Pirates of the Sorcerean

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"NO!" the man shouted. "No no no no no no no no no no no no no no, no, no, NO! The LAST time you convinced me to go on a grand adventure you chucked me in the see and stabbed me in my eye!" he said, pointing at his forehead. "And now I'm forced to wear this eyepatch! Of course, I WOULD be willing to go with you if there are treasure and cats to strangle..."
Mister Fabian raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, cats to strangle...hmm...what do you say?"

[ October 13, 2003, 05:02: Message edited by: Deathmage ]

 

Before Weasel could utter a word to his captain, he spun round and gaped at the man who had just walked aboard his ship. He stood watching the odd man for quite some time, until he realised why he was where he was.

"That Fabian, cap'n. I dinnae trust him. With ye crew, or me ship. Why is he here?" he asked quietly, with a hint of menace in his tone.

 

The crew of the Ariel turns again as a decidedly contradictory figure strides up the gangplank and onto the ship after Fabian. Too slender to be attractive, with a pale, pointed face more feline than human in its delicate features, and large, startling violet eyes, framed with long, straight jet-black hair, the overall effect was more disconcerting than beautiful. She moves with a cat-like grace that again seems to disturb rather than attract; she seems like a barely-hidden dagger, poised to strike. Indeed her comfortable, dark clothes indicate the presence of concealed blades all over her person.

"I'm Nimue, known as The Cat...I'm traveling with Fabian. I have reason to believe this venture would be profitable for all of us, and I have quite a few skills that might be useful along the way...not just the ones that are apparent." Her grin has a feral gleam, and several crew members gulp.

 

Fabian sketches a bow to Nimue and offers her his arm. "I was hoing you'd make it before the tide, my dear. Our quarters may be a bit -" he rakes the eye-patched man with a scathing glance "- cramped, but I think you'll approve." He jerks his head at the other man as he leads Nimue below. "Find space with the rest of the crew. My debt to you shall be repaid."

 

Nimue wrinkles her nose with a very cat-like expression, "I don't suppose they have a third cabin? No, I guess not, but I'm certainly not bunking up with the crew. Most seem to be several thousand years backward in that the "bath" has yet to be invented amongst them."

She sniffs as she faces the door to the second-best cabin, dipping a hand into one of her belt pouches and pulling out a handful of what looks like sand. She lets it fall into a narrow line around one of the two bunks, located in a niche in the wall, then speaks a single guttural syllable. A sparkling wall of indigo light flares up and now divides the cabin into two.

"Is that obvious enough for those louts, do you think?" she asks, voice like ice, full of contempt for all the crew except Fabian. "I don't think anyone should get the wrong idea now," and throws her packs onto the bed; they smoke a little as they pass through the purple wall and land with an audible *THUMP*.

 

Peyweth looked rather taken aback, then slightly confused. "I, dunnot know what e's doin' here. Y' c'n kill the sneaky little..." But what Peyweth thought of Fabian wasn't revealed, as at that time he heard the sound of someone else walking aboard the ship.
He listened intently to what she sayed and groaned audibly. "If yur to the killin' him, make sure y' kill her as well. And so it all quiet like."

 

The rugged man looked around the deck and saw the mass of people there.
"Listen, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself." he took a bow. "I am George Three-eyes, mighty pirate of the Sorcerean, and I'm going to wait until Mr. Cinque here gives me my money back, and you CANNAE get rid of me before then!"

 

In a small bay on the opposite side of the island a war was brewing:

"No! We shall not have any more delays! We shall leave straight away!" the man shouts.

The man was a fairly average man. He was just your average bloke from down the road. He had neat black hair, all combed to one side, sort of like one of those cheesy car sales people. He had a smooth, clean face, with no destingishable markings. And his eyes, bright blue. The type of eyes that when you look into them, you can tell that these eyes have seen things no human should see. The type of eyes that you can tell belonged to a person who would show no mercy. The type of eyes that belonged to William de Trinst.

Yes, this man was The William de Trinst. High Admiral of the Royal Navy. Known to others as Admiral de Trinst, or just Sir.

William was one of these types of people who let no one stand in his way. From an early age his career in the navy had been planned for him, by his beloved father, a navy officer himself. He, William, had graduated out of Bibrok, the top university known to man, with the highest marks possible. William had even met the king on two different occasions.

The person on the other side of the yelling was yet another non-descriptive person. Obviously not as important as William, judging by the stripes on his shirt.

"But sir," this non-descriptive man started.

"Don't but sir me! Go. Get the crew ready to sail! Send word to the other ships to get underway. We are not waiting for anyone!"

William had a gruff voice, but it was the sort of voice you jumped to abay as soon as it had finished, and this, the man did.

Once he had gone, William grabbed his hat. He brushed the many multi-coloured feathers, making sure they where all nice and neat, before proceeding down to where his ship was.


Back to the other side of the island where our 'heroes' are making ready to sail out:

Appearing from what seemed to be out of no where, a scruffy looking man appeared. Walking up to where George stood, he tapped him on the shoulder.

"Err, excuse me sir. I've been told this boat be ready to set off soon. To find hidden treasure they say. Err, well, my last job just went.. down, so to speak. I was wondering if you might have a spare place aboard this boat for the likes of me."
The man started coughing frantically before continuing.
"Oh, err, sorry. My name's is Jyke Meatloaf Mangoni".

