Kingdom. Based on Estelle's knowledge, something once rested there and if she was willing to bet her life on it, he was willing to check it out.

"Well, I will take that bet..." Barvassi said almost menacingly, though his soft chuckle would reveal otherwise. "Looks like we have somewhere to be tomorrow." He had barely made his statement before a focus breaking commotion was heard.

Pillars of smoke could just be made out from the docks: the city of Cassim was burning. It seemed the grand city was hosting one of its famous citywide riots, which only happen for one of two reasons: celebration or disagreement. Judging by the riflemen on the rooftops and the brawling in the middle of the streets, the latter was the cause this time. If they didn't leave soon, they would be swept up in the violent current as well.
"Wait here. Seems we will be leaving sooner than I thought." Barvassi stormed out of his cabin, heading for the main deck where he secure the safety of his crew and ship.

His voice boomed, upstaging that of chaos and mayhem going on around him. Orders were issued and commands were given; they were to leave right this second. The repairs made and supplies gained would have to sustain them until they made port in the next town. But, there was one commodity they could not leave without, and that was the crew. Barvassi would never leave one of his own behind. The ship was to be defended until every last one of them was on board.

In the end, a head count revealed that they had actually taken on more crew members than they arrived with. But, that situation would be dealt with later. Jan had readied the ship and was given the new coordinates, with that they left the city of Cassim behind and headed for the mysterious destination.
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Crooked Thoughts
Member for 5 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Shiva on Sat Mar 31, 2012 9:56 pm

Mediterranean Wastelands - Cassim
Marketplace- The Rioting Streets
Aren Hollystone, Mad Bomber


Image The streets roared with an incoherent rage that swallowed up any attempts for reason. There was no way Hollystone would be able to punch through the crowds on the main streets, and thus had to take the route that some people were doing- the rooftops. However, as the brawls dragged on people began climbing up just to kill people down below, consumed by bloodlust and anger. However, Hollystone considered himself one of the better marksmen, and without a second thought he hurled his bought supplies up onto a roof, following suit and ducking behind a vent before carefully peeking over the edge.

It was madness, the ship itself was a good distance away which made the endeavor a lot more difficult of a prospect. Raising his smaller repeating rifle, he cursed slightly as he wished he had brought the Arenburg with him instead. With a crack, a man emptying his handgun into the masses toppled over the building, clutching at a hole that blossomed in his side. Grabbing his bag, Hollystone moved on, lightly hopping over the buildings. His side still pained him, having not fully healed yet after the shrapnel from the caravan skirmish afflicted him. However, if he were to stay here there was the likely chance that he would be marooned- Hollystone was the weakest link, the man that was as good as dead if unable to return to the ship promptly.

Firing off another couple of rounds at a man who had noticed him, his enemy was thrown back as a bullet punched right through his left eye. Things were getting grim- He could not outpace the movements of the crowd, which were pushing out toward the docks where the Decadence was moored. Tossing his bag over another roof, he allowed himself to jump over a particularly large gap between buildings, taking cover as one of the few gunmen on the roofs noticed him. They exchanged rounds, forcing Hollystone to reload for the first time as the short rifle did not allow for accurate shots. A minute later, he finally managed to shoot his assailant in the hand, causing the gun to clatter to the ground. Hollystone took the opportunity to dash for the next rooftop while his quarry was nursing his bloodied hand. He was getting closer to the docks now, and was jumping over the last of the rooftops.

An echoing blast of gunpowder registered in the mad bomber's ears, but the bullet had already punched straight into leg, sending him toppling off the final rooftop. His bag landed soundly, luckily the contents did not slip. Rolling onto his back, the Mad Bomber, looked around, and saw another man firing indiscriminately into the mass of people, the bullet hitting his leg through sheer luck. Cursing, Hollystone swung his firearm over his shoulder, forcing himself to his feet. He grabbed his bag, and grabbed an ice pick from a nearby meat vendor. The small tool would serve him better in such a close, dangerous moment than a long and bulky firearm would. Dragging himself along the running mass, it was all the Bomber could do to keep himself from being pushed over and trampled. Breaking out to the side, he collapsed to the ground as he gripped the grievous bullet hole in his upper thigh. The ship was right fucking there. He wasn't going to let himself be left behind when he was this close.

The crowd of people would not yield to him as he tried to make his way down the dock. Twice, he was pushed out of the way, looking increasingly ragged and tired. For some unknown reason the gangplank was lowered. Perhaps, somebody useful was still out there. Thank heavens, he would not be left behind. With a surge of strength, the Bomber limped heavily up the plank, coated in a cold sweat as he pushed open the doors that would lead below to the crew quarters.

