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Possibly Pirates

Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

a part of “Possibly Pirates”, a fictional universe by Jadeling Hawkins.

The epic tale of piracy and adventure, swashing and buckling, true love and lifelong grudges, curses, monsters, sword fights, a whole world of the possibilities of piracy!

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Drako11 on Thu Jun 18, 2009 1:24 pm

Caesar smiled as he watched his ragtag group of friends congregating by the mast of the Fledgling and the weak form of James Macleod. He knew someone else who should be out in the sun with them, turning a song in his throat and a smile on his face he made his way down to where he had left Twigs to rest the day before. "All right my love your going outside," Caesar called out as he cheerily to his patient, not caring if she was alive or not. Caesar was high on life and wanted to share it.

Striding quickly to the hammocks side he peered over a big foolish grin on his face, then without another picked the small form of Twigs up like a child and began hauling her outside. Out in the shining sun he crossed over to the group standing by the mast, smiling a greeting to them as well. "Well mates, we're all still alive, the sun is shining, and we have us a load of gold to find!"
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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby muketsu_bara on Fri Jun 19, 2009 7:33 am

Twigs laughed lightly when Caesar picked her up and carried her up to join their friends crowded around the mast and James. She noticed James' new look and the look of worry on Richelle's face as she tried to get him down to the quarters. Twigs rested her head on Caesar's shoulder, a soft loving smile played along her lips as she looked around them. Part of her wanted to smack Caesar for carrying her, a pirate was only carried when dead, but the part that won out was the part that didn't so much as mind that Caesar held her close, but enjoyed it.

"Aye," she said softly in agreement to his statement. Her side twitched angrily from the movements, but she pushed aside the pain. Taking a deep breath of the fresh salty air, she closed her eyes and smiled. "Tis a wonder..." Her eyes cast about the deck, taking in the view of the ocean, the ragtag group of pirates, and the beauty of the ship.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our Light, not our Darkness, that most frightens us." - Marianne Williamson
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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby tigerz-peace on Sun Aug 09, 2009 9:11 am

Elizabeth slumped once more in the crows nest, the only part of the ship which she felt truly safe, truly happy and truly alone recently. Too much had happened down below, but here, high up in the mast, she was away from the crew and Masters. Away from Richelle and the death that followed her. Passsing the eye piece from hand to hand, Elizabeth bit down on the inside of her mouth, somewhat in punishment for thinking of Richelle in such a way. She loved the dark haired First Mate - to Liz, the woman was like a younger sister, and a very good friend, but cursed, the captain couldn't help but feel wary. It was true, Elizabeth was terrified of this curse and those that hunted them - even more frightened then the dead had attacked when they passed through into the City of Gold, and so now she struggled to be completely comfortable near Richelle. At least with the City of Gold they had a better idea of what they were dealing with.

Ah... the City of Gold - how much she wished to return there. It was magnificent in every way. Splendidly rich, the pirates dream. "One day... one day I'll find my way back..." Elizabeth murmured to herself. Lifting the piece to her eye, Elizabeth stopped short when several tell tale voices reached her ears.

Spinning about, Elizabeth peered through the scope to the deck, where a sight gave her a jolt of relieved pleasure. Raff hadn't removed the bandages - or, it seemed, loosened them; James was up and walking, albeit weekly, and then there was Richelle.

Nodding to herself for no apparent reason, Elizabeth turned back round, lifting the piece to her eye to scan the waters. Larboard and abaft were clear - just the waves lapping against each other. However, as Elizabeth turned her attention starboard, the relief that had begun lapping at her feet disappeared quickly as the speck of ship focused further.

Pushing the smaller end of her piece into the larger, Elizabeth swung herself out of the nest after pocketing the 'scope, grabbing hold of the rigging and looking down at the deck. "Lookee' sharp naow boys 'n' garls, wi've got 's a ship starboard side."
Confirmation that many had heard her hollar was in the several faces that turned up to the woman climbing down the rigging, moving so quickly and carelessly that her calloused palms were burned from the rope. One of the crew, taking the inituative to act before being ordered, began to make his way up the rigging as Liz made her way down, intent on taking her place at the nest. He caught the eye-piece as Elizabeth threw it to him, and she dropped that last metre, legs slightly bent as she hit the deck.

Straightening, Elizabeth strode towards her Masters, nodding at each in turn - stopping at James.

"'Tis good te see ye up 'n' abou' Jimmy, bu' I fear ye' may have picken'd a bad day te be awakenin'. 'Spose, though, you've sung the words. A pirates life for me, eh." Elizabeth returning her attention fully to those before her.

"She wasn't near enough fer me to gi' a good look when I was above, so I dinnae if she be friend or foe. Best te' be prepared, though I'm supposin'."
There's Something About...
Tamara Hale... And It Reeks Of

Revenge

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Jadeling Hawkins on Sun Sep 13, 2009 12:47 am

A porcelain cup went streaking across the busy tavern, and shattered against the wall above Richelle's head. She didn't flinch, taking a bitter swig from her own wooden mug. For all the differences in the surely countless ports that freckled the world's oceans, at least there would always be some steady, universal madness about their taverns.

