Introduction
Once again, the countries of Mersia are plunged into bloody conflict. For two years, the kingdoms and so-called republics have watched as the revolution in Tordard has sown terror and death across the mighty nation. With their own fears rising, the kings protested the executions of the Tordardian nobility, to which the Revolutionary Government paid no heed. Then King Louis IX was hanged after a rather short trial, for his crimes against the people of Tordard.
When the news reached King Charles II of Crebel, he promptly declared war, ordering that his army to muster and his navy to harass any shipping along the Tordard coast. When the declaration reached the Revolutionary Government, They declared war on Schunno, the kingdom on their southern border and the traditional ally of Crebel. As the National Guard marched south, a letter from the king of Elmdelem arrived at the Tordardian capital city of Tinzon.
King George demanded that the wife and children of the late King Louis be delivered into his keeping. The revolutionaries interrupted this as a plot by the Elms, to see their government overthrown when Louis X came of age. The demand was refused and war was declared against both Elmdelem and their traditional ally, the Republic of Rilnyi. Several new regiments of the National Guard were conscripted and ordered north.
An uneasy alliance was created between Elmdelem and Crebel. The tension was cause both by a history between the two great powers of going to war with each other and the fact that Crebalian Navy ships were still taking Elmsmen merchants off the Tordardian coast as legal prizes. As general war breaks out across the land, each nation seeks ways to drawn the neutral nations into the conflict on their side.
In an effort to enlisted the Ulsttorish in their cause, the Elms have gifted their neighbor two breeding pairs of wild Gryphons and a dozen eggs. The only catch, the United Clans of Ulsttor have to send their own ship down to the Vor city state of Omilia, which is located on the far southern tip of the Mersian continent to pick them up, along with a pair of Gryphon Riders from the Elm Aircore. Because what few warships the Ulsttorish Navy possess are tried up protecting the coast, the Clanlords are forced to hire a merchantman to get the gift.
Alright, so the plot of the game is going to run a little something like this:
In an attempt to avoid the troubles in the Inner Sea, the merchantman will attempt to sail around Crebel and Elmdelem. During this voyage, the ship will be forced off the trade route and caught in a freak (or unnatural) storm and get wrecked. After the storm passes, the passengers and crew get their first look around and realize that they’re not on the Mersian continent anymore.
While attempting to survive and get home, they get caught up in another war.
The World
The known world of Aresia is made up of the continent of Mersia. There are three islands and then the continent proper. Then known nations stop at a pair of mountain ranges, the Foothill Mountains and then The Wall mountain range. The Wall mountain range is near impassable and has a massive desert on the eastern side. The desert continue for hundred of leagues and ends before the lush, isolated Eastern Nations. A small number of merchants (mostly from Delen and Vors) make the rather dangerous voyage for the rare goods found there. The merchants only get to visit one small port and learn nothing about the Eastern Nations. The technology and culture of the Western nations is roughly about the same as Earth in the late 1700s/early 1800s.
Far to the south, is a second, unmapped and unnamed continent. Several trade posts have been established along the northern coast, along for the merchants to batter with the dark skinned natives for things like ivory, animal pelts and gold.
Across the Ameroth Ocean lies the unknown continent of Bloosia. Five hundred miles inland from the eastern coast a tall mountain range, called the Ahuaxpitzatzins, raises in a rough oval, filled with passes and tunnels leaded to the lands beyond. The whole of the continent is steamy and lush rainforest, filled with exotic animals and human-like beings. Scattered around both the northern and southern tips of Bloosia are rather large groups of small islands. The lands across the western face of the central mountains are uninhabited for some reason. Any attempt to settle there is met with failure.
Races
Human
The human population of the Known World is Caucasian (ranging from pale skin tones and light hair in the north to the more olive completions and dark hair of the south). Most of the ten nations have strong similarities with European counties on a basic level.
Elmdelem is equal to England
Delen is equal to Holland
Vors is equal to Italy
Crebel is equal to Spain
Tordard is equal to France
Schunno is equal to Austria
Rilnyi is equal to Hanover
Addmor is equal to Belgium
Swiden is equal to Switzerland
Ulsttor is equal to Ireland/Scotland
Lythari
The Lythari are a race of humanoid beings, much like some descriptions of elves, which are the native people of Bloosia. An average Lythari would match an average human in height and could very well pass as a human, if it wasn’t for the elongated ears (that can reach almost half a foot long), which end in a rounded point. Their skin tones are darker then the Mersians but lighter then those of the southern continent. Nearly ever member of this race has black hair save for a small percentage that are graced with either golden or platinum blond coloration.
The Lythari have five levels of society. On the top are the nobility, followed the priestess, then the warriors, the commons and finally the slaves. To be a noble or a priestess, one must be born into that caste, although its more a thing of luck or fate to join the ranks of the priestess. It should be noted that women rule Lythari society. This is caused from a low birthrate of males and an even lower survival rate among those male babies. With this lack of males, they are given the least dangerous jobs, leaving the warrior and ruler castes to the women. The Lytharians do not marry. The men live in walled compounds near the village or city temples, where they can be best protected and are visited by woman seeking a child.
The various tribes might worship different gods but always have either the sun or the moon at the greatest of all deities. This has caused a distinct split between the Lythari, leaving an empire dedicated to the sun within the Ahuaxpitzatzins and an alliance of moon worshiping monarchies, ruled by queens, living near the coast. No matter which nation though, any Lytherian lucky enough to be born with blonde (golden for the those that worship the gun and platinum for the moon) hair become priestesses. In both religions, the great celestial bodies require blood sacrifice to keep giving life to the planet. Both the Alliance and the Empire send nearly daily raids across the Ahuaxpitzatzins to capture slaves and sacrifices.
The Lythari do not know of iron, bronze or copper. The only metals they work are gold or silver, which are used for jewelry or ornamental bowls and cups. Their knives, spears and swords are made from obsidian. Their armor is made from cotton and is often covered in feathers or animal skins.
Creatures
Sea Serpent: large snake-like reptiles with dragon like heads and scales. Most rarely grow larger then sixteen feet but some of the deep-water species can grow large enough for four of the reptiles to threaten whales. Most are even tempered and can been seen around coastal villages and following ships. They eat scraps thrown into the water or hunt for fish and crustaceans. The large ones are uncommon and mostly seen as young serpents. The teeth and scales of the large deep-water ones are prized. It is not uncommon to see sea serpents forming “hunting pack”.
Found in all waters, be they ocean, lake or stream
Gryphon: One of the stranger creatures in the world, a gryphon appears at first to be the bastard offspring from a lion mating with an eagle or maybe the rear half of a lion attached to the front half of an eagle. Whichever way it seems more plausible, a Gryphon has the forelegs and talons of an eagle, a lion's hindquarters. Its eagle's head has very prominent ears, much like a horse’s but feathered. Their tails are also an oddity, it appears that they have both a lions and an eagle’s tail, with the lion’s tail sticking out of the middle of an eagles.
Gryphon’s are common to the continent of Mersia and are somewhat domesticated by humans. Most nations have either an Air Cavalry or Aircore made up of gryphon riders armed and dressed like hussars or light dragoons, save for the shako. Some male gryphons can be temperamental and will only let women ride them, so most Aircores have women riders. While the tamed gryphon’s will mate and produce young, most nations hire trappers to capture and break wild ones to enhance their bloodlines or steal their eggs.
There are no Gryphons on Bloosia.
Itzcoatl
The Itzcoatl are large bipedal reptiles, with long whip-like tails. Most stand on average six feet high at the shoulder and can be as long as twenty-four feet, from nose to tail tip. Their feet have two toes and a large, curved claw on the inner part of the foot. They have a leathery skin, which is mottled green, brown and black. Both males and females have feathers, located in a crest on the back of the head and a patch on the end of the tail. Where the females have dull, brown feathers, the males will have brightly colored ones, chiefly in reds or yellows.
Itzcoatl are used much like the horse is back in Mersia, as beasts ridden with a reins and saddle. The bit for the reins has to be made of stone as the beast’s sharp and bone-crushing teeth will cut through leather easily. The Lythari will ride the to battle but will dismount to fight, has a general rule. However, of late as the Empire sends more and more warriors in raids that penetrate deeply into Alliance territory, Alliance warriors are forced to chase them down and do combats while mounted.
Huemac
Huemacs are large, quadruped reptiles, with thick bodies and legs but a tiny head set on a short, thick neck. Theses lumbering beasts had grow to forty feet long and weigh close to eight tones. At the shoulder, they can to be eight feet tall. Like the Itzcoatl, they have leathery skin but it is normally an ugly shade of greenish gray.
The Lythari use them as beasts of burden, setting a saddle across the shoulders and then tying baskets of trade goods or tribute down the beasts back. The creatures will walk in a straight line if the handlers let them, no matter what’s in the way. They have been known to smash into trees and walls. To get the beasts to make a change in direction, the handlers will smack the Huemacs on the opposite side of the head.
When the news reached King Charles II of Crebel, he promptly declared war, ordering that his army to muster and his navy to harass any shipping along the Tordard coast. When the declaration reached the Revolutionary Government, They declared war on Schunno, the kingdom on their southern border and the traditional ally of Crebel. As the National Guard marched south, a letter from the king of Elmdelem arrived at the Tordardian capital city of Tinzon.
King George demanded that the wife and children of the late King Louis be delivered into his keeping. The revolutionaries interrupted this as a plot by the Elms, to see their government overthrown when Louis X came of age. The demand was refused and war was declared against both Elmdelem and their traditional ally, the Republic of Rilnyi. Several new regiments of the National Guard were conscripted and ordered north.
An uneasy alliance was created between Elmdelem and Crebel. The tension was cause both by a history between the two great powers of going to war with each other and the fact that Crebalian Navy ships were still taking Elmsmen merchants off the Tordardian coast as legal prizes. As general war breaks out across the land, each nation seeks ways to drawn the neutral nations into the conflict on their side.
In an effort to enlisted the Ulsttorish in their cause, the Elms have gifted their neighbor two breeding pairs of wild Gryphons and a dozen eggs. The only catch, the United Clans of Ulsttor have to send their own ship down to the Vor city state of Omilia, which is located on the far southern tip of the Mersian continent to pick them up, along with a pair of Gryphon Riders from the Elm Aircore. Because what few warships the Ulsttorish Navy possess are tried up protecting the coast, the Clanlords are forced to hire a merchantman to get the gift.
Alright, so the plot of the game is going to run a little something like this:
In an attempt to avoid the troubles in the Inner Sea, the merchantman will attempt to sail around Crebel and Elmdelem. During this voyage, the ship will be forced off the trade route and caught in a freak (or unnatural) storm and get wrecked. After the storm passes, the passengers and crew get their first look around and realize that they’re not on the Mersian continent anymore.
While attempting to survive and get home, they get caught up in another war.
The World
The known world of Aresia is made up of the continent of Mersia. There are three islands and then the continent proper. Then known nations stop at a pair of mountain ranges, the Foothill Mountains and then The Wall mountain range. The Wall mountain range is near impassable and has a massive desert on the eastern side. The desert continue for hundred of leagues and ends before the lush, isolated Eastern Nations. A small number of merchants (mostly from Delen and Vors) make the rather dangerous voyage for the rare goods found there. The merchants only get to visit one small port and learn nothing about the Eastern Nations. The technology and culture of the Western nations is roughly about the same as Earth in the late 1700s/early 1800s.
Far to the south, is a second, unmapped and unnamed continent. Several trade posts have been established along the northern coast, along for the merchants to batter with the dark skinned natives for things like ivory, animal pelts and gold.
Across the Ameroth Ocean lies the unknown continent of Bloosia. Five hundred miles inland from the eastern coast a tall mountain range, called the Ahuaxpitzatzins, raises in a rough oval, filled with passes and tunnels leaded to the lands beyond. The whole of the continent is steamy and lush rainforest, filled with exotic animals and human-like beings. Scattered around both the northern and southern tips of Bloosia are rather large groups of small islands. The lands across the western face of the central mountains are uninhabited for some reason. Any attempt to settle there is met with failure.