Mediterranean Wastelands - Cassim
The Decadence- Workers Quarters
Summer- Day 3


The workers were getting increasingly tired of Hollystone. Even as the gunman groaned once more and emptied what was left of his stomach into a bucket. Out of pity, one of the members picked the pail up, covering it first with a lid to prevent the disgusting stench from wafting out, and took it up to the deck to dump over the side. Because he had let his wounds fester for so long, Hollystone had managed to get it infected, and consequently, became sick as his body tried to heal, fend off the infection, work, and fend off various forms of disease that ran rampant in many ships. At first, he had received a heavy fever that left him bedridden. However, he refused to see Aellai and warned the other crewmates not to tell her of his plight.

The workers, more numerous than when they had docked often relied on being subtle to get past being scrutinized by the higher ups as long as they were good. However, Hollystone used it as leverage. Using false claims of him being close to Jan, the second in command, he managed to get the rowdy groups to quiet down slightly. He never bothered to have them serve him, but he was adamant about them not informing the doctor, and covering him as he continually was absent from work.

When asked why, he merely responded again that he was not worth the time.

"You may get paid, because you have no debt." Hollystone groaned as a horse-faced worker sat on the bed across with a quizzical expression. "I am penniless on this ship, I cannot afford to see that doctor, nor is it worth her time and energy to heal one that is essentially a throwaway slave." Shifting his weight, the bomber decided to go back to sleep. The sickness had slowly been healing over the course of the days, and soon he would be back working once more. The worker shrugged irritably, replacing the pail back beside the bed and walked away.
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Shiva
Member for 5 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Wudgeous on Thu Apr 05, 2012 4:58 pm

Cassim - Mediterranean Wastelands
Marketplace- The Rioting Streets

Naga Neroli, That Janitor



ImageNaga at one point found himself shoved against a wall, which he did not appreciate one bit. As he would insist to those that knew him well enough, slamming one's palms into another was a grievous insult, worthy of deadly and justified retaliation in the majnun culture. He was quite drunk each time he asserted this, however, so the truth of the matter would have to receive certification from elsewhere. Today, he decided to respond with simple reason, calmly reassuring with his assailant that he hadn't the faintest idea why they were in the hostile situation they were in; the (smaller) man sheepishly admitted likewise, backing off, even murmuring an apology over his shoulder. That was nice of him, Naga thought. Naga straightened out his clothes, renew his grasp on Hakuna Matata, and set off at a brisk pace. He'd heard much yelling and what could have been sounds of violence prior to being attacked, and had no desire to get involved. He might have thought otherwise long ago, but throughout his years, he has since learned that a blind man's nosy involvement in delicate matters either changed too little, or too much. He wouldn't want to lose his nose in addition to his sight, anyway.

Confrontations were blooming with increasing fervor by the time he managed to board the ship, and he was glad he received little more than a very bruised shoulder that would sting in the bath. Rubbing the back of his neck, he realized dried blood had caked part of his cloak--from the base of his skull, he deduced from further inspection. And I was looking forward to arriving to this silly city, for once, he thought with a sigh. "Good we did not end up worse for wear, eh, Shinyscales?"

"...Shinyscales...? Astrid Kur?"

It was then that he heard gunshots, and it took every fiber of self-control in his being to refrain from bolting down the plank. It was entirely possible that they had beaten him, and were already aboard the Asura. What would prove this theory wrong? He would look for them on the ship--though he made sure to caution someone nearby to look for a large gator ravein and a woman in the chaos. After Naga was done asking around, he returned to the plank to wait for them, though he was sooner passed by a lizard and monkey. He could swear Neyshak was aiming that danger flute at him for a minute there, and raised his palms in abrupt and unconditional surrender. He'd discussed poisons with the lizard in the past, and was not inclined to have any mirroring manifestations of the conversation inflicted on his person. No, sir. Little did he know: Had Lady Luck not favored him, ushered him along before the chaos truly consumed Cassim, he would be especially worse for wear. Perhaps ignorance would be bliss, as he is a happier man without mental images of a shredded left arm and bullet wounds from behind. He was a happier man to be unable to spy such wounds in others, as well. Blindness did him a favor, as the sight of the world curling into itself and ripping at its own stomach would frustrate him to no end.




Time passed. A mad bomber was ill, and Naga occasionally felt obligated to sit next to him and listen to the retching--not out of any sick pleasure, of course (you'd wish), but a desire to extend aid, alongside the inability to do so properly without poisoning him with something worse. Naga nagged Aren a little, teased him that his kinswoman would not bite, but would not go against the man's expressed concerns. Still, it was a worrisome couple of days, and this majnun could do with a loud tavern or two right about now.
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Wudgeous
Member for 3 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Ezarael on Wed Apr 25, 2012 3:30 pm

Above the Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decandence: Kitchen – Captain’s Quarters
Neyshak – The Lost One


Neyshak had noticed a rather peculiar tendency towards encountering violence amidst living the life of a pirate, and indeed the past few days had been evidence enough of this assumption what with them assailing a military convoy and docking in a port town which all of a sudden decided to explode into conflict. Honestly, how was the crew supposed to rest and relax for a few days when they were constantly forced into fighting something or another? Of course such answers were far beyond the simplistic cook’s realm of understanding, so he merely conceded to the idea that a good meal would solve some of their problems; well hopefully solve them at the least.