In a fit of nostalgia (no doubt brought on by the surprising quantity of rum the lass had managed to stow away during her brief respite) Richelle found herself comparing this night to her first sneak-in to a British tavern in her port home. She had been young, so impossibly young, then, and had giggled along with the neighbor girl as she flirted with sailors and imitated the coy eye-flutterings of the evening ladies there. She had always hoped for a life of adventure, the same as any other lass who saw the trappings of explorers and sea-farers daily in her home town. Perhaps she had experienced some fantastical inklings of dreaded pirates and endless blue in sky and horizon; but had she ever truly believed it would be hers someday? Or that she would find impossible friendship in a sworn enemy to her country? Or that she'd find honest-to-God true love in the swarthy grin of a dedicated sea dog?

She certainly hadn't ever gone as far as to imagine herself where she was now...Cursed. Marked for terrible death and eternal flames of misery by the ill-fated touch of a simple map. Having relinquished all that she'd gained to fight off the horrid fate on her own.

"Tch." With a back-throat sound of disgust, Richelle nudged her mug away and planted her soot-streaked face in one small hand. It had been two weeks since she had last seen The Fledging and her crew, three weeks since she had plunged into the water to face her demonic foe. She believed--prayed to whomever might still care to listen--that she had taken the remnants of the curse along with her. But seeing the streaks of white hair and the years of fatigue under her Lucky Charm's green eyes had been too much; Richelle could ask no more of her sailing family. In the dead of the night, she had stolen away from the ship that had become her home. She left in her place little more than a note and a missing rowboat. The note had explained her desire to cease further harm on the ship, her apologies for what trouble her curse had caused already, and her desire for the crew to go on with their lives free of any worries for her own self. She had even wished Raff (and his brother) best of luck against the crown.

Of course, there had been a second note penned in her careful hand, stuffed into a familiar battered tricorn. It had been of an entirely more tender nature; full of thanks and apologies and pleas. A note to inform the owner that she hadn't tugged him from the hangman's noose just to drag him around by it in a fight against demons. A note that was begun and ended with her love, and which she had tried very carefully to keep any hint of an invitation out of.

So now there she sat. Richelle June Oaken, traitor to the crown and now to herself. She had, for the sake of going less noticed, at last exchanged her dress for a worn set of men's clothing. In this region of the world, simple breeches and vest were difficult to come by. But the alternative was fairly similar, if far baggier and awkward to learn how to attach to her slim form, and allowed for free range of motion and, as long as she kept her long hair tucked up and out of sight beneath a cap and did not bring any attention to herself, ease of travel. She had managed to purchase passage aboard two ships so far, and felt certain that she was nearing her goal. What would come when she reached Elkab, Richelle could only guess.

But the night was waning thin, and she needed to rest before finding her next transportation on the morrow. Richelle dropped a few coins onto the counter and headed for the stairs towards the room she had purchased, just as a fight was breaking out amongst a few of the drunker men. She had nearly made it to the stairs when one of the men was shoved backwards, and stumbled into her, taking her to he ground with him. The two bumped another man still seated, who spilled his funny smelling drink on his neighbor...and in an instant the place was an inferno of gleeful violence.

Richelle swore under her breath, checking that her cap was in place, and began swiping and kicking out at anyone in her path in an attempt to regain her ground and sneak back upstairs.
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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Irish Wolf on Mon Sep 14, 2009 1:30 pm

Raff was torn between laughing in a rage filled glee and groaning in dismay, The brawl that filled the filthy tavern would provide a good opportunity to work out some of the frustration he had been feeling over his long hunt for his wayward friend but he had been so close to his quarry this time and now, it would going to b almost impossible to catch up her. However, the spark in his remaining eye burned brightly, as he eased the one pistol from his worn leather belt and gripped the barrel.

His attire had changed over the hunt, the fine white shirt, brazen orange sash and wide green pants were stowed away in a rough bag (which was sitting by his feet). Now he was dressed in dirty cotton shirt, reaching down to his knees in the local fashion with a pair of brown wooden trousers he had.....bartered off of a sailor and an old leather belt around his waist. The fine black eyepatch was replaced with a ragged bandage over the left side of his face. The only thing that remained true about the master gunner of the Fledgling was his braided hair. He couldn't bring himself to cut it off, even to change his appearance to get close enough to Richelle June Oaken to catch her.

A single pistol and his dirk remained at his side, with the other two firearms stored with his clothing, along with two powder horns and a bag of shot. The Scottish broadsword had been left behind on the ship, as a promise to return (and because its heavy profile would be hard to carry in the bag). Instead of the blade, one of the boardaxes had been taken to replace it.