Races
Human
The human population of the Known World is Caucasian (ranging from pale skin tones and light hair in the north to the more olive completions and dark hair of the south). Most of the ten nations have strong similarities with European counties on a basic level.
Elmdelem is equal to England
Delen is equal to Holland
Vors is equal to Italy
Crebel is equal to Spain
Tordard is equal to France
Schunno is equal to Austria
Rilnyi is equal to Hanover
Addmor is equal to Belgium
Swiden is equal to Switzerland
Ulsttor is equal to Ireland/Scotland
Lythari
The Lythari are a race of humanoid beings, much like some descriptions of elves, which are the native people of Bloosia. An average Lythari would match an average human in height and could very well pass as a human, if it wasn’t for the elongated ears (that can reach almost half a foot long), which end in a rounded point. Their skin tones are darker then the Mersians but lighter then those of the southern continent. Nearly ever member of this race has black hair save for a small percentage that are graced with either golden or platinum blond coloration.
The Lythari have five levels of society. On the top are the nobility, followed the priestess, then the warriors, the commons and finally the slaves. To be a noble or a priestess, one must be born into that caste, although its more a thing of luck or fate to join the ranks of the priestess. It should be noted that women rule Lythari society. This is caused from a low birthrate of males and an even lower survival rate among those male babies. With this lack of males, they are given the least dangerous jobs, leaving the warrior and ruler castes to the women. The Lytharians do not marry. The men live in walled compounds near the village or city temples, where they can be best protected and are visited by woman seeking a child.
The various tribes might worship different gods but always have either the sun or the moon at the greatest of all deities. This has caused a distinct split between the Lythari, leaving an empire dedicated to the sun within the Ahuaxpitzatzins and an alliance of moon worshiping monarchies, ruled by queens, living near the coast. No matter which nation though, any Lytherian lucky enough to be born with blonde (golden for the those that worship the gun and platinum for the moon) hair become priestesses. In both religions, the great celestial bodies require blood sacrifice to keep giving life to the planet. Both the Alliance and the Empire send nearly daily raids across the Ahuaxpitzatzins to capture slaves and sacrifices.
The Lythari do not know of iron, bronze or copper. The only metals they work are gold or silver, which are used for jewelry or ornamental bowls and cups. Their knives, spears and swords are made from obsidian. Their armor is made from cotton and is often covered in feathers or animal skins.
Creatures
Sea Serpent: large snake-like reptiles with dragon like heads and scales. Most rarely grow larger then sixteen feet but some of the deep-water species can grow large enough for four of the reptiles to threaten whales. Most are even tempered and can been seen around coastal villages and following ships. They eat scraps thrown into the water or hunt for fish and crustaceans. The large ones are uncommon and mostly seen as young serpents. The teeth and scales of the large deep-water ones are prized. It is not uncommon to see sea serpents forming “hunting pack”.
Found in all waters, be they ocean, lake or stream
Gryphon: One of the stranger creatures in the world, a gryphon appears at first to be the bastard offspring from a lion mating with an eagle or maybe the rear half of a lion attached to the front half of an eagle. Whichever way it seems more plausible, a Gryphon has the forelegs and talons of an eagle, a lion's hindquarters. Its eagle's head has very prominent ears, much like a horse’s but feathered. Their tails are also an oddity, it appears that they have both a lions and an eagle’s tail, with the lion’s tail sticking out of the middle of an eagles.
Gryphon’s are common to the continent of Mersia and are somewhat domesticated by humans. Most nations have either an Air Cavalry or Aircore made up of gryphon riders armed and dressed like hussars or light dragoons, save for the shako. Some male gryphons can be temperamental and will only let women ride them, so most Aircores have women riders. While the tamed gryphon’s will mate and produce young, most nations hire trappers to capture and break wild ones to enhance their bloodlines or steal their eggs.
There are no Gryphons on Bloosia.
Itzcoatl
The Itzcoatl are large bipedal reptiles, with long whip-like tails. Most stand on average six feet high at the shoulder and can be as long as twenty-four feet, from nose to tail tip. Their feet have two toes and a large, curved claw on the inner part of the foot. They have a leathery skin, which is mottled green, brown and black. Both males and females have feathers, located in a crest on the back of the head and a patch on the end of the tail. Where the females have dull, brown feathers, the males will have brightly colored ones, chiefly in reds or yellows.
Itzcoatl are used much like the horse is back in Mersia, as beasts ridden with a reins and saddle. The bit for the reins has to be made of stone as the beast’s sharp and bone-crushing teeth will cut through leather easily. The Lythari will ride the to battle but will dismount to fight, has a general rule. However, of late as the Empire sends more and more warriors in raids that penetrate deeply into Alliance territory, Alliance warriors are forced to chase them down and do combats while mounted.
Huemac
Huemacs are large, quadruped reptiles, with thick bodies and legs but a tiny head set on a short, thick neck. Theses lumbering beasts had grow to forty feet long and weigh close to eight tones. At the shoulder, they can to be eight feet tall. Like the Itzcoatl, they have leathery skin but it is normally an ugly shade of greenish gray.
The Lythari use them as beasts of burden, setting a saddle across the shoulders and then tying baskets of trade goods or tribute down the beasts back. The creatures will walk in a straight line if the handlers let them, no matter what’s in the way. They have been known to smash into trees and walls. To get the beasts to make a change in direction, the handlers will smack the Huemacs on the opposite side of the head.
Reviews
30/30
Characterization: Advanced
Plot: Advanced
Depth: Advanced
Style: Advanced
Mechanics: Advanced
Overall: Advanced
Tiko wrote:This is a very well put together roleplay and had I the time for such things, I myself might have been interested in joining such a game. The characters are well designed and believable, and their personalities and characteristics are strongly drawn - so as to allow a reader to really differentiate them as individuals, and as people. And though I was initially confused as to what the plot would be following, due to information being provided for one war, with an implication that the story itself would be about a different war, as the RP began to unfold, it became apparent that the background information strongly helped to set the mood of both the characters and the world. Well done. Initially I was only going to rank it proficient with mechanics, due to a large number of spelling and grammar errors early on, but as it progressed it became apparent that they did not reflect on the over-all quality, and had merely slipped through proof-readings. All in all, I rank this a 30/30 and would recommend it to anyone interested in a story driven RPG of high quality.
- 83 posts here • Page 2 of 4 • 1, 2, 3, 4
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 10 authors
Setting
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Baz awoke on his back in a puddle in the lower decks of the Sea Breeze. His clothes were soaked all the way through, even down into his boots and through his skin. The first thing he saw was a large hole that penetrated through several layers of deck from the top down to where he was laying, as though a large boulder had simply fallen through, or a giant man had sent his fist through the ship in a fit of rage. Baz tried to collect himself, first lifting his arms and letting his hands explore his immediate surroundings. He was then struck with a massive headache, forcing his eyes closed and his hands to rub them. He groaned lightly to himself before he lifted his head and looked around a bit, attempting to analyze the destruction that had fallen upon the ship.
Everything on his level was either dripping or leaking. This suddenly prompted him to check beneath his jacket and under his armpit, getting a jolt of energy as he sat up, and, using shaky hands, checked the load on his Howdah pistol. The flint was slightly wet, but otherwise, it seemed untouched by the freak storm, which was some miracle that surely his God had decided to endow him with. He got to his feet and found his balance on the creaky vessel, which was slightly leaning to one side; Baz was somewhat reluctant to stand up out of fear that the floor itself was not being properly supported due to damage, but he braved the space before him anyway when he thought of his Louisville rifle upstairs.
There was a time when he was afraid of water. He had unsuccessfully tried to swim when he was a young boy, and had his father not been there, he surely would have died. During his time in the militray, he had always tried to avoid the opportunity whenever it arose, but when his work involved a night-time infiltration across a river without boats, it became a matter of sink or swim, and with a pair of heavy blades on him with his other gear, his worst fears would probably be realized. He didn't have the courage to admit he didn't know how to swim to the others, lest he be ridiculed by his friends; however, if he drowned before the attack, it wouldn't be the most honorable way to go out, either. During his entire approach to the river, all he could think about was keeping his head above the water, without getting snagged by stray logs or rocks or anything else that rivers contained. What he didn't know, however, was that the water was only waist-high, and he simply walked across without any reservation. He never understood the moral of the whole story, but maybe it gave him a reason not to be afraid.
His room had been thrown around during the storm, but was otherwise dry. He investigated the mess, digging under the bed and his gear before looking upon the lockplate of his rifle. He cleared the debris from the rest of it and slung it over his shoulder, then moving on to collecting the few pieces of gear he had brought with him. His book on fencing had some creases in the pages from the chaos, but was otherwise in the same condition as when he brought it onboard. It even had its bookmark still in it, a ribbon given to him by a grateful prince back home.
He stumbled up the stairs of the Sea Breeze and along the perimeter of the railing, trying to observe what he could of the world around them. Along the way, he inspected the main deck, noting all the damage it had taken during its maneuvers. It was only when he saw black soot in the wood around the edges of the gaping hole in the deck, the same one he had gazed up and out of when he woke up, Baz realized that they could only be burn marks from an explosion, and his confusion transgressed into something more intense. His newfound anger became a calmness within him that he could only feel before he went into combat. It was something he had to train himself to do, as getting himself hyped and out of control would only lead to him detaching himself from the fight, only to wind up leaving himself vulnerable. When he was calm, he was able to think clearly, to properly assess certain situations and turn them in his favor, mainly because the other side usually detached themselves because their leaders told them to.
Baz picked up the first item he saw, a large hammer, and threw it as far as he could with a wild yelp. He had seethed back down into anger, hopelessness and despair washing over him as he looked upon the unknown shore and the damaged vessel. He was slightly aware of the other survivors that were assessing things just the same as him, but he didn't care enough about them to filter his reaction.
"Das muss ein Witz sein! Was können wir jetzt tun?!"
Everything on his level was either dripping or leaking. This suddenly prompted him to check beneath his jacket and under his armpit, getting a jolt of energy as he sat up, and, using shaky hands, checked the load on his Howdah pistol. The flint was slightly wet, but otherwise, it seemed untouched by the freak storm, which was some miracle that surely his God had decided to endow him with. He got to his feet and found his balance on the creaky vessel, which was slightly leaning to one side; Baz was somewhat reluctant to stand up out of fear that the floor itself was not being properly supported due to damage, but he braved the space before him anyway when he thought of his Louisville rifle upstairs.
There was a time when he was afraid of water. He had unsuccessfully tried to swim when he was a young boy, and had his father not been there, he surely would have died. During his time in the militray, he had always tried to avoid the opportunity whenever it arose, but when his work involved a night-time infiltration across a river without boats, it became a matter of sink or swim, and with a pair of heavy blades on him with his other gear, his worst fears would probably be realized. He didn't have the courage to admit he didn't know how to swim to the others, lest he be ridiculed by his friends; however, if he drowned before the attack, it wouldn't be the most honorable way to go out, either. During his entire approach to the river, all he could think about was keeping his head above the water, without getting snagged by stray logs or rocks or anything else that rivers contained. What he didn't know, however, was that the water was only waist-high, and he simply walked across without any reservation. He never understood the moral of the whole story, but maybe it gave him a reason not to be afraid.
His room had been thrown around during the storm, but was otherwise dry. He investigated the mess, digging under the bed and his gear before looking upon the lockplate of his rifle. He cleared the debris from the rest of it and slung it over his shoulder, then moving on to collecting the few pieces of gear he had brought with him. His book on fencing had some creases in the pages from the chaos, but was otherwise in the same condition as when he brought it onboard. It even had its bookmark still in it, a ribbon given to him by a grateful prince back home.