With that idea in mind the Ravein had whipped up something a bit more special than usual to account for the hard times the crew had just endured, and probably would again relatively quickly if he could dare to be so bold to guess. There had been so much stew served lately he was sure everyone’s teeth were swimming from the thick sauce, more akin to gravy the way he prepared the meals, but hopefully not literally swimming, that sounded like it would be just too unpleasant. No, no stew today! This fine day he prepared a variety of roasted fowl of varying size, whether they are chicken, quail, duck, or pheasant they were all cooked to a golden-brown wonder and drenched with a honey-pepper sauce, not too spicy mind you. There was always the disgustingly undercooked slab of raw meat hanging in the corner for Shinyscales though, as filthy as it was he could do nothing about it but ignore its existence.

Of course he wasn’t going to serve all of these heathens! If any of the crew wanted to eat they knew where to find everything, well they wouldn’t know until he rang the bell of course, but that was beside the point. He was the cook, not the…server-person or whatever you call them, well anyways with flurry of his head-fin, whipping of the tail, and clatter of claws the reptilian scurried up to the top deck to ring-a-ding-ding the bell which was located absurdly close to the Jan’s ears. The cook had to move quickly though, when the pilot was in a bad mood she had been known to resort to both physical and verbal abuse to chastise the overzealous Neyshak whilst in the midst of his bell-tolling fury.

What was there to do now though? He had done his cooking for the evening and everyone else seemed extremely busy with important ship-like duties to accomplish. He could always…OH! He had almost forgotten to take the Captain his meal, the Captain never came to prepare his own plate, well not when Neyshak could prevent him from doing it that was. It was the least he could do for the Captain being so nice and letting him work on the ship as the Cook. What was he to put on the Captain’s plate though? He never seemed too keen on the fancy stuff like pheasant or quail, and one bird never seemed to be enough, so how about….a chicken, duck, and three halves of bread? That sounded like enough to sate the big man’s appetite; at least he hoped anyway, he never wanted to disappoint the Captain in any way.

A happily bobbing head and humming, at least that’s what he thought he was doing anyway, tune signaled Neyshak’s content with the way the evening was progressing. Soon he would be able to lie about on the deck and look up at the whimsical stars, something he had always rather enjoyed for as far back as he could remember, which actually isn’t very long ago if you consider the fact he was suffering from amnesia, but who gets lost in the little details like that? Taking that into consideration there was no time to doddle about and waste time because he had to hurry and get the Captain his food!

Surprisingly enough the little devil was most commonly seen sprinting about, haphazardly mind you, with a tray full of food every night to take to the Captain, but most other times he was observed to be stumbling about and falling all over himself. Could it be some random happenstance or purposeful manipulation of his image to the crew? The little cook was the only one who knew that answer, but if you were to ask him you would probably doubt the validity of that statement as is, but anyways that’s what happened and that was all that could be said. At his current pace it didn’t take long to reach the door to the Captain’s quarters and reach out a fist-shaped claw to gingerly rap on the door.

“Oh Cap’n iss time to eatss! I gotss good foodss tonight!”
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Ezarael
Member for 3 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Yonbibuns on Fri Apr 27, 2012 9:50 am

Above the Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence – Belowdecks – Crew Quarters'
Roussan Filondar - First Mate


ImageThe nightmares were different, but the general theme was always the same. Loss. Death. Disappointment. Utter, incomprehensible failure. The responsibilities of second command weighed heavy, but he had always assumed them with outward confidence and an unhesitating gait. He allowed the fear of failure a voice only in private, remnants of afterthoughts and a solemn subconscious, where no-one else would hear. Once dismissed, the First Mate had made his rounds and found himself slumped, unabashedly, on two adjoined wooden benches, leaning his shaggy head against one of the beams connecting to the staircase. A familiar smell assailed his senses, flared open his nostrils. It smelt of death—something he was accustomed to, something that would follow him, eventually, to the end of his days. He's lived through nightmares before. He knows better. A cold sweat poured down between his coarsely-covered shoulder blades, heart thumping painfully, mournfully, eyes still seeing blood dripping down a blade. Down the barrel of a proffered muzzle. Sticky across his fingertips, crusting the fibers of his claws. These feelings did not belong to him, at all.

Roussan's beady eyes jerked opened—like shutters abruptly being thrown aside to allow the sunny days' light flow within a sullen chamber, only far more contrived. His jerky limbs sent fading tendrils of adrenaline harrumphing down his aching joints. He was aware that his breathing had become rapid and shallow, and that his throat was suddenly parched. How long had he dozed off for? His mouth seemed like an uncomfortable wasteland sandpapering across his tongue; and a wavering oasis could only be found within the confines of his leathery canteen. He brought it to his lips, tossed off half of it with a toss of his head, then huffed out an impatient breath. The canteen sloshed within his shaking paws as he clumsily attempted to latch the leather straps back to his waist, only to deposit the damnable thing across the bench. These were shadows of the past tormenting him, and of the present, of the near-future they were bound to face sooner or later. To steady his nerves, the First Mate heaves himself from his afflictions and wanders the Decadence. He runs his claws amiably along the bulkhead, obsidian in the diminished light of the night cycle; breathes in the humid air, cool and vaguely familiar, steadying himself; taps the engine affectionately, oil and grease coating his fingers, as he helps Jan with urgent repairs; rests his elbows on the rough oak table, feeling the ridges and grooves and memories that the years make. Knots and nearly-ancient grooves that will continue telling their tale for as long as the Decadence cuts through the skies.