"Stick close Mike me lad" growled Raff, downing the half tankard of warm mule piss they were trying to pass off as brew and standing up. The single green orb focused on the thin figure near the stairs. As he waded into the fight, one big fist swung into faces and torsos, as the other started swinging the pistol around, breaking bones with the brass butt.
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Its easy to be brave behind a castle wall
Twelve highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion
A king's son is no nobler then the food he eats

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby muketsu_bara on Mon Sep 14, 2009 8:39 pm

Twigs could hear the beginnings of a brawl in the town tavern, where she had followed Raff. She had told herself to stay outside, just in case the woman went out the front door. She had been glancing over some "jewelry" that was being sold when she heard the first shout. A soft muttered curse and the dawning realization that she wasn't dressed the part.

Having boarded the dock, Twigs had swapped out the white cotton shirt, the pants, and the boots she loved so dearly for the fancy maroon colored dress. Using a window for a mirror, she pulled up her sandy blonde hair into a fancy bun style hair do. The whistles that addressed her as she walked down the street made her bristle with irritation, but she didn't look like the same Twigs she had two weeks ago. A crew member might mistake her from afar, but to a stranger, Twigs would look like one of the upper class women that enjoyed sullying themselves in the ocean riffraff.

The brawl inside made Twigs itch to go inside and fight to pull Richelle out, but being dressed as a high-ranking woman, she fought the urge and stayed outside. Whispering from behind her had her turn and resume her gaze over the rope necklaces of gemstones. Ever keeping an eye on the front door in case Raff, Mike, or Richelle came out it.

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Jadeling Hawkins on Wed Sep 16, 2009 2:06 pm

"Aye!" Mike growled eagerly to his brother's order, grabbing hold of a loosened chair leg. He yanked the peg off, and held it like a club, his green eyes flashing readily as the fray came to a boil. The young Irishman had earned himself plenty of experience in brawls, both from his travels in search of the infamous Raff Kelly and from his youth proudly defending his island from British sailors. More than a few rallying battles had been fought by the young men who didn't wish to be pressganged, following after Mike Kelly as he fiercely tried to fill in his brother's shoes.

Now Mike put his skills to good use, ramming the blunt end of the table leg into a drunken man's belly button, kicking out at the instep of another and sending him sprawling to the ground. Mike clung close to Raff's back, eager to do as much damage as possible while helping find the missing First Mate.

Richelle, for her part, was close to retrieving her sabre and standing her ground properly. She had learned to do well enough in a fight, but was unaccustomed to standing completely alone. She could defend herself wonderfully with a sword however...but then, that would bring unwanted attention to herself. At last, she spotted an opening towards the stairs. One man stumbled over his lengthy shirt, crashing into two others and sending the lot of them into a struggling heap next to a statue of a cow. Richelle scurried past them and up the stairs, huffing in relief. But as she glanced back behind her, she happened to glimpse something. A flash of red. No, two flashes of red. Red hair. In a land filled with dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark-eyed men.

With a frustrated oath, Richelle raced up the stairs and into the room she had purchased for the night. Whether it was just a coincidence, and the Kelly brothers happened to be staying in the same rat hole as herself for the evening (she doubted that, or Raff would have had a woman standing behind him and squealing in delight at how strong he was) or they had somehow followed her, one thing was for certain: she couldn't stay there.

Stuffing a loaf of bread and a canteen of rum into her haversack, along with the map to Elkab and a bit of powder, Richelle hurried to the window. Though the customs and clothing were strange, one delightful thing about this country were the roofs. They were all flat: easy to climb. And Richelle took advantage of this by reaching out, grasping the edge of the flat roof, and hauling herself precariously up onto it. Then, slightly out of breath (having a demon inside oneself made escaping miserable work), she glanced every which direction for the most likely route to avoid detection. She didn't take notice of the finely dressed lady on the ground below her, seemingly examining jewelry.

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Irish Wolf on Thu Sep 17, 2009 10:11 pm

"Damn" roared Raff, as he happened to spot the rear of the wraith figure he hunted disappear up the stairs. With an indigent shout of being deprived his prey, the big man swung the butt of his pistol into the mouth of a very unlucky man of dark skin. A spray of blood and bits of teeth showered those just out of the reach of the enraged gunner, as he started grabbing men and throwing them from his path, his eye blazing like those of a pain-maddened bull facing a taunting matador. Indeed, only a bull might be able to rival the tossing of men, although such a proud beast would surely make sure to trample them into the ground and charge through another crowd for more.

As it was, the big man was barely able to force his way through and race up the stairs (shaking more then a few crude nails loose along the way)to catch the barest glimpse of a foot escaping out the window of a room with its room flung open. With another roar of frustration, he charged inside and thrust his arm through the small window, groping widely for his friend. After a futile few seconds, he withdrew and smashed his fist against the frame of the small window, knowing his bulk would get stuck for a while if he tried to follow.

"Mike" roared Raff, "After our wayward kin, over the roofs, before she gets away!"