[ October 13, 2003, 10:12: Message edited by: Rotku ]

 

"ACK!" George said when Jyke tapped him on the shoulder, quite literally jumping in surprise. "Run for it! The chickens are coming! They are chickens of DOOM and will eat us all and...and...oh..."
George took a few steps backwards and waved his arms around before adjusting his hair a little like one might a hat.
"Well! As long as you have a talent or two or maybe thirty to spare...I suppose I can let you on my fine ship...except...it's not mine." he said, jabbing a finger towards the others. "Ask them, ask them I say! And...why do they call you 'meatloaf'? You see they call me George Three-eyes because I HAVE three eyes but I DON'T SEE A MEATLOAF ANYWHERE ON YOU!!!" he yelled, advancing against poor Jyke. "Where's the meatloaf! Show me the meatloaf or I'll CUT YOU DOWN WHERE YOU STAND!!"

 

Meatloaf coward away as George started yelling.
He sneaked around the yelling mad-man, and walked up to where the man who was obviously the steward, judging by his clothes, was standing.
Meatloaf tapped the Steward on the shoulder. Then when he was sure he had the Stewards attention possed the same question, but replacing "Sir" with "Sir, Steward, Sir" and of course without the coughing. Although his face did look slightly paler.

 

Tanya growls in silence, as her peace is being continueally disturbed by god knows who. Whirling around on her heel she steps to the rail of the bridge and looks onto the deck and the boarding plank below her. With gritted teeth and clawing the rail, she looked like a tigress ready to jump on the first to cast a glance in her direction.

Enough! I can't this anymore!

"All hands to stations!! Loose all sails!"
Her voice booms over the deck, cleaving the evening air as a hot knife through butter and immediately the crew starts to buzz around to their positions. One of the crew members steps up to George, "I dinna 'no who ye be, but we're leavin'. Cum'in or goin'?"

[ October 13, 2003, 13:04: Message edited by: Lokken ]

 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I don't know where the hell you're going, but I'm going to go with you because MR FABIAN CINQUE here owes me money. Excuse me." he said, strolling around and looking at the sea. "And I like my pineappled alligators HOT, not cold, thank you very much!"

 

Tanya continue raging as all are aboard.
"What are you doing down there! Close that boarding or we'll have to fish every blasted day on the way there for food! MOVE! You there, get the captain, now!"

Settling down a bit as she sees things finally in motion, she straightens her back and folds her arms on her back giving her a sort of majestic appearance as she stands above the people of the deck.

So it begins... she thinks and a smile spreads on her face.

 

Mister Fabian waved Meatloaf towards Tanya. "She's First Mate, lad, see her about a position," he said in a distracted tone.

He could already feel it starting - both the bond that every Steward formed with his ship and crew, and the animosity that seemed to follow. It didn't really bother him - he was used to it after so many decades. Let Weasel try whatever he wanted. The Order's wards had withstood far stronger threats than that little man posed, and there was always Nimue to catch whatever might get through the cracks.

On the other hand, if they really wanted a challenge, Mister Fabian was entirely agreeable to skip this voyage entirely. Let them see what it was like to sail without a Steward.

If only the choice were his.

 

Weasel sighed. What is this damn racket, now? he thought. Walking out of the captain's cabin, giving him a curt nod, he found himself watching a good few people (none of which he knew) milling about like ants in pants on fire.

"Who are all these people?" he asked alound, "and what are they doing on my ship!?" he asked even louder.

Only then did he notice some man (called George by Mister Sink) start nibblin on the sideboards muttering about Alligators and temperature. "Oi! Ye seablubberin' scallywag! Gerrof mah damn boat!" he shouted.

"And you, what do you think you're doing with those sails? Do it propperley!"

"You, that 'aint how ye swab a deck!"

He sighed again, seeing it was to no avail. He turned round, and me eyes with Tanya by the wheel; I hope you know what you're doing he thought.
"Aye there, first matey! I see you've got yerself a bit of a rabbble te control eh?" he grinned.

 

Meatloaf, seeing the man - no wait, it was a woman - well seeing the person at the helm, Mealoaf decided to try his luck over there.

Carefully walking over to where this woman stood he tapped her on the shoulder.

"Err, excuse me Ma'am. I be the new cook on this boat. Could you tell me where the kitchens be?"

 

Tanya smiles at Weasel, and gives a curtious nod, "Indeed sir! But 'tis a fine vessel and I'm sure she'll bring as safe and sound to our goal. Archer! Take over the steering!"

"Yes, ma'am!" one of the crew members comes walking up to the wheel and replaces Tanya, as she turns her attention to the newcomer.
She gives meatloaf a scrutinizing look, then nods to herself as if finding him undangerous.
"The new cook? Hopefully you can cook. What's your name, sir? and why are you here?"

 

"Umm, I heard you was in need of a good cook," Meatloaf said, sounding more confident now. "Me name be Meatloaf, the finest cook on the eight seas. I even sailed with.. Captain Blackheart on more than one..Ahh!"
Suddenly the ship jerked and Meatloaf fell, flat on his face.

 

Well, thought Weasel, even if this riot sink us into the deepest ocean, at least we'll do it with a full belly. He smiled back at Tanya, grinned when he saw the landlubberin moron fall.

"When ye find yer sealegs mate, you can skip down to the kitchens below. Third door to the left. Just before the sleepin' deck."

He rubbed his tummy without realising it. Oh yes, this was most definetely going to be an interesting trip.

 

Tanya rolled her eyes and bend over, helping meatloaf up with a firm grip.

"Pleasure, I'm Tanya. You'll find the galley at mr Weasel's directions. He's the master of the ship. Welcome aboard, Meatloaf."
She gave him a nod of dismissal and looked to the horizon, waiting for the starry night to approach as the boat silently slided out of the harbor and into the great sea.