The Decadence shuddered suddenly, and the engines whirred and hummed back to life. Something was happening. His lumbering footsteps clomped away from the kitchen table, nearly spilling the bountiful contents of his bowl, he'd been occupying and back to the main decks where the crew members gathered. Others had already begun preparing the faithful ship for a hasty getaway. Roussan's gaze solely belonged to the scene that befell Cassim's centre; it's heartland. Plumes of smoke billowed from the burning buildings, filtering the scene with a sheet of hazy smog. Cassim had always been known for its' violence—a notion that had been widely adapted to by it's inhabitants while equally befuddling those who did not understand it's peculiar ways. His mouth opened, then closed. The Captain's roaring commands broke through the reverie of gunfire and carnage, as they always had. Roussan's hulking form vaulted over the Decadence's lip, slamming down the wooden plank so that supplies, and missing crew members alike, could clamber aboard. Only when the last person appeared did the First Mate retract the plank and board himself.




Who had first told him of Hollystone's silently-suffered plight? Ah yes, the comely-looking worker who'd been secretly spilling the man's stinking pail over the Decadence's lip. Honestly, Roussan could not understand the gunman's protests. He'd clearly told him that Hollystone wished to be left to his own sickly devices and crooned that the gunman had warned him not to tell Aellai of his afflictions, so as to not waste her precious time, which excepted the First Mate. How could that stubborn fool believe that it would waste Aellai's time caring for those she'd always been willing to help? An irritated grumble rattled in the depths of his throat, threatening to spill out into a more bestial noise. Had it not been for the urgency of the comely-man's request and his own nattering worries, perhaps Roussan would have allowed Hollystone to heal on his own terms. Alas, the First Mate never could turn a blind eye on anyone.

Surely, Hollystone would have known that his absence wouldn't have escaped his watchful eyes. And so, Roussan's heavy feet carried him below decks where he imagined the gunman would he slumbering and retching and warning his fellow companions not to worry anyone else about his condition. His black lips curled backwards, then puffed forward. Clearly exasperated. Clearly weary of this unnecessary dillydallying. No old hound—not even including himself—deserved to lick his wounds in the darkness, alone. His heavy paw, wrapped tightly in a woe-begone fist, rapped unceremoniously against the door, lest Hollystone was busying himself with his pail, before he merely threw the door wide open. It rebounded off the adjacent wall and stopped itself short off Roussan's shoulder. It wasn't often that the beast-man even sputtered out more than a few words at a time, unless it was duly necessary.

“Aren Hollystone,” The Ravein rumbled, displeased by his own inability to display tact. A bull's brusque snort flared through his nostrils, ending curtly in a pointing claw. “If you do not report to the Doctor's Quarters, so help me, I will drag you there m'eself.” His unwavering eyes squinted hard, glossy with annoyance, and caught sight of Naga accompanying the sleeping man at his bedside. Doing nothing to remedy the situation. Still, Roussan was relieved that he'd come out unscathed. "And you, should have told me."
Last edited by Yonbibuns on Thu May 03, 2012 8:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Yonbibuns
Member for 4 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby That One Guy on Sun Apr 29, 2012 11:17 pm

Just outside of Cassim
The Decadence - Captain's Quarters
Astrid Kur, Chronicler



ImageThe door shut behind Astrid upon entered the Captain’s office; Astrid concentrated on what had to be said, heart palpitated quickly, but Astrid exuded a cool calm. This could not be messed up, especially after seeing that object that the Captain held up to the crew. Astrid knew this ship was where history would happen. “Captain Devargo.” Astrid bowed, forearm bared in customary greeting. “I hail from the Great Tree of Knowledge, and believe I have found my niche aboard this ship. I would like to ask your permission to Chronicle the adventures that happen here, to be stored and glorified forever in tree’s records.” Astrid thought the speech had been delivered well enough, however just to be safe, “I am also a hairdresser.” was added.





Image
Before Barvassi knew what was happening, his room was invaded by a blonde haired woman. Naturally, he reacted like any man would in his situation -- he pointed toward his bed and began unbuckling his pants; what else was he to do when confronted by a strange woman? However, as she began talking, he realized his course of action was a path wrongly traveled. As embarrassment settled in along with sadness, the foolish captain retreated to his chair.

