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| En Route to Valua City (T); Sargoth & Nex | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 19 2008, 05:48 AM (129 Views) | |
| Necromancer Sargoth | Oct 19 2008, 05:48 AM Post #1 |
Affably Evil
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The sleek Vander airship soared through the dark clouds of central Valua, heading south toward a new pass through the barrier mountains that had been created when the Rains of Destruction fell. The Valuan highlands stretched out below them, barren and inhospitable, and lightning illuminated the eastern skies. Every so often, the glowing lights of villages or towns lit up the pockmarked landscape of stone. The former trading vessel glided over all of this though, a solitary beacon of light cutting through the dark skies as it traveled. Inside the ship things were much more cozy. The pilot and co-pilot sat nestled in the cockpit, the former keenly watching the skies and the latter sipping at a large mug of steaming coffee as he perused a magazine from Sailor's Island. Various crew went about their work keeping the ship in perfect order as others continued serving breakfast for fellow crew members and passengers alike. As for the three passengers, they sat comfortably in the common area. Lord Vander had claimed an enormous easy chair, leaving his two guests the choice between a sofa and lesser armchair. The Duke of Tartas had an impressive array of papers and folders stacked on the table beside him and he appeared to be particularly engrossed in the contents of the one he currently had under scrutiny. An amiable servant stood by the tables side, waiting diligently for his lieges next command. An uncomfortable silence had descended upon the commons area, interrupted only by the rustle of paper as Vander finished a page and went on to the next. Finally, Lord Vander set the page aside and the promise of conversation was once again restored for the two out of place guests. Unfortunately, Illius soon closed the brief window with a command for his servant. "Hand me the dossier on the good Lord Frost." The young man quickly dove into the proverbial mountain of documents beside Illius. "Here, you go sir. All you have on Lord Frost." Raul smiled politely as his liege took the thick folder from him. "Thank you, Paul," said Illius as he flipped open the cover and immediately became engrossed in the dossiers contents. A look of hurt briefly crossed Raul's face as his lord misremembered his name, but it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. The uncomfortable silence resumed and endured for another ten minutes before the intercom crackled to life startling a few of the rooms occupants. "This is your captain speaking. I would just like to notify our guests that we are currently nearing the majestic Cloud Lake and if you direct your attention to the port side windows you will get a spectacular view. Cloud Lake is actually an impact crater , which was created during the Rains of Destruction and goes clean through the Valuan Continent into Lower Sky." "Nice," muttered the co-pilot, his voice just audible over the intercom. "Nothing like a big, fucking hole in the ground. I bet the moonstone that made that one blew up a whole city." The intercom suddenly clicked off and the passengers exchanged various expressions ranging from confusion to downright agitation. However, the voice of the pilot soon returned. "I apologize profoundly for the disturbance. We are making good time and should arrive in the capital right on schedule." The intercom died again. Illius returned to his reading, but after a moment seemed to remember he had two guests sitting across from him. He glanced over his papers at them with a dour expression sitting upon his face. "You two are free to roam about the ship, you know. You do not have to sit there." Illius returned to his reading, but continued to speak. "I am sure breakfast is ready by now. You could eat; Saul will show you the way to the galley." Looking slightly irritated, the man returned to silence. Meanwhile, hidden in the thick mists of Cloud Lake sat the dark form of a Black Pirate frigate, the Bloody Baron. "Captain!" hollered a pirate woman. She had a dark complexion of Nasrean origin, and long, tangled black hair restrained by a bandanna. The pirate wore worn homespun with a leather doublet over top her shirt and a slender rapier of cheap make on her belt. She had her spyglass trained on the Vander airship as it sped over them. Weve got a mark! Pretty fancy looking mercury class. You dont see too many of them these days. A smile lit up the captains face and he jumped out of his chair to come see for himself. The man had a Lower Valuan look about him: pale skin, rough hands, and strong arms. This was a man who knew how to put in a 14 hour shift at the docks. However, his clothing suggested a rather successful pirating career. Despite being fairly worn out, his finery would suit a low ranking noble in the Upper City. His demeanor and grooming matched his finery, also suggesting he could afford some luxuries others were usually denies. His face had been freshly shaved and his hair combed back neatly. In fact, he could actually be mistaken as a gentleman. The captain grabbed the spyglass away from his lookout and peered through it himself. His smiled grew bigger and he let out a hearty laugh. "They're not even armed! This'll be too easy!" The man gave his lookout a kiss and slap on the behind before returning to his captains chair. "Today!" he shouted, commanding the attention of everyone on deck. "We get paid handsomely!" There was a general cheer of joy and the lookout had a sheepish expression on her face. "Perkins, get this tub moving. We've got work!" "AYE, Captain Stark! replied the man at the wheel." In the mists of Cloud Lake, the Bloody Baron began to stir. Its destination: Illius Vander's ship. |
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| Necromancer Sargoth | Oct 19 2008, 05:55 AM Post #2 |
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Affably Evil
