Pirates of the Sorcerean

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"Alrighty.. I'll get the working crew. Captain! I'd be very displeased if this boat left without me. I should return soon enough, bring some supplies along."
Thus spoken, Tanya hopped graceful like a cat down from the rail to the dockside, and disappeared into the evening dark of the streets.

 

"Bit of a wierdo that 'un, eh?" remarked a voice below. Weasel, comfortably sitting on the deck leaning against the mast, followed Fabian with his beady, slint-eyed gaze.

"If he even so touches the beddin' on mah bed, he'll get that posh accent cut right outa his throat!" he comically threatened as he grinned.

 

Fabian ignored both the comments behind him and the splash of his other trunk hitting the water. Such things didn't matter, in the long run.

As long as there had been pirates on the Sorcerean, there had been Stewards. No Captain worth the title had ever made his fame without one of the Ancient Order on the crew, and it was just Fabian's luck to be the Steward nearest to Peyweth when he raised this hare-brained scheme.

"Nothing like a challenge," he thought, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his jacket. A coiled whip slapped the tops of his boots as he returned to the deck. The leather matched perfectly.

[ October 14, 2003, 21:41: Message edited by: Rallymama ]

 

Peyweth, though livid that his purse had been stolen, felt comforted by the fact that the trunk could possibly have hit the boy. He walked aboard the ship and retreated to his cabin, and waited for Tanya to return.

 

Returning through the rainy the rainy weather certainly did not look like the Tanya who had left. Her golden hair waving free in the wind, and the travel garments replaced by that of battle-rattle dress where black defined her gloved arms and long legs, while golden covered the body. She came with natural grace walking in a pair of heeled high boots. Her cloak of darkness with gold embroided in the borderline, and held by a topaz clasp, flowed behind her hasty steps.

"Hurry up gentlemen! We must be shipshape in a few hours at least, no time to waste!"
Out of the evening darkness behind came the crew she had mentioned, and they seemed a hardy bunch indeed. All of them seemed to be dragging coffins and sacks with various items they might need on their voyage.
As they boarded the ship they started looking around to find their suitable positions. Tanya came strolling up to captain's cabin and knocked the door, before entering without further notice. With a smirk on the face, she looked at the Peyweth.
"So when are we going to set sail captain? I brought food supplies, gunpowder, some standard procedure treasure hunting items. I believe my part of the bargain for now is finished, yes?"

[ October 10, 2003, 18:12: Message edited by: Lokken ]

 

"Well, erm, yeah. I suppose it is. Well, we'll be settin' sail in an hour or so, as soon as everyone be ready," Peyweth twiddled his thumbs as his player became less and less creative.

 

"Aye, aye captain. I shall be on deck till we're ready to set sail."
She closed the door, to leave the captain to his thinking and walked towards the deck, her heeled steps echoing in the corridor.
Opening the door to the deck, she walks out and up on the bridge. Folding her arms on her back she takes a deep breath and faces the sky with closed eyes, feeling the dripping rain splashing against her face. Standing for a few long moments, she turns to look over the deck and the crew buzzling around getting the ship ready to sail.

She smirks and whispers to the ship, "It's just you and me Ariel.." as she walks to the rail of the back of the ship, looking over the sea and harbor, "May you be a lady of storms, to survive the coming race. We'll make history my friend." She caress the rail as had the ship been a pet, "The hoard of Ruthbarb, found by Ariel the Princess of the Sorcerean."

[ October 10, 2003, 18:34: Message edited by: Lokken ]

 

Fabian wasn't easy to overlook, but Tanya managed to, and consequently he overheard her chat with the ship. "Yes, milady, history does call," he said softly, stepping over to her. "But do you really think it calls to you alone?" Smoke from his cigarette curled upwards and collected under the wide brim of his hat, a hat that seemed curiously dry in the rain. He offered her another cigarette. "And is history calling you from ahead, or behind?"

 

Tanya whirls around and straightens her back as he speaks to her. Regaining her mask of authority she stares at Fabian with a scrutinizing look, "..and you are?"

She looks at the cigarette for a moment, then takes it with a slight smile. Letting Fabian light it, she takes a wheez and lets out a little jet of smoke, seeming to ease her strict pose a bit.
"My thanks, sir. As for your question, I have a feeling she will do brilliantly, at least if she's as fast as Weasel claims. History.. if things happens as I will, I shall have my own ship sometime. She should be called Ariel II then I think, a memory to her origin. Perhaps a fleet, depends on the outcome of this mission. What are you doing here anyway, and who are you? I haven't seen you aboard till now."

