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  1. #1
    upon the cheek of night

    EXP: 214,764, Level: 20
    Level completed: 0%, EXP required for next Level: 0
    Level completed: 0%,
    EXP required for next Level: 0


    Breaker's Avatar

    GP
    38,525

    Name
    Joshua Breaker Cronen
    Age
    30
    Race
    Demigod
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone

    Red Panty Night [OPEN Althanasday Thread!]

    The waves rolled and roiled like a woman’s curves as the wind carried the Deadman’s Trove across the open salt water separating Scara Brae from Corone.

    Marigold the Freebooter leaned on the prow guardrail of his sturdy three-masted corvette, enjoying the harsh spray on his bearded face. The sun warmed his sifan-clad back as his sharp eyes roved the horizon, searching for the first sign of land. Bulky cloud formations had begun to form in the distance, signifying the nearness of firm ground.

    “Longeyes!” the Freebooter barked the nickname he’d given to his best lookout. “Get ye’ up the mainmast and sit awhile in the nest. Give us a loud shout when ye’ lay eyes on the shoals of Serenti.”

    “Aye, cap’n!” The lanky pirate called cheerily, and then bounded up the thickly bound mast like a squirrel taking to a tree. With his massive hands and slender frame, the young man’s build was perfectly suited to the task.

    Marigold bit back a sigh as he watched his underling climb. Before he’d wrested control from the Trove’s former captain, sitting in the little bucket atop the mainmast had been his duty. He had an eye for horizons, and part of him missed the meditative aspects of simply sitting and scanning for hours at a time.

    He blinked and shook his head, salt-encrusted dreadhawk rasping against the back of his red sifan shirt. Those days were long gone, and he had many captainish duties to fulfill before they reached their destination.

    “Peaches!” he barked, straightening up and turning on his heel. The short, barrel-chested pirate who always had a cudgel on his belt stepped forward from the shade of a sailcloth shadow. Peaches had a strong chin bearing a long scar and a deadly expression in his eyes. Marigold had given him his nickname because it could not possibly have been less descriptive.

    “Aye cap’n?” the solid mate grunted.

    “Do a full sweep of the second deck,” Marigold said, stroking his beaded beard. “Check all the guns and make sure they’re primed and dry. I’d prefer less misfires than we had on the last raid.”

    “Aye, cap’n.” Peaches put a palm on his cudgel and strode amidships toward the nearest ladder hatch.

    “Chester! Arrrrnold!” Marigold called as he swaggered in the mate’s wake, “with me, lads. ‘Tis time to rouse the crew.”

    “Ye’ reckon we’re nearly there cap’n?” Arnold asked.

    The call came from above.

    “Laaand hoooo!”

    ~*~

    “Congratulations on your victory at the invitational, Lord Cunningham.”

    “Why thank you, Frederick. My final opponent put up quite a fight… but I’ve still energy left in me.” The young lordling said as he gazed out at the ocean from the boathouse balcony of his estate. Although he’d been standing there conversing with his wizened advisor for some time, Torvald Cunningham could not stop thinking about his beautiful wife.

    He had bedded her only twice in the year of their marriage; on the night of consummation, and on their first anniversary when he’d purchased those strange foreign spice cakes from a peddler-fae he’d met. The combination of two cakes and a cup of wine had sent his beautiful bride into a colorful mood. She’d donned her brightest red bloomers and straddled his lap in a fashion he’d never experienced before or since.

    But surely his victory at the invitational would inspire such an attitude. If he had his way, it would be a red panty night.

    “What occupies your mind, my lord?” Frederick asked.

    “What? Nothing, just… surveying the grounds,” Torvald said, hastily sweeping his eyes across his property. It was a large estate laid along the beachfront and surrounded by high stone walls which extended out into a semi-protected harbor. Two skiffs and a sloop bobbed at anchor there, all gifts of different occasion from relatives. Within the walls on land there was the guardhouse by the main gate, the smokehouse by the side gate, and of course the main keep and attached stables. It took a staff of thirty to keep the grounds and buildings, and Torvald had another thirty fighters on his payroll as guards. They were mostly a mismatch of local mercenaries, but some had experience in the Armed Forces. All in all, he felt quite safe and satisfied with his--

    “I say, is that a frigate that just sailed into sight?” Frederick interrupted his employer’s thoughts.