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Orignally posted by Nex Terran When given the consent to roam about the ship, Henry stood, shoulders slightly hunched, and proceeded to just that. A dark cloud hung over his face, the product of the loss of what was likely his only opportunity of something else, as the never-ending battles raged in his head and all about him. Today he had chose the very place they were sailing through, except the Vander's ship had nothing to do with it. Instead two grand Valuan fleets clashed in a spectacular display, the first resembled greatly the Valuan armada, the second a collection of ships that spoke of haste and miss-training. Thomas politely and quietly thanked Vander, stood, and did the same as his friend. For a few steps he followed Henry, but then he hesitated for a moment, and decided on another course. Instead of battles of a world that wasnt, but could have been, thoughts of failure and returning to what had been plagued his mind. ...Grand Charge mixed with a Crylhound's Pounce... standard tacit. Entirely suicidal the way their ships are positioned.. Why? Why would they use that? Maybe if... Their battle cruisers are out of range, the closest four point... nine? No, eight. Eight. They're four point eight times their maximum range away, nine minutes, seven absolute efficiency away. They cant provide support; they aren't fast enough, yet the officers should be more intelligent than this, so then why...? Henry gazed out of a large window, his eyes drifting over the pirate ship without taking notice for a moment. One really couldn't blame him though; though looking at it, he was seeing as well as if he had his eyes closed. Lazily he watched his prized ghost ships bustle with screamed orders, provided platforms for bloody screeching admissions to death, and fill the air with the pleasant smell of cannon fire. Henry was a quiet man, a man that shied away from men talking, or even looking at him, a man that wretched at the sight of blood. Why then he enjoyed the chaotic scenes of artistic death was unknown to him. That was one of the many mysteries that Henry let go. There were more important things to figure out, after all. For example; why would the Valuan Armada use a Grand Charge mixed with a Crylhound's Pounce? |
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| Necromancer Sargoth | Oct 19 2008, 08:27 AM Post #3 |
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Affably Evil
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“Man, that’s a whole lot of nothing out there, man,” started the co-pilot suddenly. He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet onto the control panel in front of him. “Whole lot of nothing,” he repeated, before grabbing a mug full of steaming coffee, and taking a long, slow swallow of the hot liquid. The captain simply looked on ahead, seemingly ignoring his companion. Finally, he turned and gave him a look of bewilderment. “What in the Six Moons are you on about?” The co-pilot shrugged, then gestured with his hand towards the empty Valuan countryside. “That, man! Just look at it. All empty and shit. It’s crazy.” The captain contemplated the other man’s words for a minute. “Yes. It is.” Silence reigned in the cabin for a time, but soon a faint light in the distance distracted the captain. It looked like a shooting star, but it was moving up from Cloud Lake. “What in the… Oh, OH!” The captain, recognizing the streaking light, turned the ship hard to starboard in an attempt to avoid it. The co-pilot nearly fell out of his chair, coffee spilling all over him as he flailed in order to keep balance. “What the fuck was that about?!” The captain ignored him this time, concentrating on steering the boat. It sliced through the air, banking hard to starboard, narrowly avoiding the torpedo, which detonated next to the ship. The shockwave assaulted the craft, causing it to lurch to one side. The captain righted the vessel quickly and increased speed, hoping to get away from the unseen attackers. Suddenly, the Bloody Baron shot out of the clouds and loomed up in front of them. The captain banked again to avoid the frigate. They were one the run now, being hunted. “Shit! Is that? Are those?” the co-pilot shouted. The captain’s face was stern. “Pirates,” he replied laconically. That was enough. Illius had just taken a sip of tea and returned his cup to its saucer when the ship banked and knocked over the precarious stack of dossiers, books, and invoices he had accumulated around him. The storm of paper that ensued was more than suitable to pique his temper. However, before he could express his wrath in a single syllable, the torpedo exploded and sent the vessel lurching and his tea sailing. Oh, now his wrath was true. “What in Deep Sky is going on?!” he demanded, although no one in particular was around to hear him. That unfortunate detail was enough to stoke his rage to new intensities. He was not left wondering long, when the intercom crackled to life again. “This is your captain speaking. It would appear that –“ “Oh Moons, we’re boned! No hope! I don’t wanna die! I don’t get paid enough to-“ “Damn it man, shut up! Be a professional for once!” “Fu-“ Rustling and scuffling were heard over the intercom before a loud thud, some profanity, and brief apology lead to the captain’s voice returning. “It would appear that we are under attack by an unknown pirate vessel. I ask you all to brace yourselves and remain calm. I repeat, remain-“ Another explosion, closer than the last, rocked the boat. The captain returned his focus to steering the aircraft while Illius turned a brilliant shade of red. “Miserable pirates! Think they can attack my ship, MY SHIP?! PIRATES?!” Forgetting for a moment his ship was unarmed, he got up to head for the magic cannon before realizing his error. He could not bring himself to sit again, despite the unstable deck beneath him, and paced the room fuming. “PIRATES! UNBELIEVABLE!” Meanwhile, the Bloody Baron drew ever closer. If something did not change soon, the pirates would be boarding Vander’s vessel within mere minutes. |
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| Nex Terren | Oct 21 2008, 03:29 PM Post #4 |
EXAMPLE
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Henry watched the pirate ship placidly, only slowly becoming aware of it's existence. Finally, he blinked inquisitively at the foreign object; his first act of acknowledgment. Lines creased Henry's face as that study became more intense, but despite such concentration the phantom battles about him continued onwards. Why wouldn't they? Stratagizing into the depths of eternity was who he was. Applying perfect impartiality; complete separation between two sides in never ending and infinitely diverse battles was as much a part of him as was his silent, worried, drawn in demeanor that he presented to the rest of the world. He was a quiet man, a thoughtful man, and little else. ...Well, a retreat seems like the best option; the enemy is sure to follow, and with the rock walls to the side it should provide cover for a return attack. The rock walls—how else could I use them for an advantage besides a cover like that? Well, I'd be near the continent floor to have them at the side, but would the ground get in the way? My forces are more maneuverable than the Valuan battleships, so if I could chance... His eyes went wide at what next he saw; a bright light jettisoning off from the pirate's vessel. Even he knew well enough what that was, and watching it draw closer to them was no comforting image. Those lines of age on his face—if not excessive, still more than nearly any other man on that craft—deepened, as he looked worriedly at the sight. Shout he run? Give shout a warning? These thoughts didn't occur to the man. Yes, he knew what it was, but somehow it didn't click. The image of the enemy torpedo was a worrying thing, but, distracted as he was any thought of action inspired by that sight was somehow lost. Lost to the mental action resulting from a dozen more torpedo shots that sounded inside his head. The imaginary took precedence over the real. ...I'll need to move quickly; faster than this slow pace! 34 by 2... fire cannons NNE... what angle? Can they even hit? 40... 