He stumbled up the stairs of the Sea Breeze and along the perimeter of the railing, trying to observe what he could of the world around them. Along the way, he inspected the main deck, noting all the damage it had taken during its maneuvers. It was only when he saw black soot in the wood around the edges of the gaping hole in the deck, the same one he had gazed up and out of when he woke up, Baz realized that they could only be burn marks from an explosion, and his confusion transgressed into something more intense. His newfound anger became a calmness within him that he could only feel before he went into combat. It was something he had to train himself to do, as getting himself hyped and out of control would only lead to him detaching himself from the fight, only to wind up leaving himself vulnerable. When he was calm, he was able to think clearly, to properly assess certain situations and turn them in his favor, mainly because the other side usually detached themselves because their leaders told them to.
Baz picked up the first item he saw, a large hammer, and threw it as far as he could with a wild yelp. He had seethed back down into anger, hopelessness and despair washing over him as he looked upon the unknown shore and the damaged vessel. He was slightly aware of the other survivors that were assessing things just the same as him, but he didn't care enough about them to filter his reaction.
"Das muss ein Witz sein! Was können wir jetzt tun?!"
Setting
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"No, no one else," said James, coming to stand below her by the gaping hull of the beached ship. "No one still living, at least," he added darkly.
Now that he was able to see her better, Maggie looked far from her what James understood to be her usual composed self. Not once in the eight days on board the ship had he seen her flustered or wrong-footed, even when pirates were looming on the horizon. Many of the women that presented themselves at the balls and business events James was forced to attend as a consequence of his position were the sort who made themselves incapable of coping with anything they considered outside the remit of a 'lady'. He knew it was from some idea that men were supposed to delight in the helplessness of these poor delicate creatures and be attracted to it, perhaps for its juxtapositioning against their own manly capability. In contrast, it simply irritated James.
Now, however, he felt as shaken as Maggie looked. He thought of the dead man on the beach and he could hardly blame her for it.
"Let me help you down," he said, extending his arms so he could bodily lift her down onto the sand. But almost as soon as he did there came a muffled cry and sound of footsteps echoing down from the boards of the deck directly above them. That must mean there were others!
"Did you hear that?" he asked her.
Glancing up at the railings above, James could see nothing. So, rather than helping Maggie down, he decided to join her. Reaching up to take hold of a jutting rib of the hull (which was only just possible even with his considerable height), he found a foothold at the edge of the tear in the hull and hauled himself up. After a few moments of effort, he was standing beside Maggie. Something like the murmur of voices was coming from inside the bowels of the ship so he turned and set off into the dimness to investigate.
Now that he was able to see her better, Maggie looked far from her what James understood to be her usual composed self. Not once in the eight days on board the ship had he seen her flustered or wrong-footed, even when pirates were looming on the horizon. Many of the women that presented themselves at the balls and business events James was forced to attend as a consequence of his position were the sort who made themselves incapable of coping with anything they considered outside the remit of a 'lady'. He knew it was from some idea that men were supposed to delight in the helplessness of these poor delicate creatures and be attracted to it, perhaps for its juxtapositioning against their own manly capability. In contrast, it simply irritated James.
Now, however, he felt as shaken as Maggie looked. He thought of the dead man on the beach and he could hardly blame her for it.
"Let me help you down," he said, extending his arms so he could bodily lift her down onto the sand. But almost as soon as he did there came a muffled cry and sound of footsteps echoing down from the boards of the deck directly above them. That must mean there were others!
"Did you hear that?" he asked her.
Glancing up at the railings above, James could see nothing. So, rather than helping Maggie down, he decided to join her. Reaching up to take hold of a jutting rib of the hull (which was only just possible even with his considerable height), he found a foothold at the edge of the tear in the hull and hauled himself up. After a few moments of effort, he was standing beside Maggie. Something like the murmur of voices was coming from inside the bowels of the ship so he turned and set off into the dimness to investigate.
Setting
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James’ last statement made Maggie cringe. She knew from experience she didn’t handle death well (though admittedly that same experience had been with people she had been close to), and she was not looking forward to seeing the bodies. She looked at the edges of the hole again, her eyes darkening slightly. Damage like that did not come without casualties. Now however, was not the time for such thoughts. Composure and control, she needed to regain both if they were going to figure out their next move.
"Let me help you down." Maggie was surprised by the outstretched hand offered by Mr. Viteri (Though perhaps she shouldn’t have been. It was the gentlemanly thing to do after all.), but she was even more surprised by her sudden urge to accept it. Normally, she would have politely refused, pronouncing herself quite capable of descending to the ground by herself, yet now she hesitated to do so, and she didn’t know why. The were both saved however, from the decision she might have made, by sounds coming up on deck, making it James instead the one who needed to come up.
“Yes, voices, and more than one I’d wager from the sound of it.” Maggie replied, walking beside him as they followed to sounds of voices until they made it onto the deck. There, they saw the Captain, and some of his crewmen, but the sight was hardly comforting. Men were babbling dazedly, others performing menial tasks with a glazed sort of look, and most concerning was the Captain. The confident and commanding man she had first met when boarding the ship seemed no longer there, and in his pace, slumped over the railing, was a man drowning in despair, bemoaning the state of his ship.
“Captain Morr?” Maggie said with startled disbelief at first, hardly about to believe he was the same man at first. She felt a speck of pity and understanding for the man, the ship had been his life and the damage was…disconcerting at best, but this was not the time for hysterics and self pity they could all ill afford.
“Captain Morr.” Maggie said more sharply this time. “Kindly get a hold of yourself and set a proper example for your crew. This is not the time or the behaviour I’d expect from a man of your calibre, especially in this situation.” Her voice was chiding, but in a way that challenged a man to do better, not tear him down.
"Let me help you down." Maggie was surprised by the outstretched hand offered by Mr. Viteri (Though perhaps she shouldn’t have been. It was the gentlemanly thing to do after all.), but she was even more surprised by her sudden urge to accept it. Normally, she would have politely refused, pronouncing herself quite capable of descending to the ground by herself, yet now she hesitated to do so, and she didn’t know why. The were both saved however, from the decision she might have made, by sounds coming up on deck, making it James instead the one who needed to come up.
“Yes, voices, and more than one I’d wager from the sound of it.” Maggie replied, walking beside him as they followed to sounds of voices until they made it onto the deck. There, they saw the Captain, and some of his crewmen, but the sight was hardly comforting. Men were babbling dazedly, others performing menial tasks with a glazed sort of look, and most concerning was the Captain. The confident and commanding man she had first met when boarding the ship seemed no longer there, and in his pace, slumped over the railing, was a man drowning in despair, bemoaning the state of his ship.
“Captain Morr?” Maggie said with startled disbelief at first, hardly about to believe he was the same man at first. She felt a speck of pity and understanding for the man, the ship had been his life and the damage was…disconcerting at best, but this was not the time for hysterics and self pity they could all ill afford.
“Captain Morr.” Maggie said more sharply this time. “Kindly get a hold of yourself and set a proper example for your crew. This is not the time or the behaviour I’d expect from a man of your calibre, especially in this situation.” Her voice was chiding, but in a way that challenged a man to do better, not tear him down.
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“The Devil take ye” Calder tried to growl but lacking any venom or fire in his voice, “And all ye’re expectations.”
The Ulsttorman continued to stare down at the hole in his ship’s side. He couldn’t remember a time in the past twenty-six years, when he hadn’t considered this lovely collection of timber, nails, tar, ropes and canvas as home. While he did love freedom of the shore, drinking in taverns with pretty girls and visiting his family’s home, none of those things could ever replace the roll of his ship in the ocean swells or the creak of her masts resisting the wind. And this woman, who had been aboard his love for all but eight days, wanted him to set a proper example for the crew? He was of half a mind to shout at her, demand just how she would act if her home was smashed and a number of her closest friends and family had just been killed, their bodies missing or bloating in the sun!
He turned to face Maggie but caught sight of his crew before he stare her face. His shoulders, which had lifted a little with anger, slumped again. With as hard a glare as he could muster, he walked passed the offending woman and over to the old salt coiling lines. Without missing a beat, he pulled the praying greenhand to his feet and hauled him to the bearded sailor.
“Davie” said Calder, having to repeat the sailor’s name a few times before the old salt would look him in the eye, “Take Jim and see ta our vittles and drink. We’ll be needin those soon enough.”
Soon enough he had organized all the sailors who had wondered above deck, setting them to collecting the ship’s weapons, seeing how much of the cargo was ruined and a few to finding if any of their shipmates were still below. As the last one disappear below the deck, Captain Morr stared up at the cracked main mast and the fluttering scraps of canvas. A tear almost escaped the salt crusted around his eyes. They didn’t have the tools to make the needed repairs to his ship. She would have to lay here on this beach, until she rotted away or was broken up by the surf. He didn’t have the heart to set her on fire or order the Sea Breeze to be broken up and he wouldn’t allow anyone to try to.
-----------
“Ensign Watkins answer me” demanded Nicholas, “Now”
The Elmish Major tossed away the last of the glass shards and hauled himself up. Everything was dark around him but there was plenty of sound. The faint echoes of voices from elsewhere in the ship, the labored breathing of the eagle-lions around him and the distant sound of waves breaking. His brown eyes narrowed, as he tried to pierce the gloom. He needed to know if the young woman under his command was alive, almost as badly as he needed to know about Eagle’s Cry. The rest of the gryphons and the eggs only added to the jumble of concerns plaguing his mind.
“Here Sir” came a weak whimper in the dark.
“Thank god” praised Nicholas, taking a step towards the voice and falling over something in the dark.
The Ulsttorman continued to stare down at the hole in his ship’s side. He couldn’t remember a time in the past twenty-six years, when he hadn’t considered this lovely collection of timber, nails, tar, ropes and canvas as home. While he did love freedom of the shore, drinking in taverns with pretty girls and visiting his family’s home, none of those things could ever replace the roll of his ship in the ocean swells or the creak of her masts resisting the wind. And this woman, who had been aboard his love for all but eight days, wanted him to set a proper example for the crew? He was of half a mind to shout at her, demand just how she would act if her home was smashed and a number of her closest friends and family had just been killed, their bodies missing or bloating in the sun!
He turned to face Maggie but caught sight of his crew before he stare her face. His shoulders, which had lifted a little with anger, slumped again. With as hard a glare as he could muster, he walked passed the offending woman and over to the old salt coiling lines. Without missing a beat, he pulled the praying greenhand to his feet and hauled him to the bearded sailor.
“Davie” said Calder, having to repeat the sailor’s name a few times before the old salt would look him in the eye, “Take Jim and see ta our vittles and drink. We’ll be needin those soon enough.”
Soon enough he had organized all the sailors who had wondered above deck, setting them to collecting the ship’s weapons, seeing how much of the cargo was ruined and a few to finding if any of their shipmates were still below. As the last one disappear below the deck, Captain Morr stared up at the cracked main mast and the fluttering scraps of canvas. A tear almost escaped the salt crusted around his eyes. They didn’t have the tools to make the needed repairs to his ship. She would have to lay here on this beach, until she rotted away or was broken up by the surf. He didn’t have the heart to set her on fire or order the Sea Breeze to be broken up and he wouldn’t allow anyone to try to.
-----------
“Ensign Watkins answer me” demanded Nicholas, “Now”
The Elmish Major tossed away the last of the glass shards and hauled himself up. Everything was dark around him but there was plenty of sound. The faint echoes of voices from elsewhere in the ship, the labored breathing of the eagle-lions around him and the distant sound of waves breaking. His brown eyes narrowed, as he tried to pierce the gloom. He needed to know if the young woman under his command was alive, almost as badly as he needed to know about Eagle’s Cry. The rest of the gryphons and the eggs only added to the jumble of concerns plaguing his mind.
“Here Sir” came a weak whimper in the dark.
“Thank god” praised Nicholas, taking a step towards the voice and falling over something in the dark.