"Sooo... a chronicler and a barber, huh? That's a strange set of talents. Then again, I know a woman who can do a-mazing things with a string of yarn, a ball, and a plank of wood... I'll introduce you to her later; shes our Helmsman."

Barvassi paused to mull over the idea of having a chronicler on board. He wasn't too thrilled about having every criminal act recorded and accounted for, he was a pirate after all. On the other hand: chroniclers were often wells of knowledge, individuals who were privy to information that others were not. It would also be nice to have their adventure forever entombed in history... Besides, Sharpclaw and Naga were vouching for her, and if didn't work out? Well, it wouldn't be the first time Barvassi had to kill someone.

"The world is our oyster, which we with sword will open. To join this voyage and share our rewards, you must pledge your life to the Asura. Our journey will not be without peril. You will be put to the test -- do you think yourself capable of handling it?" Barvassi had now approached Astrid, a sword now in his grasp and pointed at her. "Be warned: there is to be no coddling or free rides aboard the Decadence; everyone must pull their own weight. Failure to do so will earn you an excruciating death." Barvassi spoke sternly, making sure to convey the seriousness of his words through his eyes and not only his tone. "Do you still desire to be an Asura Pirate?"


ImageThe Captain had no need to be embarrassed, because quite frankly Astrid was already bowing and fretting internally while he was unbuckling. The whole matter was quite lost on the young Chronicler. Astrid kept the icy orbs that served for eyes unfocused and steady, seemingly looking past Barvassi instead of directly at him, expressionless. He spoke of the Pirate’s mantra, taking pearls from oysters by sword, and leading a life not quite in luxury because of it. And Astrid was embarrassed by the suggestion that Astrid would even think for a moment not to pull weight and do work. ’A Chronicler’s life is what it needs to be, coddling or not. We adapt to any condition and are no strangers to hunger, poverty, or work. In fact, things like money seldom have meaning to us. We exist only to record what goes on around us, truthfully and without the veil of ‘criminal’ or ‘lawful’, as we find that definition changes depending on who you speak to and when.’ Astrid wondered if he could hear the nervous heartbeat, and the answer was most likely no. The line between recording history and to be part of it would be difficult, especially for this niche, but Astrid knew that every Chronicler faced a similar dilemma through the ages and they managed to cope.

Astrid’s only response was to not even glance at the sword pointed and to frigidly stare, “Yes.”

And with that it was official, the Captain had no prying questions like 'are you sure?' or 'don't lie', it was a very easy and simple process. They shared a drink and the Captain Devargo made a couple of comments that were not comprehended in the way intended, although the encounter ended up mostly silent on Astrid's end, it was far easier speaking to Sharpclaws and Naga. They were so candid and friendly. The Captain summoned someone to escort Astrid to proper quaters after they finished, and before leaving Astrid was sure to mention that they should speak again very soon, as the thoughts of the Captain were important for the records. The Captain of course took this as an innuedo, especially since it was night time by now, with Astrid completely oblivious to the matter.


Above the Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence - Crew's Quarters
Three Days Later


Astrid set the pad down on the desk, an introductory journal entry finished. A winded sigh escaped and hands reached up in a stretch, letting a moan escape as tired back and hand muscles uncramped. As these arms lowered Astrid stood up and straightened out, having heard the dinner bell. Dinner time put the crew in a compact area in a desire to get food, and then when they sat down conversations often arose, conversations Astrid needed to hear. Plus if anyone wished to have their hair or fur taken care of they needed easy access to the Chronicler.

Grabbing ink, quill and journal Astrid headed up, the journal was not for writing this time, but for drawing. The Decadence was an airship yes, but it had it's own details and unique qualities, and these were best to be observed as well as the crew. Astrid had made a point to find unique angles to draw different parts of the ship. Before even making it out however, Astrid encountered a loud voice recognized as Roussan, the first mate, apparently someone needed to report to the Doctor's quarters, Astrid came closer to the room and observed Naga there as well. 'I wonder if he would like to eat dinner with company, but no I shouldn't bother them. Or maybe I should stop fretting and just ask?! No...' Astrid came up with a middle-ground to the dilemma and stepped into the vicinity, speaking from behind Roussan. "Perhaps he should not move, I could fetch the healer. Food too if you need."
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That One Guy
Member for 3 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby That One Guy on Wed May 02, 2012 6:32 pm

Above the Mediterranean Wastelands
The Decadence - Captain's Cabin
Taissa Gillian, Charrask Smarmi, Sharpclaws Shinyscales, Captain DeVargo Barvarssi


Image"Just get on the bloody boat you said, we'll figure it out later you said." Taissa glared at the inside of a barrel she was stuffed into, and when I say stuffed, I mean stuffed. Taissa's fluffy tail barely allowed her to breathe, and she was pretty sure some of the fur stuck out on the top. It was only because they had chosen a barrel in the back of the storage deck that they had yet to be discovered. The stuffy smell of musty wood, the dampness that made it unbearably hot, Taissa had enough. "It has been three days Char Char." She huffed, quite fumed by now, fumed and hungry and hot and cramped and a million other things. "Can't we just fess up already?" She pleaded, "I was charming enough to get that nice docking man to believe we were part of the crew, I'm sure I can work my magic on the Captain~" This argument over what to do had lasted long enough, they needed to come up with an actual course of action.