50 percent chance at a 45 degree angle. Best not fire then. Bring that ship around to the front, the mage ship up above. What of the battleships? Engines on Two and Four? Too damaged to move quickly. Except downward; one can always move downward quickly... The ship fell into a hard right, and Henry—having anything but sea legs—fell across the room, scrambling to return to his feet. His hands flailed about wildly, finding a door handle to grab on to, stopping his sideways fall. Yanking himself erect—if hunched shoulders could be considered 'erect'—his eyes shot back towards the pirate vessel, like an animal eyeing the hunter. Yes, pirate; he could tell that right away. For the briefest moment, he pondered the idea of how a schooner would have been a better choice for the enemy. ...They're surrounding me. Fire reported on second cannon. Turn -3 degrees. Altitude? Not high enough. Cruiser, needed at spear point... “What in Deep Sky is going on?!” The Valuan lord shouted, distracting Henry just about as much as the floor did. As to the rest of the man's words? The crumpled figure ignored those. ...Not fast enough. Quicka? If only... turn the ships around. Full charge. Chance? Twenty... thirty... thirty... thirty-five...? The intercom crackled, informing that they were under attack. Henry scowled at nothing in particular, eyes wildly studying something beyond sight. Two battles at once? How could he survive both? How could he survive one? How could he... ...Another ship down. Another. Too many. Fall back. Damage to aft. Repair. Cruisers gaining... Another explosion sounded, rocking the vessel. ...Retreat. Keep the line. Surround me. Mustn't let... “Miserable pirates!” Fire! Now! “MY SHIP?! PIRATES?!” Charge! “PIRATES!” Gone! “UNBELIEVABLE!” Snap! “The moons curse you black seadogs!” Henry bellowed, storming forward as if any wild bucking of the ship was child's play. “I'll have 'em skinned alive and set out for their carrion to be feasted upon!” Forward he marched, meekness as much forgotten as invisible battles, both replaced by a boisterous ferocity to live, or perhaps towards everything that did live. Shoulders back, stride long and strong, and face owning a command like few other could hope to posses, whoever the man was he wasn't Henry. He wasn't Henry regardless of the fact that he wore the man's skin. Regardless of the fact that he would have answered to the name just a few minutes ago. “We're being shot at and what does this man do?” He shouted, enraged, as he stormed down the hallway. The ship bucked again, sending him crashing into a wall. Roughly, he shoved himself down the hallway, not bothering with failing arms or looks of terror. “He jerks the ship around like he's a drunken--! I'll see their souls to deep sky, because the dead answer to me, and me alone!” Thomas watched Henry—for that was the only name he knew him by—thundering down away, and did so with an open mouthed silence. In the years that he had known the man a stern word was shocking; the display at the Vander's estate was more defiance that he had seen in Henry all the years before put together. And now this? Thomas had never seen anything like it, and, truth be known he didn't know it was possible. He would have said it more likely for water to burn. This man, however? Thomas was trained in battle, and had personally fought against pirate kind twice before, but something about Henry made him more fearful than the pirate's attacking. Not fearful for his life; no, with this man fighting for them, why would he be? No, Thomas was fearful for something else... “Henry...?” He murmured to no one in particular. “You!” Henry slammed open the door, causing at least one of the hinges to audibly 'crack!' He paid it no mind to it, though; he had more important matters to deal with. “You're the ones trying to get us killed!” Henry growled teeth bared at the two men, and then with a cry, shoved them aside. Spinning the wheel with a certain familiarity, the ship rolled, letting a cannonball whistle pass by the err of a man's arm. Snorting, Henry glanced out the window, eyeing the enemy ship with a look that by all rights should have set the set the vessel ablaze. "Fourteen, nineteen--Favors the starboard--Eight, no, nine..." He muttered darkly, numbers as good as curses. "What do you think you're doing?!" The captain yelled, advancing as if to take the wheel back from Henry. Henry spun about, grabbing the man by the shirt collar, and lifting him bodilly off the ground. "I'm taking over this ship," He said, voice crescendoing, "because the men she was entrusted to pilot her like dhabu-brained idiots! Now shut up and make yourself useful as I try to save this glorified messenger craft, and her Valuan lord!" With a shove and a cry, he hurried the captain backwards, tossing him into an assortment of dials and meters. Those tools of measurement gave way with a crack!, but he paid it no mind. He had more important matters to deal with, and besides, he didn't use them anyways. "Looks like a fiveteen degree variance at this range;" He shouted to himself, jerking the wheel again. He couldn't help but note satisfactory that it bucked less than it had with the previous pilots. Henry had no reason to even steady himself after the turn, even if the two others crashed about the cabin. "One of the only times I'm glad the enemy is takin' a cannon to me and not a blazin' torpedo. This ship is a bit sluggish for port turns. Not bad, but I would have had the blasted thing fixed. Bloody idiots..." Jerking the intercom from the dashboard, he clicked it on, and began growling into it. "This is your new Captain speaking. As you've already been so kindly informed we're under attack. And we're unarmed, undermanned, and going to all die if I don't save the whole lot of you. So I have one humble request to make;" He said, smirking for the first time in years, "hold on for your moon forsaken lives and, oh, if you can find it in your hearts forgive a poor man like me... well, do your best." Giving a chuckle both dark and quiet, he threw the receiver to the side. With a resounding 'crack!' it slammed into the once-captain's head, ending his second attempt to regain control of his vessel. He paid not another thought to the man, or his co-pilot who was praying to the moons in the corner. With another wordless shout, Henry kicked the altitude control lever and spun the wheel again, sending the vessel into a corkscrew dive. Two torpedo shells sounded harmlessly in the void where the ship had been just an instant before, and in defiance, Henry laughed. He just needed to get nearer to that cliff wall, and then he could show them. Yeah, he'd show them a thing or two... Edited by Nex Terren, Oct 30 2008, 03:02 PM.