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James watched Maggie admonish the broken captain gravely, pity lurking behind his expression. To lose one's livelihood and one's friends was a blow indeed but it would not do for a person in a position of authority to go to pieces. Though he would never show it, he felt embarrassed at the Ulsttorman's lack of dignity; weakness in business, even human weakness, should be reserved for behind a closed office door or during a walk through winding city streets. Men had died, yes but more could die if someone did not take the lead.
Thankfully, Maggie's words seemed to ignite a little fire in the other man's eyes and after a brief moment, anger overtook despair and he strode past her to bark out orders to the remaining crew.
James tried to make himself as useful as possible, slinging the sacks of supplies down onto the beach as they were passed up from the hold. Soon the ship had been stripped of everything useful- food, tools and clothing. Even the vat of freshwater that had survived the storm had been carefully lowered down onto the sand. All that remained was the ship itself.
"We will need shelter," he said to Calder; the only man remaining on deck. The rest of the crew- only a dozen or so men- were milling about on the beach below. Graves were beginning to be dug further inland beneath the palms. "If there's another storm or if the weather turns. The sail would do for tents and the rest of the ship can be used for walls or firewood."
James was not a sentimental man but from the way Calder was looking at the husk of his ship, he could tell the other man would not submit to such practicalities easily. The ship was his and he would of course be loathe to see it broken up. But there was no other choice and to refuse would damn him and the survivors to exposure or worse. And James was fully prepared to tell him so should he indeed refuse.
Thankfully, Maggie's words seemed to ignite a little fire in the other man's eyes and after a brief moment, anger overtook despair and he strode past her to bark out orders to the remaining crew.
James tried to make himself as useful as possible, slinging the sacks of supplies down onto the beach as they were passed up from the hold. Soon the ship had been stripped of everything useful- food, tools and clothing. Even the vat of freshwater that had survived the storm had been carefully lowered down onto the sand. All that remained was the ship itself.
"We will need shelter," he said to Calder; the only man remaining on deck. The rest of the crew- only a dozen or so men- were milling about on the beach below. Graves were beginning to be dug further inland beneath the palms. "If there's another storm or if the weather turns. The sail would do for tents and the rest of the ship can be used for walls or firewood."
James was not a sentimental man but from the way Calder was looking at the husk of his ship, he could tell the other man would not submit to such practicalities easily. The ship was his and he would of course be loathe to see it broken up. But there was no other choice and to refuse would damn him and the survivors to exposure or worse. And James was fully prepared to tell him so should he indeed refuse.
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“Mr. Viteri” said Calder, his voice cold enough to freeze brine, “I have taken ye aboard me home, fed ye from me table and done me best ta keep ye’re throat from bein slit by pirate dogs. If ye ever suggest usin me ship like that again, I will personally tie ye ta cannonballs and throw ye into the sea, as an offering to pagan sea gods, in return for they’re favor. Although, I would consider it ta be a fair trade if a passing elver took ye for it’s wife and bugger ye proper.”
Pushing passed the gentleman, the captain nearly stormed below decks. He had items to gather from his cabin; like charts, navigation tools, his bible (the only copy the ship’s crew possessed), his personal weapons, his coat and his tricorn. Not even being sick, dazed, confused and disoriented, the crew would never had entered into his private abode, unless invited.
As the Ulsttorman collected his personal things and strapped his weapons about his waist, his anger fizzled again. Dressed in a stained frock and battered hat, bible tucked into a pocket, along with a oaken box filled with the delicate tools used to plot the stars and the sun, he slowly walked down to one of the gaping holes in his ship and jumped down to the damp sand. Of the eighty odd sailors and the ship’s officers that had crewed the Sea Breeze, roughly forty-three remained. To them was added the two remaining passengers and the two Elmish officers (whom where found in the hold, very battered and now lay in the shade cast my the ship). Of the cargo, only a third of the powder remained untouched by water and the rest was damp, if not ruined.
Of the gryphons, one was dead, it’s neck broken. One had a broken wing and another a broken back leg. The remaining three were ruffled and bruised in many places. All of the beasts were in cages now, including the two ‘tame’ ones, as the crew feared that they might kill everyone until their masters could sooth them. All twelve of the eggs were intact, as the crates had been lashed down and the stuff inside was good padding.
“What we’re gonna do now Skipper” came a voice from among the gathered sailors, most of whom where spotting bandages. More then a dozen clutched firelocks and stared towards the trees and bushes with wary eyes, thinking about the southern continent, where men on the uncivilized beaches might get set upon by cannibals.
“We be needin shelter lads” said Calder, doing his best to sound his normal cheery self, “Lookin over the beach if we can get it. Any passin ship will see the Sea Breeze where she be and will be sendin a boat ta see if any of us be about or cargo ta salvage. We’ll set the remaining canvas as tents in them trees and set a watch on the sea.”
The sailors knew as well as the captain, that no ship would come but it was the insane kernel of hope the plan offered, that they fool themselves into believing it. Those not carrying weapons began sorting out the canvas, looking for pieces big enough to use as tents.
Pushing passed the gentleman, the captain nearly stormed below decks. He had items to gather from his cabin; like charts, navigation tools, his bible (the only copy the ship’s crew possessed), his personal weapons, his coat and his tricorn. Not even being sick, dazed, confused and disoriented, the crew would never had entered into his private abode, unless invited.
As the Ulsttorman collected his personal things and strapped his weapons about his waist, his anger fizzled again. Dressed in a stained frock and battered hat, bible tucked into a pocket, along with a oaken box filled with the delicate tools used to plot the stars and the sun, he slowly walked down to one of the gaping holes in his ship and jumped down to the damp sand. Of the eighty odd sailors and the ship’s officers that had crewed the Sea Breeze, roughly forty-three remained. To them was added the two remaining passengers and the two Elmish officers (whom where found in the hold, very battered and now lay in the shade cast my the ship). Of the cargo, only a third of the powder remained untouched by water and the rest was damp, if not ruined.
Of the gryphons, one was dead, it’s neck broken. One had a broken wing and another a broken back leg. The remaining three were ruffled and bruised in many places. All of the beasts were in cages now, including the two ‘tame’ ones, as the crew feared that they might kill everyone until their masters could sooth them. All twelve of the eggs were intact, as the crates had been lashed down and the stuff inside was good padding.
“What we’re gonna do now Skipper” came a voice from among the gathered sailors, most of whom where spotting bandages. More then a dozen clutched firelocks and stared towards the trees and bushes with wary eyes, thinking about the southern continent, where men on the uncivilized beaches might get set upon by cannibals.
“We be needin shelter lads” said Calder, doing his best to sound his normal cheery self, “Lookin over the beach if we can get it. Any passin ship will see the Sea Breeze where she be and will be sendin a boat ta see if any of us be about or cargo ta salvage. We’ll set the remaining canvas as tents in them trees and set a watch on the sea.”
The sailors knew as well as the captain, that no ship would come but it was the insane kernel of hope the plan offered, that they fool themselves into believing it. Those not carrying weapons began sorting out the canvas, looking for pieces big enough to use as tents.
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Maggie did not flinch from the Captain’s response, had even expected a more heated backlash. She could see the dislike in his eyes, but she hadn’t said what she’d said to be popular. What they needed was a leader, and anger was a much better motivator than the self destructive self pity he had displayed earlier. Maggie highly doubted Captain Morr would speak to her, at least in a kindly tone, again for a long while, but he was up now, commanding and productively leading his men. She had accomplished her goal.
After the captain had seemed to regains control of himself once again, Maggie helped carry their surviving supplies out of the ship, and attempted to stay out of the Captain’s way. She did not wish to start a conflict if it could be avoided, and Maggie was quite certain the man would have nothing kind to say to her at them moment should they be forced to converse. Maggie’s last trip into the ship was to collect her own things. She had packed lightly, but tactfully, suddenly quite glad for the small sewing box she had tucked into her travelling bag. It might prove enormously useful. It would be entirely illogical to try and travel with her entire wardrobe, so she chose a sensible light cotton dress (that seemed to complement this curiously warm weather well) and one of the heavier ones meant to be worn back home just in case. She could always cut it down and use the cloth for something else later. Along with the sewing box, went the one insensible addition to her satchel bag. A small painted portrait of four smiling faces looked back at her as she placed the likeness of her sister and her family into the bag. She didn’t know when she would see them again, was even preparing herself for the reality that it might be never, but she didn’t want to forget their faces.
And with that task finished, Maggie ambled her way back out of the ship, looking for a place to make herself useful.
After the captain had seemed to regains control of himself once again, Maggie helped carry their surviving supplies out of the ship, and attempted to stay out of the Captain’s way. She did not wish to start a conflict if it could be avoided, and Maggie was quite certain the man would have nothing kind to say to her at them moment should they be forced to converse. Maggie’s last trip into the ship was to collect her own things. She had packed lightly, but tactfully, suddenly quite glad for the small sewing box she had tucked into her travelling bag. It might prove enormously useful. It would be entirely illogical to try and travel with her entire wardrobe, so she chose a sensible light cotton dress (that seemed to complement this curiously warm weather well) and one of the heavier ones meant to be worn back home just in case. She could always cut it down and use the cloth for something else later. Along with the sewing box, went the one insensible addition to her satchel bag. A small painted portrait of four smiling faces looked back at her as she placed the likeness of her sister and her family into the bag. She didn’t know when she would see them again, was even preparing herself for the reality that it might be never, but she didn’t want to forget their faces.
And with that task finished, Maggie ambled her way back out of the ship, looking for a place to make herself useful.
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James' expression did not change throughout Calder's retort. He'd been gentle enough. If the captain would insist on jeopardising the lives of his men and Miss Thimbleton then the time for politesse was over. And the insult... James had been brought up in a limbo between the nouveau riche and centuries-old Elm nobility but one could not work in a business that employed so many dock workers and manual labourers without having a little of their rough code rub off onto him. Before his time in this strange land was over, Calder's cheek would know his fist or his lips an apology.
"You took me aboard this ship because you were paid handsomely for it," he said, with a tone like dull steel. "So you will not hold up hospitality as a justification for what you would like to be your lack of opposition. This ship is useless as it is. By leaving it alone as a testament to your idiocy you destine it to be the headstone of the rest of your men as well those you have already lost."
But even as he harshly spoke those last few words, the captain had already pushed past him and was heading across the deck for the stairs that led to what was left of the private quarters below. James turned to go back to where the deck had been torn asunder to lower himself down past the splinters onto the beach where the useful contents of the ship had been stacked. Landing on the sand, he went over to where Maggie was hovering on the fringes of the group of sailors and stood, his arms crossed over his chest, silently waiting to see what the captain would do.
In the end, he at least sacrificed the use of the ship's canvas sail. But that was still not good enough.
"A signal fire would be better seen," said James as he walked past the captain to take up one of the pieces of canvas that had been divided up amongst the survivors. He almost added 'if you really believe we will be found this far west', but something- a sympathy for Maggie and for the crew perhaps- stopped him. "But you would prefer to have wood rot than let it warm your men or signal to their rescuers."
Returning to where Maggie waited for him, he looked up towards the tree line. Two palms and a length of rope he'd taken from the supplies from the ship would help to fasten the canvas into an open-sided tent that looked out over the ocean. Together with a fire started from brush-wood and the debris from the beach, the night would be warm enough for their ill-suited clothing.
"I fear you might be used to more luxurious surroundings..." he said to her, as he looped the rope around the tree and fastened it tight. He did not know why he felt that she was his responsibility. If he hadn't then it was a certainty that one of the crew or the captain would and besides, with her actions on deck as the pirates gave chase demonstrated, she hardly needed looking after. Perhaps it was because she was one of the few other passengers who had survived- she was similarly an outsider. Or perhaps it was because she was a woman- had her lack of helplessness ignited a determinedly contrary sense of
protectiveness that affectedly defenceless women had been unable to summon?
"You took me aboard this ship because you were paid handsomely for it," he said, with a tone like dull steel. "So you will not hold up hospitality as a justification for what you would like to be your lack of opposition. This ship is useless as it is. By leaving it alone as a testament to your idiocy you destine it to be the headstone of the rest of your men as well those you have already lost."