ImageChar glared at his friend/owner, debating on whether or not to argue her point. It would indeed have been easier to come aboard the normal way, claiming to be refugees, but he didn't feel like trusting any more ship captains after his most recent betrayal. Muttering under his breath, the diminutive platypus budged the lid open enough to get a peek out. There didn't appear to be anyone in the room, and from his knowledge of the crew's habits (garnered from their stay) he believed that no one would come into the room for a long while yet.

"Coast looks clear, Taissa. I think we can bug out for the moment," Char whispered. Carefully prying the lid all the way off, he set it on the deck next to him. Like a ninja, Char hopped out of the barrel and rolled soundlessly to his feet, ready to incinerate anyone who stumbled upon them. He did feel bad for making Taissa have to put up with him for so long, but he'd make it up to her later. Just as he was about to relax, Char's heart dropped into his stomach. Big, lumbering footsteps reverberated through the deck, warning the coming of an enormous being. Smirking slightly, Charrask put his goggles on and fired up the bender's engines grafted into his arms, causing the air to ripple around them as the ambient temperature increased.

ImageCharrask could just pop right out of the barrel no problem, whoopdy frigging doo! Taissa had to wiggle and grunt and struggle, ending up coming out tail first, then hind legs, and the rest of her, knocking the barrel down in the process. She could feel the air around her get hotter suddenly, and that quite frankly was enough. "OH NO, no no no, you put your fire out mister it is hot as hell!" She hissed, adding warmth to the musty room was not her idea of a good idea, but then again she had not heard the footsteps, until now. "Oh shit!" She covered her mouth, hissing out the curse word as quietly as she could. Her hand automatically flew to her guns, but she checked herself before she wrecked herself, deciding to remain unarmed, killing one of the crew was not a good idea either. "Char wait! We'll be dead if we piss the crew off!" She hissed as the steps got closer and closer. Until...



ImageSharpclaw's stomach had been bothering him all day, and Neyshak wouldn't cook him anything tasty to eat! He had finally gotten fed up with his neglect, deciding to help himself to the salted jerky rations they kept stocked up in case of emergencies. Well this counted in his book! Ever since that riot back at the city, he's been in a foul mood. Not only did some villager take potshots at him, but he'd lost the book on birds! Enough was enough. As he rounded the corner, however, Sharpclaw overheard a crashing as well as a female voice. His curiosity piqued, Sharp peeked into one of the holds, not expecting to find what he ended up finding. The first thing the gator noticed was the rather beddraggled raccoon looking very frightened. The next thing was the small birdlike creature glaring at him. Sharp missed him on his first examination of the room, on account of Charrask's stature, but once he was found, there was no escape. Sharpclaw pounced on Char with a cry of glee, picking him up bodily with one massive hand. Being manhandled by a titan wasn't exactly Charrask's idea of a good time, but Taissa had forbidden him to fight back, so he simply accepted his fate glumly. Sharpclaw took great interest in Char's tail, seeing as how it was so oddly shaped and very un-birdlike.

"What're ye, small bird-thing? Yer unlike any I seen a'fore, 'n I can't quite make ye out....Oh, 'n a'fore I forget, how th' blazes did th' pair o' ye get on th' Decadence?" queried the croc, looking between his captive and the woman.


ImageTaissa sort of froze, mouth agape, as the thing that rounded the corner turned out to be a huge motherfucking reptilian ravein. Thick hide would give even sharp claws like her's a load of trouble. She hoped to whatever gods were out there that he didn't react negatively to them being there. And she nearly had a heart attack when he grabbed for Charrask, but luckily he turned out to be overjoyed instead of hungry for bird-meat. He was trying to cuddle Char in much the manner she always did. "Well tan my hide and call me a liar, guess the term 'friendly giant' applies here doesn't it?" She straightened herself and cleared her throat, trying to fix her matted fur around her face. "Ahhum, we uh, well the story goes like this. You see our Captain turned out to be one hell of a bastard! We hail from the Green Sally, and you can tell just by the name that the lot of them aren't exactly what you would call proper. I mean who in their right mind would name a ship that? It's not even intimidating!" She laughed, conversationally gesturing and smiling. "And so basically Char and I found ourselves out of a job due to a huge indescretion by a certain Sailor who had the nerve to pin the blame on Char, and he didn't even do anything wrong! I mean look at him?!" She gestured to Charrask, to whom the Ravein had obviously taken a liking to. "He's too damn cute to do anything wrong. End story, Cassim blew up in a raging hissy fit all of a sudden so we kinda took shelter on this ship and have been here for three days it looks like." She scratched her arm, "Is this ship by any stroke of luck lacking in a Navigator and or a Gunner?" Her tone was pleading.