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| Necromancer Sargoth | Oct 22 2008, 08:03 PM Post #5 |
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Affably Evil
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Illius Vander was angry. No, he was far more than that; he was furious. As if the fates themselves were against him, nothing had been going according to plan. If something as infinitesimally simple as eating dinner and flying across the countryside could not be executed smoothly, what trials would await him for the truly difficult stages of the Plan? No, no, this would not do. There are schedules to keep, appointments. The Plan must proceed, regardless of the bloody pirates. Nothing could stop this. “Saul! Saul!” Illius called out, demanding his servant’s presence. Instead, Henry came rushing from the corridor, barreling past Illius and tearing open the door to the cabin. The door made a screeching whine as it broke from its top hinge. The knob made a nice dent in the wall as well. “How dare you!” yelled Illius, irate. “Just what do you think you are doing?” Henry ignored him. He ignored, Illius Lucius Vander, Duke of Tartas, Lord of Great House Vander, Master of Vander Rock, and Bearer of Summanus. The audacity of such a thing stunned Vander to silence; long enough for Henry to take command of Illius’s ship, without meeting a painful, electrical death; long enough for Raul to return to his lord’s side. “My lord, let me help you return to your seat,” said Raul, genuine concern on his face. The ship continued to move wildly, although more deliberately and skillfully under Henry’s touch. Illius refused to sit, however. He raged on, pacing back and forth, wheels of his mind spinning intensely. Valua had already fallen, Illius knew. The heartland lost to rogues and pirates. The Empire existed only on maps. Illius realized he was in no man’s land. No! This was his land by rights, by blood; his land to protect and nourish. His eyes narrowed as he looked around the room: overturned furnishings, scattered paper, broken door, crazy pilot, and the worried face of Raul. Moon’s what a joke it all seemed at that very moment. The full weight of reality took a little of the fire out of Illius. “My lord, please… It’s not safe.” No, it was not. He relented. “Yes, I do believe you are correct, Raul.” Illius allowed the servant to take his hand and guide him over to a bench still secured to the wall. He sat and Raul strapped him in securely just as Henry’s guttural voice roared over the intercom. For some reason, Raul hesitated to sit next to Illius, despite it being the only secure seat left. “Do not be a fool; sit down. You are of no use to me if you roll into a bulkhead, lad.” Raul’s face lit up for a moment and he sat next to his lord, Illius Vander, Duke of Tartas, Master of… Gosh, he got his name right too! Illius gave Raul a queer look. “Servants,” he muttered, under his breath. Lord Vander stared at his charts, now well scattered to the four corners of the room. He painfully wished to still be reading them. Pirate attacks or no, he still needed to be prepared for his meetings. He turned to Raul for a moment. “If that man crashes my ship, so help me… Let me just say, he would be better off if he does not live through the crash.” The look of pure ferocity in Illius’s eyes squelched Raul’s good mood. His master was a scary man, he decided… and he remembered his name! The Bloody Baron continued its pursuit of Vander’s ship. The change in the ship’s flight was not lost on the captain or his helmswoman. “Oi, stop with the cannon fire. Ye’re wastin’ good shot!” raged the captain, who stood up out of his chair. “The bastards figured out hot t’ fly, they did.” “Orders, captain?” asked the helm. “Full speed ahead, love. Keep the torpedoes a’firin’ and ready the grapple hook! We’re gonna reel ‘em in!” The frigate set a straight course for the merchant craft, sails catching the strong Valuan winds. Every now and again, a torpedo would be fired to harass Vander’s course and slow them down. Meanwhile, a large grapple hook loaded into a harpoon gun appeared on deck… Edited by Necromancer Sargoth, Oct 22 2008, 08:03 PM.