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Jadeling Hawkins on Thu Sep 17, 2009 11:41 pm

Richelle could hear the slam of a heavy fist against her windowsill, and knew instinctively who it must belong to. She caught herself before swearing aloud, also hearing Raff's order to his younger brother and knowing she had scant time to wander around.

"Aye, sah!" Mike snapped out, his small foot already on the sill. His wiry young frame fit through the window with embarrassing ease; but as much as he already resembled Ireland's greatest hero, he had faith that he'd grow sizable given a few years on deck. For now, however, he scrambled up onto the flat chalky roof and looked every which way until he spotted the only quick-retreating form in sight. He took off at a dead sprint after her, knocking over three wooden clothing lines and suddenly glad for the far-reaching boulders and steep hills that his home island had given him to leap off of in his younger years. The buildings of this strange city weren't very far apart, but the first jump over an alley could have been treacherous had he fallen.

"Stop! Avast, Lady, quit yer flight!"

Richelle heard the fiery lad's shout, and picked up speed. She didn't look back; she didn't have to to know that he had seen her and if only for the sake of following orders he wouldn't let her out of his sight. Her new boots were better for running than her old simple maid's shoes had been, and she believed that an early life of sprinting through the streets to avoid constables and angry victims of theft should have prepared her better for a chase than even the spitfire Mike's young energy had him. But she was certain that his light footfalls were gaining.

Richelle turned a sharp corner at the edge of a building, and could feel the wind as Mike flew past her, having mistakenly made the jump to the next roof where he had thought he'd catch her. If nothing else, the lad swore like a seasoned sailor. The trick granted her at least a few moments as he corrected and got the momentum to jump back after her, but she recognized that it wouldn't be enough. Richelle ran for the East-side wall, glanced desperately down, then held her breath and leaped off into the empty darkness.

At first, Mike was too stunned to speak. Surely the First Mate wasn't so determined...

Then he heard the crack of a whip, and an urgent clattering of hooves as a cart rolled away. Mike swore more urgently than he had yet done in his practice, and hopped back over the two alleys that led to the pub's roof. Back where he had started, Mike licked his lips and leered down over the edge at a pile of hay. If a woman was brave enough for a foolhardy jump, then surely he could muster it...But he jumped, miscalculated, and yelped as he hit the edge of the hay cart and rolled over to land hard on the ground. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but he still wheezed as he looked up at the 'lady' who was Twigs and pointed after the quickly disappearing cart, "She's off!"

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby muketsu_bara on Fri Sep 18, 2009 12:42 am

Cursing softly as Mike told her that Richelle was off, Twigs picked up her skirts and ran at her fullest speed. The skirts were slowing her down, but she managed to get to a horse that a man was jumping off. "Move it," she growled and pushed the man aside and mounted his steed.

"Hey! That's my horse!" the man called after her as she kicked the steed into motion. Twigs coughed lightly into her hand as the horse galloped down the streets. Keeping her eyes open for the cart that Mike had been pointing at, a smirk played on her lips as she spotted it... a few streets over, but that was easily remedied. Nudging the horse to move faster, Twigs pulled the reins to the right, making the horse move to another street.

"Richelle!" she called out as she galloped behind the cart. "Richelle, woman stop the cart!" Twigs and the horse dodged a few bystanders as she tried to get closer to the cart. Grunting as the horse jumped something or someone in the road, Twigs eyed the distance between horse and the cart, calculating whether or not she could jump it.

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Jadeling Hawkins on Fri Sep 18, 2009 11:30 pm

The driver of the cart gave the horses a second emphatic crack of the ship, hunkered over in the rickety singular seat across from the galloping lady. Late-night pedestrians scampered frantically out of the path of the two speeding riders, overturning a stall selling special comforts and leaving a trail of scattered gold coins from the frantic owner. Three streets disappeared in the race; the cart careened around a corner and lost the top of its kindling for sale to the waiting lap of a surprised holy man.

Then, when it seemed that the elegantly dressed Twigs would have no choice but to make the leap and try and stop the stampede herself, the driver pulled gingerly on the reins, allowing the tired horses to at last relax into a leisurely trot. The brim of the driver's hat was lifted, revealing a large, apologetic grin.

"I am begging your pardon, Miss," Spoke the dark-skinned man who was serving Twigs with a good-natured chuckle from the driver's seat of his cart, "But there is no, as you say, 'woman' here. My humblest of apologies, Oh lovely rider of a stolen horse. But you would perhaps like to purchase some fire wood?"



Back behind the pub, in the then-empty space where the woodcart had rested, Richelle allowed herself a wary grin and tucked a narrow pipe in between her teeth. She tucked her hands into her pockets and strolled along into the dark, directly past the wheezing Mike, who took no notice of the slight stranger who made their way alone into the shadows like so many other lost and wandering souls. The trick with the cart driver had cost her a hasty handful of coins in bribery, but it had been worth it. She would have to find a new place to rest that night, but at least her friends might be discouraged from continuing to follow her.