    Torvald squinted, following the older man’s finger. “Hard to say at this distance, but it looks more the size of a corvette to me. Probably just the navy doing a coastal sweep.”

    A dim flicker of light emanated from the ship, like a glimpse of distant chain lightning.

    “I say, what was--”

    “Get down!” Frederick bellowed, tackling his lord around the knees and knocking him to the floor.

    The boathouse masonry erupted as the first salvo of cannonballs slammed home.

    [This is an open free-for-all thread! You can choose to be a member of a the pirate crew, a part of Lord Cunningham's staff, or an independent party who gets involved for their own reasons. Feel free to contact me if you have any questions; if necessary I'll create an OOC thread and link it here.]
    Shoot some diamonds and sparks
    from your torso

    -Wax Mannequin

  2. #2
    Ride The Lightning

    EXP: 143,779, Level: 16
    Level completed: 52%, EXP required for next Level: 8,221
    Level completed: 52%,
    EXP required for next Level: 8,221


    Storm Veritas's Avatar

    GP
    21,050

    Name
    Storm Veritas
    Age
    39
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    Pirating came quite naturally to Storm Veritas, however fitting into the background was an undertaking all of its own.

    Iron cannonballs... shit, it's like they cooked up this little charade just to watch me do my thing.

    With a devilish grin, the long and lean traveler feigned a hint of fear as a captain walked by. He was reloading the cannon, pouring a healthy charge of black powder from a thick burlap satchel down the eye-slot, while his newfound "partner", a half-wit named Judd, or something equally stupid, waited patiently to roll the heavy ball down the business end of the cannon. This simpleton across the steel cannon from him was a bit bossy, but the older wizard let him have his moment. Storm refrained from explaining how easily with a flick of a wrist he could fire the cannonball through the mast of that other little ship on his own, with Judd's fat ass still gripping the ball like a pregnant woman massaging her baby.

    "Almost done, just lemme get an even pack; we don't want the big boy to go flying off crooked!" The simple words were painful coming out of Storm's mouth, far beneath him in the grand scheme. He was, at his core, a politician, a silver-tongued con who much more often legislated his way to wealth, and used his abilities to cut corners.

    Not today.

    Today, he was one of them. He was dressed in tight-wrapped cloth himself - mostly browns and blacks, pulled taut as to not catch on any running hooks or swinging masts. The nasty clothes concealed his daggers by his hips, and allowed him to tuck a small pouch of assorted goodies under his left armpit. The clothes also stunk to high hell - a sort of blend of raw ocean funk and the sickening sweet smell of stale sweat. This helped him fit in; his normal clean shave replaced with a third-day brown and gray stubble. He didn't cut his hair, and refused to ruin his spectacular smile. Certain assets weren't worth risking in the grand scheme of things.

    Today, he knew the little ship they raided held some particularly valuable artifacts. As a pirate he was only entitled to a hand's share - roughly one percent of the ship's total take - but as Storm Goddamned Veritas he would take what he wanted and kill anyone who tried to stop him. In all likelihood, he'd slip out with the grand prize - a pillowcase full of diamonds - and be a tuft of smoke before the rest of this crew of fools knew half the difference.

  3. #3
    Administrator

    EXP: 104,075, Level: 14
    Level completed: 1%, EXP required for next Level: 14,925
    Level completed: 1%,
    EXP required for next Level: 14,925


    Philomel's Avatar

    GP
    17,840

    Name
    Philomel van der Aart (+ Veridian)
    Age
    30 (+10)
    Race
    Faun (+ Fox/Earth Spirit)
    Gender
    Female (+ Male)
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    "Oh fu...."

    And all she had wanted was a holiday.