But even as he harshly spoke those last few words, the captain had already pushed past him and was heading across the deck for the stairs that led to what was left of the private quarters below. James turned to go back to where the deck had been torn asunder to lower himself down past the splinters onto the beach where the useful contents of the ship had been stacked. Landing on the sand, he went over to where Maggie was hovering on the fringes of the group of sailors and stood, his arms crossed over his chest, silently waiting to see what the captain would do.
In the end, he at least sacrificed the use of the ship's canvas sail. But that was still not good enough.
"A signal fire would be better seen," said James as he walked past the captain to take up one of the pieces of canvas that had been divided up amongst the survivors. He almost added 'if you really believe we will be found this far west', but something- a sympathy for Maggie and for the crew perhaps- stopped him. "But you would prefer to have wood rot than let it warm your men or signal to their rescuers."
Returning to where Maggie waited for him, he looked up towards the tree line. Two palms and a length of rope he'd taken from the supplies from the ship would help to fasten the canvas into an open-sided tent that looked out over the ocean. Together with a fire started from brush-wood and the debris from the beach, the night would be warm enough for their ill-suited clothing.
"I fear you might be used to more luxurious surroundings..." he said to her, as he looped the rope around the tree and fastened it tight. He did not know why he felt that she was his responsibility. If he hadn't then it was a certainty that one of the crew or the captain would and besides, with her actions on deck as the pirates gave chase demonstrated, she hardly needed looking after. Perhaps it was because she was one of the few other passengers who had survived- she was similarly an outsider. Or perhaps it was because she was a woman- had her lack of helplessness ignited a determinedly contrary sense of
protectiveness that affectedly defenceless women had been unable to summon?
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“Compared to a tent Mr. Viteri, one would consider most forms of lodgings more luxurious.” Maggie said evenly, with perhaps even a note of teasing there as well. “As it is, I see you’ve made a very nice tent, and I thank you for that. You’ve saved me the trouble.” Maggie said with a tone that was cautiously grateful. She was not entirely sure why James Viteri was acting so considerately toward her, and equally unsure of why his offerings of help did not chafe the way it usually did when men attempted to do things for her for one reason or another, but she had decided for the moment not to comment or think too deeply about it. They had both narrowly survived a violent storm and been shipwrecked on an island so far west that their options were extremely limited; she would chock it up to simply a need to be in constant contact with someone else. It appeared that they had both silently agreed upon each other for that role.
“Do you know how many tents we can make from the canvases?” Maggie asked after a moment, silently asking another question. Sharing a tent with anyone would be awkward, but may prove entirely necessary if they didn’t have enough canvas for everyone to have their own tent.
“Do you know how many tents we can make from the canvases?” Maggie asked after a moment, silently asking another question. Sharing a tent with anyone would be awkward, but may prove entirely necessary if they didn’t have enough canvas for everyone to have their own tent.
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Calder’s fingers twitched, as James made his parting comment. He would never be sure which of his thoughts the digits were responding to; the urge to simply strangle the man, draw his cutlass and open the man’s belly or to pull a pistol from his belt and put a ball through the back of the man’s head. More then likely, the fact that he had several ideas on how to kill James, was what save the arrogant pup’s life.
In the end, the canvas that had survived the storm, wasn’t enough to create tents for everyone. In fact, most of them had to share, even the captain. He chose Jim, the youth that had fallen into babbling upon the deck, to be his tent mate. The Elmish Major was sharing a tent with his ensign and had come to long enough to order that the gryphons be covered with canvas (which was done and helped to cause a lack of single man tents) to help keep the proud beasts quiet.
Late in the day, as the sun was going down, one might have said that a small tent village had sprung up behind the broken body of the Sea Breeze. Several fires crackled among the dirty white of the canvas but the biggest was in the middle of the camp. A big kettle sat, ringed by the flames and was tended by Cooky, a man who was rarely sober enough to remember his real man and who was missing his left foot. The gray-haired cripple was in a foul temper at the moment, as the crew was keeping him away from the remaining casks of beer, by order of the captain. They would have to ration the remaining fresh water and alcohol, as they hadn’t found any source of water nearby.
Bubbling away in the aforementioned kettle was a stew of sorts, which was giving off a fine smell and causing the sailors to loiter about, further enraging the now sober cook. The evening’s meal was a mixture of the salted pork and vegetables that had survived the wreck without being spoiled by the sea and a number of shellfish, which had been gathered from the shore. Most of the men had been in agreement that the local seafood should be edible, although there were a few convinced that anything upon this shore would be poisonous.
“Come get it” bellowed Cooky.
In the end, the canvas that had survived the storm, wasn’t enough to create tents for everyone. In fact, most of them had to share, even the captain. He chose Jim, the youth that had fallen into babbling upon the deck, to be his tent mate. The Elmish Major was sharing a tent with his ensign and had come to long enough to order that the gryphons be covered with canvas (which was done and helped to cause a lack of single man tents) to help keep the proud beasts quiet.
Late in the day, as the sun was going down, one might have said that a small tent village had sprung up behind the broken body of the Sea Breeze. Several fires crackled among the dirty white of the canvas but the biggest was in the middle of the camp. A big kettle sat, ringed by the flames and was tended by Cooky, a man who was rarely sober enough to remember his real man and who was missing his left foot. The gray-haired cripple was in a foul temper at the moment, as the crew was keeping him away from the remaining casks of beer, by order of the captain. They would have to ration the remaining fresh water and alcohol, as they hadn’t found any source of water nearby.
Bubbling away in the aforementioned kettle was a stew of sorts, which was giving off a fine smell and causing the sailors to loiter about, further enraging the now sober cook. The evening’s meal was a mixture of the salted pork and vegetables that had survived the wreck without being spoiled by the sea and a number of shellfish, which had been gathered from the shore. Most of the men had been in agreement that the local seafood should be edible, although there were a few convinced that anything upon this shore would be poisonous.
“Come get it” bellowed Cooky.
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As the survivors of the storm set about making their situation bearable, they had gained an audience. From the middle of the day and in cautious breaks until the nightlife began to awaken, a pair of foreign blue eyes peered out at the strangers from the most secretive spots.
Loare remembered, vaguely, people. And she had seen her own blurry reflection in pools when they grew calm enough. She knew approximately what these rambling, shouting, bickering things were, and maybe even had some idea of where they had come from. In fact, their ungainly actions reminded her of her own arrival in her home; years ago, her very earliest memories. Shouting, fighting, screaming, dying. It hadn't taken long for the adults that she had been stranded with to waste their energies and end their own struggle. Loare didn't think it would take long for this batch to fade away, either.
Still, some distant inkling of pride and territory lingered in her mind, and she felt a strange urge to be sure the unhappy creatures would keep their pointless battle on the shore. Away from Loare herself and her domain.
Shelters were erected, at least. Perhaps the beasts that so resembled her own long-dead kind might last a moon's cycle, at least.
Loare tread with sure, silent feet towards the trees nearest the edge of the camp. She clambered up into the best shadow, spear in hand, and waited for one of them to approach, alone.
Loare remembered, vaguely, people. And she had seen her own blurry reflection in pools when they grew calm enough. She knew approximately what these rambling, shouting, bickering things were, and maybe even had some idea of where they had come from. In fact, their ungainly actions reminded her of her own arrival in her home; years ago, her very earliest memories. Shouting, fighting, screaming, dying. It hadn't taken long for the adults that she had been stranded with to waste their energies and end their own struggle. Loare didn't think it would take long for this batch to fade away, either.
Still, some distant inkling of pride and territory lingered in her mind, and she felt a strange urge to be sure the unhappy creatures would keep their pointless battle on the shore. Away from Loare herself and her domain.
Shelters were erected, at least. Perhaps the beasts that so resembled her own long-dead kind might last a moon's cycle, at least.
Loare tread with sure, silent feet towards the trees nearest the edge of the camp. She clambered up into the best shadow, spear in hand, and waited for one of them to approach, alone.
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The call for food came some time later, after the situation with the canvas tents was made apparent, and as the only other woman on ship was already tenting with her commanding officer, that meant Maggie would be with one of the men regardless. Mr. Viterini seemed the most logical to lodge with (as she had politely decided to call it to save them both some embarrassment over the situation), and it seemed once again she would be forced to impose herself upon James, whom had already proved quite patient with the situation and quite the gentleman. In a way, she was almost relieved to be sharing a tent with him, already feeling comfortable talking to him, and the way he didn’t seem to panic at their situation did a great deal to keep her calm as well. Maggie preferred to not be angry or vicious, and he she been forced to lodge with a man who would break down at night, she would have to be to force them to hold things together.
The smell of the soup, made Maggie realize just how hungry she really was. Honestly, how long had it been since she had eaten? Not since before the storm obviously, but as she had no idea how long any of them had been unconscious, that was not particularly helpful. They were all lucky they still had some food and water left after the storm, but there was no telling how long that would last them. Hey would have to look farther inland soon for fresh water. Unlike some of her fellow ship wreck mates, Maggie did not hold any delusions about a miracle ship coming by, seeing, and rescuing them. There was no telling how long they would all be here, they needed to be prepared for the worst. And with that thought, brought a slight chill her light cotton dress and bodice were not equipped to abate in the fading island light.
“I’ll be along in a moment.” Maggie said to James from where they stood on the beach. “It gets rather cold quickly on the beach, I’m going to go grab my shawl.” And with that, she headed back towards their tent by the trees. Opening her pack, she fumbled around for her shawl in the dwindling light.
The smell of the soup, made Maggie realize just how hungry she really was. Honestly, how long had it been since she had eaten? Not since before the storm obviously, but as she had no idea how long any of them had been unconscious, that was not particularly helpful. They were all lucky they still had some food and water left after the storm, but there was no telling how long that would last them. Hey would have to look farther inland soon for fresh water. Unlike some of her fellow ship wreck mates, Maggie did not hold any delusions about a miracle ship coming by, seeing, and rescuing them. There was no telling how long they would all be here, they needed to be prepared for the worst. And with that thought, brought a slight chill her light cotton dress and bodice were not equipped to abate in the fading island light.
“I’ll be along in a moment.” Maggie said to James from where they stood on the beach. “It gets rather cold quickly on the beach, I’m going to go grab my shawl.” And with that, she headed back towards their tent by the trees. Opening her pack, she fumbled around for her shawl in the dwindling light.
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Loare watched as the female traipsed along back towards her shelter. Her eyes slowly narrowed, flickering back towards the rest of the group to be sure that no others were going to follow. The girl looked small, easily manageable. There was not the hardness beneath her sleeves that there was in Loare's own arms. The choice was simple enough.
She waited until the girl had her back turned and she was bent over, searching for something. Always wait until prey was most vulnerable, lease suspecting. Loare crouched, her muscles tensing up all over and her spear raised. Then, making no more noise than the trembling of the leaves as she left them, she leaped from the tree, landing scant feet away.
"Quiet!" Loare hissed, prodding the girl's back with the pointed shaft. "Who? Who are you? What you do here?"
She waited until the girl had her back turned and she was bent over, searching for something. Always wait until prey was most vulnerable, lease suspecting. Loare crouched, her muscles tensing up all over and her spear raised. Then, making no more noise than the trembling of the leaves as she left them, she leaped from the tree, landing scant feet away.
"Quiet!" Loare hissed, prodding the girl's back with the pointed shaft. "Who? Who are you? What you do here?"
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Maggie’s hands had just wrapped around her shawl when the encounter began. She turned her head in time to see what she could best describe as an unkempt Wildman, or woman perhaps, it was hard to tell, and gave a started shriek at the sight. She was quickly silenced however, by the spear pointed at her back and the angrily hissed alien words that came from the apparently hostile native. She did not understand what it was asking her, but from the angry tone and tense posture, Maggie could guess it probably lived near here, and didn't like her or the other survivors being here. Were there more natives with this one? Were they about to be descended upon by an entire hostile population?!