Richelle, in her strange Indian man's clothing and with a lazy trail of smoke drifting from her new pipe, made her way across the dirt street and began strolling along looking for a quieter inn still close to the port. She had to find a new ship to carry her onward by morning...no time could be wasted as she raced for Elkab.

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby muketsu_bara on Mon Sep 21, 2009 8:37 am

The shock and anger rippled through Twigs when the driver turned out not to be her friend. Blushing deeply as she stuttered to gather the right words of apology, Twigs turned the horse around and made her way back to the tavern. The anger simmered in the pit of her stomach, giving her a small case of indigestion, so she didn't gallop back to Mike and Raff.

Pulling her hair from the ornate hair-do, Twigs shook her head, letting it wash over her shoulders. She noted the looks she gathered from the men that stepped from alleyways, buildings, and the ones standing already on the street. Resting her hand on the horn of the saddle, Twigs nudged the horse into a trot, somewhat fleeing from the unwanted attention. The clip-clop of the hooves on the street below her coupled with the harsh glares from the street merchants, Twigs finally arrived back at the tavern.

Slinging her leg over the saddle, patting the horse's warm neck, Twigs kissed the gentle beast's nose and sent it off, hoping that it would find its master before someone else stole it. She let out a heavy sigh as she slowly made her way into the tavern to see if Raff and Mike were still here. If they were, Twigs would join them and say, "It twasn't'er. She pulled a switch."

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Irish Wolf on Tue Sep 22, 2009 6:45 pm

Raff grunted and cursed, as he jerked his broad shoulders from the window frame. After sending his brother along to keep up the chase, he had tried to wriggle trough, like some eel into a rocky cave, so that he could make the final capture of their prey (not that he didn't trust Mike but he was on the small side for the moment and he knew Richelle's fighting spirit). With his vantage point, he as able to see his brother racing back towards the seedy tavern and make the jump. One last twist of his shoulders and the big man went tumbling on his backside, knocking his head against the bed with a cry of pain.

"When I find her" he growled, scrambling to his bare feet, "I'll be doin like her daddy should have, turn her over me knee and spank her like some harbor brat."

Still muttering, the big man rolled to his feet and raced down the stairs. The common room has a scene of battered bodies, laying where most of them had fallen (or had been rolled out of the way by the feet of the few victors). Stopping only to grab the bag containing clothing, weapons and a little coin, those bare feet raced out into the night.

As Raff entered into the night, he ran smack into a what appeared in the dark to be a name with the smell of pipe smoke about him. The gunner was not in the least bothered by the collision (save for an annoyed grunt) but the man was knock off his feet and down to the ground, flat on his back. It took him a few steps but the former gunner slowed his wild dash and came back. He doubted that he would be of any use in catching his friend now, that she had such a lead on them.

"Sorry old gaffer" he said in a semi-sincere tone, bending down to help the man up, "I did no see ye in the darkness of this black night...."

His voice trailed off, as his single green eye bulged. It was no old man smoking a pipe he had knocked over but his friend, who seemed to have master the art of quick putting on a new set of cloths. His teeth burned white in the dark, as a predatory smile spread over his face and his hands twitched, as if he already had her arm in his clutches.

"RICHELLE" howled Raff, in an odd mixture of a "I have you know" cackle and a "greeting an old friend" wordless yell.

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Jadeling Hawkins on Tue Sep 22, 2009 7:11 pm

Just as she had nearly lost her keen edge of thought in victory, Richelle found herself tumbling bodily to the ground as some great mass knocked her clean off her feet. A frantic moment caught her as she could think of only one mass of muscle similar to this one. She desperately sought her fallen cap and stuffed her head back beneath it as she prayed to the Holy Sees that Raff would display the barbaric lack of manners that his countrymen were supposed to have, and leave her to lie on the ground. Typical with her luck as of late, he did not.

There was a moment's hesitation on Richelle's part as her green eyes met the one remaining of her ship-side brother. The pipe she had been smoking from lay simmering on the ground beside her. Her pack was still slung across her back--she could still try and make a run for it. Raff was speedy, no doubt, but as bulky as he was, there was simply no chance that he could be quite as fast as the slight pick-pocketing pirate lass. But she now knew him to have at least two confederates; his brother Mike, who had already nearly outrun her (but who was now nursing himself after his fall) and Twigs, who still wore a refined woman's clothes. Who else might be there with them, waiting to slip around behind her in the dark? Elizabeth, perhaps, though Richelle doubted the captain would leave her ship for such a foolhardy errand. Or James.

It was this thought, of running headlong into her swashbuckling sweetheart, that pumped a fresh rush of adrenaline into Richelle's veins. It had been difficult enough leaving him asleep on the ship with no more than a letter explaining herself. But the idea of seeing the look in his eyes, those eyes that sparkled so brightly when he spoke, was too much to bare. She'd rather die, even with her last memory of the man being that of a tired, beaten soul when the greatest sound she'd ever treasured had been his hearty laugh.