ImageSharpclaw listened to the female Ravien's story expressionlessly, weighing unknown variables in his head. Charrask struggled weakly, but to no avail. Sharpclaw's grip was like an iron vice, not crushing him but not releasing him either. Charrask finally couldn't take it anymore and began to thrash around, shouting obscenities at the top of his tiny lungs, his voice rising higher and higher in pitch. A toothy grin split Sharpclaw's serious visage and he bellowed in laughter at the sight.

"Alright, ye wee bird-thing. Ye 'n yers can stay a time in th' lower hold while's I discuss th' issue wiv th' Cap'n DeVargo. He'll be th' final say in yer fate." At the mention of DeVargo's name, Chorrask froze mid swear and twisted around to look at his captor with wide eyes.


Image"DeVargo Barvassi? He's a Captain? He's not dead? WHERE!? Take me there, you fat cow! Now!" Char continued to bluster and huff incomprehensibly, unaware of Sharpclaw's confusion. With a shrug, however, the croc turned tail and began to lumber off. Almost as an afterthought, he beckoned to Taissa, indicating that he'd protect her on the way. They tromped through the lower deck to the stairwell, passing several prying eyes, but no one stopped them for interrogation. As they neared the Captain's cabin, Sharpclaw gestured for Taissa to be quiet as he rapped lightly on the captain's door. Hopefully DeVargo was in, and in a good enough mood to hear that he had a couple more mouths to feed.





ImageTaissa was quite like a deer in headlights at the moment, she couldn't tell if the Ravein had bought her story. But the tension in the air suggested he didn't, and millimeter by millimeter her hand inched to her holster, weary of the fact that he could crush Chorrask in a split second.

Charrask had a knack for breaking tensions however, and he suddenly started to squirm and make a fuss, making her twitch in alarm. The croc spoke finally in his broken english, he bought it? But then at the mention of the Captain's name Charrask seemed to know who it was, just their luck! For once Charrask was probably going to be the one to save her! Finally, I mean really he did owe her a few by now. She let out the pent up musty air from her tense chest and cricked her neck, rubbing her sore muscles as she went ahead and followed. She again tried to straighten out her appearance as they passed crew members, a couple of them doing a double take at her uh...lady lumps, but she didn't mind, she found it flattering. She gave a nod at the croc's gesture to be quiet, grinning still at their impeccable luck.


Image
"We are WHAT!? How can that be, I personally requested 20 barrels be purchased and stored!" Surge roared as he thrashed about, attempting to unleash his anger on anything not breathing. To his left, cowering in a corner, was the crew's newest cabin boy trying to explain what happened. "Please forgive me captain, I am so-so-so very sorry sir. Its just, with all the repairs and then the riots, I-I forgot..." The boy shrugged, hoping that the captain would understand. However, this was the straw that broke the deterran's back -- hearing that his beloved liquor was forgotten, sent Surge into a blind fury. "You did WHAT?!?" Surge erupted, making a beeline for the soon-to-be former cabin boy. "Well, lets see if we can't jump start that memory of yours."

Surge's large metallic hands wrapped around the cabin-boy and violently threw him through his cabin doors. "You best make yourself scare boy, 'lest you have mah rum!" The boy scrambled to his feet and did as he was told, cursing the day he joined this crew.

Mechanical muscles contracted and expanded as bolts of electricity were discharged, while his chest heaved heavily in an attempt to regain his composure.
"A warning to whomever thinks to breech my quarters and disturb my solitude -- I am without liquor and any bad news will be met with a lethal amount of 1 million volts of electricity!" With his threat made, he placed the broken door over the hole that was once a door way and began a desperate search for hidden booze.


Image"Char...how well do you know this guy?" Taissa commented from behind Sharpclaw, eyeing the poor cabin boy as he ran off.








ImageCharrask blinked in surprise. "Not as well as I'd hoped. The DeVargo I knew was a much kinder, less...alcoholic man. I can try to talk to him, though..." Sharpclaw set Char down in front of the door and backed away a bit, grinning slightly. Taking a huge breath, the diminutive platypus dropkicked the door open and charged into DeVargo's room.

"DeVargo Barvassi! You cowardly, lactating fool! How dare you let me believe you dead all these years! I should burn your head off and piss down your neck!" he roared, his deep voice booming into the small cabin. Char ducked a blow, then another, dodging under the captains legs. "Stop it. I've learned a thing or two since our time in the service, you great ninny!" Char continued to dance around Surge's hail of punches, swearing and taunting the whole time.





Image
"There you are my love!" After turning over every piece of furniture and looking in every nook and cranny, Devargo had finally discovered a bottle hiding under his bed. "Come. To. Poppa. De..." A single cybernetic finger scratched across the glass surface, but the blasted bottle continued to elude his grasp, until -- "Got'cha!" Devargo had captured his prey. But, to his dismay it was empty! As the bottle shattered underneath the immense pressure of his balled fist, it was at that moment his door was kicked down. The combination of events was enough to make Devargo go berserk once more. He launched into an onslaught of blows, meant to pummel the audacious one. He cared little of who the intruder was; he just knew they would be the beneficiary of his full attention.