“I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're saying." Maggie replied tensely, uncharacteristically unsure of her next move. Her pistol was in the bag, tantalizingly close to her feet, but if she made any sudden moves, she could find herself with a spear lodged in her back. "Where is this?" Maggie asked, gesturing to the land around them, partly hoping for an answer, though she doubted the native understood her language any better than Maggie had grasped hers, partly trying to distract it.
“I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're saying." Maggie replied tensely, uncharacteristically unsure of her next move. Her pistol was in the bag, tantalizingly close to her feet, but if she made any sudden moves, she could find herself with a spear lodged in her back. "Where is this?" Maggie asked, gesturing to the land around them, partly hoping for an answer, though she doubted the native understood her language any better than Maggie had grasped hers, partly trying to distract it.
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James nodded in reply to Maggie and went over to where a large pot full of a motley combination of salted pork, wilting vegetables and scavenged shellfish was simmering over an open fire and stood in line with the rest of the sailors waiting to be given their fair share. Much of the supplies on the ship had been spoiled in the wreck and there was perhaps one or two more solid meals for the whole crew before it would all be gone and they would have to begin to live solely off this new and strange land.
He was two men away from collecting his supper when there came a shriek from the tree-line. James span around, his gaze immediately drawn to where his and Maggie's tent (of sorts) had been set up at the far side of the little encampment. Maggie was there, frozen in the act of movement as she stared off to one side at something just out of sight behind the dense vegetation that crowded up to the edge of the beach. James stepped out of line hurriedly and started towards their tent. As he got closer, he realised that he could see something: a pair of very dirty calloused feet visible just below the leaves of a shrub.
"Miss Thimbleton!" he yelled, breaking into a run, his fingers finding the handles of the pistol in his pocket. "Are you all right?"
He skidded to a halt in a spray of sand to find a woman like no other he'd seen before crouching in the bushes next to their tent. Her skin was tanned or filthy- it was difficult to tell- and her blonde hair was matted into a long braid which was coiled around her throat like a primitive necklace. She wore a few strips of animal hide and little else. Most importantly, however, in one rough hand she clutched a spear and the point of that spear was aimed decisively at the back of Maggie's neck.
"Step away from her," he said coldly, raising his pistol up to shoulder level to aim it squarely at the newcomer's head. It occurred to him that this... woman might never have seen a gun before and not know what exactly he was threatening (though James had little desire to shoot a woman). To rectify this, he punctuated his demand by raising his gun up to the sky and pulling the trigger back sharply. A deafening bang echoed into the trees, spending flocks of brightly-coloured birds leaping terrified into the air from their roosts.
He was two men away from collecting his supper when there came a shriek from the tree-line. James span around, his gaze immediately drawn to where his and Maggie's tent (of sorts) had been set up at the far side of the little encampment. Maggie was there, frozen in the act of movement as she stared off to one side at something just out of sight behind the dense vegetation that crowded up to the edge of the beach. James stepped out of line hurriedly and started towards their tent. As he got closer, he realised that he could see something: a pair of very dirty calloused feet visible just below the leaves of a shrub.
"Miss Thimbleton!" he yelled, breaking into a run, his fingers finding the handles of the pistol in his pocket. "Are you all right?"
He skidded to a halt in a spray of sand to find a woman like no other he'd seen before crouching in the bushes next to their tent. Her skin was tanned or filthy- it was difficult to tell- and her blonde hair was matted into a long braid which was coiled around her throat like a primitive necklace. She wore a few strips of animal hide and little else. Most importantly, however, in one rough hand she clutched a spear and the point of that spear was aimed decisively at the back of Maggie's neck.
"Step away from her," he said coldly, raising his pistol up to shoulder level to aim it squarely at the newcomer's head. It occurred to him that this... woman might never have seen a gun before and not know what exactly he was threatening (though James had little desire to shoot a woman). To rectify this, he punctuated his demand by raising his gun up to the sky and pulling the trigger back sharply. A deafening bang echoed into the trees, spending flocks of brightly-coloured birds leaping terrified into the air from their roosts.
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Loare was frustrated that she could not understand the strange creature's reply. She lightly jabbed the end of the spear against the stranger's neck, making her stance clear and hoping it would speed up the process some. But this did not come to pass; instead, another stranger (a man, she thought, though he recollections were a bit dim about the differences) appeared and spoke in the same garbled tongue. Loare ignored him at first; she could easily fight off the short club he pointed at her. But at the explosion he issued into the night sky, she gasped and leaped away, turning the spear in his direction instead.
Slowly, a memory came back to her. A memory of the last few adults who had lived from her own party. Men, somewhat like this one, arguing with one another about something. Possibly her, though she couldn't imagine why. They had those same short clubs...guns, she thought they were called. She remembered that same explosion, and bright blood bursting from wounds they caused. She remembered fleeing into the trees, and not returning until there was nothing left but what the animals hadn't eaten.
She wouldn't be made into nothing the way her elders had. Not by this clumsy creature, this invader!
Loare took a moment to decide, then lunged at the man with a ducking roll and a sharp stab at his weapon. It would be harmless if it was out of his grasp, and then she could handle the both of them with any number of the weapons she had.
Slowly, a memory came back to her. A memory of the last few adults who had lived from her own party. Men, somewhat like this one, arguing with one another about something. Possibly her, though she couldn't imagine why. They had those same short clubs...guns, she thought they were called. She remembered that same explosion, and bright blood bursting from wounds they caused. She remembered fleeing into the trees, and not returning until there was nothing left but what the animals hadn't eaten.
She wouldn't be made into nothing the way her elders had. Not by this clumsy creature, this invader!
Loare took a moment to decide, then lunged at the man with a ducking roll and a sharp stab at his weapon. It would be harmless if it was out of his grasp, and then she could handle the both of them with any number of the weapons she had.
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“What The Devil!”
“Who’s Shootin!?”
“We’re Under Attack!”
"The Scream, It Twas Miss Thimbleton!”
"Cannibals!”
Shouts echoed across the beach, as the sailors throw aside bowls of stew and scrambled for weapons. As each of them picked up a firelock, be it musket, pistol or blunderbuss, they turned to stare at the darkening tree line, looking for the unwashed horde of savages they knew where there. Suddenly, from down the beach, where one of the watchmen was suppose to be standing, came another shot, followed quickly by a third from the other end of the beach.
Those unlucky souls standing guard had been nervous to begin with but with the scream and the gunshot, they started seeing phantoms in the woods. More then likely, the leaves had quivered from the wind or from a small animal racing away from James but to them, it was some unknown horror. Now, had the merchant princeling not fired his pistol, they might have written Maggie screaming as her seeing some sort of animal, like those getting stew had but the gunfire had cemented the visions of enemies as being real and shootable.
As the watchmen fired on the darkness, so did their fellows, as panic set in among the men of the sea. They still couldn't see the foe but that was all the more reason to fire now! Guns roared, belching red fire and white smoke, as lead balls rattled tree limbs or stripped away green leaves. Captain Mor drew one of his pistols and his cutlass, as a dozen of his men dropped spend muskets and pick up axes or some of the cutlasses that had been salvaged from their once proud ship.
“With Me Lads” bellowed Calder, gesturing with his sword towards the tent James had set up and running in that direction. With a wordless roar, the sailors followed, waving the weapons they had picked up.
“Who’s Shootin!?”
“We’re Under Attack!”
"The Scream, It Twas Miss Thimbleton!”
"Cannibals!”
Shouts echoed across the beach, as the sailors throw aside bowls of stew and scrambled for weapons. As each of them picked up a firelock, be it musket, pistol or blunderbuss, they turned to stare at the darkening tree line, looking for the unwashed horde of savages they knew where there. Suddenly, from down the beach, where one of the watchmen was suppose to be standing, came another shot, followed quickly by a third from the other end of the beach.
Those unlucky souls standing guard had been nervous to begin with but with the scream and the gunshot, they started seeing phantoms in the woods. More then likely, the leaves had quivered from the wind or from a small animal racing away from James but to them, it was some unknown horror. Now, had the merchant princeling not fired his pistol, they might have written Maggie screaming as her seeing some sort of animal, like those getting stew had but the gunfire had cemented the visions of enemies as being real and shootable.
As the watchmen fired on the darkness, so did their fellows, as panic set in among the men of the sea. They still couldn't see the foe but that was all the more reason to fire now! Guns roared, belching red fire and white smoke, as lead balls rattled tree limbs or stripped away green leaves. Captain Mor drew one of his pistols and his cutlass, as a dozen of his men dropped spend muskets and pick up axes or some of the cutlasses that had been salvaged from their once proud ship.
“With Me Lads” bellowed Calder, gesturing with his sword towards the tent James had set up and running in that direction. With a wordless roar, the sailors followed, waving the weapons they had picked up.
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Maggie winced slightly as the spear head was lightly jabbed against her neck and breaking the skin, though thankfully it had not been hard enough to penetrate into her neck. The fear she felt was churning in her stomach, fighting to surface, but she fought it down with a savageness that belied her panic. She needed to keep her wits about her, and fear had a way of dulling them. And then Maggie heard a shouted voice not far off that she had very recently because accustom to hearing.
“I’m alright.” Maggie assured as James came running to her rescue she imagined, trying to keep her voice calm and not spook either into doing something rash with her in the middle. She heard James tell the woman to step away from her, could see the gun in his hand as well. Maggie doubted however that the native woman knew what it was exactly James was threatening her with, if her inability to speak a language Maggie and James understood was anything to go off. Then James pointed the gun skyward and sent a shot off. She dared turn her head in that moment as the native leapt away, and Maggie grabbed her bag instinctively, holding it almost like a shield in front of her.
She watched as the native turn her spear towards James, and Maggie swore she could almost see it in the wild woman’s eyes when she decided to leap at James. In that moment Maggie didn’t think, the rush of the moment she would later explain, but as the wild woman leapt towards James with her spear, Maggie let off a choked screech and swung her traveling back at the back of the natives head with enough force to throw her off balance at least. She was not going to watch that wild woman spear the one man in this encampment that had proven a decent conversationalist.
Then suddenly, there was gun fire everywhere! Maggie heard startled shouts and cries from the encampment, and bugger it all, that gunfire was at them! One shot came particularly too close for comfort, striking a tree not a few paces from where Maggie stood. Leaping towards James and trying to find cover, Maggie ground out in a most aggrieved and unladylike tone. “Bloody hell, those jumpy fools are going to kill us all!”
“I’m alright.” Maggie assured as James came running to her rescue she imagined, trying to keep her voice calm and not spook either into doing something rash with her in the middle. She heard James tell the woman to step away from her, could see the gun in his hand as well. Maggie doubted however that the native woman knew what it was exactly James was threatening her with, if her inability to speak a language Maggie and James understood was anything to go off. Then James pointed the gun skyward and sent a shot off. She dared turn her head in that moment as the native leapt away, and Maggie grabbed her bag instinctively, holding it almost like a shield in front of her.
She watched as the native turn her spear towards James, and Maggie swore she could almost see it in the wild woman’s eyes when she decided to leap at James. In that moment Maggie didn’t think, the rush of the moment she would later explain, but as the wild woman leapt towards James with her spear, Maggie let off a choked screech and swung her traveling back at the back of the natives head with enough force to throw her off balance at least. She was not going to watch that wild woman spear the one man in this encampment that had proven a decent conversationalist.
Then suddenly, there was gun fire everywhere! Maggie heard startled shouts and cries from the encampment, and bugger it all, that gunfire was at them! One shot came particularly too close for comfort, striking a tree not a few paces from where Maggie stood. Leaping towards James and trying to find cover, Maggie ground out in a most aggrieved and unladylike tone. “Bloody hell, those jumpy fools are going to kill us all!”