Richelle picked herself up from the ground, resolute. She left the pipe smoking where it lay, steeled herself and met Raff's gaze with a scowl.

"RAFF KELLY! Ye bumblin' Irish sea dog!" Richelle shouted back at him. She might have been reproachful, or even simply mocking his own tones.

But the cry carried, and sure enough, from out of the much nicer tavern across the street, there hurried three startled looking soldiers. Red-coated young men eager to rise in their ranks, who caught sight of the red-headed, one-eyed man being confronted by the scrawny lad with messy brown hair, and raced forward with a shout for obedience from the Irish rebel.

Richelle turned on her heel, paused, and shot a sorrowful glance over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, mate, truly I am. But 'tis better this way...donnae try to follow me again."

Then she dashed away down the street, leaving Raff, Twigs and Mike to deal with their new friends.

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Irish Wolf on Tue Sep 22, 2009 9:16 pm

"Not follow ye" Raff scoffed, ignoring the calls for his surrender from lads that looked to be little more then midshipmen at best, "Are ye daft? I'll not be the one ta break the news ta James that ye got ye're self killed for bein the fool. Hell's bloody teeth, I'll be there ta make sure none of ye're friends have ta suffer his wrath for it!"

As Richelle dashed off, the big man started to follow, his feet taking no more then seven steps before he came to a dead step. A loud bang had sounded behind him, like the crack of thunder and pain burned its way throughout his left buttock. Hopping around and yowling in pain, he turned to face were the sound had come from. A shaking midshipman stood there, a smoking pistol in hand. It was of french design, not english, which raised the question of where the lad had gotten it. Unlike the english sea-service pistol, with his barrel cradled in hard wood and the butt capped in bronze, the french piece was lightly constructed. It would have bend the barrel had one used it as a club, for unlike the english pistol, it's barrel was left free with nothing to add strength to it.

With a fury to rival the worse of storms, his hand shot towards the pistol tucked into his belt but slowed as Raff caught a glimpse of the lad's face. His heart stopped for a moment, as memories of Midshipman Hunter awashed his mind. The young Englishman had been the only officer about HMS Revenge that could have been called decent (some might have called the lad nice). Hunter had been terrified of the Irishmen and had always scuttled away in fear, when no other officer was about. What really had plucked the heartstrings of Mr. Kelly, had been his death. The boy had left this world, crying in the big arms of the gunner, when a french cannon ball had sent large splinters into the boy's heart.

He couldn't shoot him, not now, not after seeing a face still with babyfat still on the cheeks. Nor could he just leave now. With a bellow like a wounded bull, he charged toward the boy, with a strange hobbling gait. His right hand clenched into a hammer-like fist and when he had closed the distance between them in a few strides, the fist was driven into the boy's stomach. The midshipman was lifted off his feet, as all the air in his body explosively exited through his mouth and was sent soaring back into the tavern.

The anger and hate just boiling out of the Irishman's pores sent the second of the trio running down the street, nearly wetting himself. Considering but not seeing the third offing suit of the second, Raff turn and ran after his fleeing friend. however, the third was not cowed but driven by fear to draw the midshipman's dirk handing off his belt and run after the Irish rogue, to drive the blade deep into unprotected back of the running man.

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Jadeling Hawkins on Thu Sep 24, 2009 11:18 pm

Just seconds before the brave Midshipman's blade could catch its pray, the young man was sent sprawling senseless to the ground with a hard crack! against his skull. Mike Kelly stood huffing where the man had fallen from, a broken board clenched in his already sea-toughened hands. It was hard to decide how he felt more: embarrassed by being tricked by the running First Mate, or elated that he had just saved his brother and a rebel country's hero.

There was little time for the lad to decide, however, as Raff had already nearly rounded the street corner and the First Mate had long disappeared from sight. Mike paused to lean against his knees and breath deep, glancing across at Twigs. "Bloody 'ell! I'm near 'bout full knackered...all for chasin' some other feller's biddy!"



Richelle hadn't lingered to see Raff beat off her summoned trouble. She was determined to put as much distance between them as she possibly could--perhaps she'd get a few hours sleep yet before she headed out to find her next transport in the morning. But she would run short of air if she wasn't careful, and then not only be unable to continue her flight, but unable to twist out of the massive Master Gunner's grip if he managed to catch her. Raff, among his other qualities, was a stubborn boar. She couldn't risk getting too close to him.

So to allow herself a moment to catch her breath, Richelle ducked down an alley, heading towards the smell of the ocean. She scrambled up a series of rickety ladders until she was once more on a large, flat roof. There, she squatted down so that she could better see the alley below, watching for some sign of the Irish rogue. She fought to keep her breath even, and soon shifted so that her shins were flat against the roof. It wouldn't help her running if her legs cramped up, after all.