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| Nex Terren | Nov 3 2008, 04:48 PM Post #6 |
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EXAMPLE
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A torpedo exploded near the ship--too near for comfort--causing Henry to snort audibly. "Blast it, they went back to those moon forsaken torpedoes! That's fate for you; always turning her back on you at every opportunity she has." He snorted, monologue seemingly meant for him alone, "Well, blazin' luck or not, if they keep following me I might just get the black-luck chance I need." He leaned towards the glass (as if that would allow the pirates to hear him better), and began to shout as loud as he could. "Do you hear that you dim-witted boot-lickers?! Keep following me and you'll be dead men! Dead! Every last one of you ill-born, floundering fools will be at the bottom of the sky, and I'll laugh at your sorry corpses!" Chuckling at this message, apparently the men already as good as dead in Henry's eyes, his gaze ran a single sweep over the controls, and then jerked up to look at the fast-approaching cliff. That killed his laughter soon enough. This ship--Illius's ship--was faster than that pirating vessel, but that speed couldn't be put to use. If Henry tried to go straight for the cliff they'd all end up dead; perfect targets for the enemy's disabling shots. The fact that the enemy's barrage was meant to cripple, not kill the Vander's craft was the only thing keeping them alive. Well that, and the man at the controls; after all he played some small part. Spinning the wheel again, he attempted to dodge another torpedo. The ship shook as this attempt proved an impossibility. With a distinct shattering sound, shrapnel smashed through the cabins glass panels. Bellowing a cry, Henry lifted his arm to shield his eye, glass cutting into his coat's sleeve. That was enough to stop it, thankfully, and in a huff, he began to survey the damage. Well, Lord Vander's ship no longer had a windshield, the man noted, blinking back dry eyes. At least it wasn't a cold day outside... Glass and metal bits lay scattered over the control panel, but none of the instruments seemed damaged and--he gave a tug on the wheel--the ship seemed to be doing fine. Another shot like that, though, and any closer... If this ship was only faster than it already was! Would they make it before the brigadiers caught up? It was possible. Unlikely, though, he silently admitted as a sour taste filling his mouth. Numbers, angles, shapes, calculations, and a countless assortment of judgment calls began to pour through his head as he created seamless maps of the two ships and every possibility his mind could surmise. His vision blurred for a moment as he concentrated on all of it it; consideration out weighing survey of the world about him. It was consideration as careful as an enraged man deals death to his wife's lover, as careful as a grand chess master's final moves, and as careful as a pirate battling the black temptress of the seas. Would this plan work? Fourteen percent... thirteen... his mind tried to quantify reality and men's chaotic minds. "Boils on a crylhound's back!" He cursed, snarling spittle into the raging wind that lashed his face. His hair streamed back in the continual blast, eyes squinted despite the cloud-strewn sky. The air on shattered-glass edges made a sharp, deafening whistling sound, competing with Henry's otherwise focused senses. This was a game of cat and mouse--no dracolurg and mouse--and now the mouse couldn't even see straight. Jerking head about, he caught his first good look at the pirate ship since that last torpedo shell. No; no mouse could hope to bite that beast. He'd need a bigger tooth to dig in. The pilot wished that the enemy would come a little closer--and then with rash abandon threw back his head and howled in hearty mirth. "That's just like you, Henry ol' boy! Wishing death upon yourself! Not now, though; you've got some life left in you yet!" The pirate captain smiled, eying the prize he sought. A sleek vessel. A fine ship. A noble's craft. That damage to the front would be repairable; just the cost of a few sheets of glass. And the issue of it being unarmed wouldn't take much more effort to remedy. He had wanted for a long time to branch out to a second craft; that was the way of his old captain, and it had always left a mark on him. At any rate, the Bloody Baron could use a companion. Why, if he had under his command two ships already, this Lord's craft would have been captured by now. The way this pilot dodged and weaved... well, the pirate had seen better, but not many. "He's good." The brigadier laughed, "Reminds me of someone I used to know, the way the craft cuts and weaves to every attack dealt to him..." "What was that, Cap'?" A crew hand shouted from the ship's bow. "Nothin'! Just mind that cannon!" He dismissed with a bark, pushing back his coat to place his rough hands firmly on hips. "Is it ready to fire?" He glanced over towards the cannon, and in an instant saw it indeed ready. The long cast iron tube was held firm held in place by two large, wooden geared wheels that angled it true towards the intended target. Fuse in place, and hook extending forth from the front of the weapon the Captain could tell that everything was well in order. Well in order and ready to fire. That little toy was certainly a boon to his profession; he had got it off a merchant who had purchased one of those 'harpoon cannons' from the Valuan docks. Foolish idea, that. Why would a man want to put holes in ships when the ship's treasures could be his? The modifications even hadn't been that much trouble to turn the harpoon into hook. He was forced to question why somebody hadn't thought of it before... Shrugging to himself, he began to walk over towards the cannon as the sailor made final checks on the weapon. This was an easy battle, and would have proven such even without the hook cannon; he had a hopeless advantage over his poor target, but that was the way he liked his battles. Each and everyone a guaranteed success. If even the hook somehow didn't hit its mark, the torpedoes would do the job handsomely. And if they failed--by some continued luck of steering--eventually they'd be overcome by the straight moving Bloody Baron. And then boarding was just a matter of outnumbering them, what, seven to one? "Ready and waiting." The crew hand reassured, patting the cannon. "Then fire that hook the first chance you get! I tell you: this is the beginning of all of us being rich men!" A cry sounded at this prophetic proclamation, and several unneeded hands rushed over to see that the grappling hook was being aimed right. A few curses sounded about 'holding still' and how whoever was going to miss the mark, but before long disagreements faded out, and the fuse was lit. With an echoing explosion of gunpowder, the hook shot forward. It pulled a trail of rope behind it, a signal of passing, as it made its swift advance towards the intended target. The captain couldn't help but smile, watching it sail forward... |