 

Fabian swept off his hat and bowed low, a flamboyant gesture that somehow managed to leave his impeccable hair still untouched by the rain. "Fabian Cinque, madam, ship's Steward -" the capital "S" in his pronunciation was unmistakeable "- at your service. I was, ah, assigned to the ship while you were out assembling the crew."

 

Tanya countered his gesture with a nod of approval, and took another wheez of the smoke, and blew a pair of smoke rings, then smiled to herself as she studied them dissolve in the rain. Returning her attention to Fabian, she pondered on how much grease or oil must have put into that hair to keep is so water resistant, "Pleasure, I'm Tanya. You said you were assigned? Assigned by who?"

She looked over him, discerning the features of his face here in the evening. At least this one was a lot more civilized than the rest of those pirates, although they were pirates. She found herself in doubt with this one.
"A steward? Pardon me for asking, but what does a steward do on a ship like this?"

 

Mister Fabian sighed to himself. Pirates took so much for granted. "Stewards manage... things," he replied. "There's more to running a ship than setting the sails and trimming the helm. Those details are best left in my hands. As for who assigned me, let's just say that history wants this mission to succeed almost as much as you do."

 

With a movement fast as lightning, Tanya had drawn her dagger with the point under Fabian's chin. She gave him an intensive cold stare with her steel blue-grey eyes, whispering for only him to hear.
"Step cautiously Sir. I might be a lady, but my skill with a blade surpasses many. Secrets are a risk to security on a ship like this and so far I see no reason for you to be here. Do you even know what the mission is?" she raised an eyebrow as a questioning gesture.

Before he could answer she had sheathed the dagger in her belt, and continued,
"The mission is only a part of what's to be completed here. There's always the concern of lives of good men, and possible traitors..." she left the word hanging with a grim expression on her face.

 

Mister Fabian bowed again. "Stewards serve the sea, madam, and all those who sail her," he replied. Flicking his cigarette butt over the rail, he turned and descended to his cabin.

 

Tanya narrowed her eyes as he descended, plotting in her mind. I should keep an eye on him, seems like either a crazy mystic or a treacherous royalist.

She turned to face the sea and finished her cigarette, throwing it over the rail as well. How she longed to be on the ocean again, feel the wind race through ones hair, the smell of open sea. She shuddered with excitement at the memories and smiled. The sea was definitely a place of her heart.

 

"It would be a smart thing to keep an eye on that rat, m'lady," notes a quiet voice from inside the cabin behind her. Weasel, looking rather regal leaning against the door in his gold trimmed, navy tunic (curiously, coloured much like his ship). His tatty, low-slung belt was still there - yet now held a short rapier on the right and three throwing daggers on the left hip. His greasy dark brown hair had been slicked back into a ponytail, and his black boots had been polished (probably with spit). He looked every inch a Pirate who had tried to look neat.

Obviously, he had been changing into something more formal, suited to his ship, but probably gave up with finesse after a while, as you could see from the tatty and ripped remains of his cloak and triangular shaped hat. He smiled as he knew that look Tanya would have on her face would come soon.

"Not quite what ye were expecting? Most of the Weasel you see on shore is a facade. I usually try to look a bit more.. 'formal', heh" he said, emphasising the try and obviously speaking the word formal with a hint of sarcasm.

"Anyway, as I were saying; that steward seems to have allied only with himself. I'm not sure I can trust him with ye, with the crew.. or with me ship." He thought for a little while, before Tanya could say anything.

"I'll talk to the captain about it."

With that, he turned away from Tanya and started heading over to Peyweth.

 

Again! He might just be a facade on shore, though he's just as fake here on sea! Try never suffice.
She looked down over herself, the black outfit with embroidered gold.
Death and wealth.. how it suits this journey.

Stepping over to look across the deck, she commands some of the crew members to hurry up as she's eagerly awaiting to set sail. This would be the ultimate test.

 

Peyweth was sitting on a plain wooden stool when Weasel entered. He was slightly irritated that his thoughts had been interupted, but then, he figured that he might as well listen to the diminutive man. It's not as though his thoughts were particularly interesting after all.
"What be the matter?" he asked.

 

"Hold on a second there!!" cried a voice from the shore. "You!" an odd man said as he strolled on board and pointed an accusing finger at Fabian Cinque. "You owe me money!"

The second he stepped on board most people on it chuckled or gasped. He had two eye patches, one on his left eye and one on his forehead, and two cutlasses, both strapped to his right. And he is chewing what seemed like a random piece of twig in his mouth. Odd, to say the least.

 

Mister Fabian rolled his eyes at the sight of the man. Some things just wouldn't be left in the past. "Whatever you think I owe you, I have something far more valuable to offer than money. Come with me."