Inwardly she prayed that Raff would give up the chase, and return to the Fledgling, and live out his days spoiling Elizabeth and drinking rum.

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Irish Wolf on Fri Sep 25, 2009 9:06 pm

Raff grunted with pain with each step, as he hobbled down the road (at a good pace mind you), his ears perked up for the sound of his prey, following his friend by sound. Each footfall sent streams of liquid fire racing down the muscle his left leg, as a little more blood leaked from the embarrassing wound. Where on earth he was going to find a barber-surgeon in this forsaken place to removed the lead ball from his....hindquarters was beyond his imagining.

It was the rattling the rickety ladders that drew the big man into the alley but by the time he arrived, his shipmate was long gone and the sounds of desperate flight had ended. He stood there (right under Richelle as it turned out), casting his single eye about in a baleful glare. His chest rose and fell in heavy breathing, as he grimaced during a gingerly touching of the wound. The tips of his fingers came away, sticky and damp from the clotting blood that was soaking the cloth of his pants.

"Damn the bastard son of a harbor whore" muttered Raff, "Shootin a man in his arse. And damn Richelle ta, not a chance in 'ell of me goin back ta James empty handed. That right proper bastard would skin and salt me. Then there what Liz would be doin ta me, runnin off again like I did. I'll be stayin out till I find her, scour the winds I will."

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby muketsu_bara on Sat Sep 26, 2009 11:01 pm

Twigs gathered her thoughts about her and set a firm, but friendly, hand on Mike's shoulder. "No worries, mate. We'll not stop 'til we git'er... er else we be facin' a mighty angry cap'n," she said softly and glanced toward the corner they disappeared around. "Well, now, we best be comin' up wit' a plan ta catch tha maiden. She be headin' ta Elkab, now alls we need ta do is ta catch tha ship she be gettin' on an' then we 'ave 'er..."

Gathering her breath, she shot Mike a grin and started toward the harbour. She didn't know what she was going to do when she got there, all she knew was that she had to get out of this get-up. Looking over her shoulder, Twigs watched to see if Mike would follow her or catch his breath before she began to weave her way through the crowd. Here and there, she lifted an item off a merchant's cart, but only those that weren't paying attention to her but to the groups crowded around them.

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Jadeling Hawkins on Tue Sep 29, 2009 12:50 am

A faint redness rose up in young Mike's cheeks as Twig's slender hand left his shoulder. And despite the remaining ache in his bruised ribs, Mike was quick to follow after the pirate lass. He shoved his hands into his pockets and dropped his shaggy red head so that he could properly glower at the number of dark-skinned men and late-night wanderers that they passed. Anyone who chanced to glance in Twigs' direction after her nimble fingers had procured some new bauble were turned away by an enthusiastic sneer from the young Irishman.

Before long, the pair had reached the side of a swearing Raff Kelly. Mike's face twisted in empathetic pain at the sight of the clotting blood around his brother's posterior, and shrugged off his tattered vest to be used as a makeshift apron of sorts. He'd be damned before he offered to actually do anything about the bullet, however. "'Ave we lost 'er, then? I could run fer the ship, sah, and tell 'em ta keep their eyes sharp."

Mike would have commented that he didn't see much use in continuing their efforts, had he not known they'd be rebuffed (and likely with a sharp cuff to his ear). But why all this fuss over one woman? And not even the prettiest one on the ship, he noted with a quick glance towards the lovely blond Twigs, and a thought for the red-haired captain.



Up on the roof, Richelle was satisfied that she was well hidden. And with the arrival of Twigs and Mike, she knew Raff wouldn't be allowed to stubbornly bleed to death there in the alley. It was time to move forward.

Careful to keep low, lest one of the Fledgling's mates glance up and catch sight of her retreating form, Richelle crept farther away on the roof. Soon she was able to hop over to the next building (it was appalling how closely spaced these places were--the smell alone of some of them should have dictated a quarantine) and from there she took the precaution of a few more leaps and scrambles before she felt comfortable returning to ground. She descended another rickety ladder to stalk off between a few lazy gentlemen enjoying an elaborate pipe together, and headed for the harbor.

Richelle kept her hat tucked firmly around her head, her long brown locks hidden from sight. The baggy nature of the strange clothing she had adopted helped conceal her gender, as did the stoop she maintained as she mimicked the wary lope that so many of her gentlemen sailor friends used. Along with the foil she kept at her side, and the humble haversack that held her few earthly possessions, she believed that she could at least pick a ship heading East without being bothered. But she had just set her sights on a promising looking vessel; one with few crew and a larger girth than surely they could handle alone; when her blood chilled at the sound of familiar voices.

"...Never seen such a fuss..." "...Who'd 'ave thought; the devil hisself..."