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| Nex Terren | Nov 13 2008, 01:08 AM Post #7 |
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EXAMPLE
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Henry was slammed forward--a force nearly great enough to send him flying over the wheel, and out the broken glass. Yanking himself off the wheel, he scowled first at the pain in his chest, and then up at the enemy ship, wondering if that last hit was cannonball or torpedo. Though the Captain made no sound, the vice-captain wasn't so quiet. With a yelp, the man jumped up, and madly dashed out of the cabin. Aggravated, Henry snatched a pocket compass off the dashboard, and hurled it retreating form. It clattered harmlessly into the hallway. "Yellow-bellied coward..." Henry grumbled. Turning away, his mind returned to what he should have been paying attention to in the first place. He squinted against the wind, examining the ship beyond. Dumb-founded surprise rested on his face as he saw a streamer of rope connecting the two ships. Rope...? But how? A boarding hook? But there was no way one could throw it that far. Some sort of cannon, then, perhaps? A crossbow--Oh, whatever it was, it didn't matter; not right now it didn't. What mattered was that they were hit, and now escape was impossible. Any thoughts of outrunning the enemy were all gone as readily as the sun would turn its back on Valua. Henry couldn't help but grin like a fool. "Ha! So that's how those plank-rats want to play, 'eh? Well then, today I'll be the hangman, and those louts just handed me a moon forsaken rope!" With a mischievous light his gaze lept over to the side-controls. An assortment of levers labeled such things as 'Secondary Balance', 'Heat Vent', and 'Moonstone Capacitor Control' were lined up. Besides all of these, though, one lever in particular caught Henry's eye shielded in a glass case, and surrounded with black and yellow tape as it was. Bellow it read the warning 'Do not use during flight!' and just above that, in red text, was the lever's function: 'Emergency Engine Shut-Off.' Unfortunately, Henry seemed only to notice the label, and not the warning. With a war-cry, he smashed the glass case with his elbow, and promptly yanked down on the lever. It was just now that the ship's original pilot began to awaken. Groggily the man surveyed the scene. Soon he found absolute terror to act a thousand times more effectively than any clock's alarm. The man gave a desperate cry as the quiet purring of the engines began to flutter and spit. Henry, instead, only looked disappointment, as if he had expected something more. Jumping to his feet the captain shoved Henry aside, and began slamming up on the lever repeatedly, as if to undo this rogue's foolish action. "What in the name of the yellow moon have you done?!" The Captain demanded, powerless to fix the situation. Henry snarled at the insult, and brought back his fist, set to teach this indignant pilot a lesson. He however was soon distracted from such vengeance. With a distinctive whirl, the effects of moonstone lift began to fade as the engine ground down to a stop, and the ship began its decent down. Henry rushed over to the wheel and began to attack the red ignition switch with a series of punches. With each attempt the ship only picked up speed downward at an alarming rate, although not fast as it might have been; the engine had yet to release the last of its moonstone-lift. "Why aren't we dead already--what are you doing?! You'll never start it back in time!" The Captain yelled, "What have you done?!" "Yes, fate take your soul, I will get this bloody started back in time!" Henry thundered bitterly, "And we haven't sunk for the same moon-cursed reason that damaged ships sink as slowly as they do--and don't fall like rocks! And besides that, this is a mercury-class ship, unless you forgotten and they use redundant pulse-transition feeders, and gold-plated spark-plug wires. Do you have any idea how yellow moonstones and gold react?!" The vessel jerked, tossing Henry up into the air. He was quicker to respond this time around, and instead of crashing into the wheel, he grabbed a rail, and forced himself down. Henry smiled darkly. “Did you feel that?” He spoke in quiet reverence, pausing from his attempts to reengage the engine. “Yes I bloody did! Keep pressing the ignition!” They were moving faster now. “That, my friend, is what being held up by another ship--by a single rope--feels like. That is the feeling of the tables turning.” The Captain for the second time pushed Henry aide, and slammed down on the ignition himself. Finally, fluttering could be heard from the engine room. This time Henry took no notice of the shove, instead dashing back towards the emergency engine cut-off. The pilot gave a cry in horror as he realized this, but his fears were misplaced. Henry pushed down on two--'Heat Vent' and 'Moonstone Capacitor Control'—before returning to the wheel. “Just tell me what your bloody plan is!” The captain pleaded, glancing over towards the engine RPM meter. The readings weren’t increasing as fast as he would have liked. “Well, you see that cliff ahead? We’re aiming straight for it.” ’They’re… falling?’ The pirate captain questioned silently. “Alright, which one of you idiots fired off that last shot?! I told you not to hit the engine directly!” “Captain!” One of the crew members cried, “She’s falling!” “I can bloody well see that! Do you think I’m blind?!” “Captain! She’s falling!” “Would you shut your—” “Captain! The hook!” A grave look set over the Captain as this realization became clear. The cannon. The rope. The hook. The falling ship… As fear began to replace understanding, the captain rushed to act. “Unhook her from us! Cut the rope! Don't just stand there! That rope won't give under—Ough!” The ship heaved, nose dipping down, angling towards Lord Vander’s vessel. Ground suddenly unfaithful, the Captain was thrown to the deck, sliding forward briefly before the friction took hold. He jerked his head about to look towards the bow of the ship, and then away at what he saw. Screams of two crew members told of their long descents into deep sky. The captain snarled and scampered to his feet, making his way towards the ship’s wheel. A foot slipped on the sharp incline of the deck, and in response he spat, and glared holes into the deck beneath him. “Ignore that order! Keep us connected. I’m going to reel these men in, and make them all wish they had never fought back.” He fumed, “This was supposed to be easy… Easy, curse you!” Reaching the wheel, he pulled himself up, fully erect by it, and turned all the hate he could muster towards the Vander craft. "Alright, I've seen all your little tricks. You can't run any longer; You're mine, now... Mine..." |