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Loare knew exactly one oath from the long-gone adults she had traveled with, and she spat it out as the jumpy woman struck at her head, knocking her askew. She was running out of patience, and her heart began to pound as the crack and roar of the strange weapons filled the night sky. She should have simply stuck the woman when she hadn't answered the question properly, and fled back into her home. Now it sounded as if the entire motley crew was racing for her head; it was far more frightful than any stampede she had ever witnessed.
One shot was random and lucky, but not for Loare. It struck her arm, and she shrieked at the unbearable, foreign pain that was like fire racing up and down the limb. The spear fell from her grasp, and she clutched at the wound as it bled. Eyes wide and wild, she looked between the two strangers, trying to deem which was the greater threat. She couldn't rush blind back into the trees; well though she knew them, it wouldn't be long before something caught the scent of her blood. Something she couldn't fight off with one arm.
Inching backwards in the sand, Loare wiggled one foot under her spear and kicked it back up under her elbow. She couldn't stand to be without it, any more than she could managed to actually grasp it in either hand. The roaring savages from the campfires were bolting closer and closer. Loare did her best to lever the spear up at them, baring her teeth as she had seen many wild beasts do when confronted. Perhaps they would kill her. But she would not go alone.
"Back!" She snarled, pointing the blade at any who stared at her for too long. "Back! Back!"
One shot was random and lucky, but not for Loare. It struck her arm, and she shrieked at the unbearable, foreign pain that was like fire racing up and down the limb. The spear fell from her grasp, and she clutched at the wound as it bled. Eyes wide and wild, she looked between the two strangers, trying to deem which was the greater threat. She couldn't rush blind back into the trees; well though she knew them, it wouldn't be long before something caught the scent of her blood. Something she couldn't fight off with one arm.
Inching backwards in the sand, Loare wiggled one foot under her spear and kicked it back up under her elbow. She couldn't stand to be without it, any more than she could managed to actually grasp it in either hand. The roaring savages from the campfires were bolting closer and closer. Loare did her best to lever the spear up at them, baring her teeth as she had seen many wild beasts do when confronted. Perhaps they would kill her. But she would not go alone.
"Back!" She snarled, pointing the blade at any who stared at her for too long. "Back! Back!"
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James relaxed a little when the strange woman flinched at the gunshot and lowered the spear, promptly tensing up again when its tip was turned in his direction. He saw the flicker in her eyes even before she started to lunge towards him but he found his finger hesitating over the trigger of his pistol. Everything sped up and out of the corner of his James saw Maggie swing her bag at the side of the savage's head just as she launched the spear at him. Deflected from his course towards his arm, it caught his side instead, sending pain shoot across his ribs.
He'd barely looked up when the air erupted into gunfire, the shouts of the sailors echoing across the beach. Uttering a curse in Vorsian, James took the opportunity to grab Maggie as she started towards him and dragged her with him behind the nearest tree as splinters from stray bullets rained down over them. A few yards away, the savage woman had been hit and deftly kicked her spear up to hold it beneath her uninjured arm even as blood streamed from the other.
Turning her back from Maggie and James, she screamed- a wild, frustrated shriek that cut through the yells and gunfire like a crack of thunder- a noise that send an unbidden shiver down James' spine. He was witnessing human beings as they had once been, he realised; beating with the same heart as the wilderness that surrounded them, before they built wall cities to keep it out, or scarred its surface with quarries and agriculture. He didn't like it; she had no self-control, she a slave to her own animal impulses.
As the woman barked out strange clipped syllables at the approaching sailors, awkwardly jabbing the spear at them with desperation written over her mud-streaked features, James stepped out from behind the tree. Moving behind her, he gritted his teeth and kicked her feet out from under her. He wrestled the spear away from her and threw it away into the undergrowth, his knee at her back pressing her into the ground. Here, he paused, allowing himself to catch his breath. There was blood smeared over her tanned skin, he realised. At first he thought it was from the wound in her arm but soon he realised it was his own, leaching out of the wound in his side.
He'd barely looked up when the air erupted into gunfire, the shouts of the sailors echoing across the beach. Uttering a curse in Vorsian, James took the opportunity to grab Maggie as she started towards him and dragged her with him behind the nearest tree as splinters from stray bullets rained down over them. A few yards away, the savage woman had been hit and deftly kicked her spear up to hold it beneath her uninjured arm even as blood streamed from the other.
Turning her back from Maggie and James, she screamed- a wild, frustrated shriek that cut through the yells and gunfire like a crack of thunder- a noise that send an unbidden shiver down James' spine. He was witnessing human beings as they had once been, he realised; beating with the same heart as the wilderness that surrounded them, before they built wall cities to keep it out, or scarred its surface with quarries and agriculture. He didn't like it; she had no self-control, she a slave to her own animal impulses.
As the woman barked out strange clipped syllables at the approaching sailors, awkwardly jabbing the spear at them with desperation written over her mud-streaked features, James stepped out from behind the tree. Moving behind her, he gritted his teeth and kicked her feet out from under her. He wrestled the spear away from her and threw it away into the undergrowth, his knee at her back pressing her into the ground. Here, he paused, allowing himself to catch his breath. There was blood smeared over her tanned skin, he realised. At first he thought it was from the wound in her arm but soon he realised it was his own, leaching out of the wound in his side.
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Sharp though her senses were, Loare was made clumsy and stiff by the electric pain in her arm. She had learned through watching animals chase one another that balance was often the difference between life and death, yet now a simple blow from the wounded man sent her down. She kicked, fought, struggled, and cursed, but her body was growing cold with shock. All she managed to do was grasp one of the daggers tucked in at her waist, and slash at the man's leg so that she could roll free.
Exhausted, lying flat on her back and bleeding, she fixed the man with a hateful glance. There were too many of them, and they were whipped into a fervor. Loare lifted the blade, but before she could do anything with it the wound and the blood loss caught up to her. Her hand fell limp, her head sunk to the sand, and she was out.
Exhausted, lying flat on her back and bleeding, she fixed the man with a hateful glance. There were too many of them, and they were whipped into a fervor. Loare lifted the blade, but before she could do anything with it the wound and the blood loss caught up to her. Her hand fell limp, her head sunk to the sand, and she was out.
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Calder wasn’t sure he could be surprised anymore, after all he had just been stolen away from the waters he know by a storm and dumped on a shore that shouldn’t exist but today was full of strange events. When he and his sailors reached the pair remaining passengers, they fully expected to find some gibbering savages dressed in a loincloth and bits of bone. Well that was what they found but they weren’t expecting to find a single woman in such a getup and brandishing a spear. Momentarily stunned, the Ulsttormen recovered and fanned out, forming a half circle around the savage, sharp steel held before them. However, before they could engage her, James had his move.
“By god” swore Captain Mor, lowering his cutlass and thrusting his pistol back into his belt, “A woman.”
His words were met with the sound of gunfire, as a number of panicking sailors had managed to reload their muskets and take a second shot at the trees. A few more rang out, as the slower men or the younger who had bumbled the loading, finally got their firelocks ready. The trees and bushes still rustled, as small animals and birds scurried for safety. This provoked more cries about there being an army all around them and men shouting at each other to load faster.
“You six” said Calder, pointing to half of the sailors around him, “Get ‘em under control and have ‘em set fires along the beach. I don’t think there be more of these wild women about but I don’t fancy me throat gettin cut in the night if there are.”
As the men dashed off, the Ulsttorman looked down at the native and tapped the blade of his sword against his leg. What where they to do with her? If it had been a man they had caught, he's have suggested simply cutting the fellow's throat and dumping the body in the waves but that was a little too callus for a woman. he didn't think they should keep her, not only was she dangerous but his lads were scared and alone on this place. They might just decide that this wild woman could be used to satisfy some of their own baser urges. He didn't want any of his sailors getting used to the thought of rape, not with two young woman in the company.
“By god” swore Captain Mor, lowering his cutlass and thrusting his pistol back into his belt, “A woman.”
His words were met with the sound of gunfire, as a number of panicking sailors had managed to reload their muskets and take a second shot at the trees. A few more rang out, as the slower men or the younger who had bumbled the loading, finally got their firelocks ready. The trees and bushes still rustled, as small animals and birds scurried for safety. This provoked more cries about there being an army all around them and men shouting at each other to load faster.
“You six” said Calder, pointing to half of the sailors around him, “Get ‘em under control and have ‘em set fires along the beach. I don’t think there be more of these wild women about but I don’t fancy me throat gettin cut in the night if there are.”
As the men dashed off, the Ulsttorman looked down at the native and tapped the blade of his sword against his leg. What where they to do with her? If it had been a man they had caught, he's have suggested simply cutting the fellow's throat and dumping the body in the waves but that was a little too callus for a woman. he didn't think they should keep her, not only was she dangerous but his lads were scared and alone on this place. They might just decide that this wild woman could be used to satisfy some of their own baser urges. He didn't want any of his sailors getting used to the thought of rape, not with two young woman in the company.
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After being pulled behind a tree by James, everything seemed to move much more quickly. Perhaps it was because Maggie had no control over the situation, but she watched anxiously as James wrested with the wild woman and knock the spear away, and took a sharp intake of breath as she saw a blade cut into his leg. The Captain and men arrived on the scene quickly after that as well, and Maggie noticed the wild woman had passed out. Once the gun fire seemed to have died down, Maggie stumbled out from behind the tree that had shielded her from the gun fire, and headed straight for James with her pack.
“We’re going to need to clean those.” Maggie said somewhat shakily, as she fought to regain control of her voice. She knelt down beside him, and dug into her bag, pulling out a small pair of scissors from her sewing kit, and the heavier dress she’d packed before. “I think this will do nicely. I hope you don’t mind yellow bandages Mr. Viteri.” The last part had been a shaky attempt at humor on Maggie’s part.
“Can you walk?” Maggie asked, eyeing the wound at his side anxiously. “We should get you back to the tent so I can clean those. We’ll need some of that ale to keep them clean as well, and probably a lantern as well.” Maggie was aware she probably sounded like she was babbling, but making lists of things she needed to do helped to keep her calm under stress, and the last ten minutes or so had definitely been extremely stressful, if not this entire day.
“We’re going to need to clean those.” Maggie said somewhat shakily, as she fought to regain control of her voice. She knelt down beside him, and dug into her bag, pulling out a small pair of scissors from her sewing kit, and the heavier dress she’d packed before. “I think this will do nicely. I hope you don’t mind yellow bandages Mr. Viteri.” The last part had been a shaky attempt at humor on Maggie’s part.
“Can you walk?” Maggie asked, eyeing the wound at his side anxiously. “We should get you back to the tent so I can clean those. We’ll need some of that ale to keep them clean as well, and probably a lantern as well.” Maggie was aware she probably sounded like she was babbling, but making lists of things she needed to do helped to keep her calm under stress, and the last ten minutes or so had definitely been extremely stressful, if not this entire day.
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James bit back a cry as the woman produced a knife seemingly out of nowhere and slashed at his leg, scoring a long cut down the side of his shin. He stood up reflexively and the savage managed to roll free. She was exhausted, he realised, as she stared up at him with unrefined anger in her eyes. The knife was clutched loosely in her hand, her chest heaving. But she didn't give up, not even when her gaze became unfocused and her tanned skin grew pale. With one last attempt to strike out with the dagger, James caught her wrist which fell limp a moment later. Taking the knife out of her grasp and throwing her arm away, he stood up.
They had acquired an audience. An audience which, as James angrily remembered, had very nearly killed them with their fondness for gunfire.
"I can walk," he said to Maggie, stepping over the prone form of the savage woman as if to demonstrate. "The wounds are not very deep. But I think you had better see to that before you do anything else," he added, gesturing stiffly to the wound on the native's arm. "Here, use this-" He gave her the neck-tie from his pocket (he'd taken it off when they'd first found themselves on this damned beach). "-for a tourniquet."
Wiping a sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, James stalked through the rag-tag bunch of sailors. Let Calder decide what to do with her. Perhaps now he would see that getting away from this strange and bloodthirsty land was more important than any reverence for that rapidly rotting pile of wood he called a ship.