The two men stretching the kinks from their backs as they wobbled drunkenly down the port were unmistakably from Richelle's own beloved vessel. One of them was even an original sailor from that first unbelievable voyage, who had somehow managed to drink and wench away his portion of the Seven Cities of Gold. They were on leave, no doubt, while Raff had gone off to find her. And if they turned their heads and caught sight of her, even in the clever disguise, Richelle was certain her flight would be active once more.

Without thinking, Richelle turned on her heel and leaped into the nearest open container. It was a barrel. A barrel of pickles, no less, or at least she hoped so as she found herself sloshing in against several suspicious shapes. She grabbed the top of the barrel and slammed it down over the top of herself, and just as the two pirates realized that they had the wrong port side and ambled back past her to find their ship again. Richelle exhaled slowly with relief.

And then her barrel moved.

For a stomach-torturing moment, Richelle believed the thing must have tipped over and fallen into the sea. Then, as she caught her breath, she realized that she was in fact being hauled. Hauled by men muttering oaths in English about the weight of their burden, she realized with a scowl.

Well, at least this was one way to sea...

As the barrel made its way across, bobbing with the waves, to its destination, Richelle maintained her careful silence. Once she revealed herself, she'd have to implore the captain for not only forgiveness, but a chance to bathe. Pickle smell wasn't so bad as some other scents of the sea, but too much of a good thing really was bothersome. At last the barrel came to a sturdy halt, and Richelle heard the wiry rasp of ropes being secured around her. Another fear clenched her heart as she considered something heavy being laid upon her. She'd have to hope to survive on pickles and brine until she was released...and no doubt turn into a pickled pirate herself in the process. But there were no sounds of any weights being added to her top (she had to painfully maneuver herself to be sitting the proper direction after poor handling, of course), and Richelle silently thanked whomever it was that had blessed her so.

Soon, the vague sway and promise of motion became a familiar bob and weave as the ship she'd been accidentally loaded onto pushed off into deep sea. Richelle waited until the hum of activity muffled by her wooden walls told her that it was past time for any turning back to port. Then she shifted her aching legs, pressed her palms flat against the lid of her barrel, and sprung upright. She of course surprised several sailors nearby, but they were soothed by her presence compared to how she found theirs.

Crisp uniforms. Relatively clean, white skins. Britain's flag flapping importantly in the breeze.

"Oh, bugger me blind..."

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Re: Possibly Pirates 2: Curse of the Raksasha

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Desquode on Tue Sep 29, 2009 6:34 pm

"Uhn... urk... Hnn! Rats..." He was reaching as far as humanly possible, feeling around for anything of his. But it was all just out of reach. The officers wouldn't even let him keep his hat. His coat had been tossed aside onto a crate, with his pistols, sword, and hat all thrown on top of it, so close to him that he could smell it's familiar scent. But even that was being taken from him as the ship started on it's way into the salty ocean. But still, one consolable fact keep him from complaining too much: he was far better off than the man in the cell next to him... The poor bloke was chained to the wall, and caked over with dirt. It wasn't clear if he was still alive. His limp body could just mean he was asleep, or too weak to hold himself up anymore.

Allan gave a conversation a try. "Excuse me, sir... Are you asleep?" Moments of silence was his only reply. "Sir, might you even be alive?"

"Grhk... Gah, guu... W-What?" The man's voice was terribly rasp, probably due to a lack of water. "Who be dere, aye?"

Allan stood up, limping over to the wall between him and the other man. "I'm... BloodBird. A pirate."

"Ksh-sh-sh, no kidding, me lad! Ye wordn't be on dis 'ere ship if ye weren't a blooming pirate!" The man broke out into a harsh laughter which quickly changed to a rough coughing fit. "I din't even notice dey t'rew ye down 'ere... When were it?"

"Not more than a day ago, as far as I can figure. There's not a single window down here, and the door is always shut." Both sighed at the same time, and Allan sat, leaning against the wall. "I could likely get out of here if I could at least reach one of my weapons... The clever fools placed them just out of reach, as if they wanted to tease me."

"Aye, no kidding... Dey lef' a flippin' shred o' bread by me cell. I can almerst ge' it with me feet, but t'e closer I ge', t'e furder it go..."

"Seems these officers have a cruel sense of humor."

"Psh... Dey all do, me lad! Dere be not such a t'ing as a sympat'etic officer!" Silence filled the room like the ocean would fill a sinking ship. The man went limp again, and Allan continued to reach for his things, unsuccessfully as ever. It was quite a frustrating ordeal for him... So close to touching the end of his cutlass, and yet he couldn't make the slightest contact. But if he could, he would have a suitable expansion to his arm, and them maybe, just maybe he could get a pistol, and blast the lock off... Assuming, of course, that it was weak enough.

But he'd spent more time than need be. His leg still stung from the stab, even if it was a week or so ago. As far as he could figure, there was something wrong with the bone. He could still stand and walk, but he had to be careful about it. So he gave up. He just sat back against the wall, bringing his arm back into the cell. Allan sincerely hoped it would end better then he had been anticipating.
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