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| Nex Terren | Apr 16 2009, 05:49 PM Post #8 |
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EXAMPLE
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Thunder rolled in the sky, a low rumble of pending clashing. Only a little while ago the sky had been described as clear, and rightly so, but a strong wind had picked up in Valua , and from the south east a solid wall of black clouds were rolling in at a rate too fast for the quickest of ships to outrun. Crashing waves was its erratic choice of advancement, wind patterns tumbling about, swirling blackness in on itself, and causing great flashes of internal lightning. The temptress looked like no tamed beast; wilder and more threatening than any sight a sailor could fathom.Henery's gaze flickered over to the sight for the briefest moment, his mind performing the shortest analysis, and then all thoughts turned elsewhere. ...Fourteen by negative five degrees, thirty nautical miles per hour based on the net effect of both this vessel and... rear drag not exceeding... "I can't believe I'm helping you," The captain whispered, half-dazed. The cliff wall was drawing nearer, now; he could just make out the craggy, rough surface. Although it was not clear enough so to see the moss and brown vines that scaled it, but still it was fairly close for a ship heading straight for it. Or rather, straight for it and at the speed they were going. The engine temperature meter's needle spun to point to red, and the energy feed gauge jumped down in response. As quickly as they changed one way, they changed back. Henry tucked this information away, and moved on. How long did it take stone to settle? Surely longer than two years, at least the larger rocks. He wasn't quite sure; he had never studied nor toyed with anything like it before. Well, there was a first for everything. ...Engine heat at this speed with vents full-open would be roughly a fifteen degree climb for minute, assuming that the shrapnel didn't cause any... "I... I don't know why I'm helping you." The captain said, eyeing Henry suspiciously. That look of fear had never dissipated. Closer yet! If this didn't work out, they'd all be dead men, but if they hadn't tried the plan at all, it'd be worse. How could a defenseless ship outrun pending doom? Well, there was one way... A sudden, tremendous spitting of the sky signaled that the clouds were nearly upon them. A hot Ixa'Takan wave was clashing with a northern cold front, and the heat was winning over the chill. The storm, how would that play in? Consideration and calculation ran through his mind, causing him to scowl towards his intended target. Sweat beaded on his face, as if to outpace the coming rain. ...Enemy engaging at two-seventy, two-seventy. Cable's stress limit is unknown. Made of rope, looked about eight centimeters thick, new, lightly colored, perhaps of... "I shouldn't be helping you! You're going to get us all killed!" The captain exclaimed, drawing back from the other man. Looking around for a weapon, the captain noticed his co-pilot's small revolver, sitting in leather holster on the navigation table. The questions of why the co-pilot didn't have it on him, and why he, the pilot, hadn't thought of it earlier flashed through his mind, but desperation driven by survival ruled out all such questions. He pounced upon the tool of salvation; with it he was sure not to fail. Eying the madman, the Captain confirmed that Henry wasn't looking, and quickly moved to make use of the opportunity. He lifted, aimed the weapon at Henry's heart and... The shot thundered in the small cabin, Henry crying out, grasping with his free hand at his wounded arm. Why it wasn't his heart that was filled with lead, he didn't question as he spun around, gaze born a demonic wrath. There the Captain and Thomas battled on the floor, each trying to wrestle the firearm from the other, each with teeth gritted from the might of their tussle. They were an equal match; Henry couldn't be certain who would win, and who... well, who wouldn't. If the wrong person won, both Henry and Thomas would be two stories that ended that night, with the rest of those on board soon joining them. If that battle didn't go as it ought, the battle of ships wouldn't stand a chance either. "At least you could have aimed straight." Henry muttered, returning attention to the ship's controls. A hundred meters. Closer. Henry spun the wheel, and cursed the pirates for their continued shots. A roar filled the sky, and rain began to pour in all at once. Seventy five meters. Closer. Henry coughed in the rain that beat into the cabin, harassed by the sea-winds . The ship bucked in the gale, jerked backwards by the connected pirate craft's own unfriendly flight. Fifty meters. Closer. Fingers slick on the wheel, Henry could feel the grain of the wood slide around in his grasp. His hair lay plastered on his head, coat dripping, unable to hold more water. Despite himself, he shivered in the warm rain, arm-wound blazing with fire every time he adjusted his grip on wheel. Twenty five meters. Closer. Another gunshot went off, and Henry didn't bother to check what had been fired upon. Fifteen meters. With reckless abandon, Henry began to spin on the wheel. He didn't so much as notice his own, wild laughter that set his eyes ablaze with unbridled mirth. Five meters. Closer. The ship was as turning as tight as it possibly could. Would it make it? No, but that was what Henry counted on. Impact. The whole ship shook under the grating, and sparks sprayed into the cabin searching out any rain-slick surface they could find. Henry's skin pricked painfully under those sparks as he struggled to remain standing, remain in control of his crash. The cliff beside moaned and rumbled, loud enough to voice complaint for both it and the ship. A scattering of rock fragments covered the control panel, obscuring