    She stood at the veranda of a private beach house, the sun baring down upon her fair skin. Lord Cunningham was the name of the master of the vast estate she had rented the lodge from, who had land aplenty and small holdings like this one. It was a perfect place for one such as herself to escape to; to forget the worries of life and work.

    That being, it would have been very good, and worthwhile, for the week she had planned of just her and her fox-form familiar, were it not for the sails appearing on the horizon.

    And then the sound of guns. Aiming right at the mansion nestled on the shore.

    "Damn."

    Philomel ducked down, her eyes going dark as she lowered herself below the railings of the veranda, which was barely a cover at all. The ship itself looked like one of an older design than her own, with all white sails and dark wood, though from this distance she could not be sure. Pirates were likely, and these days it was possible because her connections to the pirating community, despite the fact she technically still rented a ship from the Pirate King Malachi, were frail. Instead she was a matriarch and a warrior queen, and that suited her.

    But it was not good that there was an attack. Now. Whilst she was on holiday. How very rude.

    Another boom and she saw an explosion rattling the side of the mansion. Two figures were hiding, likely Lord Cunningham himself and a friend, hunkering down at the balcony of the huge house a mile from hers. They seemed male, which made sense, and were perhaps fearful. What was good was that the ship seemed to be aiming at them, not her - and that was good.

    For now.

    But now she had to make a decision. To stay where she was or run and aid those in peril.

    What was certain was that her holiday - it was ruined.
    Matriarch of the Gilded Lily and of its brothels, associated establishments and the army.

    --
    Characters:
    The family triplet: Philomel, Vaeron and Celandine.
    The god and kenku triplet: Stare, Avin and Vixen.

  4. #4
    upon the cheek of night

    EXP: 214,764, Level: 20
    Level completed: 0%, EXP required for next Level: 0
    Level completed: 0%,
    EXP required for next Level: 0


    Breaker's Avatar

    GP
    38,525

    Name
    Joshua Breaker Cronen
    Age
    30
    Race
    Demigod
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    [Sorry this took so long, if y'all are still down let's have some fun!]

    The blood soaked through the heavy fabric of his jacket, but Torvald wrapped the garment tighter around his servant’s head.

    “Frederick! Speak to me!” The young lord had dragged his advisor inside what remained of the boathouse, but the damage was done. A chunk of masonry had struck Frederick in the side of the fate, and even his padded wig had not protected him from its weight and momentum. His eyes were barely responsive to Torvald’s desperate gaze, but his hand clenched the younger man’s wrist powerfully and his lips moved, forming pained words.

    “You must… to the keep,” the dying man gasped. “Your wife… bears a secret… I meant to tell you myself, but now there is no time. Fall back behind your fighters, my lord. Live, and avenge me another day…”

    “Frederick, don’t say such things!” Hot tears shone in Torvald’s eyes as the building shook beneath a second salvo from the sea. He covered his head as more masonry crumbled inward. “You will tell me this secret yourself, after we’ve returned to the keep together!” He commanded his servant, but the older man had slumped limply to the floor, eyes gazing sightlessly at the ceiling.

    Torvald shook his head, refusing to believe his mentor could be dead. He was not a man of medicine; the only way he knew to check for life signs was by holding a polished blade above the man’s lips to see whether a sheen formed. But he could not take the time. More cannonballs would be striking home before long. He grabbed the padded shoulders of Frederick’s jacket and dragged his servant beneath a stout table, where he would have at some modest protection in case the ceiling crumbled. Then Torvald climbed to his feet, legs badly shaken, and sprinted down the stairs and into the courtyard.

    ~*~

    “Hahaharrr! Good shooting laddos, I didn’t like the looks of that building much. It seems a much holier place now, and you know my fondness for the Thayne!”

    The comment earned Marigold a wave of laughter from the landing crew, which surrounded him on the main deck’s starboard side.

    “See if ye’ can sink those ugly little boats in the harbor!” Marigold bellowed as the Trove came about for another broadside, “we wouldn’t want any of the little Coronian lassies and lads slipping away by sea!”

