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Snippet #2680684

located in The Seven Seas, a part of Making Waves, one of the many universes on RPG.

The Seven Seas

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Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender
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Carrington stepped from the Captain's quarters with little preamble and shut the door quietly behind him. As if closing the door had a sudden debilitating effect upon him, the Navigator swooned and placed a hand against the frame of the door to steady himself. The alcohol and lack of sleep was rapidly catching up with him. His vision was beginning to blur and he could feel the tingly touch of fatigue hammering into his muscles.
Carrington shook his head, clearing it of the fog threatening to overcome him like a dingy in a treacherous harbor. As he recovered, his mind whirred as he began plotting and planning what was to come next. Part of his thoughts raced through finding Franklin, and Donovan and giving them their parts, while the other plotted their course. He knew the channel like the back of his hand, and already had an idea as to where they should head in order to properly supply and repair.

He did not have to walk very far until he bumped into Mr. Donovan, whom he hailed over with a broad smile.

"Donovan, old man. I have a little task fer ya!", he said merrily as they came to stand together.

Donovan rolled his eyes in exasperation at the prospect of having more shoved on his plate, but he shrugged, going along with whatever Carrington's insane mind had cooked up this time.

"I swear to God if ya have me waking up in the middle o' the night to put rats in Daniel's bed again I'll be pushin' some under yer door as well, Carrington...", he replied with a finger pointing at his old friend.

Carrington chuckled, waving the thought away and shaking his head.

"Christ's sake Donovan, ya think I'd be givin' ye the same order twice now? Little faith ya 'ave in me, mate. No, I want ya to be lookin' after the elder woman we brought aboard. Name's Thuron, Jaqueline Thuron. You're goin' to be assistin' 'er with 'er various duties aboard the ship an' makin' sure she does nothin' untoward, ya ken?"

Donovan nodded and gave Carrington a salute before wandering off to go find his new charge. He couldn't repress a shake of his head as he descended into the ship, wondering why the hell he pulled such a shit charge and musing at simply killing the woman so he wouldn't be stuck with her for too long.

"Send Mr. Franklin to my quarters if ya pass 'im!", Carrington called after the man as he rounded a corner.

With everything pretty much taking care of itself, Carrington decided the best course of action would be to retire to his quarters for the time being, chart them a course, and then go find Nathaniel's primary lapdog, Mr. Dogood. Carrington and Dogood had alwasy gotten along, the two seeing rather close to eye to eye, and having a particular sadistic streak, just like Nathaniel himself.
He made his way inside and was disappointed to find the place a complete wreck. His armoire had taken a cannonball though it, and the thrice damned sphere had gone though it, and his cot before finally coming to a stop. Most of his clothes were little more than shreds, and now he no longer had a proper place to sleep.
Carrington heaved a sigh of irritation and simply filled his basin with water and cleaned himself after stripping from his bloody clothes.
After he was suitably clean, he placed his trophy pistols in a chest at the end of his shattered cot and noticed the pair of sacks that Mr. Donovan and Mr. Franklin had left, as per their orders. He rummaged through them and found a finely made pair of trousers, as well as various maps, charts, journals, and various other things that they were under orders to pilfer from the officer's quarters.
He slid on the trousers and tore the cork from a bottle of wine that was probably for the Captain, but since there were at least two others, he figured that there was one to spare. He took a long pull from the bottle as he sat down at his table and poured over the map, plotting out the most direct route to somewhere that they would not find to difficult to get what they required before moving on.

Carrington nodded and placed a finger upon the spot that marked the port of St. Helier on the island of Jersey, reasoning that, while it wouldn't be the safest place, if would be the easiest place to procure everything they required.