dials and removing use of levers. His heart raced, his mouth was dry, his eyes fighting back the elements. He was still laughing, and he was no more aware of it than he was before. A thump sounded behind him--different, distinct, from the ship-on-rock grinding--and Henry turned around to survey. Thomas, drenched in water and the occasional slicking of blood, was drawing the pistol back from the Captain's still form. Henry disappointingly noted that there was no smoke coming from the barrel; he must have left the Captain live. And the groaning stopped. The tremors stilled. Turning once more around, Henry grinned at the growing gap between ship and cliff. "You're playing my game, and you all bloody lost!" Henry roared into the wind, pride swelling inside his chest. His hand reached out, cutting down the engines to all but a crawl. "I won! I always win!" "Henry!" Thomas shouted, gasping for breath, "What are you talking about? They're still connected, they're still alive!" The man turned around grin growing more wolfish by the second. Rain streamed off his goatee and mustache, rising down his water-weighted coat. "Oh no, those black-hearted, deep-sky-destined maggots are dead. I just haven't told them yet." Cries of wonder broke over the deck in unpredictable clusters, groups of pirates not able to fathom what the ship was doing aiming for the cliff, and then how it survived the impact. The Captain had stopped his fury-filled orders, instead he focused his thoughts on the wheel, and who it was that was piloting the other craft. Questioning--a mix between terror, disbelief, and hope--dulled his eyes. The pilot had seemed so cunning, talented before. Doomed, yes, but he had put up such a good fight, one that wished the man part of his crew, not his opponent. But now... this? It seemed to have no point, no logic behind it. And the possibility that it really was born of a plan made the pirate fear for his life. Eyes widening, he reached for the speed controls, jerking down on them as quickly as he was able. "They stopped!" He shouted, stomping boots. "Hurry! Reel them in! Any one of you who dallies is going to get my blade through their heart. Move it!" He looked sourly at the cliff to the ship's right, not ten meters away from the vessel. The craggy surface of moss, vines, and miniature streams of watter, showed visibly where the noble's vessel had scraped past only seconds ago. Why would someone purposely run into the cliff? They just damaged their own craft. What more was there to be gained? Stepping over a puddle on the ship's deck, he made his way towards the cliff, mind focused on a sound he thought he heard. A thump directed his attention to the deck beside him, where a small stone lay, one that would comfortably rest in a man's hand. He reached down, and picked it up, examining it. Another crash, and a larger stone lay at the captain's feet. Then another, larger yet. Slowly, he looked up at the cliff, sailors running around him, rushing to pull in the ship. The pirate captain was the only one on board who paid mind to that fresh rumbling, the only one who saw the boulders as they began to fall, pushing aside rain droplets. Turning, he looked at the Vander's craft, questioning look still in his eyes. Through the downpour, the chaos of the ship, the splintered cracks of lightning to tame any Electrulen spell, he heard a voice. A voice that put to shame that storm. "You're dead!" "Captain?" He whispered. Leaning over the wheel, Henry watched as the upset cliff side--still setting from the Rains some two years earlier--rumbled down, destroying the pirate ship from sight before it had time to sink. He thought he saw a man--dressed like a gentleman among the savages of the ship--look at him shortly before he died, but Henry gave little real thought to this idea. He slammed his fist into the wheel in victory, looking at the fractional remains of the cannon that swung from the grappling hook rope; the only remaining token of the pirates. Victory. "You thought you could win?!" Henry shouted into the rain, challenging whatever spirit of fate rested over Arcadia. "You thought you could best me?" He had won. "No one stands a chance against me! I rule the skies! Me, and me alone!" He began to climb up. "No ship in Arcadia can best me! No captain is my equal! Let Arcadia herself stand as witness of this!" He had forgotten about the pain in his arm. "Let everyone see what I can do! What happens to any light-blinded fool who comes against me!" He leaned out into the wind, fist shaking at the immoralities. "I am the terror of the seas! Master of any land I choose! Scourge of any soul foolish enough to resist!" Now half out of the cabin, he placed hands on hips, threw his head back, and laughed terror into the wind. "I am the greatest man to ever live! I am terrible, the mighty, the..." Thomas reached up to Henry, saying something, words lost to the man. The moment was just too good to forget. It was all just too perfect. "I am Hen..." Rain ran in his eyes, Henry blinking it back. Warm rain. He wished it cold. Icy. Chilling enough to cover him, another challenge of nature's that he could laugh in the face of. He had just began to remember the pain in his arm--the wound that stained coat red--but he quickly shoved it out of his mind. This was his moment; mortality would have none of it. "... Hen..." None of it. "...Henric..." None of... Click! Henry, with hunched shoulders hung onto his wounded arm protectively, his glazed eyes staring down into the obscured distance. His features were of confused, distant wondering, and of pain. His arm hurt badly, and he wasn't exactly sure why. The memory of being shot rested somewhere behind his eyes, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it; after all, he had other things to think about. Those other things weren't the damaged craft, or what Lord Vander might think about all of that. They weren't the captain, pistol whipped into submission, and the headache he would have when he awoke. They weren't the rain and the wind--storm passing on as quickly as it had arrived--or how Henry could now feel the cold front, and had began to shiver in response . They weren't Thomas who was trying to get Henry's wet coat off of him, to look at his wound, the man saying something that Henry didn't catch. They weren't any of these things. Henry puzzled about what the best formation was to defend the Valuan Capital when one had only four cruisers, and a battleships, and if the enemy fleet had any Yafutoman polarity technology... |
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5:52 PM Nov 29