    He threw back his head and roared with laughter, the sound drowned out by the canonical music of his longuns. “To the boats, boyos!” the Freebooter cackled, leaping toward the first longboat. He perched in the prow as his crew lowered it to the strangely serene waters. Ladders and ropes descended down the ship’s side, and the pirates all but slid down to join their captain. They filled the four longboats out nicely, and set about rowing landward with pistols pointed forward and cruel intentions painted across their faces.
    Shoot some diamonds and sparks
    from your torso

    -Wax Mannequin

  5. #5
    Ride The Lightning

    EXP: 143,779, Level: 16
    Level completed: 52%, EXP required for next Level: 8,221
    Level completed: 52%,
    EXP required for next Level: 8,221


    Storm Veritas's Avatar

    GP
    21,050

    Name
    Storm Veritas
    Age
    39
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    Lead the way, morons.

    Storm had found himself moving quickly and with effective silence, as the mayhem accompanying the siege of the small town led to no need for any sort of skillful espionage. He ran forward, moving down hand over hand from the large, rickety wooden ladder to the longboat below. He was forced to leap into the thing from a good eight feet, his eyes remaining cognizant of the wooden benches crosses the boat. Breaking an ankle would do him no good.

    "Land loud enough? Fill from the front; edges shoot and middles row!" The brown toothed man-goblin ordering him barked, his mouth a wash of foulness and irrefutable stink. He was a nothing; the wizard moved forward in his silly pirate-like clothing.

    Middle. Of course. Son of a whore.

    The oars were nearly as rough as the seas, and despite his gloves the electromancer feared for splinters. They were a long way from lethal, but certainly no fun in any regard. Seated between two larger men, he pulled on the long wooden lever with reasonable force, watching hairy, dough stuffed arms race about him.

    "Pick it up, small fry! If your skinny ass can't row, we don't need the weight!" The twenty-something scoundrel to his right snapped at him, obscenely large pit stains darkening the edges of his gray shirt in disgusting ovals.

    "Don't worry about me; just keep your fat ass from having a heart attack on us." Veritas had calculated that a show of strength would be more in order to gain support than supplication; if push had come to shove the lithe wizard was a terrible person to meet on open water.

    For his troubles, the larger man on the opposite oar said nothing, instead jostling Storm with passive aggressive rows as they pulled the thin vessel through the chop. On his left, it appeared the former Serenti Champion in hiding had found a friend; this particular scoundrel was impressed with the display of boldness.

    "Don't worry about him. In a couple of hours, we'll be nuts deep in the brothel with heavier pockets. He's just nervous and scared." The whisper was clear beneath the ambient noise of cannon fire, as well as the loud splashes about him as the dock returned fire.

    About them, the battle was beginning to rage. One ship had been struck with a shot to the bow, sending men either flying off the edges as smart cowards or sinking into crimson-trailed heaps as brave corpses. It was a terrible thing; perhaps worse yet was the sharks that would come soon to chase the scent of blood in the water.

    We'll be long dry before the white-tips arrive.

    Storm's eyes were fixed on the cannons; the perceived threat from the shore that were just rolled into place. They were mostly awful shots, but enough of even the most erratic throws was statistically bound to hit them. No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than did a single shot make its bearing straight for their little high speed rowboat. Calmly, with one hand still upon the oar, Storm gestured at the incoming projectile with a subtle flick of his wrist, seen by none who were all transfixed on death soaring for them. His electromagnetic pulse was enough to redirect the cannonball slightly higher, driving it off pace and sailing into the ocean behind him.

    Three or four men had already decided their fates, jumping ship into the water. These pirates were instantly discarded as "cowards", as though the men rowing from the middle would be any more brave if positioned outside the vessel. In a savage display of uniform contempt, the remainder of men on the boat re-spaced themselves, filling in for the new found room as they rowed forward, out of distance from the men in the water, who gulped sea water as their clothes began to tug them down.

    And if you can't swim... don't sign up to be a pirate.

    The shore was creeping close with pace; the rowers whom had graduated as replacement shooters continued to scramble to provide cover as hell continued to rain down.

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