"Stop moving ya' little bastard, I mean you no harm... Please, I only want to punt you back into the whore's womb from which you emerged!" Devargo finally managed to grab the small ravein's tail and hoist him high in the air. Once the beast-man was at eye level, he was able to take it all in: his words and appearance beckoned forth memories Devargo had long since buried. "You! What are you doing here?" he asked, now devoid of all murderous intent.





ImageChar's little heart's BPM's shot through the roof as he felt his tail be grasped by a huge metal hand. Sure that his life was forfeit, he muttered a quick prayer to whichever god was listening at the moment. However, it seemed that the gods had favor on him and blessed DeVargo with a restored memory. Char released a huge breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, glad that the Captain had come to his senses.

"Yea, fine and good, surprise. Can you put me down now? It hurts to hang by my tail." Charrask turned to glare at DeVargo as he was set down, but made no otherwise hostile moves. "Somethin' tells me you've got a big story to tell, old friend. Speaking of stories, I've got some...baggage that I need quarters for. Do you have room for a Navigator and maybe another gunner on this scrap pile you call a ship?" Char pretended to appraise the vessal with a critical eye, but in truth he was just glad he wasn't dead. He pulled a knocked over stool to the table in the Captains cabin, flipped it upright and clambered on top.

"Would you like to meet her? She's waiting outside with your hulking bodyguard," Char quipped.


ImageTaissa was firmly hidden behind Sharpclaw, her hands on her cheeks and hopping from one foot to another. She did not like the sounds coming from the room, oh no she didn't. At the same time it was quite obvious that she could not just whip out her guns and go charging in either, especially if this Captain man had people on his crew like the croc in from of her. She looked behind her to see that the deck crew were all staring, and she smiled nervously, waving slightly before turning back around when the noise stopped abruptly and she could make out words. Apparently this was just a routine gruff greeting, completely normal, something Taissa would have had no trouble listening to if it were anyone but her precious slave Charrask. "Phew." She relaxed and ran her nails through her fur in places, hopping out from behind her hulking sheild and taking the initiative to step inside the cabin. "Well Char Char, you never told me about your time in the services! I'm all sorts of jealous now." Taissa strolled in, at ease with no sign of her previous concern lingering.

"Taissa Gillian, best aim in the world at your service!" She smiled and gave a mock bow. Crinkling her nose and squinted directly afterwards, hands moving to rest on her hips she commented, "Hey, we have met?" Taissa vaguely remembered this man's face. "I could swear I've shot at you before." If DeVargo was the person she was thinking of however, he must have gone through quite a bit, his limbs were mechanical now. "It can't be, you look almost the same! You'd have to be part Majnun like me for you to be who I'm thinking of. Hahaha! Never mind then!" Taissa came up behind Charrask and leaned forward against the back of his chair.


Image
Seeing an old, once thought dead, friend brought glee to a sorrow ridden soul. The platypus served as a loyal soldier and navigator in his father's naval army. It was this small ravein who had taught him many secrets of navigating and in return he was afforded Surge's protection and inducted as a member to his squad of delinquent sailors. Memories of their adventures and the havoc they caused all came flooding back, all of which included that fatal day... But, Surge didn't allow one memory to ruin the reunion.

"Of course, what few friends I have can always find a home amongst my ship and crew. Besides, I could always use a few good -- a woman you say?" Next to liquor and gold, a woman was among Surge's most favored commodities.

Surge's eyes were glued on the entrance way, awaiting the appearance of latest damsel to be added to the many notches in his bed post. To say the least, Surge was erect with joy at the sight of his newest Gunner. The girl spoke of meeting him prior to this meeting, causing him to ponder the statement. Surge was not in the business of forgetting pretty faces, especially the ones he had took to bed. While Taissa could not be placed in that category, he had indeed met her before, on the battlefield. But, he thought it best he leave that bit of history buried for it could possibly ruin his chances of extracurricular activities.

"Can't say that we have darling, I would remember of a pair breast like yours." Surge was not above staring or discussing such obviously large objects, nor was he one to refer to them with subtly; blunt and direct was his way. With a smirk and heavy reluctance, he was able to tear his eyes away from the ravein woman and focus. "As I said before, you can consider yourself part of the Asura. Sharpclaws will show you to your room."
Since Char was once part of Surge's crew in the past, there was no reason he couldn't be again. And if the girl was someone he trusted, then she was welcome as well. Plus, between the people he lost in Cassim and the raid of the Empire, there were positions that needed to be filled if they were to be ready for what was to come.
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That One Guy
Member for 3 years


Re: [IC] Dream Scar

Postby Kurokiku on Wed May 02, 2012 9:13 pm

Several days later...
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Kurokiku
Global Moderator and Scholar
Member for 4 years


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