Back at the makeshift tent he'd somehow come to share with Maggie, James awkwardly sat down on the tattered rug that served as a floor mat, wincing as the wound in his side protested. Gingerly, he peeled away the blood-soaked cotton of his shirt away from his torso and unbuttoned it to expose the injury. A ragged cut, about two inches long and a quarter of an inch deep dribbled blood down his stomach. Suppressing a string of Vorsian curses, he slipped his shirt off completely and pressed it to his side.
What on earth had convinced him to agree to come on this idiotic jaunt anyway? Why had he allowed himself to be distracted by anything that was not related to his own business? Why was he now lying wounded on a beach on god knew which continent rather than signing stock manifests in an Elmish dock?
They had acquired an audience. An audience which, as James angrily remembered, had very nearly killed them with their fondness for gunfire.
"I can walk," he said to Maggie, stepping over the prone form of the savage woman as if to demonstrate. "The wounds are not very deep. But I think you had better see to that before you do anything else," he added, gesturing stiffly to the wound on the native's arm. "Here, use this-" He gave her the neck-tie from his pocket (he'd taken it off when they'd first found themselves on this damned beach). "-for a tourniquet."
Wiping a sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, James stalked through the rag-tag bunch of sailors. Let Calder decide what to do with her. Perhaps now he would see that getting away from this strange and bloodthirsty land was more important than any reverence for that rapidly rotting pile of wood he called a ship.
Back at the makeshift tent he'd somehow come to share with Maggie, James awkwardly sat down on the tattered rug that served as a floor mat, wincing as the wound in his side protested. Gingerly, he peeled away the blood-soaked cotton of his shirt away from his torso and unbuttoned it to expose the injury. A ragged cut, about two inches long and a quarter of an inch deep dribbled blood down his stomach. Suppressing a string of Vorsian curses, he slipped his shirt off completely and pressed it to his side.
What on earth had convinced him to agree to come on this idiotic jaunt anyway? Why had he allowed himself to be distracted by anything that was not related to his own business? Why was he now lying wounded on a beach on god knew which continent rather than signing stock manifests in an Elmish dock?
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“I’d wait a moment Ma’am” said Calder, as James stalked off, “We’ll bind her hands first, before ye start patchin the savage up. It would be a shame ta lose ye now, just cause this creature had another knife.”
As a sailor ran off to fetch rope, the captain stood over the wild woman, his sword pointed at her chest. He knew that men might play dead to escape or to carry out a surprise attack. He had once heard of a pirate, a fellow called Redbeard, who had done battle with an Elmish frigate. Once the smoke from the two ship’s guns had clear, it appeared that all of Redbeard’s crew was dead upon the deck and the Elmish marines and sailors clambered aboard her for loot and for the pirate captain’s head. As the navy men were looking about the ship, the pirate jumped up and slew the lot of them, taking the frigate to be their new ship. He was not going to let the woman pull a similar trick.
When the rope reached them, he set to men to tying the woman up. One held her arms, as the other bound her hands together, while he kept guard. As the last of the knots were pulled tight, the sailor holding the woman’s arms, a fellow by the name of Barclay Craig, gave a startled cry and stared at the side of the woman’s head before looking at his captain with bewildered eyes.
“Skipper” blurted Barclay, “Her ears!”
“What?” mused Calder, sheathing his cutlass now that the wild woman was tightly bound and bushing some of the long hair away from where the savage’s right ear should be. His eyes widened, as he felt reality shift again today. Under the dirty hair was an ear but it was not the expected shape. Where a human’s ear would have rounded off at the top, this ear continued on, thinning into a rounded point. The sailors around him, who had crowded in for a better look gasped, jumping back and doing various little dances to rid themselves of curses.
“Burn my soul” swore Captain Mor.
As a sailor ran off to fetch rope, the captain stood over the wild woman, his sword pointed at her chest. He knew that men might play dead to escape or to carry out a surprise attack. He had once heard of a pirate, a fellow called Redbeard, who had done battle with an Elmish frigate. Once the smoke from the two ship’s guns had clear, it appeared that all of Redbeard’s crew was dead upon the deck and the Elmish marines and sailors clambered aboard her for loot and for the pirate captain’s head. As the navy men were looking about the ship, the pirate jumped up and slew the lot of them, taking the frigate to be their new ship. He was not going to let the woman pull a similar trick.
When the rope reached them, he set to men to tying the woman up. One held her arms, as the other bound her hands together, while he kept guard. As the last of the knots were pulled tight, the sailor holding the woman’s arms, a fellow by the name of Barclay Craig, gave a startled cry and stared at the side of the woman’s head before looking at his captain with bewildered eyes.
“Skipper” blurted Barclay, “Her ears!”
“What?” mused Calder, sheathing his cutlass now that the wild woman was tightly bound and bushing some of the long hair away from where the savage’s right ear should be. His eyes widened, as he felt reality shift again today. Under the dirty hair was an ear but it was not the expected shape. Where a human’s ear would have rounded off at the top, this ear continued on, thinning into a rounded point. The sailors around him, who had crowded in for a better look gasped, jumping back and doing various little dances to rid themselves of curses.
“Burn my soul” swore Captain Mor.
- 83 posts here • Page 2 of 4 • 1, 2, 3, 4
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View All » Add Character » 13 Characters to follow in this universe
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Loare
A Lythari turned wild woman who has lived alone for most of her life.
Izquixochitl
A priestess of the Lythari moon-worshipping alliance.
Dolores "Lola" Rio
Natural born follower
Jane Watkins
Ensign in the Elmish Aircore
Nicholas Griffith
Major in the Elmish Aircore
Baz OcHann
Schunnoan soldier on a secret mission
James Viteri
Nephew of the wealthy Lord Durkin and second-in-command of the family's huge trade empire.
Lord Phillip Holmes Durkin
He's the one paying for the shipping, and as such has taken a personal interest in the matter.
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Lord Phillip Holmes Durkin
He's the one paying for the shipping, and as such has taken a personal interest in the matter.
Dolores "Lola" Rio
Natural born follower
Jane Watkins
Ensign in the Elmish Aircore
Whip Venst
A rogue pirate from Swiden, running from something other than the law...
Nicholas Griffith
Major in the Elmish Aircore
James Viteri
Nephew of the wealthy Lord Durkin and second-in-command of the family's huge trade empire.
Loare
A Lythari turned wild woman who has lived alone for most of her life.
Baz OcHann
Schunnoan soldier on a secret mission
Calder Mor
Captain of the Sea Breeze
Most Followed
Baz OcHann
Schunnoan soldier on a secret mission
Lord Phillip Holmes Durkin
He's the one paying for the shipping, and as such has taken a personal interest in the matter.
Whip Venst
A rogue pirate from Swiden, running from something other than the law...
Jane Watkins
Ensign in the Elmish Aircore
Calder Mor
Captain of the Sea Breeze
Izquixochitl
A priestess of the Lythari moon-worshipping alliance.
Dolores "Lola" Rio
Natural born follower
Loare
A Lythari turned wild woman who has lived alone for most of her life.
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Shipwrecked
1 ... 5, 6, 7by Irish Wolf on Thu Oct 28, 2010 1:49 pm
- 122 Replies
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- Last post by NorthernSoul
on Sat Apr 16, 2011 4:58 pm
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Shipwrecked
Most recent OOC posts in Shipwrecked
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
*poke*
My dears, are we going to keep moving?
I thought I had convinced Wakeangle to join up but I haven't heard from her in a few days. I'm in the process of throwing up a new recruiting thread.
My dears, are we going to keep moving?
I thought I had convinced Wakeangle to join up but I haven't heard from her in a few days. I'm in the process of throwing up a new recruiting thread.
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
Well ninja, the Alliance and Empire are at war, its just kinda stalled into skirmishes and raiding. Plus the Empire already has a plan to breath a little life back into the conflict.
Anyways, it sounds like idea 1 is the winner and I have sent out a few pms and will be opening a recruiting thread some time today.
Anyways, it sounds like idea 1 is the winner and I have sent out a few pms and will be opening a recruiting thread some time today.
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
Perhaps a combination of 3 and 1? Say we get through the part in 3 where we meet Xo and they are headed back to her city when the hostile natives of the other sect strike, taking Xo and some of the group hostage while the other's escape. Perhaps then it could turn into a collaborative rescue mission between the shipwrecked sailor and the people of Xo's city? I got the vibe there was going to be war between the two sects anyway, so perhaps this is a catalyst that gets the ball rolling?
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
Well, I think option 1 sounds the most interesting but really, it's your RP. Perhaps we could do with some more recruitment too...?
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
Oh and if you'd like some more natives, like say a hunter or warrior, say the word and I'll make her.
Anyways, time fore bed.
Anyways, time fore bed.
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
The plot is loose and willing to wiggle!
Now I suppose that we have a few directions we could go in, depending on how you feel about it.
Option one
James and party find the town Xo was heading to in the last or only post she was mentioned in (page 2). When the humans show up, the Lythari capture them, with Maggie (damn I am that weak) or James (damn he was right) or a random sailor escaping to bring Calder to the "rescue". The captain arrives just as the language barrier is standing to fall and his plan to free them might get everyone killed.
Option two
James and friends find a nice cave (or get chased into one) but before they can report back to the beach, the surviving raiders find them and attack! Can they hold out until rescue?
In the mean time, Xo appears on the beach with a party of her Alliance warriors. Tense stand off, while the leaders try to communicate. A native brings a report of the sound of the strangers weapons in the mountains. Can the massage be communicated in time to save James, Maggie and the sailors?
Option three
James and friends find a nice location out in the woods and bring the news back. James gets to gloat, while the captain glowers, as they rig up a way to carry the supplies and other gear to the spot. All the while Xo continues to watch them, almost getting caught a few times, until she tries to approach the strangers, on behalf of her mother or just to learn more about them?
Now I suppose that we have a few directions we could go in, depending on how you feel about it.
Option one
James and party find the town Xo was heading to in the last or only post she was mentioned in (page 2). When the humans show up, the Lythari capture them, with Maggie (damn I am that weak) or James (damn he was right) or a random sailor escaping to bring Calder to the "rescue". The captain arrives just as the language barrier is standing to fall and his plan to free them might get everyone killed.
Option two
James and friends find a nice cave (or get chased into one) but before they can report back to the beach, the surviving raiders find them and attack! Can they hold out until rescue?
In the mean time, Xo appears on the beach with a party of her Alliance warriors. Tense stand off, while the leaders try to communicate. A native brings a report of the sound of the strangers weapons in the mountains. Can the massage be communicated in time to save James, Maggie and the sailors?
Option three
James and friends find a nice location out in the woods and bring the news back. James gets to gloat, while the captain glowers, as they rig up a way to carry the supplies and other gear to the spot. All the while Xo continues to watch them, almost getting caught a few times, until she tries to approach the strangers, on behalf of her mother or just to learn more about them?
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
I can do... It's just, to be honest, I'm struggling to come up with much inspiration for this RP. Now that the two groups have split off, you're going to effectively be RPing on your own. That and the only native character still active is mine (which makes things difficult as I don't know where you want the plot to go).
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
Must resist jokes about girls and how they "suck"......
Anyways. I have posted. Will we be seeing Xo show up at some point in the near future?
Anyways. I have posted. Will we be seeing Xo show up at some point in the near future?
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
My character's kinda hanging at the moment too. I read that your character was running along the treelines and I placed my character in your route Jadeling. So let me know if there's anything we can work out.
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
Perhaps have one of the sailors or one of our characters save her from a scary snake monster? Or perhaps she ends up at the base of the ship and James/Calder/Maggie help her up?
Re: [OOC] Shipwrecked
Still here, still reading. Still puzzling out how to get Loare definitively on the side that probably won't kill her on sight.
I have the next few days off, so I'm sure I'll have a chance to reply. Hopefully today. I'm on it!
I have the next few days off, so I'm sure I'll have a chance to reply. Hopefully today. I'm on it!