Suddenly, he found himself standing upon a rocky cliff, watching a pair of ships sail towards one another as a tempestuous storm wracked the water upon which they sailed. On his right, Carrington could clearly make out the form of Captain Nathaniel manning the helm and looking every bit the furious, sadistic man that he was. His ship was made up of the corpses and bones of the countless men he had slain, or lost at sea. His sails were of human skin and the masts were giant pillars resembling great spines.
On his left was the vision of Thuron, the Serpent's teeth. She was manning (or womanning?), the helm as well, a stark mirror to her counterpart. The vessel was shaped like the head of a great snake and covered in scales.
The pair sailed at one another, without crew and at complete odds with the maelstrom that roared around them.
Nathaniel roared in challenge, both ships sprouting forward cannons, as well as readying those upon the sides despite their lack of crew. The cannons Nate possessed fired the macabre, bloated heads of the drowned, which exploded with maggots and fire as they slammed into Thuron's vessel. Thuron's cannons fired in turn, sending live serpents and venomous fangs slamming into the undead hull of Nate's ship.

Carrington stood by, watching the pair wage their personal war against one another with single minded impunity. It was a marvel to witness, and as he watched, he became aware of someone nearby. He turned in time to see Ms. Thompson thrusting her cutlass at him, attempting to assassinate him while he was caught unawares.
The Navigator side-stepped the thrust and lashed out with his own cutlass, a roar of fury echoing from his lips as thunder and lightning peeled about the two.
The pair danced about one another, thrusting, jabbing, feinting and parrying. The dance of death was the only thing that they knew and they took the steps like the cold warriors that they were.
After several minutes of going back and forth, Carrington lashed out and snapped Ms. Thompson's blade in half, only for her to spin and knock his own blade from his hands. She moved in, seizing the opportunity to stab him in the abdomen. He let out a cry of pain, but gripped her wrist before she could withdraw the broken sword. This moment was all the madman needed and he slammed a dagger to the hilt into the space between her neck and shoulder. Ms. Thompson tried to scream in agony, but only succeeded in issuing a wet gurgle and spattered her killer with blood.
Carrington smiled as he licked her blood from his lips and pushed her collapsing corpse from the cliff , before falling to his knees. Instead of striking hard stone as he expected, he found that he had instead struck thick, glistening scales as hard as wood. Confusion spread across his face as he looked around and found himself aboard Thuron's ship.

Thuron herself cried out in confusion and fury, and without thinking twice, she drew a pistol and shot a venomous fang deep into Carrington's throat. He touched the protruding tooth with a mixture of surprise and disgust, and crumbled to the deck, gasping for air as his esophagus filled with his own blood. Tears stung his eyes as his mind raced. He wanted to know what was going to happen, he wanted to help is old friend kill this old hag and send her into the deep. His eyes opened, the haze of shock fogging his vision, but through the murk he saw that his blood was an anathema, eating away at the ship like a virulent acid. He died laughing as his blood spread throughout the ship, crippling it and reducing it to ragged ruins.

With a jolt, Carrington snapped upright in his chair, the empty wine bottle clattering to floor as he was suddenly awoken by a rough knocking upon his door.

Opening the door, Carrington was not surprised to see the scarred visage of Mr. Franklin smiling back at him.

"Go find Mr. Dogood, and tell 'im that 'e pulled duty on keepin' an eye on Angelique, the lass runnin' around patchin' the crew up. And make sure she goes to see the captain. When you're done with that, find Daniel and see to it that 'e arranges my quarters and fixes me cot."

Franklin snapped a salute and left without a word, going on to carry out his orders.

Carrington closed the door with a sigh, dressed, and went out to tell the helmsman of their heading, find Ms. Thompson and hopefully find Angelique before the First mate.

Around this time, Mr. Donovan had finally caught up with Jaqueline. He made his way up to her and gave her a nod and offered her his hand.

Mr. Donovan was an average looking man in his late twenties, and of Spanish descent. He had a mustache and goatee, both ears pierced, and a weather worn hat covering his long black hair. He stood a little less than two meters tall and had the bearing of a man that had long ago quit caring about much.

"I've been ordered to offer you aid, Madam. I am Mr. Donovan.", he said in a neutral tone, not revealing his actual feelings on the matter. Only cursing his luck at the turn of events.